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August 2012 I Volume 26 I Number 4
U.S. Naval Institute I www.usni.org
Our 25th Year!
48 DEPARTMENTS 4
On Our Scope
6
Looking Back
8
In Contact
16
No Ordinary John Smith
24
Composure Amid a Naval Disaster
29
Observations of ‘the Canal’
32
Judging the Good from the Bad
40
The Witch’s Final Fight
48
Searching for Nelson’s Iconic Quote
54
At Sea in the Great War
60
The Story Behind the Famous Kiss
By Robert J. Mrazek Soaring triumph, disillusionment, and tragedy—all are part of the story of Captain John L. Smith, flying Marine hero of Guadalcanal.
By John J. Domagalski For the destroyer Patterson, it was a routine night patrol until all hell broke loose—a hell called the Battle of Savo Island.
Interview with Master Technical Sergeant James W. Hurlbut, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve As a Marine combat correspondent, James Hurlbut was in the thick of the fray; here is Guadalcanal in his own words, taken down shortly after the battle.
10 Naval History News 12 Historic Aircraft 14 Historic Fleets 68 Book Reviews
72
72 Museum Report
COVER: Captain John L. Smith shot down 19 enemy aircraft and was an inspiring leader to the Marine fighter pilots of Guadalcanal. See “No Ordinary John Smith,” p. 16. (National Archives)
Read Online Naval History magazine (ISSN 1042-1920) is published bimonthly by the U.S. Naval Institute, 291 Wood Road, Annapolis, MD 21402. To order subscriptions, memberships, books, or selected photographs: 800-2338764, 410-268-6110; fax 410-571-1703. Subscriptions: Naval Institute members $20 one year; Non-member subscription $30 one year. Editorial offices: U.S. Naval Academy, Beach Hall, 291 Wood Road, Annapolis, MD 21402-5034; 410-268-6110; fax 410-295-1049. Periodicals postage paid at Annapolis, MD, and at additional mailing offices. Copyright 2012 U.S. Naval Institute. Copyright is not claimed for editorial material in the public domain. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Naval History, Naval Institute Circulation, 291 Wood Rd., Annapolis, MD 21402. Submissions (please supply contact numbers and return address): Editor-in-Chief, Naval History, U.S. Naval Institute, 291 Wood Rd., Annapolis, MD 21402-5034 (include IBM-compatible diskette); articlesubmissions@ usni.org; fax 410-295-1049. The U.S. Naval Institute is a private, self-supporting, not-for-profit professional society, which publishes Proceedings and Naval History magazines and professional books in order to advance the professional, literary, and scientific understanding of sea power and other issues critical to national defense. The Naval Institute is not an agency of the U.S. government; the opinions expressed in these pages are the personal views of the authors.
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N AVA L H I S T O R Y
r
AU G U S T 2 0 1 2
By Norman Friedman Some ships are masterpieces of design, others are turkeys. What separates the durable successes from the short-lived flops?
By Lieutenant Colonel Jay A. Stout, U.S. Marine Corps (Retired) For audacious Confederate raiders, the Union steamer Water Witch was more than just a blockade vessel; she was a prize ripe for the plucking.
By Frederick C. Leiner Admiral Nelson’s “most bold and daring act” accolade shows up in nearly every Stephen Decatur biography, but what was the real source of the quote?
By Commander Stephen W. Surko, U.S. Navy (Retired) The first draft of history, courtesy of a World War I Coast Guardsman’s photos and letters to his family.
By Lawrence Verria and Captain George Galdorisi, U.S. Navy (Retired) The enduring World War II photo-mystery solved at last? An excerpt from the new Naval Institute Press book The Kissing Sailor.
1
Contributors
2
John J. Domagalski, a native of Chicago, is the author of Lost at Guadalcanal: The Final Battles of the Astoria and Chicago as Described by Survivors in Official Reports (McFarland, 2010) and Sunk in Kula Gulf: The Final Voyage of the USS Helena and the Incredible Story of Her Survivors (Potomac Books, 2012). His articles have appeared in World War II History and World War II Quarterly magazines.
Norman Friedman is a leading authority on warships who writes a monthly column, “World Naval Developments,” that appears in Naval History’s sister publication, Proceedings. His numerous books include U.S. Destroyers: An Illustrated Design History, Revised Edition (2003); Unmanned Combat Air Systems: A New Kind of Carrier Aviation (2010); and Naval Weapons of World War One (2011), all published by the Naval Institute Press.
Captain George Galdorisi, U.S. Navy (Retired), is a naval aviator whose career included four command tours and five years as a carrier strike-group chief of staff. He has written eight books, including The New York Times best-seller Tom Clancy Presents: Act of Valor (Berkley Books, 2012), the novelization of the film starring U.S. Navy SEALs. He is currently the director of the Corporate Strategy Group at the Navy’s C4ISR Center of Excellence.
Frederick C. Leiner, a lawyer and historian of the early U.S. Navy, lives in Baltimore and is a frequent contributor to Naval History. His books include Millions for Defense: The Subscription Warships of 1798 (Naval Institute Press, 1999) and The End of Barbary Terror: America’s 1815 War against the Pirates of North Africa (Oxford University Press, 2006).
Robert J. Mrazek is a former member of the U.S. Congress and author. His published works include A Dawn Like Thunder: The True Story of Torpedo Squadron Eight (Little, Brown and Company, 2008), which was a Washington Post Best Book of 2009 (American History), and Stonewall’s Gold (St. Martin’s Press, 1998), which won the Michael Shaara Prize for best Civil War novel in 1999.
Lieutenant Colonel Jay A. Stout, U.S. Marine Corps (Retired), flew 37 combat missions during Operation Desert Storm. Following his retirement from the Marines in 2001, he flew F/A-18s for the Kuwait Air Force before returning to San Diego, where he works as a senior analyst/manager for Northrop Grumman. Colonel Stout has written eight books, including most recently The Men Who Killed the Luftwaffe (Stackpole Books, 2010).
Commander Stephen W. Surko, U.S. Navy (Retired), who grew up listening to his grandfather’s tales of life at sea, is a 1982 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy. In his 22-year Navy career he served on board the USS Elliot (DD-967) and later as an engineering duty officer in various surface-ship maintenance and researchand-development assignments.
Lawrence Verria is the Social Studies Department chair at North Kingstown High School and Rhode Island’s 2000 Teacher of the Year. He is the recipient of the Susan B. Wilson Civic Education Merit Award and Rhode Island College’s Evelyn Walsh Prize for excellence in history studies.
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On Our Scope
W
U.S. NAVAL I NSTIT U T E
hile planning this issue’s package of articles commemorating the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Guadalcanal, it occurred to me that Naval HistoryIBTQSFUUZXFMMDPWFSFEUIFCJHQJDUVSFUIFFCCBOEGMPXPGUIF TJYNPOUIMBOE TFB BOEBJSDBNQBJHO4PUIJTUJNFXFSFHPJOHTNBMMCZ focusing on a trio of the campaign’s participants. 'JSTUVQJTi/P0SEJOBSZ+PIO4NJUI uBQSPGJMFPGB.BSJOFBWJBUJPOHJBOUCZ3PCFSU .SB[FL *G UIF BVUIPST OBNF TPVOET GBNJMJBS JU NBZ CF CFDBVTF XIJMF TFSWJOH JO UIF U.S. House of Representatives in 1988, he helped lead the fight to prevent the construction of a shopping mall on historic land adjacent to Manassas National Battlefield 1BSLJO7JSHJOJB4PMEJFSTCVSJFEUIFSFiBSFPXFENPSFUIBOIBWJOHUIFJSHSBWFTQBWFE PWFS XJUI B #VSHFS ,JOH PS B #MPPNJOHEBMFT u UIF /FX :PSL DPOHSFTTNBO TBJE BU UIF UJNF 4JODF MFBWJOH QPMJUJDT .SB[FL IBT UVSOFE PVU UISFF IJTUPSJDBM OPWFMT BOE UXP XPSLTPGOPOGJDUJPO IJTMBUFTUJTTo Kingdom Come: An Epic Saga of Survival in the Air War over Germany (NAL-Penguin, 2011). 5IFTVCKFDUPGIJTBSUJDMF +PIO-VDJBO4NJUI DPNNBOEFE.BSJOF'JHIUFS4RVBESPO 7.' UIFGJSTUGJHIUFSVOJUBU(VBEBMDBOBMT)FOEFSTPO'JFME4NJUIBOEIJTPVUnumbered men battled Japanese Zeros and bombers for more than seven XFFLT VOUJM SFMJFWFE JO 0DUPCFS "T .SB[FL UFMMT UIF TUPSZ XIJMF +PIO -T UBMMZ PG iLJMMTu SPTF UP UIF QPJOU that he temporarily became America’s UPQGJHIUFSBDFPGUIFXBS IFBHPOJ[FE CFDBVTF TP NBOZ PG IJT QJMPUT XFSF being lost in battle. S m i t h ’s a c h i e v e m e n t s o v e r Guadalcanal earned him the Medal of Honor and landed his photo on the cover of the 7 December 1942 issue of Life magazine. They also inspired )PMMZXPPE NPWJFNBLFST 5IF film Flying Leathernecks is loosely CBTFEPOUIFFYQMPJUTPG7.'BOE 4NJUIXJUI +PIO 8BZOFT DIBSBDUFS Major Dan Kirby, subbing for John L. /"5*0/"-"3$)*7&4 Marine Master Technical Sergeant Colonel John L. Smith chats with two other Marine +BNFT )VSMCVU XIPT GFBUVSFE JO Medal of Honor recipients, Franklin Sigler (center) and i0CTFSWBUJPOT PG AUIF $BOBM u BMTP Douglas Jacobson (right), at an RKO Pictures reception IBT B DPOOFDUJPO UP 5JOTFMUPXO WJB for the premier of 'MZJOH-FBUIFSOFDLT. Guadalcanal. The Marines’ first combat correspondent to see action, Hurlbut rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr MBOEFE PO UIF JTMBOE XJUI UIF TFDPOE XBWFPG-FBUIFSOFDLTPO"VHVTU0VSBSUJDMFJTBUSBOTDSJQUPGIJT.BSDIJOUFSWJFXCZ/BWZ%FQBSUNFOUPGGJDJBMTJOXIJDIIFBOTXFSTRVFTUJPOTBCPVUUIFGJHIUJOHUIFSF "KPVSOBMJTUXIPETFSWFEBIJUDIJOUIF$PSQTEVSJOHUIFT )VSMCVUXBTBTBWWZ PCTFSWFS -BUFS JO IF XBT UFDIOJDBM BEWJTFS PO UIF NPWJF Guadalcanal Diary. After UIFXBS )VSMCVUHPUJOUP57 IJTJOUFSWJFXXJUI.BMDPMN9JTQPTUFEPO:PV5VCF 0VSGJOBM(VBEBMDBOBMBSUJDMFGPDVTFTPOUIFPatterson (DD-392) during the Battle of 4BWP *TMBOE *O i$PNQPTVSF "NJE B /BWBM %JTBTUFS u +PIO %PNBHBMTLJ SFDPVOUT IPX UIFEFTUSPZFSXBTUIFGJSTU"MMJFEWFTTFMUPTQPUUIF+BQBOFTFGPSDFTJOUIFOJHIUCBUUMF CVUIFSXBSOJOHTUPPUIFSGSJFOEMZTIJQTGBJMFEUPDIBOHFUIFDPVSTFPGUIFMPQTJEFEGJHIU While the Patterson TFSWFE UISPVHIPVU UIF 1BDJGJD XBS POMZ UP CF EFDPNNJTTJPOFE JO MBUFBOETPMEGPSTDSBQUXPZFBSTMBUFS NBOZPGUIF/BWZTTIJQTSFNBJOFEJOUIF'MFFU MPOH BGUFS UIF DPOGMJDU /PSNBO 'SJFENBO FYQMBJOT XIZ JO i+VEHJOH UIF (PPE GSPN UIF #BE uIJTBOBMZTJTPGGBDUPSTUIBUEJGGFSFOUJBUFXFMMEFTJHOFEXBSTIJQTGSPNOBVUJDBMUVSLFZT Richard G. Latture Editor-in-Chief
4
NAVAL HISTORY 291 Wood Rd. Annapolis, MD 21402-5034 5FM r'BY EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Richard G. Latture
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By Paul Stillwell
The End of a Nation
A
medicine. In this superb documentary, he lthough it doesn’t appear in demonstrates that the service’s humanitarstatute books, one particuian ethic extends well beyond those who lar law has wide application are doctors, nurses, and corpsmen. nonetheless: the law of uninThe American departure from South tended consequences. Forty years ago Vietnam left behind a host of operable this summer, the phenomenon known helicopters. As the North Vietnamese as “Watergate” was a breaking story. converged on the capital city, Saigon, Operatives on behalf of President Richard South Vietnamese pilots gathered friends Nixon’s re-election committee broke and family and flew them toward the into the headquarters of the Democratic U.S. ships offshore. Commander Paul National Committee in Washington’s Jacobs, skipper of the Kirk, radioed that Watergate complex early on 17 June 1972. his ship welcomed refugees. UH-1 Hueys Their objective was to install bugging devices in order to acquire political intelligence. Because of a call from an alert security guard, police were able to arrest the intruders. What the Nixon administration initially termed a “third-rate burglary” had far-reaching unintended consequences. The resulting cover-up and congressional impeachment hearings forced Nixon to resign the presidency in August 1974. There were international implications as well. In late 1972 Nixon’s national security adviser, Henry Kissinger, was negotiating with North Vietnamese diplomat Le Duc Tho to seek peace in Vietnam. President Nguyen Van Thieu of South Vietnam objected to the terms of the proposed settlement. To get him on board with ending the U.S. combat role, the Nixon administration made a secret agreement to provide air support in defense of South Vietnam should it be threatened by the North. In early 1973 U.S. NAVY MEDICAL DEPARTMENT (HUGH DOYLE) forces withdrew. Two years later, the North A USS Kirk crewman holds a young South Vietnamese Vietnamese were on the verge of total vic- refugee, one of many the destroyer escort assisted durtory. The unintended consequence was ing the country’s collapse in 1975. that Nixon’s departure from office meant rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr he was no longer able to honor the provicame in and landed on the small flight sions of the secret agreement. The South deck at the stern. After each debarked its Vietnamese were left to their own devices. human cargo, it was an obstacle, so the By late April 1975, ships of the U.S. ship’s crew manhandled it over the side 7th Fleet steamed offshore, forbidden to to make room for the next one. intercede militarily but able to rescue All told, the Kirk brought in 14 helos South Vietnamese who were fleeing in in one day, but one was too big to land. terror as their nation was overrun. One When pilot Ba Nguyen approached in a of those ships was the destroyer escort CH-47 Chinook, the crew waved it off Kirk (DE-1087). Her unexpected role as a because its rotors would have shattered rescuer of displaced people has been movagainst the ship’s superstructure and filled ingly documented in The Lucky Few, a the air with lethal debris. The pilot’s des2010 film by the Navy Medicine Support peration spurred his ingenuity. He hovCommand. Jan Herman, recently retired ered over the destroyer escort’s stern, Bureau of Medicine and Surgery historian, and the helo’s occupants jumped or were has produced many articles, books, and dropped. Eager hands caught the refuvideos that portray the history of Navy
6
gees. One of the catchers was Machinist’s Mate Third Class Kent Chipman. As he recounted in the film, “There was no way I was going to let that baby hit the deck.” The pilot then flew a short distance away and jumped into the water. He managed to escape injury as the helo disintegrated; the Kirk’s crew rescued him. Amid the chaos, an American civilian named Richard Armitage arrived aboard the Kirk as a Defense Department representative. A former U.S. naval officer who had worked with the South Vietnamese, Armitage was charged with saving as much of the country’s navy as he could. And he had to do so on very short notice, because the speed of the North Vietnamese advance didn’t permit a leisurely withdrawal. About 30 South Vietnamese ships full of refugees rendezvoused near Con Son Island and began steaming slowly for Subic Bay in the Philippines. The Kirk served as the shepherd for the unlikely flock of survivors. An individual who made a profound impression during the journey was the Kirk’s chief hospital corpsman, Stephen Burwinkel. He oversaw the makeshift pregnancy ward in the Kirk and made daily rounds of the other ships in the flotilla to treat a variety of ills. Along with the tangible treatments, he was able to instill something else—a sense that the U.S. Navy cared about thousands of people who had lost everything except their lives and now faced an uncertain future. The advancing ships faced yet another problem. The Philippine government had officially recognized the new Vietnamese regime in the wake of the military takeover. The nation of South Vietnam no longer existed, so no ships under that flag would be permitted entry. The remedy was to decommission and demilitarize the ships. Members of the Kirk’s crew went aboard and took command. In each ship a solemn transfer ceremony enabled the South Vietnamese to retire with dignity. The refugees reached Subic Bay in safety, and thousands began their new lives. One who literally began life was a baby girl, born soon after the Kirk’s rescue mission. Her middle name symbolizes the vital role that a U.S. warship played in enabling her future. She is Tran Nguyen Kirk Giang Tien.
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In Contact Overlooked Cause of War John Pauly Regarding your June package of articles about the War of 1812, I’d like to point out an overlooked incident that helped push the United States into the conflict. On April 25, 1806, three British warships were searching all traffic coming and going from New York Harbor. The merchant sloop Richard was ordered to heave to. What should have been a
warning shot from HMS Leander instead struck the Richard, resulting in the vessel’s helmsman, John Pierce, being killed. The captain of the Richard, John Pierce’s brother, rallied the city of New York to demand some sort of action against the British. At this time only three U.S. frigates were in service. Two were in the Mediterranean, and the other was undergoing extensive refit. There weren’t even any
A Missed Opportunity? Lieutenant Commander Wayne Padgett, U.S. Coast Guard Reserve (Retired) In reading June’s article “America’s Frigate Triumphs” (pp. 36–45), a question came up that may have other readers of the Patrick O’Brian series of novels asking for clarification. In The Fortunes of War, O’Brian has his fictional hero, Captain Jack Aubrey, traveling as a supernumerary on board HMS Java during the December 1812 battle between that ship and the Constitution. Early in the battle, Aubrey is aghast that the British frigate’s commanding officer, Henry Lambert, crosses the stern of the
More Lakes Coverage James M. Perry I am a subscriber and fervent admirer of your magazine, but I have a quibble, possibly misplaced, about the June War of 1812 issue. Much as I am dazzled by the amazing saltwater record of U.S. frigates and sloops, the naval war’s only truly significant engagements took place on the lakes—
of the detested Jefferson gunboats available in New York. Not long after this incident, to add more fuel to the fire, three Royal Navy ships destroyed a French warship in U.S. waters off the Virginia capes. The lack of U.S. naval assets gave the British navy license to do as it pleased in American coastal waters. It wasn’t just hunger for land and impressment but interference of American coastal traffic that pushed the United States into war.
Constitution and does not rake her—thus having the Java throwing away a good edge, if not a win. Not being well versed in the 1812 battles, I was not sure that really happened. However, your diagram of the battle indeed shows the Java doing just that, i.e., crossing the Constitution’s stern, in position No. 2. As mysterious as Lambert’s failure to take this advantage is the author’s absence of comment on it. Perhaps Lambert did rake the Constitution but she survived anyway. If not, this lapse cost Lambert his life and the survivors their ship. Can you clarify what happened for the readers—was the Constitution raked or was Lambert remiss?
Oliver Hazard Perry’s (no relation, sad to say) on Erie and Thomas Macdonough’s on Champlain. It seems to me you should have given both those engagements a lot more attention. I don’t suppose the Royal Navy ever lost two fleet actions in the same war. Perry’s victory assured that the Old Northwest would remain in American hands and Macdonough’s thwarted the most ambitious invasion ever undertaken of the
United States. Great stuff. I am hoping you will deal with those two engagements in a later issue. The editor responds: We’re planning to cover action on the northern lakes in 2013. Because the War of 1812’s best-known (at least in the United States) frigate duels all occurred relatively early in the conflict, we focused our initial bicentennial package on the war at sea.
Constitution’s Green Sailors Commander Tyrone G. Martin, U.S. Navy (Retired) Regarding the June article “The Constitution’s Great Escape” (pp. 32–35), a quick check of the Constitution’s muster roll for Isaac Hull’s time in command shows that over half of his crew—more than 200 men, not “approximately 100”—were new to the ship, many entering in the three weeks prior to sailing in early July 1812.
Normandie’s Sad State J. B. Friderici The June issue’s “Looking Back” article by Paul Stillwell (“Ignominious Ends,” p. 6) was interesting and had some details about the Normandie loss that I had never read before. However, I disagree with the use of the word “capsized” in the photo caption.
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One saving grace may have been the fact that Hull’s first lieutenant, Charles Morris, had joined the Constitution on the very same day as Hull in 1810, and so the captain had a known associate at the top. The author’s error in this regard may stem from the fact that Morris was absent from the ship on her transfer from Washington to Annapolis, unsuccessfully badgering the secretary of the Navy for a command of his own.
“Capsize” means to overturn. The picture shows a ship that is correctly referred to as “sunk with an 80 degree port list.” If she were a sailing vessel, one could refer to her as “on her beam’s ends.” When I was in Rescue Coordination Center Cleveland in the Ninth Coast Guard District, we dealt with a multitude of boats no longer floating as intended. One of the controller’s jobs was to write
the daily seach-and-rescue summary, which was read by the operations staff and the front officer, including the district commander. If I had ever referred to a vessel in the Normandie’s condition as capsized, I would have heard about it via the chain of command from the admiral on down. Keep up the good work. You publish pieces that are not available anywhere else. U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
‘Real’ Mystery of Midway Commander William E. Brooks Jr., U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired) As a career editor of newspapers, I have seen “buried leads,” but never one to equal that of “Mitscher and the Mystery of Midway” (June, pp. 46–52). At the very end of that article author Craig Symonds asks about Captain Marc Mitscher’s “decision to gundeck the story of the flight to nowhere.” That is the harshest of all criticisms, short of a courtmartial, for any officer of the U.S. Navy. The real “mystery of Midway” is why the decisions and actions by Lieutenant Commander John C. Waldron Jr. have been overshadowed. On the basis of facts, his squadron’s actions should be known as
Museum-Ship Success Factors Fred Tannenbaum Bravo Zulu to Lieutenant Commander Thomas J. Cutler for his discussion about museum ships (“Keeping Floating Museums Afloat,” August 2011, pp. 52–57). I have followed the fortunes of this community for three decades and would like to offer a clarification or two. First, I believe the Olympia has been open to the public in Philadelphia since 1957; the story’s wording may lead some to believe that it has been a floating exhibit since 1996, which actually is when it came under the current management. Second, no doubt that location, weather, and size matter to a museum ship’s success, but these factors can be completely wiped out if a museum-ship organization lacks vision, professionalism, and accepted business and fiscal practices. Historic-ship operators will succeed or fail based on these factors as well. Those failing to take heed in these areas miss enormous opportunities to educate and connect with the public, and to make something old new again. Vision: No longer instruments of war, museum ships are tools of education, learning, and sharing. Museums must share their stories in a meaningful way, and that means sharing with as many people and demographics as possible. The mission must be capturing the public’s imagination and excitement. To me, successful execution of a vision means reaching out to everyone, including people with no previous exposure to the military, and providing them with a meaningful, enjoyable experience and appreciation of the ship’s history and technology that will keep them coming back. This brings to mind the need for relevance. Ship-museum operators must know N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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the “flight to victory.” On the 70th anniversary of Midway, Waldron should receive a posthumous Medal of Honor. Waldron defied orders from his air-group commander and was the first Navy pilot to find four Japanese carriers in a single formation. When he ordered Torpedo 8 to attack, he set up the astonishing American action that followed. He achieved surprise and led his squadron in an assault that pulled Japanese fighter cover to the wave tops. The sacrifice of Waldron’s unit came at the precise moment when Navy dive bombers could attack without opposition. In a matter of minutes, three Japanese carriers were flaming hulks and U.S. victory at Midway was assured. If there is a single American hero at Midway, John Waldron could claim the laurels. the story their vessel tells—then tell it. They don’t have to make it something it isn’t, i.e., make it overly dramatic. The histories of these ships are more exciting and heroic than fiction. Professionalism: Lack of professionalism can destroy the vision. Paul Farace, curator of the USS Cod Submarine Memorial in Cleveland, introduced me to the acronym BOGSATTs (Bunch of Guys Sitting Around a Table Talking). It describes folks who have a pie-in-the-sky belief that just getting a ship will result in the world clamoring to run up the gangplank. BOGSATTs never ask the right questions and never seek advice, Paul says. If and when they get their ship, they sink rather quickly. Some museum-ship regulars are happier with their vessels being their clubhouses instead of sharing them with the visitors. Public goodwill can be lost if visitors are treated in a surly manner, or as intruders or a nuisance instead of being welcomed as the reason the museum ship exists. Museum boards need to include more museum professionals, especially those who work in the exhibit world. Board members should at least have some sense of history. Their museums frequently fail because they don’t know how to tell an engaging story. Accepted business and fiscal practices: The business of a museum ship must be transparent as glass and completely aboveboard. Anything less brings dishonor on the star attraction. Financial records should be kept to the nth degree and available for inspection by board members and the public at any time. Historic vessels need constant maintenance and upkeep and occasionally major work, such as dry-docking. But how many have raised money for trust funds or endowments to support these needs for the future?
U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE
At Midway, Lieutenant Commander John Waldron disobeyed his superior’s orders and led Torpedo Squadron Eight in a forlorn attack against the enemy’s carriers. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Financial problems preventing museum ships such as the Olympia from receiving needed, expensive maintenance are not created overnight. The wise operations are the ones planning ahead and saving, rather than waiting for issues to reach the crisis state. The plight of museum-ship management (or lack thereof) and financial issues have been dealt with for generations. I suggest Naval History’s editors consider devoting an entire issue to these problems and offer strategies and solutions. Perhaps they could publish more information from Historic Naval Ships Association annual meetings. I realize that our Navy is a fighting force, first and foremost. Its rules for establishing new ship museums are strict and extensive. Many ship museums were “grandfathered in” and opened before those rules were established. Sometimes, I wish the Navy would allow the “grandfather” privileges to expire for museums with chronic problems or noncompliance. The Navy would seek transfer applications from other communities and groups for any ship museum belonging to an organization that cannot meet standards for financing, preservation, docking, and professionalism. A little harsh? You bet. But the reach of some of these groups exceeds their grasp. And fears over the future of some of these illustrious vessels would cease because they would be well cared for. My comments echo and expand upon points Norman Cary Jr. makes in “FAQ: So You Want A Historic Ship,” found on HNSA’s website at www.hnsa.org/handbook/faq.htm.
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Naval History News Brown, Naval Academy Barrier-Breaking Pioneer, Passes Away Retired Lieutenant Commander Wesley A. Brown, the first African-American to graduate from the U.S. Naval Academy, died on 22 May at the age of 85. The sixth black admitted to the Academy and the first to complete four years, Brown was a member of the class of 1949. “The Naval Academy family is deeply saddened to learn of the loss of retired Lieutenant Commander Brown. . . . He embodied the highest ideals of the Academy’s mission and dedicated himself to decades of selfless and distinguished service to our nation,” said Naval Academy Superintendent Vice Admiral Michael H. Miller. “Wesley Brown was a superb example to our midshipmen, displaying the traits of leadership and character we strive to instill in all of our graduates. . . . On behalf of the entire Naval Academy family, our heartfelt condolences go out to the Brown family.” Brown was appointed to the Academy as a midshipman in 1945 after enrolling at Howard University in Washington, D.C., as an Army Specialized Training student and an electrical-engineering major. At the Academy, Brown excelled athletically, running both varsity track and cross-country. One of his track teammates was future President Jimmy Carter (class of 1947). Following his commissioning in the Navy Civil Engineer Corps, Brown served in the Korean War and the Vietnam War, rising to lieutenant commander before retiring in July 1969. As a civilian, Brown worked for the New York State University Construction Fund, the New York State Dormitory Authority, and the University Planning Office at Howard University, retiring in 1988. Brown remained closely connected to the Academy throughout his life. He served on the Naval Academy Alumni Association Board of Trustees, and in 2008 the Academy dedicated its newly
U.S. NAVY (PETER D. LAWLOR)
In one of the last photos taken of him, retired Lieutenant Commander Wesley Brown reflects on his groundbreaking career during an April luncheon with Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Jonathan Greenert at the Washington Navy Yard. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
constructed athletic facility in his honor. The Wesley Brown Field House, the first and only Academy building dedicated to a living alumnus, hosts an annual track-and-field invitational in Brown’s honor and houses his class ring, which he donated to the athletic facility in person at the 2012 invitational. Retired Admiral Bob Natter, a member of the class of 1967 and chairman of the Naval Academy Alumni Association, said, “Commander Brown’s passing is a difficult one for all of us. He has been an inspiration to those who have followed him. . . . He will be greatly missed.”
Hendrix Takes the Helm at the Naval History and Heritage Command Captain Henry J. “Jerry” Hendrix—a Naval Institute Press and Naval History author and former member of the Naval Institute Editorial Board—took command as interim director of the Washington Navy Yard–based Naval History and Heritage Command (NHHC) in May. NHHC’s self-described mission is “to collect, preserve, protect, and make available the artifacts, documents, and art that best embody our naval history and heritage for present and future generations.” Captain Hendrix’s appointment came on the heels of the resignation of retired Rear Admiral Jay DeLoach, who had led NHHC since 2008. A December 2011 Navy Inspector General’s report had raised concerns about ongoing problems with the storage of artifacts and records and a distancing of relations between the NHHC and the histori-
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cal community. But Admiral DeLoach is credited with having succeeded in dramatically increasing funding for the NHHC. According to Navy Times, “the historical command secured $38 million for Fiscal Year 2012, a 46 percent increase from the year before, which the command plans to use to hire staff to process the huge backlog of holdings.” In his resignation statement, DeLoach remarked, “I am very impressed with the strides that this team has made in preserving and telling the history of the world’s finest navy. That said, I believe it’s time for a new leader to expand on recent progress and deal with the challenges before us.” As a career Navy officer with a Ph.D., Captain Hendrix seems tailor-made for his new role. He completed his doctoral dissertation for King’s College, London, while deployed at sea on board the USS Peleliu
(LHA-5). He also had earned advanced degrees from the Naval Postgraduate School and Harvard University. The 2006 recipient of the Alfred Thayer Mahan Award for Literary Achievement, he is the author of Theodore Roosevelt’s Naval Diplomacy: The U.S. Navy and the Birth of the American Century (Naval Institute Press, 2009) and numerous articles in professional journals and magazines. “My successor will bring a new infusion of energy to the command to continue on our journey into the future,” said DeLoach. “The past four years at NHHC have tested every aspect of my professional talents and leadership, and I am confident of the legacy of change and the connection with our Navy that I leave to my successor.” The Naval Historical Foundation recently sat down with Hendrix to discuss his thoughts on his new position: U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Innovative Plans Announced for War of 1812 Shipwreck With the War of 1812 bicentennial rampbut none other than the Scorpion, Barney’s ing up, archaeologists who believe they have flagship. located the flagship of Commodore Joshua The flotilla was Barney’s brainchild; Barney have announced plans to start excait fought valiantly against the British vating the shipwreck in 2013 as part of the naval squadron in the June 1814 Battles war’s 200th-anniversary commemoration in of St. Leonard’s Creek before retiring up Maryland. the Patuxent into the safety of the shalThe wreck is in the upper reaches lows. After scuttling his flotilla to avoid of the Patuxent River, where archaeoloBritish capture, Barney marched on to gists from the Maryland State Highway defend the nation’s capital in the Battle of Administration (SHA), the Maryland Bladensburg. (See “Commodore Barney at Historical Trust, and the U.S. Navy have the Bladensburg Races,” October 2010, p. been at work since 2010 dredging, measur46.) As green militia troops melted around ing, and otherwise preparing for the full-on them in a rout, Barney’s flotillamen and a excavation of what may be a vessel of great unit of Marines stood their ground, manhistoric significance in the Chesapeake the- NAVAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE COMMAND ning their cannon until the commodore was ater of the War of 1812. wounded and knocked out of the battle. Commodore Joshua Barney scuttled his Now the team is in the environmental- flotilla to keep it out of British hands in 1814. Julie Schablitsky, the SHA’s point-perpermits stage. The plan is to employ an Archaeologists believe they have located the son on the project, told the Prince George’s excavation technique that involves using a wreck of his flagship, and they plan to employ County Gazette that the project, from prepacofferdam, a metal enclosing structure that promising new techniques to excavate it. ration and excavation to preservation and effectively cuts off the wreck site from the rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr artifact-cataloguing, is expected to cost surrounding waters, allowing drainage and about $5 million. She also noted that the thus enabling the work to proceed as if on dry land. This innovative cofferdam, while making it much easier for the archaeologists to method has been used only one other time in the United States—on work the site without having to dive on it, will have the added a 17th-century French shipwreck in Texas’ Matagorda Bay. benefit of allowing curious onlookers to observe archaeology in Based on certain artifacts found on the Patuxent River vesaction. sel, archaeologists strongly believe that she is not only one of “It’ll be something where if people come out to visit, since it’ll the scuttled gunboats of Barney’s legendary Chesapeake Flotilla, be open to the public, it’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.” Question: Can you give us some biography background, to include why you became interested in the Navy and Navy history in particular? Answer: My dad was a sailor, and my grandfather was a sailor briefly during World War II, although he never saw any action, so the Navy was present in my
NAVAL HISTORICAL FOUNDATION (DAVE COLAMARIA)
Captain Jerry Hendrix: “I am a true believer in the power of history to inspire.” rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
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life from the moment of my birth in San Diego. After my parents’ divorce, I grew up on my stepfather’s farm in Indiana, so I didn’t really have a Navy upbringing other than I knew it was in our family line. I became intrigued with biographies, mostly military biographies, and grew up very much a believer in the romantic view of heroism and the greatness of our nation and its Navy. I started out with World War II, and then just started going back from there in my interests and scope of research, and was fascinated with the importance of living a life worth remembering. I am a true believer in the power of history to inspire others, just as it does with me every day. Q: As someone who has been a longtime member of both the U.S. Naval Institute and the Naval Historical Foundation, how do you see such organizations contributing to educating sailors and the American public about our Navy’s history and heritage? A: It’s a neverending battle in an age of electronic media and celebrity-hero worship to bring an appreciation of historic heroics into the public discussion. To use a metaphor, history stands across the river of time from us and shouts the question, “Who are you?” and demands of us an answer. Organizations like the Naval Institute and
the Naval Historical Foundation serve as conduits of that conversation between the past and the present, but it is a process and a relationship that needs to be strengthened as we go forward. We can do it in media, as consultants to popular histories, by supporting deep, substantive scholarship, by having a thriving museum presence in popular culture, and just by getting out and leading the conversation in our communities. We should never underestimate the power of a lone advocate of naval history in the public discourse. Q: Coming into the job as an interim director, how do you see yourself helping to move the organization forward? A: It’s a privilege to serve the Naval History and Heritage Command in whatever capacity I am assigned. I have benefited from its programs, and by the mentorship of people like retired Senior Historian Ed Marolda, for the past 16 years. It is my honor to serve. My hope is that my enthusiasm for the topic will energize my dedication to the mission. In the end, I look forward to serving the institution and moving naval history into the future.
Naval History News continued on page 66
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Historic Aircraft
By Norman Polmar Author, SHIPS AND AIRCRAFT OF THE U.S. FLEET
Vikings at Sea
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fter World War II, the U.S. Navy began the development of specialized carrier-based aircraft for antisubmarine warfare. Previously, standard fighters and bombers were employed for that role. The Navy’s first aircraft designed specifically for the ASW role were the socalled “Guardian Twins,” the Grumman AF, which came in two “flavors”—the W-suffix aircraft with the large AN/APS20 radar for detecting submarine masts and periscopes, and the S-suffix with a limited detection capability but a large weapons bay and wing pylons for weapons.1 These search-and-attack capabilities were first combined in the Grumman S2F (later S-2) Tracker, whose initial flight was in December 1952. By the mid-1960s the Navy was seeking a more advanced carrier ASW aircraft—given the development designation VSX. Updated sensors were available, and a faster and longer-range aircraft would be more effective in reaching potential targets. Also significant, with the demise of the specialized ASW
carriers—designated CVS—the airborne subhunters would operate from attack carriers that carried only turbine-powered aircraft. Handling piston-engine fuels for just the Tracker would be a burden. When the VSX requirement appeared, Grumman Aircraft, later Grumman Aerospace Corporation, was the favored competitor, having produced far more carrier aircraft—among them the Guardian and Tracker ASW planes— than any other firm. But Lockheed had been in the ASW business longer, albeit with land-based aircraft, beginning with the PBO Hudson in the late 1930s through the P-3 Orion that entered service in 1962. To compensate for its limited experience in carrier-based aircraft, Lockheed teamed with Ling-TemcoVought, which had several outstanding carrier planes to its credit, and firms with ASW-systems experience. Lockheed was named VSX winner in August 1969, with an initial batch of eight flight-test aircraft (YS-3A) being ordered by the Navy. The first Viking took to the
S-3A VIKING Type:
Carrier-based antisubmarine
Length:
53 feet, 4 inches
Wingspan:
68 feet, 8 inches
Height:
22 feet, 9 inches
Engines:
2 GE T34-GE-2 turbofan
air on 21 January 1972. The flight tests were successful, with initial carrier trials on board the USS Forrestal (CVA-59) in November 1973. Even before flight trials had been completed, the Navy ordered the Viking into production as the S-3A.2 The plane had a snub nose and a high wing carrying two General Electric highbypass turbofan engines, mounted in underwing nacelles, just inboard of the wing-fold points. The early operational aircraft were fitted with a Univac AN/ AYK-10 digital computer to support a host of sensors including AN/APS-116 radar, OR-89 forward-looking infrared (FLIR), AQS-81 magnetic anomaly detector (MAD), ALR-47 electronic countermeasures (ECM) system, and 60 sonobuoy chutes. For the “killer” side of the mission the Viking had an internal weapons bay for up to 2,000 pounds of depth bombs, mines, and torpedoes, plus stores on two wing pylons. Each pylon could carry a Harpoon or Bullpup antiship missile or a 300-gallon drop tank. A retractable inflight refueling probe was provided. The flight crew consisted of two pilots, a tactical coordinator, and a sensor operator. Each had an ejection seat that could work at any speed/altitude combination. The first fleet squadron to fly the Viking was Antisubmarine Squadron
7,513 pounds static thrust each continuous Max. speed: 493 mph at sea level Crew:
4
Armament: Internal bay 2,4 0 pounds depth bombs, mines, torpedoes including 2 Mark 57 nuclear depth charges; wing stations 2,500 pounds depth bombs, mines, torpedoes
J. M. CAIELLA
This Viking of VS-31 served on board the USS Independence (CV-62) during her 1977 Mediterranean Sea cruise. The Topcats S-3A, later converted to S-3B standards, has its MAD (magnetic anomaly detector) boom extended and carries an AGM-84 Harpoon on its left wing pylon. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
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(VS) 21, which went aboard the John F. Kennedy (CVA-67) in 1975. With 187 ASW aircraft produced—including the eight YS-3A prototypes—the Navy formed 12 Viking squadrons plus a readiness/replacement squadron. Thus, almost every carrier air wing was provided with an eight-plane S-3 squadron, which shared the ship-based ASW role with an SH-3 Sea King helicopter squadron (HS). The Viking proved to be a reliable, safe, and relatively effective ASW aircraft. The only significant problem encountered was the plane’s stall characteristics, which were rectified by the addition of minor stall strips. Similar to the evolution of its predecessor—the S-2 Tracker—into the C-1 Trader for carrier-on-board (COD) cargo and passenger delivery, the seventh YS-3A was modified to a COD prototype. In that role—with ASW gear removed—it could carry six passengers or 5,750 pounds of cargo internally and another 1,000 pounds in two wing pods. Range and speed were superior to the Trader. The first of the modified planes flew in 1976 as the US-3A. Three additional YS-3A/US-3A conversions followed. Lockheed also proposed a larger variant with a side door and a 70-inch fuselage extension, or “plug,” that would provide an 8,000-pound cargo capacity. The Navy, however, declined production. Instead it bought the C-2 Greyhound, derived from Grumman’s E-2 Hawkeye electronic-warfare aircraft. Similarly, Lockheed converted the fifth YS-3A to an aerial tanker, fitting it with a drogue-and-reel system. The tanker could carry 16,000 pounds of fuel, of which 11,000 pounds could be transferred to another aircraft. Refueling trials were successful, but again the Navy opted for a Grumman aircraft—the KA-6D, modified from A-6A airframes. Yet another Viking variant was a an electronic intelligence (ELINT) collection aircraft, the ES-3A Shadow. Sixteen were produced and served on board several carriers in small detachments. However, the aircraft was considered too expensive to maintain and was discarded in 1999. Lockheed also proposed variants of an airborne early warning (AEW) configuration to succeed the turboprop Hawkeye. The principal version had a fixed, triangular radome atop the wing and fuselage, N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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which was to house a high-power, anglebeam, L-band phased-array (electronically scanned) radar. It would retain a limited weapons capability as well as the in-flight refueling probe. That proposal, too, was rejected. Including the eight preproduction Vikings and the 16 Shadows, the Navy procured a total of 203 of these aircraft.
Discarding the Viking from the ASW role initially left the carrier force with only the specialized SH-60F Seahawk helicopters for the assignment. However, even that limited capability is being diluted with their replacement by a smaller number of multimission MH-60R Seahawks. In the post–Cold War era, the cost of operating and maintaining an S-3B
U.S. NAVY ( RICARDO J. REYES)
With landing gear down and locked and tailhook fully extended, an S-3B Viking, assigned to Sea Control Squadron 22, approaches the flight deck of the USS Harry S. Truman (CVN-75) during operations in the Persian Gulf on 3 March 2005. The Checkmates’ Viking is carrying a 300-gallon fuel tank under its right wing and a D-704 buddy refueling pod under its left. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
The last S-3A was delivered in August 1978 and the last ES-3A in September 1993. The ASW variants were periodically upgraded, with improved sensors and acoustic data-processing capacity; these aircraft were designated S-3B, with the first of about 160 upgrades joining the Fleet in December 1987. With the demise of the Soviet Union in late 1991 and the subsequent reduction of the Soviet submarine threat, as of 1993 the S-3B was considered a “sea control” rather than ASW aircraft, and in the mid-1990s the ASW equipment and operators were removed. Thus configured, they were employed in ocean surveillance, antishipping (with Harpoon and Maverick missiles), and aerial tanking (with external drogue and fuel tanks). The last role was critical because of the demise of the KA-6D Intruder tankers and the relatively short range of the F/A-18 Hornet strike fighters.
force for the “sea control” mission was considered extravagant, and the surviving Vikings were rapidly retired. The last carrier VS/S-3B squadron went ashore in January 2009. Five S-3B aircraft have been retained for research and development. The rest of the Vikings—a fine aircraft that served in an important role during the Cold War—have been retired. Notes 1. See N. Polmar, “The Navy’s Guardian,” Naval History (June 2006), pp. 14–15. 2. The principal reference for the S-3 is René J. Francillon, Lockheed Aircraft Since 1913 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1987). The most comprehensive journal article on the aircraft is Jay Miller, ed., “Lockheed S-3A Viking,” Aerophile (February 1979), pp. 308–41.
Mr. Polmar, a columnist for Proceedings and Naval History, is author of the definitive two-volume Aircraft Carriers: A History of Carrier Aviation and Its Influence on World Events (2004, 2008).
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Historic Fleets
By Robert J. Cressman
‘The Busy Lady’
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spirit, he declared on the Yosemite’s first no reputation and with no ship’s spirit.” ight days before Christmas anniversary: “The ‘Mighty Y’ [as she had Those intangibles lay within their power 1940, President Franklin D. become known] takes off her hat to no to earn and generate. Roosevelt asked Captain Daniel other tender afloat.” Following her shakedown cruise and J. Callaghan, his naval aide, to Powered by geared turbines with fitting-out, which included enlarging the suggest names for a number of authorized 11,000 shaft-horsepower that turned ventilating systems for the engine rooms ships that included destroyer tenders. On twin screws, the Yosemite had made 19.6 and combat-information center, the 21 December the Bureau of Navigation knots on trials, making her and her sisters Yosemite sailed for the Pacific, reaching provided the chief executive with candithe fastest destroyer tenders of the U.S. Pearl Harbor on 29 August 1944. She dates for his consideration, including one Fleet. Her heaviest boom capacity was welcomed her first customer, the Caldwell that honored the “valley and its environs 20 tons, with the cranes in east-central California” so situated as to be able that encompassed the to service radar antennae. western slope of the Sierra Her bunkers could contain Nevada. 24,555 barrels of fuel oil A week later, the fifth and 2,705 of diesel fuel. ship of the Dixie class, She sported a main two of which were already battery equal to a serving in the Fleet, destroyer’s—four dualb e c a m e t h e Yo s e m i t e , purpose 5-inch/38s, two designated AD-19. The stepped forward and two aft Navy awarded the contract on the centerline. By the for her construction on time the Yosemite entered the 10 April 1941. Just under Fleet, even tenders bristled eight months later, the with antiaircraft weapons, Japanese attack on the wartime experience having U.S. Pacific Fleet and proved the 40-mm Bofors naval, military, and air and 20-mm Oerlikon installations on Oahu drew machine guns far more the United States into capable of downing a fast, World War II. modern, high-performance Workers at the Tampa plane than the 1.1-inch/75Shipbuilding Company in caliber and .50-caliber Florida laid the Yosemite’s COURTESY JAMES MCWATERS, USS YOSEMITE ASSOCIATION machine guns that had been keel on 19 January 1942, Sailors of the Yosemite, clad in uniforms of the 1960s ranging from undress blues 43 days after Pearl Harbor. to dungarees, wait in anticipation at mail call outside the ship’s on-board post office. the secondary batteries of On 16 May 1943, the new In the days before cell phones and the Internet, a vessel’s postal unit provided a vital auxiliaries. Several large hatches tender slid down the ways. line of communications with faraway family and friends. Lola W. Powers—whose rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr on both sides of the ship provided easy access to the husband Melville, a retired spaces within her thin steel shell. On (DD-605), alongside on 2 September. commander with 30 years’ service who the upper deck, one found an operating Over the next five months, the tender served as assistant general manager of room, a sick bay, and a dental office, as provided repairs to 216 ships, of which the building yard—performed the well as shops to fix canvas and gyros. In 126 had been alongside. christening. Construction continued, addition, there was a pattern shop and The Yosemite then steamed to with the Yosemite being commissioned on a carpenter shop, a sonar-attack teacher Eniwetok, then to Ulithi, in the western 25 May 1944. and a typewriter shop. On the main deck Caroline Islands, arriving on 3 March Her sheer size awed young Machinist’s were shops to maintain fire-control and 1945 to begin the busiest month yet Mate Second Class Dick Wibom: “I optical equipment and one for watch of her career—tending 73 ships (21 of couldn’t believe how big she looked.” repair, as well as a photographic lab and a which she took alongside) that generated Captain George C. “Bull” Towner, design and blueprint room. 1,689 work requests. Her hardworking who at the start of the war had been A traveling crane serviced the crew maintained its sanity among the navigator of the heavy cruiser Louisville Yosemite’s cavernous machine-shop well business of readying ships for the (CA-28) on her return voyage to Pearl to the second deck below. In addition, Okinawa campaign with pinochle, Harbor from Manila, assumed command the repair department spaces on the main clandestine craps games, and music— of the Yosemite. He told his crewmen deck featured a foundry and a blacksmith from ragtime to classical. One year after on commissioning day that they had shop, as well as pipe, welding, boiler, Bull Towner had talked of reputation and been given a fine ship “but [one] with
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USS Yosemite (AD-19), Dixie-class destroyer tender Displacement:
14,037 tons
Length:
530 feet, 6 inches
Eight 40-mm guns
Beam:
73 feet, 4 inches
Twenty-three 20-mm guns
Draft:
25 feet, 6 inches
Speed:
19.6 knots (trial)
Armament:
Complement:
and sheet-metal shops. The second deck housed an even larger machine shop and an electrical shop. The third deck contained the torpedo shop. The Mighty Y—now referred to by her crew as “The Busy Lady”—accompanied the Pacific Fleet to Japan after hostilities ceased, providing services at Sasebo and Yokosuka. Returning then to the States, she became flagship for commander, Destroyer Force, Atlantic Fleet, at Portland, Maine, on 17 June 1946. Six months later she moved to Newport, Rhode Island; that remained her home port until October 1969, when she steamed to Mayport, Florida, to take up duties there. Her voyages took her from Oslo, Norway, to Portsmouth, England; Athens, Greece; and Naples, Italy.
Four 5-inch/38-caliber guns
1,076 officers and men
J. M. CAIELLA
The Yosemite in the Measure 32/3ax camouflage— 5-L light gray, 5-O ocean gray, and dull black—in which she went to war. The portside design differed from that employed on the starboard. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
During the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, the Yosemite provided services for destroyers at Kingston, Jamaica. Many years after that dangerous confrontation, she also played a small part in establishing the groundwork for what President George H. W. Bush called “a better U.S.-Soviet relationship . . . an instrument of positive change for the world”—the end of the Cold War. On 3 December 1989, upon the conclusion of summit talks at Malta between Bush and Soviet Chairman Mikhail Gorbachev, the President thanked the captain and crew of the guided-missile cruiser Belknap (CG-26) for their “great support.” The Belknap’s commanding officer in turn praised the Yosemite’s “superb support under often difficult short-fuse conditions”
NAVAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE COMMAND
The Yosemite provides services for the guided-missile destroyer Tattnall (DDG-19) and guided-missile cruiser Dale (CG-19) as they lie alongside, ca. 1989. By coincidence the cruiser, destroyer, and tender share the same hull number. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
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as the cruiser and her men had prepared for the presidential visit. The tender’s captain, Harlan R. Bankert Jr. (who had enlisted three months before the Cuban crisis began), noted that his ship’s carpenter shop, print shop, and sail loft had “played a helpful role in the successful completion of the presidential summit.” Certainly, the Belknap’s commanding officer contended, “we could not have accomplished what had to be done without Yosemite’s help. That you did it all with a positive, can-do approach is the hallmark of a great tender.” Cancellation of the Yosemite’s July 1993 deployment saddened Lieutenant Michael A. Boslet, her chief engineer, who considered his tour in the venerable tender the biggest challenge of his career. “It would have been nice to deploy one last time,” Boslet lamented, “I think she has some miles left in her.” The Yosemite was decommissioned on 27 January 1994 at Naval Station Mayport, and her “Don’t Tread on Me” jack— flown by the oldest ship in continuous commission—consequently was transferred to the repair ship Jason (AR-8). Stricken from the Naval Vessel Register on the same day, The Busy Lady met her end nearly a decade later, on 18 November 2003, as she served the Fleet for one final time—a target in a Fleet training exercise. Admiral Arleigh A. Burke, who had flown his flag in the Yosemite as commander, Destroyers, Atlantic Fleet, shortly before he became Chief of Naval Operations, fondly remembered her as “not one of the grand dames of the fleet, but [one that could] repair wounds, care for their crews, and fix their ailments. Without her,” he maintained with a certainty that reflected his experience as a destroyerman, “[the ships of the Fleet] could not have done their duty. She was a true Battle Fleet tender!”
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e will forever gaze out at us from an iconic World War II photograph, sitting in the cockpit of his Grumman F4F Wildcat fighter with the sun on his face and his hunter’s eyes trained into the distance. John Lucian Smith was once the leading American fighter ace of World War II, downing 19 enemy plan s during the first horrific weeks of the Battle of Guadalcanal. Two months later, President Franklin D. Roosevelt presented him with the Medal of Honor at the White House. Yet the fire that burned in him so brightly as the resolute and inspiring combat leader of Marine Fighter Squadron (VMF) 223 eventually flamed o t. Thirty years later, at age 57, he walked into the backyard of his Encino, Californ a, home and took his own life. By any measure, he was an extraordinary man. Smith was born on 26 December 1914 in the small prairie town of Lexington, Oklahoma. His father, R. O. mith, worked as a rural-route carrier, delivering mail in a donkey cart. His other, Pearl, took over the route on R. O ’s day off. John was the youngest of four brothers. The family was close. Quiet and polite, John proved to be good at most everything he tackled, excelling at football, baseball, horsemanship, and games. His quick, orderly mind also allowed him to succeed academically, although he decided to skip his high school graduation to go on a hunting trip. He then attended the University of Oklahoma, where he major d in accounting and joined the Reserve Officers Training Corps—shoveling coal at the university’s power plant to help pay tuition and expenses. The Marine Corps Gains a Pilot After graduation in May 1936, he was commissioned into the U.S. Army Field Artillery, resigning in July 1936 to join the U.S. Marine Corps as a second lieutenant. In July 1938, he began light training at Pensacola, Florida, and earned his wings as a naval aviator. He was at an officer’s-club dance in Norfolk, Virgini , when he met ouise Outland, who had just earned her master’s degree in English literature at Old Dominion University. They were married in 1941. The y ung accountant proved to be a superb pilot. First assigned to a dive-bomber squadron, he
ART COLLECTION, NATIONAL MUSEUM OF THE MARINE CORPS, TRIANGLE, VIRGINIA; INSET: NATIONAL ARCHIVES
Marine Sergeant Hugh Laidman’s painting At the Edge of Henderson Field centers on a Grumman F4F Wildcat, the storied U.S. fighter that sustained the U.S. campaign on Guadalcanal in 1942. The commander of the lone Marine Corps fighter squadron initially on the island, Captain John L. Smith (inset), led by example, shooting down 19 enemy aircraft. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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transferred to fighters. On 2 August 1942, After the Japanese atVMF-223 left Pearl tack on Pearl Harbor, Harbor on board the his squadron was part escort carrier Long of the naval task force Island (CVE-1). Secordered by the Pacific ond Lieutenant Fred Fleet commanderGutt got acquainted in-chief, Admiral with his commanding Husband Kimmel, to officer quickly after reinforce the garriSmith stopped him son at Wake Island. on deck to ask if he When that order was played bridge. Gutt rescinded by Kimmel’s said yes; they began successor on 22 Deplaying every night. cember due to his fear Sometimes one of incurring further Captain Smith (center, holding a bottle) and his young pilots of VMF-223 can take the measure losses, Smith’s fighter unwind at night in their area on Guadalcanal, certain that whatever sleep they of a man in a serisquadron remained at might get will be interrupted by Japanese bombers or naval gunfire targeting ous bridge game, and Midway Atoll to con- their airfield. Thousands of miles from home in a remote jungle outpost, several Gutt drew several tinue training. conclusions about his of the Marines nonetheless are sporting civilian pajamas. Shortly before the CO: He was definitely Battle of Midway in decisive, and, with his June 1942, Captain Smith was ordered to Pearl Harbor to mathematician’s mind, he had an amazing ability to keep take command of newly created VMF-223. Most of his pitrack of cards as they were played. He also had the knack lots were green second lieutenants fresh from flight school; of being able to “read” his opponents. Smith’s first task was to mold them into a fighting unit. Costly Triumphs over Guadalcanal He put his pilots into the air every day, practicing gunnery and aerial drills. When they weren’t flying, he had them On the morning of 7 August 1942, the 1st Marine Divistudying intelligence reports from the first confrontations sion under Major General Alexander A. Vandegrift landed between Grumman Wildcats and Japanese Zeros at the on the beaches of Guadalcanal in the first American ofbattles of the Coral Sea and Midway. fensive of the Pacific war, quickly capturing the Japanese Smith was fortunate to have two experienced pilots asairfield being constructed there. But the outcome was soon signed to him. Captain Rivers Morrell Jr., a former standout in doubt. Invasion-force commander Vice Admiral Frank on the U.S. Naval Academy football team, was his execuJack Fletcher, concerned about the vulnerability of his tive officer. Captain Marion E. Carl, who had shot down carriers to Japanese aircraft, withdrew his force from the a Zero at Midway, was the engineering officer. beachhead on the evening of 8 August—before half the The younger pilots included Roy Corry, who had scored Marines’ supplies and heavy equipment could be unloaded. two victories at Midway. Smith appointed him gunnery In the months that followed, Japanese efforts to retake officer. Charles “Red” Kendrick was a recent Harvard Law the airfield led to three major land battles and seven great School graduate, and Smith made him the navigation ofnaval clashes. At stake was Japan’s aspiration to a Pacific ficer. Noyes “Scotty” McLennan, fresh out of Yale, proved empire. On the same night Fletcher pulled out, the U.S. to be an excellent aerial tactician. Ken Frazier was the Navy suffered the worst disaster of its history at the Battle most aggressive of the lot. As with every squadron, there of Savo Island (see story, p. 24). Four Allied heavy cruisers were unusual characters, including the slow-moving “Rapid were sunk and another was badly damaged; the Japanese Robert” Read, and newlywed Elwood Bailey, who comdidn’t lose a ship. plained that he had only been allowed one night with his With the U.S. Navy gone, Japanese warplanes bombed bride before shipping out. All in that group were second and strafed the Marine positions on Guadalcanal as they lieutenants. pleased. Without air support, the Americans could only To his enlisted Marines, John Lucian Smith was “Skipendure the daily pounding in their trenches and foxholes. per.” To his peers he wasn’t a “Jack” or a “Johnny”—just By night, Japanese ships landed more troops to reinforce simply “John L.” He didn’t invite familiarity and he drove their garrison. Morale fell with each passing day. his men hard, but they knew that his tough training regiOn 20 August 1942, the Long Island launched Smith’s men might someday save their lives. fighter squadron, along with a dive-bomber squadron, under REX HAMILTON
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the overall command of Major Dick Mangrum. Seventyfive minutes later, the planes began to land at newly named Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. “Thank God you’ve come,” said an emotional General Vandegrift. Smith and his pilots set up camp next to the airfield before night fell. They were barely asleep when Japanese shock troops made their first assault against the Marine defensive perimeter, losing nearly 1,000 dead in an unsuccessful attack. The following day, Smith led four F4F Wildcats on their first patrol. Over Savo Island he spotted six Zeros heading south, and turned to meet them. The first Zero in line fired a machine-gun burst at him before diving out of sight. Smith rolled over and fired at the next Zero in line. It spiraled down. Later, when he had brought the flight home, Smith didn’t boast about that first kill. Instead he spoke to his pilots about the superior qualities of the Zero and the skill of Japanese aviators. Unending Aerial Combat From then on, the Marine fliers were in the air almost every day. When coast-watchers would radio that a Japanese aircraft formation was on its way, a scramble flag was run up in front of the operations tent. Within minutes the pilots were clawing their way through the air to gain altitude. VMF-223’s assignment was to destroy enemy bombers. When Smith saw that the Japanese usually attacked in a large V formation with the bombers in the lead and the Zeros behind, he concluded that a hit-and-run strategy would give his pilots the best chance of success. He ordered them to go after the bombers with overhead or
high-side attacks to avoid the bombers’ tail guns. If the Zeros engaged the Wildcats, his pilots were to fire a burst or two and disengage. The Wildcats flew in pairs. In a dogfight, the wingman would try to shoot the Zero off the element-leader’s tail. An important victory for the Americans came on 24 August, when ten enemy bombers and six Zeros were destroyed. Marion Carl was credited with four kills, making him the first Marine Corps ace of the war. There was a cost. Elwood Bailey disappeared over the sea after shooting down two Zeros. Fred Gutt was seriously wounded in a dogfight. Roy Corry vanished after attacking a flight of Zeros. “Rapid Robert” Read was wounded when a Zero shot up his plane as it was lifting off the field. He was forced to ditch into the sea. Outnumbered in every action, Smith knew VMF-223 couldn’t win a battle of attrition. He told his pilots it would only get rougher and that they had to pull together. The only way to stop the relentless Japanese was to knock them down and survive to fight again. In the next three days, Smith shot down four more bombers. On 30 August, he and his wingman Red Kendrick were at 28,000 feet over Guadalcanal when he spotted 22 Zeros below them. Diving, Smith closed on one of the planes and opened fire. It exploded. Another Zero emerged from a cloud and he locked in behind it. Another quick burst and it blew up. A third Zero came at him head-on and they both opened fire as the planes closed at a combined speed of 500 knots. Flames began shooting up out of the Japanese
THE PETER B. MERSKY COLLECTION
President Franklin D. Roosevelt, with an assist from Louise Smith—John L.’s wife—presents the Medal of Honor to Major Smith at the White House in February 1943. When he had received the Navy Cross the previous October, Smith had written to his wife that he was “proud to get it, except that [his superiors] think that it is good payment for seeing young pilots who are sharing my tent go down in flames day after day.” N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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fighter’s cockpit, and Smith saw the enemy pilot’s head on fire as he flashed past. Smith observed another Zero as he was descending to land, and closed to within 50 feet before opening fire. The Zero flew straight into the ground. Triumphs Come with Mounting Toll
newly nicknamed Cactus Air Force (for the island’s code name). Geiger informed him that in Carl’s absence, John L. had raised his victory total to 16. Carl remained at 12. “Goddammit, General, ground him for five days,” Carl responded. Smith kept his men focused on destroying Japanese bombers, but there were always more the next day. In the face of almost insurmountable odds, he was unwavering. They would fly until there were no planes left or they were relieved. His pilots had started out respecting him. The ones now remaining were in awe. On 30 September, Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, commander of the Pacific Fleet, flew to Guadalcanal to find out if it could be held. While there, he took the opportunity to personally decorate VMF-223’s Smith and Carl with the Navy Cross. Red Kendrick and Second Lieutenant Willis Lees III received the Distinguished Flying Cross.
From 21 August to 11 September, the Imperial Japanese Navy launched more than 300 air sorties against Guadalcanal. The fighter pilots of VMF-223 (reinforced by VMF224 on 30 August) claimed the destruction of 29 Zeros, 37 bombers, and 11 single-engine carrier bombers. And Smith continued to lose pilots. On 5 September, Rivers Morrell was wounded and put out of action. On the 13th, Scotty McLennan, the Yale man who had shot down three enemy planes, disappeared after a fight with six Zeros. Every night the airfield was bombed or shelled by Japanese planes, ships, and submarines. The pilots sat around their campsite in pajamas, sometimes sharing a bottle of whiskey. They were now contending with skin rashes, ‘I Am Sick of the Whole Mess’ malaria, crotch rot, hives, and dysentery, while subsisting largely on Japanese rice, dehydrated potatoes, and black Two days later, coast-watchers failed to detect a major coffee. The whiskey helped them sleep. Japanese air attack. The formation was closing when Smith By early September John L. Smith had shot down 12 led his Wildcats up to meet the threat. Bursting through Japanese planes, Marion the top cloud layer, he saw Carl had destroyed 11, more than 20 Zeros above Second Lieutenant Ken him. Before he could dive Frazier 9, Second Lieutenback into the clouds, they ants Gene Trowbridge and attacked. Zenneth Pond 6 each, and Willis Lees was the first Fred Gutt 4. The friendly to go. His Wildcat aflame, rivalry between Smith and he bailed out and was the gentlemanly, mildnever seen again. Smith’s mannered Carl became plane was riddled with legendary. bullets, but after dropping On 9 September, Carl through another cloud had just shot down a Zero layer, he encountered when his plane was hit three Zeros. He destroyed from behind. His cockpit one, but the other two afire, he bailed out, landscored hits, knocking out ing in the ocean about his carburetor. 30 miles from Henderson After crash-landing, Field. Picked up by a nahe began a five-mile trek tive in a canoe, he spent through Japanese lines. At five days in an epic adone point, he came upon venture of survival before a wrecked Wildcat. It was returning from the dead. Scotty McLennan’s plane, After rounding up his perhis shattered body still insonal effects, which had side. Arriving back at the already been “redistrib- Then–Lieutenant Colonel John L. Smith posed beside the tail section airfield, he was told that uted,” he reported to Ma- of his F4F for this portrait by Albert K. Murray. The onetime leading Red Kendrick was missing, rine Brigadier General Roy fighter ace of World War II was discharged in 1960 at age 45—having believed to have gone down Geiger, the commanding spent 23 years in the Marine Corps and serving in two wars. in nearby jungle. Smith led officer of Guadalcanal’s a search party and found NAVY ART COLLECTION, NAVAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE COMMAND
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the plane, with Red still strapped into the cockpit. They buried him next to the wreckage. Smith poured out his thoughts in a letter to his wife: 5 October 1942. Louise Darling . . . I haven’t the least idea of what’s going to happen to me and this squadron. . . . Have lost the best I started out with. Lost one the same day I was shot down. . . I would have rather it had been me instead of him. Hope I can see his family when I get back and tell them what a swell Marine he was. I know they will be proud of him. He just received the Distinguished Flying Cross. . . . Really no justice in war, or he certainly would have gotten through. I have gotten 18 of them so far and am getting sick of seeing them burn and blow up in my face. Several times I have had to duck to get out of the debris. . . . An Admiral pinned the Navy Cross on me the other morning. I am proud to get it, except that they think that it is good payment for seeing young pilots who are sharing my tent go down in flames day after day. I don’t mind saying that I am sick of the whole mess. . . . All my love to you, John
THE PETER B. MERSKY COLLECTION
Smith was back in combat eight years after the end of World War II, this time Only nine of the original pilots of VMF-223 as a colonel commanding Marine Aircraft Group (MAG) 33 in Korea in were left. 1953. Some believe that his vocal advocacy of Marine aviation kept him from Newly promoted Major Smith would destroy promotion to brigadier general in 1959, a devastating blow to Smith. one more enemy aircraft before the squadron officially was relieved on 11 October 1942. By He ignored it. As he traveled cross-country, Smith reached out then he was the top American fighter ace of the war, and to the families of his squadron-mates who had been killed. Marion Carl was number two. VMF-223 was credited with In February 1943, he was ordered to report to the White more than 100 aerial victories. House. While he and Louise waited to meet President More important, the verdict on Guadalcanal was in. AlFranklin D. Roosevelt, Admiral John “Slew” McCain, who though there would be bitter fighting in the months ahead, had commanded land-based air operations in the theater the Marines were going to hold. VMF-223 had made a that included Guadalcanal, joined them. Louise thought difference. McCain seemed as nervous as they were; when he tried The Nation’s Highest Honor Reaching San Francisco ten days later, Smith was informed that his next assignment would be a war-bond tour. The news didn’t make him happy. When he got to his home in Norfolk, Louise was shocked at his condition. He was yellow from jaundice and in a state of emotional exhaustion. He began the tour in November. At every rally he spoke about the real heroes of the Pacific war, the ones he had served with who hadn’t come back. A Marine Corps publicist sent Smith a message that such “negativity” was hurting bond sales. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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to roll a cigarette, loose tobacco rained down his blues. A few minutes later, Louise watched proudly as President Roosevelt awarded John L. the Medal of Honor. Smith requested another combat assignment in the Pacific and was made executive officer of Marine Air Group (MAG) 32, which was taking part in the liberation of the Philippines. Months later he became the only fighter ace in the war to command an air group. He received the Legion of Merit with combat “V” for his role in providing closeground support for the “mud Marines” in the campaign. When the war ended, Smith stayed in the Corps—it was his life. Not all his surviving squadron-mates from VMF-223
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felt that way. Fred Gutt, who had become an ace with eight victories, had had enough. For every John L. Smith and Marion Carl he had served under, there were too many “horses’ asses” who won commands on seniority rather than merit. Deployed to the Korean conflict in July 1953 as an airgroup commander, now-Colonel Smith flew combat missions in the weeks leading up to the armistice. While keeping the unit combat-ready after the shooting stopped, he spent considerable time assisting refugee children dislocated by the war. Renewing Family Ties Over the next four years he served in a number of staff and operational billets, always advocating aggressively for a strengthened Marine air arm. His message was not always well received. While stationed at Quantico, Virginia, he began to focus on his three children, John L. Jr., Caroline, and Owen. When 12-year-old Caroline showed an interest in horseback riding, he renewed his own interest, buying a big palomino and teaching Caroline how to jump. He seemed to instinctively know how to overcome her fears. Soon she was jumping four-foot fences. At one of the Quantico parades, a horse ahead of them bolted, carrying away its female rider. Smith took off in pursuit, caught up to the galloping horse, and whisked the woman safely out of the saddle. One year he traveled by car across the country with his son Owen. After visiting the Grand Canyon, they stopped at John’s Oklahoma birthplace, taking a photograph there in front of the sign erected to celebrate the town’s most famous son. Later, Smith went calling on some of his mother’s old friends, now in their 80s. Owen had never seen his father be deferential to any man, but around the crocheting ladies he was like a schoolboy. In 1958 Smith took his family to a dedication ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery for the Tomb of the Unknowns of World War II and Korea. President Dwight D. Eisenhower invited Smith to join him for a brief prayer service out of the public eye.
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Marion Carl, who considered Smith the finest combat leader he had ever known, was certain that his friend would make brigadier general, but in 1959 Smith was passed over for promotion. Carl concluded that he had alienated senior ground officers by lobbying too strongly for Marine air. It was a bitter blow for Smith. Depression and Discharge On 30 December 1959, Smith checked himself into Bethesda Naval Hospital and asked for help in dealing with depression. After being admitted, he was placed in a locked psychiatric ward. Told that the medical staff was on holiday, he then spent the next 12 days in confinement. Marion Carl visited him in the hospital, but there was nothing he could do to help his friend. On 10 January 1960, he had his first consultation—with a flight surgeon doing temporary work in psychiatry while pursuing a career in space medicine. From 10 January to 15 February, Smith had seven 30-minute sessions with the doctor, after which he was officially diagnosed with “Depression Condition #3140.” A clinical board summary—based solely on the flight surgeon’s diagnosis—said: “He has now received maximum benefit of hospitalization and further treatment is not indicated at this time.” Aside from the seven conferences, he had received no treatment. John L. Smith was discharged from the Marine Corps on 30 September 1960, deemed unfit for duty. During his 23year career, he had earned the Medal of Honor, Navy Cross, Distinguished Flying Cross, Legion of Merit, Silver Star, five Bronze Stars, Britain’s Distinguished Service Order, and more than a dozen other medals and decorations. A source of pride soon after, however, was being invited to the White House in 1962 to meet a fellow decorated veteran of the Solomon Islands campaign, President John F. Kennedy. They shared a few words in the Rose Garden. Soon after being discharged, Smith began working as a marketing executive in the aerospace industry, spending more than ten years at the Rocketdyne Corporation in California. According to his daughter, Caroline, he didn’t enjoy some
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aspects of the work—it was called “marketing” but more often it was mere gladhanding. He bristled at being trotted out to play golf with potential customers and being introduced as “John L. Smith, our Medal of Honor winner.” But it was part of the job. Rocketdyne laid him off in 1972, when he was 57. He was unable to find another job, but later that year he joined the other survivors from VMF-223 in San Diego to mark the 30-year anniversary of their Guadalcanal service. Fred Gutt, at the time a building contractor, was thrilled to see him again. “John L.” appeared to be enjoying life and looked great. A month after the reunion, Fred received a phone call from 223 squadronmate Conrad Winter, who told him that their beloved CO had shot himself. Both were shocked and devastated. There was never any pretense in John Lucian Smith. From the quiet boy who grew up on the Oklahoma prairie to the celebrated war hero honored by three presidents and interred at Arlington National Cemetery, he lived his life simply and directly. His philosophy of leadership can be summed up in a statement he made to a fellow Marine officer in 1942 during the Battle of Guadalcanal: “I’m a rifleman commanding a fighter squadron.” Sources: The material related to the personal life of John L. Smith came from interviews with his son Owen Ballard Smith and his daughter, Caroline Smith Wilson. Owen Smith provided his father’s personal wartime letters along with the official records related to his hospitalization in 1960. Peter Mersky provided the accounts of Louise Outland Smith’s wartime recollections from personal interviews. For material related to Smith’s combat service, the author relied on interviews with Fred Gutt, who served under Smith in VMF-223; Barrett Tillman; John B. Lundstrom; Col. Joseph Alexander; and Bruce Carl, the son of Major General Marion Carl; along with written contributions from Frank Olynyk. Books and periodical sources included The First Team and the Guadalcanal Campaign, by John B. Lundstrom (Naval Institute Press, 1993); Guadalcanal, by Richard B. Frank (Random House, 1990); Pushing the Envelope: The Career of Fighter Ace and Test Pilot Marion Carl, by Marion Carl with Barrett Tillman (Naval Institute Press, 1994); The Cactus Air Force, by Thomas G. Miller Jr. (Harper & Row, 1969); Guadalcanal Diary, by Richard Tregaskis (Penguin, 1943); A History of Marine Attack Squadron 223, by First Lieutenant Brett A. Jones, USMC (Marine Corps History and Museums Division, 1978); Life magazine, 7 December 1942; Van Nuys (CA) News, 16 June 1972; The Oklahoman, 6 January 1948. Websites included Arlington National Cemetery (arlingtoncemetery.net/johnluci.htm.) and acepilots.com.
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Composure amid a
NAVAL DISASTER BY JOHN J. DOMAGALSKI
At the Battle of Savo Island, the first Allied warship to spot the approaching Japanese immediately found herself in a desperate fight for survival.
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s Commander Frank R. Walker stood on the bridge of the USS Patterson (DD-392) late on the dark night of 8 August 1942, he could look back with satisfaction on his destroyer’s actions over the past 36 hours. U.S. Marines had splashed ashore on Guadalcanal early on the 7th. Later that day, the Patterson and other Allied warships screening the amphibious operation’s transports fought off Japanese heavy-bomber and dive-bomber attacks. Then, at noon on the 8th, 21 enemy torpedo planes were spotted quickly approaching. The destroyer increased speed to 25 knots, and during the ensuing battle she shot down four of the aircraft. Nearly 12 hours later, the Patterson was still at work. She along with the Bagley (DD-386), Chicago (CA-29), and Australian heavy cruiser Canberra formed one of three cruiser groups guarding the approaches to Guadalcanal. The ships were plodding along at 12 knots heading in a northwesterly direction. Some distance behind the Patterson was Lunga Point, where the Marines had landed. Directly ahead was a 7½-mile-wide gap, between Guadalcanal and adjacent Savo Island. Past the narrow waterway lay the unfriendly waters of the Japanese Empire. While air attacks were the main threat during daylight, the dark hours were spent guarding the approaches to the landing zone against Japanese surface ships and submarines. The ships patrolled along a straight line. “Course was reversed roughly each hour,” Walker later wrote. The Patterson held her position almost 2,000 yards off the port bow of the Canberra as midnight ushered in the start of a new day—one that would soon witness one of the most ferocious night battles in naval history.
Abrupt End to a Routine Patrol The patrol this night would prove to be very different than the night before. Unknown to Walker, a group of Japanese ships was about to enter the area. In response to the surprise American invasion of Guadalcanal, a hastily assembled force of eight ships had left the Japanese base at Rabaul, almost 600 miles to the northwest. Under the direct command of Admiral Gunichi Mikawa, the five heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and single destroyer intended to destroy American shipping in the Guadalcanal area in a bold night attack. Several sighting reports by Allied planes rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE
As seen from high in the heavy cruiser Chokai’s superstructure, flares dropped by Japanese floatplanes illuminate the night during the opening moments of the confusing Battle of Savo Island. Seconds earlier, the destroyer Patterson had sent out warnings of approaching vessels to nearby Allied ships. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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had failed to sound the alarm. The arrival of the small Japanese fleet would come as a surprise. The approaching enemy ships and Walker’s Patterson were on a collision course. The routine Allied patrol continued into the early morning hours. Topside lookouts on board the Patterson intently scanned the horizon for any signs of activity, while crewmen belowdecks watched over the destroyer’s boilers and engines. Condition of readiness two was set for the main battery, resulting in half of the normal gun crew being awake and alert at the mounts. At about 0146, the silence of the night was suddenly shattered when a lookout on board the Patterson sighted a ship dead ahead at an estimated distance of 5,000 yards. While the unidentified vessel appeared to be close to the western edge of Savo Island, she was actually near a large cloud bank that was hovering just off the land mass. The ship was the Japanese heavy cruiser Furutaka, which was positioned fifth in the column of approaching enemy ships. Commander Walker’s reaction was instantaneous. Correctly assuming that the ship was not friendly, he immediately ordered his destroyer to general quarters and rang up full speed. The alarm sent men racing across the ship to their assigned battle stations. Walker then ordered that a warning message be sent out to notify all ships of the contact. Within a minute, a blinker message was quickly sent in the direction of the Canberra and Chicago. At almost the same time, a message was sent via TBS (talk between ships) radio: “Warning! Warning! Strange ships entering the harbor.” The alerts, however, came too late or would go unheeded. Not all Allied ships were equipped with the short-range radio. Those that did receive the message were unable to take action before being engulfed in battle. Unknown to sailors on board the Patterson, the approaching Japanese had spotted the Allied ships almost ten minutes earlier. A frenetically paced sequence of events followed during which Commander Walker would be fighting for the very survival of his ship. No sooner had the Patterson’s warning messages been transmitted when Japanese cruiser float planes dropped a string of parachute flares. Slowly drifting down through the clouds, the flares brilliantly illuminated the night. Positioned behind the Allied ships, they perfectly silhouetted the Canberra and Chicago against the dark background. Japanese gunners almost immediately opened fire on the Australian cruiser. By the time the Canberra received the Patterson’s blinker message, she was under heavy fire and sustaining serious damage. A Confusing Night Fight Determined to get his ship into the developing fight, Walker ordered the Patterson to turn to port in an effort to unmask her guns and torpedo batteries. It seemed to be
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USS Patterson (DD-392), Bagley-class destroyer
20-mm Oerlikon gun
5-inch/38-caliber guns in open pedestal mounts
Depth charges in stern racks
Searchlight
No. 3 gun crew shelter
21-inch quadruple torpedo mounts
No. 4 gun crew shelter
Depth charges on K guns and in racks
a good setup for firing a spread of torpedoes at the Furutaka. As the destroyer steadied on a more westerly heading, Walker barked the order “fire torpedoes,” and the destroyer’s 5-inch guns shot off two four-gun starshell spreads. The captain soon learned, however, that the torpedoes never left the ship. “It was discovered that the order to ‘fire torpedoes’ had not been heard by the torpedo officer, apparently due to gunfire,” Walker recounted. The target was then seen to change course and move away to the north. The opportunity to score an early blow against the Japanese intruders was gone. Just as the Furutaka passed to the north, spotters on board the Patterson identified two more Japanese ships. The vessels appeared to be a Mogami-type heavy cruiser and a Jintsu-class light cruiser. The lookouts actually had spotted the light cruisers Tenryu and Yubari, which were the last two ships in the Japanese column. Appreciating the urgency of the situation, Walker then personally sent another warning message over the TBS: “All ships. Three ships coming in Lengo Channel.” At about the same time, a Japanese torpedo passed near the destroyer. “Assistant gunnery officer observed torpedo wake about fifty yards off the starboard quarter,” Walker reported of the moment. The torpedo came compliments of the Furutaka. The Japanese cruiser later reported, “Fired torpedoes at a large type destroyer proceeding on an opposite course and sank it with two hits.” Not even touched, the Patterson was still very much in the fight. As gun number three continued to fire illumination shells, the remaining mounts opened fire on the new tar-
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20-mm Oerlikon gun
gets with ready-service ammunition. The Japanese ships were thought to be about 2,000 yards off the destroyer’s starboard bow. The Patterson’s deck log noted, “This ship was the first ship to fire at the enemy.” The Japanese light cruisers suddenly snapped on searchlights, bathing the Patterson in beams of light. Using these as an aiming guide, the Tenryu and Yubari opened fire. Walker zigzagged his destroyer at high speed as the running gunfight continued. But while the Patterson was maneuvering, a shell slammed into the crew shelter of the number four 5-inch gun mount in the after part of the ship. The hit quickly ignited a few rounds of ready-service powder in the upper handling room under gun four. Before long the destroyer’s entire stern section was in flames. Destroyermen’s Sacrifice and Heroism When the night battle started, the Patterson’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Albert F. White, was not on duty, but he jumped into action at the sound of the general-quarters alarm. After briefly reporting to the bridge, White headed aft to his battle station. “On my way to secondary conn the ship was hit in number four handling room,” he later reported. “I proceeded to the scene and found a raging fire burning.” By the time White arrived, members of the repair party were already there. Under the direction of Lieutenant (junior grade) Donald Quigley, streams of water were dousing the flames. Quigley suffered second-degree burns while fighting the fire in the handling room. Other members of the repair party threw flaming U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Mark 33 gun director
20-mm Oerlikon gun
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5-inch/38-caliber guns in enclosed mounts
debris overboard. “The fire was extinguished in remarkably short time,” White noted. The shell hit and resulting fire took a heavy toll on the Patterson’s crew. Shipfitter Third Class Zigmund Sieruta, a member of the number three gun crew, was killed almost immediately. Seaman First Class J. B. Guess and Charles Stephenson, the latter a shellman on the number three gun, were gravely wounded. Both later died of their injuries. Seven other men were reported missing. Among those presumed dead was Torpedoman’s Mate Third Class Edwin Starrett. He was near the depth-charge racks at the fantail and may have died in the initial explosion or been thrown overboard. Two of the missing sailors were part of the number four gun crew. Seaman First Class Keith Silva, a hot shellman, was last seen at the portside door to the upper
handling room. Seaman First Class Carl Kopischka was a fuse-setter positioned on the main deck near his battle station. The four other missing sailors were stationed at the scene of the explosion in the handling room. There was no shortage in acts of heroism in the time immediately following the explosion. After the blast in the handling room had set a sailor’s clothes on fire, a fuse-setter on gun number four, Storekeeper Third Class Edward Terrill, ripped off the burning man’s clothes and prevented him from jumping overboard. Terrill suffered first- and seconddegree burns on his left hand as a result of the actions. A crewman on a 20-mm gun mount, Seaman Second Class Donald Millikin, was wounded by shrapnel from the explosion. “Although painfully injured, Millikin did not let on that he had been hit and continued to man his station,” White reported. It was only after another sailor bumped into Millikin, causing him to slump over, that the injury was discovered. “He deserves high praise for his devotion to duty and for the fortitude he displayed,” White added. The explosion and fire caused extensive damage in the area surrounding the number three upper handling room, twisting and bulging decks and bulkheads, which were riddled with holes of various sizes. Both of the after 5-inch gun mounts were damaged. The number three gun was no longer operational, as various indicators were smashed and electrical power cables cut. The number four mount sustained less damage and was still workable. Abrupt End and Then Aftermath With the fire squelched and the wounded being attended, it was time for the Patterson to rejoin the fight. Chief Gunner’s Mate R. V. Olson, who had played a key role in helping put out the handling-room fire, promptly organized a new gun crew for the number four mount to replace the casualty-riddled original crew. Commander Walker had continued to swing the Patterson around until she steadied on an easterly heading. The three operational guns resumed firing as soon as the
U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE
The Japanese heavy cruiser Furutaka perhaps escaped being damaged or sunk when the Patterson’s torpedo officer failed to hear an order from the destroyer’s captain to fire torpedoes. But two months later, torpedoes and shell fire sent the cruiser to the bottom during the Battle of Cape Esperance. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
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mounts were able to bear off the port side. “Guns one, two and four maintaining rapid and accurate fire,” Walker later wrote. Aiding the cause was one of the Patterson’s starshells, which had illuminated the light cruiser Yubari. “Several hits obtained on the rear cruiser, extinguishing searchlight and causing fire amidships,” Walker continued. His claim was supported by an observer on board the nearby Chicago.
destroyer was “the only American ship that was properly awake.” One cannot help but ponder the possibilities of what might otherwise have happened. What if the Patterson’s torpedoes had been unleashed when ordered and scored a hit against the Furutaka, or Walker’s desperate warnings been properly acted upon? Would it have changed the course of the battle?
NAVAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE COMMAND
The destroyer USS Blue is alongside the burning Australian cruiser Canberra’s bow as the Patterson approaches the stricken ship’s stern several hours after the battle. Before the Canberra sank, the Patterson took aboard around 400 of her survivors. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
The heavy cruiser had taken a torpedo in the bow, and her guns were unable to find the Japanese ships. The Yubari also reported receiving “some scratches” at about this time. The shooting ended about 0150 as the Tenryu and Yubari turned north. The gun battle had been brief but vicious. The Patterson had expended 70 rounds of 5-inch ammunition, including 20 illumination shells. Walker initially kept his destroyer on an easterly heading in an attempt to follow the Japanese. However, it soon became clear that he would be unable to close on the enemy. The battle was over for the Patterson. In its aftermath the destroyer patrolled with the damaged Chicago and came to the aid of the stricken Canberra. The Australian cruiser, which had been smothered by Japanese shells in the opening minutes of the fight, was now a burning derelict. She would not last much longer. Just before 0700, the destroyer took aboard almost 400 Australian survivors and proceeded to the transport area off Guadalcanal. In addition to taking care of the Australians, it was time for the Patterson’s crew to take care of its own. A solemn ceremony took place on board the destroyer at 1130. Following Navy tradition, Zigmund Sieruta, J. B. Guess, and Charles Stephenson were buried at sea. The Battle of Savo Island was a costly American naval defeat. In its first large-scale night encounter with the Japanese, the U.S. Navy had been mauled. Although the Guadalcanal operation survived, four Allied heavy cruisers had been lost. Several other ships, including the Patterson, sustained varying degrees of damage. The Japanese ships escaped with only minor damage. History has treated the Patterson kindly for her role in the naval debacle. Samuel Eliot Morison noted that the
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Well deserved credit goes to Commander Walker and his men. “He is to be commended for the excellent judgment he displayed in all situations arising throughout the night and for his fine seamanship,” Albert White later wrote of his captain. The executive officer did not neglect the rest of the crew. “Throughout the action the members of the crew of this vessel displayed the utmost courage, performed their duties efficiently and in every way upheld the finest traditions of the navy.” Lieutenant Commander White is also worthy of commendation and should not be forgotten for his quick actions while his ship was engaged in a gunfight in the dark waters off Guadalcanal. Sources: Richard W. Bates and Walter D. Innis, The Battle of Savo Island August 9, 1942: Strategical and Technical Analysis (Newport RI: U.S. Naval War College, 1950). CA Furutaka Action Record, Records of Japanese Navy & Related Documents, Translations, 1941–1946, Naval History and Heritage Command, Washington, DC. Norman Friedman, U.S. Naval Weapons: Every Gun, Missile, Mine and Torpedo Used by the U.S. Navy from 1883 to the Present Day (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1982). Samuel Eliot Morison, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, vol. 5: The Struggle for Guadalcanal (Boston: Little, Brown, 1951). USS Chicago Action Report, 13 August 1942, “Report of Action against Enemy Forces August 9, 1942, Guadalcanal-Tulagi Area,” National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, MD (hereafter NARA). USS Patterson Action Report, 10 August 1942, “Action with Enemy Planes (Japanese) Guadalcanal Tulagi Area, 7-8 August 1942,” NARA. USS Patterson Action Report, 13 August 1942, “Engagement with the Enemy (Japanese) Surface Ships Night 8-9 August in Savo-Guadalcanal-Tulagi Island Group Solomon Islands,” NARA. USS Patterson, Deck Log, 9 August 1942, NARA. USS Quincy Action Report, 16 August 1942, “Report of the Engagement the Morning of August 9, 1942 off Guadalcanal Island in which the U.S.S. Quincy participated,” NARA. USS Ralph Talbot Action Report, 11 August 1942, “Preliminary Report of Action on 8-9 August, 1942,” enclosure A, NARA.
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Observations of
‘the Canal’ INTERVIEW WITH MASTER TECHNICAL SERGEANT JAMES W. HURLBUT, U.S. MARINE CORPS RESERVE
The Marines’ first combat correspondent to see action in World War II answers questions about Guadalcanal.
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ften lost in the history of the Guadalcanal campaign is the fact that the six-month battle witnessed the first deployment of Marine Corps Combat Correspondents. Brigadier General Robert L. Denig, director of public relations for the Corps, had begun organizing the correspondents program in early 1942. According to Herbert Merillat, who was recruited into the program, “The idea, as it evolved, was to assist the civilian press in the field and to supplement war reporting of the usual kind with more detailed descriptions of what individual units were doing and, above all, what individual marines were doing.” Commissioned and non-commissioned Marine officers who had been prewar journalists were assigned to major units. While the NCOs were known as correspondents, technically the commissioned officers were public-relations officers.1 When the 1st Marine Division splashed ashore on Guadalcanal on 7 August 1942, two members of the program landed with them—Second Lieutenant Merillat and Sergeant James Hurlbut. After studying journalism at Northwestern University, Hurlbut had worked for newspapers in Chicago before enlisting in the Marines and serving on the staff of Leatherneck magazine. He left the Corps and became a Washington Post reporter in 1933. Prior to his re-enlistment in 1942, he was working for a Washington, D.C., radio station.2 On 10 March 1943, Hurlbut was back in Washington, meeting with Navy Department representatives about his Guadalcanal experiences. After delivering a prepared statement about the course of the long battle, the sergeant answered questions about the enemy and fighting on “the Canal.” What follows are excerpts from that interview.3
NATIONAL ARCHIVES
Question: How were the Japs on marksmanship? Answer: I think the reports of the Japanese marksmanship were greatly exaggerated. All Japanese were given credit for being snipers, and I think it is merely the fact that that is usually the kind of firing that goes on in jungle fighting. We found very few Japanese equipped with superior weapons and
Q: Were they able to lug much lead themselves, were they tough or how did they react to our Springfield [rifle] fire? A: They are very tough. Of course, we had a great many automatic weapons of the .45-caliber class—Reising guns, subThompson—and one slug from a .45-caliber weapon will usually stop anybody, including the Japanese. Our .30-caliber is also capable of stopping the Japanese with
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apparently only these few were qualified as real marksmen or snipers. I know of one occasion, a lieutenant, who had one of the platoons at the Matanikau River, reported that he had been distinctly fired on at least 50 times during one afternoon’s action and never been hit, which might give some idea of the relative superiority of our marksmanship over the Japanese.
Marine/journalist James Hurlbut’s fascinating career included reporting from Guadalcanal, serving as technical adviser on the movie Guadalcanal Diary, and appearing as a correspondent on the first broadcast of the Today show. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Q: They used .25-caliber guns, didn’t they? A: Yes sir, in the main. They also had some .30-06 rifles which they have captured from the British someplace down the line. The .25-caliber [Type 38 Arisaka rifle] has a high muzzle velocity but doesn’t have a great deal of shocking power. Several men reported having been hit at least two or three times and still able to continue.
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a hit anywhere in a vital area. They never were able to materialize one of their banzai charges to the point of personal contact, hand-to-hand contact, because our superior automatic-weapon fire would mow down a bayonet charge before it ever got in close. Q: How were they in bayonet fighting? A: We didn’t have much chance to find out, sir, they were mowed down before they got in. I don’t think that they are at all equal to the average Marine as far as bayonet fighting is concerned judging from the few occasions when we did have handto-hand combat. They appear to be tough,
the Japanese supply line and the Japanese suffered greatly from malnutrition and also from malaria during the last stages of the campaign—probably a contributing factor in their ultimate defeat. Q: What did their medical outfit consist of? A: We found that they did not have much in the way of medical equipment. . . . The times that we made contact with them before we left the island we found that that was one of the things that caused a great problem to the Japanese, taking care of their wounded. We went into one bivouac area, incidentally, and found
NATIONAL ARCHIVES
Mainly armed with Springfield rifles and Browning automatic rifles, a squad of lean Marines returns from a Guadalcanal patrol with a Japanese prisoner. According to Sergeant Hurlbut, while the Japanese were “very tough,” they were not the equal of Marines in marksmanship or bayonet fighting. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
courageous, wiry, but not a match for the average American soldier or Marine. Q: Did they appear well fed? What did you find mostly their rations consisted of? A: Almost every soldier that we found carried with him two bags of uncooked rice, and also some small biscuits, wrapped up in a waterproof container, which looked suspiciously like dog biscuit to us. We understood that these bags of rice were supposed to be sufficient food for a two-week period. However, of course, we intercepted
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160 dead Japanese . . . with no marks of violence on their bodies. Apparently they had died either from malaria or starvation or a combination of both. Q: What did their clothing consist of, the Japanese clothing? A: They also wore the same type of dungaree that the American troops did, although their dungarees were cut a little differently than ours and usually the pants were cut as breeches rather than having the straight trouser leg. They wore a short,
wrapped puttee, and almost all of them wore the two-toed, rubber-soled, jungle shoe. The helmet of the Japanese soldier is quite similar to ours in appearance and causes some difficulty at first in recognizing the enemy at night. Q: In the night fighting, out on sentry duty or patrols, how did you keep from shooting your own people? What procedure was carried out? A: We always had passwords including the letter “L,” because “L” was thought to be hard for the Japanese to pronounce since there is no “L” in the Japanese vocabulary. There were occasions, however, when the Japanese, apparently American educated, were able to speak English very well indeed. On several occasions, at least one of which I can verify personally, the sentry discovered that the unknown parties in the darkness were Japanese because they used grammar that was much too precise for the average Marine. On one occasion a party came in and said, “Hold your fire, we are American Marines and wish to report our evening’s activities.” [Our sentry] said, “I fired right away, because I knew no marine would talk that way.” Q: Sergeant, how many combat correspondents were there at Guadalcanal? A: I was the only combat correspondent on the island until the middle of October. At that time one more man came in, and in the middle of November we had four more combat correspondents come to the island to join regiments within the division. Q: How did you send your dispatches back? A: Our dispatches were cleared by the chief of staff for security on the island and sent by guard mail along with the civilian correspondents’ copy to Pearl Harbor. At Pearl Harbor it was censored by the Navy censor and sent on to Washington by air mail. It went to Washington to the Navy Department here, was censored by the Navy and then sent over to the Marine Corps, and finally released either by the Marine Corps or by the Navy Public Relations. Q: What equipment does a combat correspondent carry? Does he carry the rifle and all other equipment that the Marine carries?
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A: Usually, at least in my own case, I was equipped with a pistol. I didn’t have a typewriter when I left. I went out in quite a hurry, enlisting in the Marine Corps on the 6th of May and leaving the States 12 days later. I didn’t have a chance to draw full equipment from the Public Relations Division. I did have a fountain pen with me, and I secured a typewriter by trading this very good fountain pen for a very mediocre portable typewriter on Guadalcanal shortly after I landed. Q: Who had the typewriter? A: The typewriter was carried out there by a Marine sergeant in the artillery, Sergeant Bill Murray, whose handwriting was not of the best, but he was willing to sacrifice his own letters for the good of the service and was talked into trading his typewriter. Q: As a combat correspondent how did you generally obtain your information, I mean generally, in the course of a day’s action? Of course, you were along on some of them and others—would you have a beat to cover, headquarters, or various officers that you covered periodically? A: Of course, Guadalcanal was a pretty big beat to cover singlehanded, but I made it a practice to go on as many patrols as I could and take part in as many actions as I could. And then, to fill in the background on my stories, I made contact with the officers of the various units within the division. My run, as you might phrase it, consisted of the prison compound, the field hospital, and the regimental C.P.s within the 1st Marine Division, and also of course the headquarters on the airfield. All of those places were very good sources of stories and information. Q: You mentioned some of the Japanese who spoke English. Did you find many of the prisoners could speak English? A: Most of them could say a few words and some few of them were quite good at it, although most of the prisoners that we took were of the laborer class and usually
of a lower standard than the soldiers or the officers. Q: Were they willing to talk? A: Quite willing after they found out that they were well treated by our M.P.s and Provost Marshal. Q: When a man on sentry duty or on a patrol was killed were you able to get him back and have him buried in the Marine cemetery at all times, or did some of them have to be buried where they fell? A: We made every effort, sir, to bring the men back for burial in our own Marine cemetery, but there were many graves out in the jungle. Graves marked with the man’s helmet perhaps, his name penciled on it, and probably now other parties have gone out and brought those men in and interred them in the cemetery. Q: How did the natives react to all this? A: There are approximately 16,000 Melanesians on Guadalcanal, and when the Japanese came in they treated them very badly. They raided their gardens, killed their pigs, annoyed their wives. They didn’t seem to mind the annoying of their wives half so much as the killing of the pigs because the pig is the measure of wealth among the natives on Guadalcanal. They went back into the hills leaving their villages to the Japanese, and when we came in the native men came down and offered to work for us and were very valuable sources of labor and also furnished a number of scouts and guides for our general fighting. Q: Were any of them trusted with arms? Did they use spears, or what did they use for protection? A: Of course, they had the nucleus of the group consisting of these native police boys, or policemen, of the British Solomon Islands Protectorate Constabulary. These men were equipped with cartridge belts and antiquated Enfield rifles, which, however, they were
Read Sergeant Hurlbut’s Guadalcanal dispatch about the ill-fated Goettge patrol. Go to www.usni.org/canaldispatch
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able to handle very effectively. The main body of the natives usually were armed with knives or wooden spears. They seemed to be a very courageous people. I heard of one story in which a large party of native men encountered 11 Japanese. The native men retired and selected 11 men from their group to go out and contact the Japanese. The 11 natives wiped out the 11 Japanese. Q: How was the general feeling of the Japs as a whole, the prisoners, toward their being defeated and thrown out of Guadalcanal? Were they discouraged or was it a bravado spirit or just how did they react to that? A: Of course, most of the prisoners that I saw and talked to were [Japanese] laborers, and they didn’t seem to feel particularly bad that they were being thrown out of Guadalcanal. They didn’t seem to care at all. As a matter of fact, I think most of them were much happier as our prisoners than they had been laboring for Tojo’s men.
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ater in 1943, Hurlbut was commissioned a second lieutenant and served as technical adviser on the motion picture Guadalcanal Diary. The movie was based on the book of the same name by Richard Tregaskis, a civilian correspondent who had served on Guadalcanal with Hurlbut.4 After the war, the former combat correspondent left active duty and entered the emerging medium of television. An NBC editor and correspondent, he worked and appeared on the TV shows Zoo Parade, City Desk, and the Today show. Hurlbut returned to active duty in in 1965, was promoted to colonel and assigned to Marine Corps Headquarters, and from South Vietnam produced film reports on Marine operations. He passed away on 26 March 1967.5
1. Herbert Christian Merillat, Guadalcanal Remembered (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1982), pp. 7–8. 2. “Col. J. W. Hurlbut Dies, Marine Correspondent,” The Washington Post, 27 March 1967; “Col. James Hurlbut, A Marines Reporter,” The New York Times, 27 March 1967. 3. Narrative by MT Sergeant James W. Hurlbut, USMCR, World War II Oral Histories, Interview and Statements, RG 38, Records of the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, MD. 4. Guadalcanal Diary (1943), IMBd (Internet Movie Database), www imdb.com/title/tt0035957/fullcredits. 5. “Col. James Hurlbut, A Marines Reporter.”
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Judging the
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GOOD BAD BY NORMAN FRIEDMAN
When it comes to warships, bigger is usually better, and the most successful vessels are often those that are adaptable to changing times and technologies. hat makes a warship excellent rather than merely serviceable? What constitutes a nautical turkey, or causes an ugly duckling of a ship to develop into a seagoing swan? If you visit Stockholm, you can see a classic turkey: the 17th-century capital ship Vasa, which rolled over and sank on her first voyage before even clearing harbor. She was later recovered and restored and is now on display in a museum. Since her loss, naval architects have largely learned to avoid disaster, but turkeydom is a lot more subtle. Good or bad really depends on point of view. Ships last a long time, sometimes 30 or even 50 years. But how well do they last? Maybe the best criterion for judging ships is how well they survive in the face of changing circumstances—not just changes in technology but also the inevitable changes in the world. During the Cold War, it seemed that while technology changed, the global status quo was fixed; the world of, say, 1985 was recognizably that of 1955 or even 1950. Once the Cold War ended, all the pent-up pressure for change appeared to burst out. And the world of 2012 is not really the same as that of 2000; global threats have changed, as have naval missions.
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The USS Spruance (above left) and her classmates confirmed that bigger is often better; the cruiser-size destroyers were large enough to accommodate weapon upgrades. But the U.S. Navy got relatively little from its large World War II fleet of PT boats. After the conflict, most were either destroyed, including PT-362 (bottom), or sold. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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Atlanta vs. Dido World War II is a good place to begin a study of shipdesign success, mediocrity, and failure. During the war both technology and the art of naval warfare changed at a breakneck pace. What seemed perfectly reasonable in 1939 was obsolete and often unusable in 1945. Comparing different navies that had similar outlooks—the U.S. Navy and the Royal Navy—highlights this fact. Cruisers saw a lot of action in both navies. In the late 1930s, the U.S. and Royal navies built small cruisers armed with dual-purpose guns: the American Atlantas and the British Didos. Both classes were often called antiaircraft cruisers, but neither really was. They were both conceived mainly to work with groups of destroyers, backing them against the heavy ships the destroyers were expected to attack. The British were far more obsessed than Americans with limiting the cruisers’ size, which they equated to the ships’ cost, and they also selected a heavier, 5.25-inch dual-purpose gun, rather than the U.S. 5-inch gun. Both classes were well liked in wartime, but the British clearly found the Didos too small and too tight. Late in the war they nearly opted for a new class of ships with similar main batteries—but enlarged from the former ships’ 5,500 tons to more than to 8,000 tons, which says a lot about how successful the small Didos really were. The relatively heavy 5.25-inch gun was chosen for secondary batteries on battleships mainly because it had the punch to stop an enemy destroyer approaching to attack with torpedoes, not because it could be fired quickly against attacking aircraft. It fired much more slowly than the U.S. Navy’s 5-inch/38-caliber gun.
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Atlanta-class light cruisers featured either 12 or 16 5-inch dual-purpose guns, leaving them lightly armed by traditional cruiser standards but well equipped for protecting Pacific war carriers from air attack. Top: The Atlanta helped defend the carrier Enterprise at the Battle of the Eastern Solomons before being sunk at the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal. Bottom: HMS Dido and her sister ships were armed with heavier but slower-firing 5.25-inch guns, which were not as effective against aircraft. In fact the British found the 5.25-inch guns so heavy and poorly adapted to antiaircraft fire that their carriers instead were armed with 4.5-inch guns, which were considered antiaircraft weapons. Their cruisers had 4-inch antiaircraft guns. The combination of small ship size and heavy gun was so unfortunate that repeat Dido-class cruisers built during the war sacrificed one of their five twin 5.25s. Indeed, most British cruisers of this period gave up one turret for a more powerful antiaircraft armament, which left them with half the secondary battery of a battleship. In both cases the sacrifice bought light antiaircraft guns, which were intended mainly to defend the cruisers against aircraft heading for them, rather than to contribute to the area defense of a formation. Presumably one measure of the value of an antiaircraft ship was the ratio of heavy antiaircraft weapons, which would help defend other ships, to the light weapons needed for the ship to survive.
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The U.S. Atlanta-class light cruisers displaced about 6,000 tons. As conceived, they had substantially less light-antiaircraft firepower than the Didos, and they too had to sacrifice heavy guns to provide enough light guns to protect themselves. They were designed with eight twin 5-inch/38-caliber mounts, two of which (the worst-placed ones on the ships) were removed. That left as many 5-inch antiaircraft guns as on board any of the U.S. cruisers that helped protect carriers. Instead of backing destroyer attacks, the Atlantas found themselves, along with other new U.S. surface warships, covering the carriers that now provided the Pacific Fleet’s main offensive punch. The Atlanta-class cruisers had enough reserve of stability to accept a very heavy self-defense battery plus a full radar outfit, which was badly needed in their new role. The Atlantas were both lucky (they featured the best dualpurpose gun of the war, and an excellent fire-control system U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
to boot) and large enough to make use of that luck. The U.S. Navy showed its satisfaction with the ships by building modified Atlanta-class cruisers during the war and by choosing enlarged Atlantas (with new 5-inch/54-caliber guns) as the last cruisers it ordered during the conflict. Why did the Atlanta cruisers succeed where the Didos probably did not? Larger size made them more adaptable to the new kind of war the U.S. Navy fought in the Pacific (quite aside from the fact that a far better power plant gave them the range they needed). The ships were not so large that they could easily be adapted to the new postwar technology, although they were seriously considered for some conversions. In contrast, the one attempt to modernize the Didos with new guns was abandoned when it turned out that the ships would not have the space for more than a minute or so of fire from the weapons. Essex vs. Illustrious
As with the case of the Didos, there was a key “but.” When the Illustrious was designed in 1936, the Royal Navy dismissed the possibility that carrier fighters could beat off bombers (visual warning time was too short). It was willing to settle for the limited number of strike aircraft that could be stowed in a relatively small, closed, protected hangar. Part of the price paid was reduced freeboard (seakeeping) and a shorter, slower hull. Ironically, just as the ship was being designed, the first radars were being tested; they held the promise that carrier fighters might be able to defend carriers—and therefore that the ships should have much larger air groups. When that became obvious, the latter ships of the Illustrious class were redesigned with double hangars, but the price included such low overhead clearance that later aircraft were difficult or impossible to stow. That did not make for a great postwar future. The U.S. Navy built the larger Essex-class carriers that had unarmored, open hangars but armored hangar decks, which made them very difficult to sink, whatever happened
There’s a consistent pattern to the run of U.S. and British warships. British designers were proud of holding down the size of their ships, whether or not they were forced to do so by prewar treaty obligations. They clearly equated size with cost, and the designers understood that more ships is better, which is certainly true. But British design records contain no suggestion that technology might be changing in a direction that would demand larger ships. That is particularly difficult to understand in the case of aircraft carriers; by the 1930s it must have been obvious that airplanes were changing rapidly. U.S. carrier designers were lucky because they began work on the main wartime U.S. carriers, the Essex class, after the outbreak of war in Europe had ended the naval-treaty system that limited size. The masterpiece of British carrier design was the armored-deck Ordnancemen work on bombs amid F6F Hellcat fighters while other sailors watch a movie in Illustrious. Carrier designers were the Essex-class Yorktown’s large, open hangar. Essex carriers could accommodate air wings always aware that a flattop was a nearly three times the size of those on board British carriers. disaster waiting to happen, and the most obvious way for a major mishap to occur would be for the enemy to put bombs to their flight decks. The most important difference was through the flight deck. The Illustrious actually had an that the American carriers accommodated air wings that armored hangar rather than a completely armored flight were nearly three times the size of those on board British deck, but even her limited amount of deck armor made a carriers, and large air wings perfectly fit the new kind of great difference—particularly in the face of kamikazes at warfare being waged in the Pacific. Plus, the open hangar the end of the war. made the ships relatively easy to modernize postwar. DeNAVAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE COMMAND
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12,000 pounds, but by 1960 the A3D weighed about 70,000 pounds. By Norman Friedman The fact that size mattered a great deal was not really a new lesson. After the Washbasic design flaw but to a detail. Off ccording to an old proverb, “to ington Naval Conference of 1921, the U.S. Guadalcanal, the South Dakota (BB-57) understand all is to forgive all.” was temporarily knocked out not by The more you know about how and Navy decided to convert two incomplete batenemy fire but by a circuit breaker that why ships were designed, the more diftle cruisers into the carriers Lexington (CV-2) ficult it is to dismiss them as disasters. It was probably tripped by the vibration and Saratoga (CV-3). These huge ships were is also difficult to be sure how successful of her own propeller. While the tripped so large that by the mid-1920s, well before some ships actually were. Knowing how breaker was a detail, the vibration was they could be completed, they were being a design flaw, but surely the ship’s basic many of a particular design were built derided as white elephants. Analysis at the design was not to blame. doesn’t help. When a country mobiNaval War College seemed to show that it To make matters more complicated, lizes, it tries to mass-produce whatever would be far better to build numerous smaller it is difficult to compare ships within a is then being built. carriers, because together they would have navy, let alone on a navy-to-navy basis, The U.S. Navy ended up with greater flight-deck area and hence greater because different navies usually operate 175 Fletchers because that was the total aircraft capacity. The USS Ranger (CVunder rather different conditions. The U.S. destroyer class in production in 4) was designed and built on this basis. British, who had long operated in the 1941—and the Fletchers happened rough North Atlantic, were better at to be an excellent design. The Navy While the Ranger was being constructed, designing seakeeping hulls than the U.S. ended up with a lot of “flush-deckers” the two white elephants entered service and Navy during the Cold War. And the because that destroyer design was in demonstrated that size mattered. In this case, need for improved seakeeping resulted in production in 1917—and, because its it was soon obvious that the total number of the Arleigh Burkes’ unusual hull form. designers mistakenly denigrated the aircraft in a fleet was not as important as the Comparison within the U.S. Navy value of a forecastle, the ships were number on board each carrier, because the latis difficult because so few officers indinot so excellent, particularly in the ter comprised U.S. carrier aviation’s tactical vidually experienced ships of different North Atlantic. A lot of battleships unit, the air wing. (Later, well into World War designs (but with much the same missurvived through the interwar period II, the U.S. Navy began conducting multicarsion) at much the same stage of their not necessarily because they were rier air-group operations.) Size also bought careers. The comparable stage of career excellent, but because arms-control speed and survivability. The Lexington and is important; an ensign and a captain treaties precluded new construction Saratoga, but not the Ranger, fought in the on board the same ship at the same that would have outmoded them. time will generally have radically difThat having been said, clearly the Pacific. The bigger carriers were not turkeys; ferent experiences. Further complicatRoyal Navy was a lot happier with they were ugly ducklings that became swans. ing matters, much obviously depends Queen Elizabeth–class battleships than Many of the ships the U.S. Navy built on the systems and weapons on board with the slower R class. Remember, during World War II reinforce the bigger-isthose ships. A ship armed with her too, how few World War II capital better lesson. Designers always want to creoriginal surface-to-air missiles performs ships were tested in the mission for ate the tightest possible package that fulfills far worse than the same vessel equipped which they had been conceived—and specific requirements. For various reasons, by with upgraded weapon systems. how often disaster was due not to some 1941 the U.S. Navy was demanding enough to get larger packages than those of some spite plans to update all of their six wartime fleet carriers, other navies (German heavy cruisers and destroyers were the British modernized just one because they soon realized larger, apparently without getting as much for the tonnage). that the work would be (as it was) a drawn-out nightmare, During the war, British captains periodically wrote that due in part to the armored hangars. they wished they could have similarly large ships, and by The U.S. Navy never would have been able to prosecute the time Japan surrendered the British were designing and the Pacific war had it relied on small British-type carriers. building U.S.-size destroyers. However, the usual response In 1941, when they first saw HMS Illustrious, U.S. officers by the British design authority was that the American ships were very impressed and wanted armored flight decks. They were large simply because their designers were incompetent; finally got them in the Midways—but that was because the they produced loose, expensive ships. Navy was willing to build 45,000-ton carriers rather than the The naval world changed during the war, as conflict in 27,000 tons of an Essex or the 23,000 tons of an Illustrious. the Pacific increasingly became carrier warfare. It changed Size bought the flexibility for some Essex-class carriers even more postwar, largely through the introduction of new to remain in the front line of naval aviation through the technologies such as missiles, jet aircraft, and heavy electronearly 1970s as the airplanes on board drastically changed. ics. For the U.S. Navy, the changes were affordable largely In 1939, for example, a typical attack bomber might weigh because its wartime carriers, cruisers, destroyers, and sub-
How Can You Tell?
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marines were so large that they were adaptable. They were probably never seen as turkeys, but they were certainly swans in retrospect. The only real criticism was that having been designed mainly for the calm Pacific, the ships were ill-adapted to patrolling rough northern waters, which Cold War service usually entailed. The British had much better hull forms for seakeeping. However, many of their well-designed warships could not accommodate new technologies, resulting in the size of the Royal Navy contracting faster than necessary. For example, both navies embarked on development of surface-to-air missiles in 1944. The American missiles were the Terrier and Talos; the British was the Seaslug. The U.S. Navy managed to field the Terrier relatively quickly because it could be installed aboard two heavy cruisers, the Boston (CA-69) and Canberra (CA-70). The British could not even imagine quickly fielding the Seaslug because their cruisers were too small. They nearly lost the opportunity to field it altogether because they thought it was necessary to build a massive new cruiser for the purpose. It took First Sea Lord Louis Mountbatten to insist that the missile could be squeezed aboard a big destroyer, and that squeezing took enormous ingenuity.
The sheer size of the Spruance hull, however, permitted the addition of considerable weaponry that could not possibly have fit into a smaller ship. The first sign that the big Spruance hull was well worthwhile was that it could be adapted to take the Aegis missile system—as Ticonderoga-class cruisers. That mattered enormously. At the time it was the only economical way to put Aegis to sea, the alternative being a larger and unaffordable nuclear cruiser. Score one for the ugly duckling. Similarly, the antisubmarine launcher forward in the Spruance-class destroyers could be replaced by 64 vertical cells, each carrying a Tomahawk land-attack missile. By the time they were retired, the Spruances were valued as general-purpose destroyers with substantial land-attack firepower, a role that carried over into the later Zumwalt class, conceived to replace them.
Postwar Destroyers and Frigates Perhaps the greatest recent transformation from ugly duckling to swan were the U.S. Spruance-class destroyers, only recently decommissioned. When completed, the Spruances seemed to be cruiser-size ships with frigate armaments—a ludicrous The USS Knox and her sister frigates were designed as antisubmarine warfare convoy escorts, combination. They were so but soon after the Cold War ended and the threat of enemy submarines diminished, the ships were large because plans originally scrapped or sold to foreign navies. called for a single ship that could be completed as either a missile (antiaircraft) destroyer or an antisubmarine deThe surface combatants the U.S. Navy built to succeed stroyer (essentially the missile destroyer with missiles rethe Spruances almost might be considered an experiment moved). Doing that was less expensive than building two in tight vs. loose design. The Oliver Hazard Perry–class separate classes. frigates were deliberately cost-controlled, largely by limitBut the program was halted before the missile destroyers ing their size. They were mainly intended to fill an aircould be built. The only Spruance-class missile destroyers defense gap, and to pay for that capability they sacrificed were four ships laid down for the shah of Iran and then the sort of long-range sonar with which Spruances were taken over by the U.S. Navy as the Kidd-class destroyers. equipped. U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE
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The frigates were useful in a Cold War context, but life is unpredictable. When the Perrys were conceived in 1971, the Cold War seemed to be a fixed fact of life. Twenty years later it was over. Most NATO navies had concentrated on Cold War tasks: antisubmarine warfare and defensive mine countermeasures. With the end of that conflict, neither was nearly as important. The U.S. Navy discarded its specialized convoy escorts, mainly Knox-class frigates, and it soon abandoned most of the Perrys. Surviving ones had their missile system, for which so much had been sacrificed at their outset, removed because it was considered ineffective against current “pop-up” threats. If this article had been written in 1980, the Perrys and the Knoxes would have been swans. Now they look more like turkeys. The big U.S. destroyers and cruisers look like the real swans, because they were conceived for the type of strike warfare the U.S. Navy espoused in the 1980s. Size pays. The Allure of Speed At the other end of the spectrum, both during World War II and in the 1970s the U.S. Navy invested in small, fast combatants: respectively, PT boats and missile hydrofoils (PHMs). In each case speed was an overriding virtue, the theory being that a really fast ship could dart out, strike, and escape before an enemy could return fire. Many other navies thought the same way before and after World War II. The Soviets and their Chinese pupils, for example, built flocks of fast torpedo and missile boats. Swans or turkeys? The U.S. Navy got remarkably little out of its big PT fleet in World War II, and it discarded nearly all the boats immediately afterward. The official verdict was that they had been nearly useless. They had effectively interdicted Japanese barge traffic in the Solomons, but that task did not require the speed built into them, which resulted in the boats being flimsy and relatively dangerous. On other occasions, as in the Philippines, they failed to hit their major combatant targets, perhaps because firing effectively from a small, bouncing boat is rather difficult. As for the PHMs, only 6 of a planned 30 were built, and they were discarded at about midlife. More tellingly, foreign buyers could not be found. The PHMs incorporated a revolutionary form of foil control that made it possible for them to operate and maintain speed in far rougher weather than simpler hydrofoils. The craft should therefore have been rather attractive. Moreover, Boeing, which had built the PHMs and owned rights to their technology, could not find any buyers for somewhat comparable hydrofoils; no one in the West really needed very high speed. That should not have been a great surprise. High speed always has been very attractive, but those interested rarely if ever appreciate how much it costs—and not just in money. Before World War II, the French and the Italians competed in building ultrafast destroyers, to the extent that
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“Bigger is better” also applies to submarines. When commissioned, the Los Angeles and her classmates were derided by many observers as too large, but they had room to fit later improvements and weapon systems. builders advertised trial speeds in successive editions of Jane’s Fighting Ships. In 1945 the French liaison officer with the U.S. Pacific Fleet wrote that the effort had been pointless. High-powered machinery was too delicate, consumed too much space, and required too much fuel. Tactically, it bought nothing. The French naval staff listened and then abandoned the search for high speed in the postwar Surcouf-class destroyers. Once aircraft became the core of fleets, warships only needed enough speed to keep up with carriers. No ship could be fast enough to evade an attacking plane or helicopter. Value of Size in Subs Submarines are a special case. They are particularly difficult to design because their underwater volume must exactly balance their weight. Perhaps the most successful U.S. subs were the “fleet boats” of World War II. They were extremely effective in their design role: destroying the enemy’s merchant fleet while scouting for the U.S. Fleet. Probably no smaller submarine would have done as well. The fleet boats also met the standard implied in this article: flexibility in the face of dramatically changing context and technology. They proved well suited to modernization (fleet snorkel and Guppy programs) and also to completely new roles, such as serving as radar pickets and strategic missile carriers. In the process, they validated the U.S. Navy’s view that size was well worthwhile. At the time, other navies derided the fleet boats for their size. The British, for example, opted for more economical submarines. They may have performed better in constricted European waters, although even that is not certain. Evaluating more modern submarines is difficult; however, the lesson generally has been that size pays. The least successful nuclear submarines were the ones drastically cut down to reduce their costs: the Tullibee (SSN-597) and the Skates. The best of the lot were probably the Los Angeles class, because they had the most “stretch” in them. This included the ability to add Tomahawk missiles. It seems unlikely that any earlier, more tightly designed submarines could have accommodated a substantial number of unmanned underwater vehicles—again, an important role unimagined when the submarines were designed. U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Many observers had derided the Los Angeles (SSN-688) as too large, her design governed by Admiral Hyman Rickover’s atavistic insistence that to increase speed she should have a massive new power plant rather than a much more efficient hydrodynamic hull and a less powerful power plant. Greater hull size probably encouraged other improvements, which might have been difficult to shoehorn into the more compact hull that many had preferred. The Lessons of Ship Design What conclusions can be drawn about ship design? One lesson, at least in surface ships, is that reaching for spectacular performance, speed for example, is often counterproductive: The enemy’s weapons generally outrun ships. The sacrifices made for a few knots may be difficult to identify, but they are real and later on become unacceptable. Also size pays, even if at the outset it may seem wasteful. The larger the ship, the better the opportunity to modernize her to keep up with a changing world. A navy needs numbers. Usually that is translated to mean that ships should be made as inexpensively as possible. However, there is another way to look at numbers. The number of ships the U.S. Navy can maintain is, roughly, the number the Navy can build each year multiplied by the number of years a ship remains viable—and viability is a matter both of how well the ship survives the rigors of the sea and of how well she survives the rigors of a rapidly changing world. The bigger the ship, the better she will survive the sea. If bigger also means better at adaptN AVA L H I S T O R Y
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ing to the changing world, the answer to numbers is probably to build fewer ships each year but to make them big. This may seem somewhat simplistic. For example, large ships require large crews, and building fewer ships each year makes it more difficult to replace those lost in action. But the overall lesson remains. The only real caveat is that the fundamentals of hull design and machinery not change radically. If they do, if a particular hull or power plant becomes obsolete, then it does not matter how long the ship can last. That has happened. Around 1860 the Royal Navy had an enormous lead over other navies in capital ships. Its large number of wooden “liners” lasted a long time in reserve, and they could be updated with steam propulsion. Then the French introduced armor. All those unarmored wooden hulls were suddenly obsolete. The British armored some of their wooden capital ships but concentrated on new iron hulls, which were far more satisfactory. The race to rebuild British naval superiority was horribly expensive, and the British felt compelled to cancel large numbers of projected wooden cruisers to buy enough iron battleships. More recently the demise, or near demise, of diesel-electric submarines in favor of nuclear submarines had much the same impact on the U.S. Navy. It dramatically reduced the value of submarine capital, represented by the service’s large post–World War II supply of fleet boats, before the diesel subs would have been discarded due to age. A note on sources: This article reflects my long experience writing ship-design histories based on official papers from archives, mainly in the United States and the United Kingdom. I also have used French archives at Vincennes, but I have not compiled design histories comparable to those of U.S. and British ships (the comments by the French liaison officer in this article are from the records of the Conseil Superieur de la Marine, comparable to the U.S. General Board). For details, see my Illustrated Design History series on American warships, all published by the Naval Institute Press: U.S. Aircraft Carriers (1983); U.S. Battleships (1985); U.S. Cruisers (1984); U.S. Destroyers (1982, 2003 revised edition covers the Arleigh Burkes, Zumwalt, and LCS); U.S. Submarines through 1945 (1995); U.S. Submarines since 1945 (1994); U.S. Small Combatants (1987); and U.S. Amphibious Ships and Craft (2002). No volumes on minecraft or the fleet train have been published, although I have done extensive research in both categories. For the Royal Navy, I have published a history of aircraft carriers and their aircraft (British Carrier Aviation: The Evolution of the Ships and Their Aircraft, Naval Institute Press, 1987); a history of later British cruisers (British Cruisers: Two World Wars and After, Naval Institute Press, 2010); and two volumes on British destroyers (British Destroyers and Frigates: The Second World War and After, Chatham, 2006; and British Destroyers: From Earliest Days to the Second World War, Naval Institute Press, 2009). A book on earlier British cruisers, scheduled for release this fall, is the source of my comment on the 1860 situation. I also have researched British battleships and British submarines, perhaps for later publication.
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The
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BY LIEUTENANT COLONEL JAY A. STOUT, U.S. MARINE CORPS (RETIRED)
On a rainy night on a remote station, the U.S. Navy paid the price for poor training and lack of vigilance when Confederate raiders seized the gunboat Water Witch.
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or the officers and men of the Union side-wheel steamer Water Witch, the evening of 2 June 1864 passed quietly. On board the gunboat, nothing about the monotonous night distinguished it from any other of the previous several months. She was moored in familiar waters—Ossabaw Sound, Georgia—where, as usual, she was the lone ship blockading the large ocean inlet 15 miles south of Confederate-held Savannah. The Water Witch’s isolation, however, made her an inviting target. And as her crew turned in that drizzly night, nearby Confederate sailors and marines rowed stealthily through the darkness in hopes of carrying out one of the Civil War’s most audacious naval raids.
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Early Service and Civil War Action Launched at the Washington Navy Yard in 1851, the Water Witch shipped 378 tons and measured 150 feet in length and 23 feet at the beam. In early 1853 she sailed on her first mission, exploring and surveying portions of South America’s Atlantic coast, the River Plate region, and the Paraná River. As the ship ascended the Paraná two years later, she was fired on by Paraguayan forces attempting to halt her progress. One cannon shot cut away the ship’s wheel, killing the helmsman.
ram Manassas. However, five months later the Water Witch scored a victory when she chased down the Confederate blockade runner William Mallory. Later in 1862, the steamer joined the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron, based at Port Royal, South Carolina. After participating in an expedition up Florida’s St. John’s River, the Water Witch returned to Port Royal. She mainly served as a dispatch vessel until early 1863, when she broke down and was towed north for repairs. In June of the same year she returned to the South Atlantic and
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The incident was not forgotten. In 1858 Congress authorized President James Buchannan to dispatch a large naval force, which included the Water Witch, to strong-arm concessions from Paraguay. Along with issuing an apology and granting a favorable commercial treaty to the United States, the South American country paid an indemnity to the family of the dead helmsman. When the Civil War broke out, the Water Witch was assigned to the Gulf Blockading Squadron and served as a dispatch vessel and mail packet, as well as an occasional blockader. On 12 October 1861, the gunboat saw sharp action at Head of Passes on the lower Mississippi when she and three other Union warships were routed by a Confederate Navy force led by the ironclad rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr NATIONAL CIVIL WAR NAVAL MUSEUM AT PORT COLUMBUS
The gunboat Water Witch was at the center of an international incident in the 1850s. Almost a dozen years later the ship again made headlines when she was captured intact by Confederate raiders. By that time, the Water Witch mounted four guns: two 12-pounder Dahlgren howitzers and 30- and 12-pounder rifles. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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To capture the Water Witch, which was on blockade duty on Ossabaw Sound, Georgia, 132 officers and men were detailed from the vessels of the Confederate Savannah River Squadron. The ironclad floating battery Georgia (above) provided about 50 of the men as well as the raid’s commander, First Lieutenant Thomas P. Pelot (left). rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
was assigned blockade duty, primarily at Ossabaw Sound. The Confederate Raiders About 11 months later, Flag Officer William W. Hunter, the acerbic commander of the Confederate Savannah River Squadron, decided to pounce. On 31 May 1864 he issued orders to First Lieutenant Thomas Postell Pelot, executive officer of the ironclad floating battery Georgia, to lead a foray “designed to surprise and capture a vessel of the enemy now at anchor at the mouth of the Little Ogeechee River” in Ossabaw Sound. An 1855 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, Pelot had captained a privateer early in the war before commanding various Confederate vessels. Guiding the expedition would be a free black man, Moses Dallas, who had served the Confederate Navy for more than two years and proved himself invaluable to Hunter’s command—no one else seemed to know the waters around
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
Early action on Ossabaw Sound: On 11 December 1861, a Confederate battery at the mouth of the Vernon River fired on a Union naval expedition reconnoitering nearby waterways. Rebels later moved the battery several miles upriver to Beaulieu Plantation, while the sound became a quiet Civil War backwater. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Savannah as well as he did. In fact, a year earlier Hunter’s predecessor, Commander William A. Webb, had notified Confederate Secretary of the Navy Stephen Mallory that he was compelled to raise Dallas’ pay from $80 to $100 per month in order to retain his services: “He is a colored pilot and considered the best inland pilot on the coast.” In accordance with Hunter’s order, the foray’s 117 men and 15 officers were drawn from various Savannah River Squadron crews. The raiders set out from the Georgia, their seven boats towed by the steam tender Firefly, at 1300 on 31 May. Four hours into their backwater journey they arrived at the Isle of Hope battery, where they cast off from the steamer. With Dallas expertly guiding the way and expedition sailors and marines rowing, the boats made their way through the Skidaway Narrows and along twisting waterways to the Vernon River and finally to Confederate Beaulieu Battery, arriving at 2100. But once there, they discovered the Water Witch had weighed anchor; that afternoon she had moved a dozen miles south to St. Catherine’s Sound. For his part, Pelot did not seem overly troubled by the disappearance of his intended target. Early the next morning, he penned a dispatch to Hunter in which he described his plans to send scouts to scour the surrounding waters for the vessel. Pelot declared that he had “every reason to suppose that I will find some game for to-morrow night.” That same day, the Water Witch, under the command of Lieutenant Commander Austin Pendergrast, Naval Acad-
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emy class of 1853, returned to the gray-brown waters of Ossabaw Sound and anchored on the Little Ogeechee River near Raccoon Key. There, she would be well positioned to catch any shallow-draft boats that might try to move goods to Savannah. Earlier in the war, Pendergrast had suffered the ignominy of surrendering the venerable frigate Congress after the CSS Virginia had riddled the grounded ship with shell fire and hot shot. The Congress’ acting captain had been killed in the battle, and Pendergrast, his second in command, had no choice but to give up the doomed ship. Although the Water Witch was well positioned for action, there was little to suggest that she would see any. The excursion to St. Catherine’s Sound had been uneventful, and expectations among the crew for this particular stint on the Ossabaw were that little would happen to make it different from any other. But that morning, scouts sent by Pelot to reconnoiter the nearby waters spotted the gunboat almost immediately. With the Water Witch’s position fixed, the raiders finalized their plans that afternoon and then waited until 2000 to set out. Pelot was eager to take the blockader, but he was almost certainly unaware that his would-be prize was commanded by a former close associate and shipmate. Pelot’s and Pendergrast’s years at the Naval Academy had overlapped. Moreover, they had been midshipmen on board the Navy razee Independence during at least part her 1849–52 cruise with the U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Mediterranean Squadron. Serving on board the same ship at the same rank meant that the two officers had berthed, messed, and worked very closely together. Although specifics of their relationship are unknown, there can be no doubt that the two had known each other quite well.
The weather, which had turned into a lightning-punctuated murk of drizzle and haze, added to the raiders’ trepidation. It was midnight when the Confederates set out from the key. Deck Watch on a Drizzly Night
First Attempt That evening the raiders divided in seven groups, climbed into their boats, and pushed away from Beaulieu Battery. But locating the Union vessel in the newly dark night proved to be no easy task. Even with Dallas navigating, the Confederates, organized into two columns and with muffled oars, splashed ineffectually across the water, confounded by the tides and currents that washed through the sound. Boats got lost in the darkness, then drifted back into position, sometimes bumping into one another. More important, the raiders could not find their quarry. It was nearly daybreak on 2 June when Pelot was forced to postpone the mission. Aside from the fact that his men were tired, the coming daylight would rob them of any element of surprise. But before heading back to Beaulieu Battery, he ordered two lookouts ashore at Raccoon Key, where they stood a good chance of spotting the gunboat when morning came. The preparations for a follow-on foray that evening very nearly mirrored those of the night before. One of the raiders, Amos Sherritt, remembered that “the captain assigned to every man the exact station he must take and what duties each must perform.” The Confederates pushed away from shore at 2100 and set out immediately for Raccoon Key. According to Second Lieutenant Joseph Price, the expedition’s second in command, the scouts they had left there reported that “one of the enemy’s vessels was located in Ossabaw Sound about 3 miles from where we then were.” Pelot waited. The Union vessel would be easier to seize if her crew was more deeply asleep.
Although there were no immediate indications that the Water Witch was at particular risk, earlier that night Pendergrast had ensured that preparations were in place to protect the ship from just the sort of raid Pelot was leading. In fact, he was so confident and diligent that one of the Water Witch’s former officers later claimed the captain “had often declared that he never would be taken.” While Pelot and his raiding party approached, nearly everyone on board the Water Witch—the crew numbered about 60 officers and men—was out of the rain, below decks, and asleep. The officer of the deck that night was Acting Master’s Mate Eugene D’W. Parsons. Chief among his responsibilities was to sound the alarm if the ship were attacked. As the raiders neared the Water Witch, Pelot led his column of four boats toward her port side while Price’s three-
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boat column approached her starboard. Parsons spotted one or more of the boats and called out, “Who’s there?” The Confederate raiders pulled harder on the oars, but did not reply. Parsons called out again: “Ship ahoy! Who goes there?” One of the Confederates shouted back, “Contraband!” implying they were runaway slaves seeking sanctuary on board the Union gunboat. Still not satisfied, Parsons repeated: “Who’s there?” But by then Pelot’s launch had reached the ship. Parsons tried to sound the alarm. He spun the ship’s rattle, and the two thick oaken reeds inside sprang against the carved wooden cogs mounted to the handle. But, perhaps due to fear, or maybe because the boats were approaching so swiftly, he whirled it only enough to produce a few fitful clicks. More launches pulled up against the Water Witch, but Parsons was still unsure who manned them. His shout was no longer a question. “Who’s there!” Pelot shouted up, “Rebels, damn you!” With that, Parsons stopped wasting his breath and fired his revolver down into Pelot’s boat. At the same time, grappling hooks trailing ropes arced up from the raiders’ launches. The fight for the Water Witch was on. Confusing, Desperate Melee Parsons continued firing at Dallas, Pelot, and the rest of the Confederates who clambered up the side of the gunboat. At least one of his shots found its mark—Moses Dallas fell dead. The gunfire and shouting succeeded where Parson’s alarm failed. Belowdecks, men scrambled out of their berths and grasped in the darkness for firearms and cutlasses as they pulled on shoes, jackets, and trousers. Pendergrast was among them. “On hearing a noise, I sprang up the companion way and enquired of the officer of the deck what was the matter, but received no reply except from the rebels who were shouting the word ‘Rebels! Rebels!’” Pendergrast shouted orders for the ship to be slipped from her anchor chain and gotten under way. The Water Witch would be more difficult for the raiders to board if she were moving. At the same time he called for all hands to rally topside to repel boarders. Pendergrast then “jumped to my stateroom to get my arms and some clothing.” Despite the loss of Dallas, the Confederate attack did not waver. More boats pushed up against the ship. “Throwing our grappling hooks in the ship’s netting, we climbed up,” Sherritt remembered. “Using our guns and cutlasses, we cleared our way across the deck, where the fight had become general.” That struggle quickly erupted into a full-blown melee. Bleary-eyed and only partly clothed and armed—and wholly without a plan—the ship’s officers charged onto
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the rain-slicked deck. Joseph Price, recounting the Confederate perspective, wrote that it was during this phase of the attack, while coming alongside and cutting through the boarding netting—which stretched from the gunwales up six or seven feet into the rigging—“that most of our loss in killed and wounded was sustained.” Price remembered that “Lieutenant Pelot was the first to gain the deck, and while bravely fighting was shot and instantly killed.” Pendergrast himself was in the thick of the fighting. It was common to embellish Civil War tales, and this clash was the subject of considerable exaggeration. Some versions put Pendergrast and Pelot in a dramatic sword fight under lightning-ripped skies. The truth was rather less romantic, especially since Pelot had probably been shot dead before Pendergrast even arrived on deck. For his part, the captain never mentioned Pelot in his reports. Without a hint of braggadocio, he wrote: “Upon regaining the deck, while making my way to the hurricane deck, I was struck by a cutlass on the head and rendered insensible.” The ship’s officers, except for a couple of glaring exceptions, fought courageously. Pendergrast regained consciousness and, covered with blood, made his way to the hurricane deck. There he “rang the bell to go ahead on the engine in hopes of swamping the boats of the enemy.” For unknown reasons the engineers belowdecks responded by providing only a momentary burst of power. Pendergrast did not last much longer: “Soon after ringing the bell, I fell on the deck from loss of blood.” Assistant Acting Surgeon William H. Pierson, woken by the firing, was about to make his way to his “usual sick quarters between decks forward” when Acting Ensign Chase Hill and Gunner’s Mate John Parker, both wounded, entered the wardroom. Pierson stayed in the compartment, where he treated the badly wounded with lint and bandages. Their numbers rapidly increased as the minutes ticked by. Meanwhile, the Water Witch’s officers battled furiously to repel the raiders. From the quarterdeck, they shot up two of Pelot’s boat crews so badly that their launches drifted downstream. Forward, a small group of officers led by Coast Pilot Rufus B. K. Murphy hacked, stabbed, and fired on the Rebels climbing over the railings. But in a short time they were overwhelmed by the greater Confederate numbers and were, in Pendergrast’s words, “soon wounded and rendered unfit for action by loss of blood.” Timidity in the Face of the Enemy On the other hand, Parsons, the officer of the deck, fled the fight soon after emptying his revolver at the raiders. Pendergrast reported that he “left the deck and went below without being relieved.” Parson’s actions could hardly have been more pusillanimous. U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
THE RE-CREATED WATER WITCH
NATIONAL CIVIL WAR NAVAL MUSEUM AT PORT COLUMBUS
Likewise, the engineers were frozen with fear; they refused to join the action or even perform their basic duties. Despite Pendergrast’s signal, they did not get the ship under way. He wrote that they “acted in the most cowardly manner. . . . Had they obeyed my orders to work the engine, the enemy would have been unable to board us.” The fearfulness and timidity of Parsons and the engineers was mirrored by most of the ship’s enlisted sailors. According to Pendergrast, “The men seemed paralyzed with fear, and remained under the hurricane deck without giving the officers the least support, though they were ordered out.” In fact, before he had been knocked fully out of the fight, Pendergrast had tried to rally the lower ranks, but “I found it impossible to discover the whereabouts of all the men, owing to the darkness, and there was but little opportunity for the officers to give many orders, as all were engaged in combat the moment they reached the deck, and continued to fight until struck down.” Sherritt, on the Confederate side, also noted the timorous nature of the Water Witch’s enlisted men. He wrote that once on board, “Tom Muller and I took our station at the head of the hatchway just in time to intercept the N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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he most visible exhibit at the National Civil War Naval Museum at Port Columbus, Georgia, is a fullsize reproduction of the gunboat Water Witch. The original gunboat’s plan drawings were used in the construction, which was completed in 2009. The museum also features the 185-foot hull of the Confederate ironclad ram Jackson (originally named the CSS Muscogee); the remains of the gunboat CSS Chattahoochee; a full-size replica of the Monitor’s turret; a re-created berth deck, wardroom, and captain’s cabin from the Union flagship Hartford; and an extensive collection of Civil War–related naval flags.
bluejackets, who were crowding up. Muller barked, ‘Stay down there, or I’ll cut your damn noses off,’ and his order was obeyed.” It was at about this time that Pendergrast received his wound. Sherrit recalled: “King [probably Seaman William King of the ironclad Savannah] who had taken charge of the cabin, struck Captain Pendergrass [sic] over the head with his cutlass, and would have killed him if his weapon had been sharper.” Notwithstanding the feeble response of their men, Pendergrast’s officers continued to fight. After charging up out
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of the companionway, Acting Master Charles W. Buck that Peter McIntosh, an escaped slave, jumped overboard “fired all six charges from my revolver at those on deck and fled into the night. and attempting to board, and [I] believe every shot took Fallout from the Raid deadly effect.” The Confederate attackers achieved their objective at Buck then tried to train one of the ship’s howitzers on a the cost of 6 killed and 17 wounded. The crew of the Water boatload of Rebels boarding from the port side. He strugWitch suffered 2 dead, 14 wounded. McIntosh swam to Racgled with the gun, but before he could bring it to bear coon Key and then Ossabaw Island. After making his way “was struck or pushed down, and lost cutlass and pistol. to the southeast tip of the island, he was rescued later that Recovering I again made the attempt, when I was felled day by a blockader in St. Catherine’s Sound and relayed the senseless by a heavy blow on the forehead.” news of the lost gunboat. The capture of the Water Witch When Pelot was killed, command of the raid passed to stunned the Union blockade forces and caused a reaction— Lieutenant Price, who was badly slashed by a cutlass. He in both the popular press and the Navy—that was outsized later declared that he owed his life to Ordinary Seaman E. D. Davis, who “cut down every opponent when I was compared with the actual damage done. sorely pressed by them.” Davis evidently was a stalwart According to an 11 June New York Times article: “The fighter. Indeed, the handpicked nature of the Confederate affair is conceded to be one of the most disgraceful marine party was not lost on its opponents. William Pierson noted disasters that has ever taken place in the department.” In the “excellent appearance” of the men who made up the addition to getting numerous facts about the capture wrong, Confederate force and guessed correctly that “they were the story exaggerated the capabilities of the competent, but carefully selected for the enterprise.” aging, steamer. “By losing the Water Witch we lose one of Although the Water Witch’s officers did most of the fightthe fleetest, and, in every respect, the most valuable vesing, not every enlisted sel for blockade service we man cowered belowdecks. had in the squadron.” National Civil War Naval Museum at Port Columbus The most notable of these While the commander 1002 Victory Drive was Jeremiah Sills, a black of the South Atlantic Columbus, GA 31901 landsman. Pierson reBlockading Squadron, Tel.: (800) 742-2811 corded, “The colored boy Rear Admiral John Dahlhttp://portcolumbus.org who was killed, Jeremiah gren, ordered strong meaOpen Tuesday–Saturday 1000–1630; Sunday, Monday 1230–1630 Sills, is said to have to sures to discourage similar Closed Easter Sunday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. have fought most desperfuture attacks, Secretary of Admission: adults $7.50, active military $6.50, seniors $6.50, students $6.00 ately, and this while men the Navy Gideon Welles who despised him were had Lieutenant Comcowering near with idle mander Pendergrast court-martialed on the charge of “culcutlasses in the racks jogging their elbows.” pable inefficiency in the discharge of duty.” He was found The notion—alluded to by both Buck and Pendergrast— guilty and suspended from duty for two years on half pay. that the enlisted men were lost without their officers to The Confederates savored their success. Three U.S. lead them suggests a certain failure on the part of PendNavy signal books were discovered on board the gunboat ergrast’s leadership. That the men were not trained well and promptly forwarded to Richmond, but the captors enough to perform at their stations without direct oversight were not able to put their biggest prize to use. The Water was a dreadful inadequacy. Witch steamed up the Vernon River, where she stayed Ultimately, it cost Pendergrast his command. Despite bottled up and never saw action under the Confederate their brave and vigorous defense, the Water Witch’s officers flag. Ultimately, she was burned and scuttled on 19 Desoon were reduced to no more than a few scattered men cember 1864 as Major General William Tecumseh Sherfighting isolated duels against much greater numbers of man’s forces invested southeastern Georgia. Confederates. Before the raid was 20 minutes old, it was Sources: essentially over. “Arrival of the U.S. Steamship Independence,” The New York Times, 26 June 1854. With the Water Witch’s crew subdued, the raiders set John R. Blocker, “Capture of Blockader, Water Witch,” Confederate Veteran, vol. 17 about securing their prize. Their first order of business was (December 1909). Robert M. Browning Jr., Success Is All that Was Expected: The South Atlantic Blocktending the wounded and restraining their captives. Acting ading Squadron during the Civil War (Dulles, VA: Brassey’s, 2002). Master Buck regained consciousness to find his wrists in “Our Hilton Head Correspondence . . .” The New York Times, 11 June 1864. Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of the Rebellion, series handcuffs and a sentry standing overhead. The rest of the I, vols. 14 and 15 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1902, 1905). ship’s crew was rounded up on the poop deck, cuffed and Water Witch III, Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, http://www.history. navy.mil/danfs/w3/water_witch-iii.htm. tied in pairs in a line. It was sometime during this process
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ate in the evening on 16 February 1804, the ketch Intrepid, commanded by Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, entered Tripoli Harbor. Almost becalmed in the dying breeze, the Intrepid drifted with agonizing slowness toward the captured American frigate Philadelphia, lying under the massed guns of the bashaw’s castle and harbor fortifications. As the Intrepid approached, a Barbary lookout on the Philadelphia spotted the Americans and cried out the alarm. The Intrepid tied onto the frigate. Decatur and 60 men boarded the Philadelphia, scattered or killed her harbor watch, and burned the ship. They then made good their escape in the Intrepid, with only one sailor slightly wounded. The raid into Tripoli Harbor helped establish the reputation of the U.S. Navy, small as it then was, and is an iconic part of the service’s history. Almost equally known in American naval lore is that Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson, upon learning of the raid, called it “the most bold and daring act of the age.” It’s no wonder such a statement has assumed a hallowed aura. Nelson was a brilliant and daring naval officer, perhaps the greatest admiral in the long maritime history of England, and if he said the raid was without equal, his audience (posterity) can accept it as truth. Equally important, there is the sense of a laying-on of hands by Nelson, who died 18 months later in the moment of his greatest triumph at Trafalgar, “blessing” a seminal event led by one of the dynamic officers in the rising navy from across the Atlantic. It’s a dramatic story, loaded with symbolism. But did Nelson actually call the burning of the Philadelphia “the most bold and daring act of the age”? No contemporary or near-contemporary biography of Decatur, and no early account of the Barbary Wars, contains the Nelson quote. In what may have been the first attempt to provide the public with an account of Decatur’s life, Washington Irving’s 1813 article in the widely read Analectic Magazine, Nelson’s comment is absent. An 1819 collective biography of early American military and naval officers, written when Decatur was alive, makes no reference to the Nelson quote. The first full-scale biography of Decatur, published in 1821 (just after his death), contains no hint of it, nor does the first great history of the U.S. Navy, James Fenimore Cooper’s, the first edition of which appeared in 1839.1
The Trail Leads to Mackenzie The first recounting of the “most bold and daring act of the age” quote was in 1846, by Alexander Slidell Mack-
NAVAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE COMMAND
Lieutenant Stephen Decatur’s audacious boarding and torching of the captured U.S. frigate Philadelphia in Tripoli Harbor in 1804 quickly achieved legendary status as one of the great naval exploits. The young officer enjoyed a wave of accolades—but was Lord Nelson really part of that chorus? N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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enzie in his biography Life of Stephen Decatur.2 Mackenzie (1803–48) entered the Navy as a midshipman in January 1815. He actually glimpsed Decatur once. As a 12-yearold midshipman on board the brig Chippewa, Mackenzie watched as Decatur sailed into Gibraltar Bay in the frigate Guerriere in October 1815, having led the naval war against Algiers. The commodore appeared at the gangway of his ship, descended into his gig, and was rowed to the Independence, the squadron flagship. Thirty years later Mackenzie wrote of himself, “The writer well remembers the impression made on his mind by this spectacle.” Mackenzie watched Decatur “with an intense and overpowering interest, and with a thrill of patriotic pride in his boyish heart, still freshly remembered, and almost felt.”3 Over his naval career, Mackenzie wrote a number of well-regarded books, including travel narratives and biographies of John Paul Jones and Oliver Hazard Perry. Mackenzie is now remembered for the Somers affair, in which he ordered the hanging of Secretary of War John Canfield Spencer’s son, Philip Spencer, who was then serving as a midshipman on Mackenzie’s ship. The incident supposedly inspired Herman Melville’s Billy Budd. A court of inquiry and a court-martial exonerated Mackenzie, although public opinion condemned him. His naval career continued, and he had command positions in the Mexican War.4 In any event, in his Decatur biography Mackenzie provided a full account of the dramatic approach of the Intrepid, the boarding of the Philadelphia, her burning, and the escape of Decatur’s band. The biographer referred to the admiration of Commodore Edward Preble and the entire U.S. Mediterranean Squadron for the feat. Mackenzie continued that as the news spread, “all Europe” came to admire the raid, concluding: At this period, Nelson was in command of the British fleet engaged in blockading Toulon, having his flag aboard the Victory. When the news of Decatur’s achievement reached him, he is said to have pronounced it “the most bold and daring act of the age.”5 For more than a century thereafter, naval historians, whether or not they cited Mackenzie, accepted that Nelson had made that comment. In a detailed chronicle of the Navy’s early years, used as a text by a generation of U.S. Naval Academy midshipmen, Edgar Stanton Maclay recounted Decatur’s raid in detail and concluded that “Nelson, who at this time was in command of the British blockading fleet before Toulon, expressed it [as] ‘the most bold and daring act of the age.’” In his 1905 history of the Barbary Wars, Gardner W. Allen provided the Nelson quote without equivocation and without citation. In his 1950 group profile of the sailing Navy’s captains, Preble’s Boys, popular historian Fletcher Pratt used the quote and
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opined—quite erroneously—that Nelson “was a man who did not lightly scatter praise.”6 Repetition Breeds Accepted Wisdom Many modern biographers of Decatur, and recent naval historians, also accept that Nelson made the statement, although over time, with increasing reservations. In their biographies of Decatur, written in 1931 and 1937 respectively, Irvin Anthony and Charles Lee Lewis both used the Nelson quote without reservation and without citations.
to Tripoli and back to the squadron, were more dismissive, calling the purported Nelson quote an “apocryphal tale.” 7 Among writers about the Navy, Glenn Tucker wrote in Dawn Like Thunder (1963) that “applause came from an unexpected quarter. Lord Nelson, who knew about such things, who at the time was off Toulon blockading the French fleet, said when he heard of the feat that it was ‘the most bold and daring act of the age.’” Ian W. Toll noted in Six Frigates (2006) that Pope Pius VII praised the American Mediterranean squadron’s actions, and “Nelson—in naval circles a higher authority than the pope—was said to have emarked that Decatur’s mission to destroy the Philadelhia was ‘the most bold and daring act of the age.’” s recently as 2008, George Daughan in If by Sea rovided the Nelson phrase without equivocation.8 LEFT: NAVAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE COMMAND; RIGHT: NATIONAL MARITIME MUSEUM, GREENWICH
For an up-and-coming U.S. Navy lieutenant such as Decatur (left), being lauded for “the most bold and daring act of the age” by none other than the eminent Nelson would have been heady wine, indeed. Nelson’s purported quote appears in virtually every Decatur biography. But where did it originate?
In his 2004 work, James Tertius de Kay—the first of four 21st-century biographers of Decatur—wrote that “When Admiral Nelson heard the story on board his flagship Victory off Toulon, he roared with laughter and pronounced it ‘the most bold and daring act of the age.’” It is unclear why de Kay imagined that Nelson would think the news was hilarious. Spencer Tucker’s 2005 biography, tracking Mackenzie’s closely, stated that Nelson, off Toulon in the Victory, “is said to have called the action ‘the most bold and daring act of the age.’” In his 2005 biography of Decatur, Robert Allison wrote that Nelson was “reported” to have uttered the famous line. Allison added, “Although it is quite unlikely that Nelson did say this—there is no contemporary reference, and the first published account appeared in Alexander Slidell Mackenzie’s biography of Decatur, forty years after the event—it is also possible that Mackenzie heard of it from a sailor who had been in the Mediterranean at the time.” In a bizarre formulation, Leonard Guttridge wrote in his 2006 biography of Decatur that “Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson was described as impressed” by Decatur’s mission. Guttridge presumably was concerned about the provenance of the Nelson quote, opted not to use it, but provided a neutered construct instead: No one described Nelson as “impressed.” The recent biographers of Charles Stewart, commander of the brig Syren, which escorted the Intrepid
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There have been efforts to figure out if Nelson uttered the famous line. In 2002, after recounting the event and Mackenzie’s quotation of Nelson, I wrote a “Query” in The Mariner’s Mirror, a leading maritime journal, seeking an answer: Some accounts have it that Nelson uttered or wrote the comment to Sir Alexander Ball, the civil governor of Malta. Is the Nelson comment apocryphal? I would be grateful to learn if there is a Nelson (or Ball? or another officer who ostensibly heard Nelson?) letter or document with this phrase. There was no response. The Nelson Letters Project, which began in 1999, represented a systemic British scholarly effort to locate and record all of Nelson’s unpublished letters, and provided an opportunity for finding a letter in which Nelson wrote his famous line, if he ever did. But Nelson: The New Letters (2005) does not contain or refer to such a letter.9 In Pioneering Research, a Possible Clue? In the early 1990s, W. M. P. Dunne began work on what was to be a magisterial scholarly biography of Decatur. Dunne died in late 1995, with his magnum opus incomplete. His family provided copies of his manuscript to a number of naval historians, and such was Dunne’s influence that two of the recent Decatur biographers, de Kay and Guttridge, dedicated their Decatur biographies to Dunne’s memory. Bill Dunne, who had a forceful personality and U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
relished debunking myths, had made efforts to discover if Nelson had really said the famous line. Dunne proved that at the very least, Nelson learned the details of Decatur’s raid into Tripoli Harbor. After the mission, the Intrepid, along with her escort the Syren, sailed back to join the American squadron, then moored in the harbor of Syracuse, Sicily. They arrived on 19 February 1804. Decatur rejoined his own command, the schooner Enterprize, and the squadron commander, Edward Preble, immediately ordered the Enterprize to Messina for repairs. She was beset by a northeasterly gale, however, and sailed into Valletta, Malta, on 25 February. Several days later, Stewart sailed the Syren into Valletta. He carried Preble’s 24 February 1804 dispatch to Sir Alexander Ball, the civil governor of Malta and one of Nelson’s “ band of brothers”: SIR, As it is probable you may hear various accounts of the capture and destruction of the Tripolitan Frigate late the United States Frigate Philadelphia in the Harbour of Tripoly, I beg leave to mention the transactions relative to that affair. On the 3rd inst[ant] I sent the Ketch Intrepid of 4 Guns, with 11 Officers, and 59 Seamen and Marines, under the command of Lt. Decatur, to Tripoly with orders to burn the Frigate. The Syren Brig accompanied her to anchor off the Harbour, send in her oats to assist, and cover the retreat of the Ketch. The eather was unfavourable until the night of the 16th nst[ant] when they arrived the Brig t ok her position,
and the Ketch entered the Harbour—Was hailed from the batteries and the Frigate—Answered from Malta and the rig of the Vessel deceived the enemy until she was alongside the Frigate; they were then fatally undeceived. Lieut. Decatur boarded with his Men, and carried her after a short conflict in which upwards of 20 Tripolines were killed on the Decks—One large Boat load made their escape, some ran below & probably perished in the flames; and many jumped overboard. As soon as complete possession was gained, she was set on fire, and totally destroyed. All her Guns were mounted and loaded; and two of their Corsairs lay within half Musket shot of her. As soon as she was in flames, the Batteries, Bashaw’s Castle and Corsairs commenced firing on the Ketch. One Cannon shot passed through her Top Gall[an]t sail was all the damage she received. We did not lose a man, and had only one wounded. . . .10 Thus, not only did Ball have a detailed account from the American squadron commander, but he also could and did speak about the raid to both Stewart and Decatur. As captains of visiting foreign warships, they paid courtesy calls on Ball. It is safe to assume that Ball, as a British admiral, had at least some professional interest in the raid. In a letter dated 17 March 1804, Ball reported the incident to Nelson, quoting Preble’s letter at great length (the exact material above).11 Thus, Nelson knew the details of the burning of the Philadelphia in Preble’s own words, albeit through Ball, including that Decatur had been in command. However, there is no record in the National Maritime Museum of later correspondence from Ball to Preble, Decatur, or Stewart, in which Ball might INSET: AMERICAN ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY; FAR LEFT AND BELOW: SPECIAL COLLECTIONS, NIMITZ LIBRARY, U.S. NAVAL ACADEMY
U.S. Navy officer/author Alexander Slidell Mackenzie’s 1846 Decatur biography is the earliest source in print of Nelson’s oft-cited pronouncement. The book, published 42 years after the celebrated Philadelphia burning, is the wellspring of a “quote” that has been repeated again and again over the years. So the mystery then becomes: What was Mackenzie’s source?
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have shared Nelson’s praise with one of the Americans, had Nelson written him in response with the phrase. 12 Of course, Nelson may have written the words ascribed to him in a subsequent letter to anyone in his wide circle of correspondents. The published Nelson correspondence, including Nicholas Nicolas’ 19th-century multivolume collection, does not contain a letter with the phrase, nor does Nelson: The New Letters. While it is still possible that a Nelson letter could be discovered that contains the quote, the chances for such a discovery seem quite small. Theoretically, there might be several ways to try to find out if Nelson really called the burning of the Philadelphia “the most bold and daring act of the age.” One way is to try to determine if anyone in Nelson’s circle of correspondents or friends repeated his comment in a letter to someone (anyone) else.
The Valparaiso Connection But here is a hypothesis. Anyone who reads Mackenzie’s biography will notice the effort he made to locate people who knew Decatur and to plumb them for information. In Mackenzie’s preface, he specifically acknowledged Commodore Charles Stewart for information concerning “incidents of the Tripolitan War” and Commodore Charles Morris “for many new details in relation to the burning of the Philadelphia.”14 Alone among the early officers of the Navy, Morris wrote a short autobiography, apparently in the 1840s (but not published until 1880), and although he writes in detail about the Philadelphia raid, he does not provide or mention
LEFT: NATIONAL MARITIME MUSEUM, GREENWICH; RIGHT: LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
My people will talk to your people: Did a South American conversation between Nelson’s friend, Sir Thomas Masterman Hardy (left), and Decatur’s friend, Charles Stewart, lead to one of the most commonly bandied-about quotes in Decatur historiography? This is a daunting task, like looking for a needle in a haystack. Nelson had a wide circle of naval officers, friends, and followers, and to pursue this theory to the logical extreme, any of them might have recounted the phrase from late March 1804 until 1846, when Mackenzie finished his manuscript. Even in the 21st century, when documents are increasingly available electronically, the task of looking for such a letter seems insurmountable. However, there is another way to try to determine if Nelson’s quote is real—try to find out how Mackenzie learned of it. Thus far, that route has not proven any more fruitful. Although some of Mackenzie’s official correspondence and naval papers can be found, there apparently is no collection of his literary papers. While the publishers of his Decatur biography, Charles C. Little and James Brown, live on as Little, Brown and Company, today that company is unable to find the original draft manuscript or any notes Mackenzie may have made in submitting it. 13 Thus, the field is still open for a definitive answer: It is unclear if Nelson actually called the burning of the Philadelphia “the most bold and daring act of the age.”
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the Nelson quote.15 The omission is some evidence that Morris was not Mackenzie’s source for the quote. That leaves Stewart. Unfortunately, Stewart’s papers seem not to have survived. However, according to his biographers, in March 1822 Stewart sailed into Valparaiso, Chile, in command of the ship-of-the-line Franklin. While in port, he made the round of meetings and dinners (the “standard invitations”) with foreign officers and officials.16 One of the officers he met was Sir Thomas Masterman Hardy, then the commander of the British South American Squadron. Hardy (1769–1839) had served as Nelson’s flag captain on board the Victory from 1803 onward, and famously kissed his friend and admiral as Nelson lay dying in the cockpit of the Victory in the aftermath of the Battle of Trafalgar.17 There was no officer who was in Nelson’s physical presence more than Hardy, and as his friend and direct subordinate, he dined with Nelson and frequently walked the quarterdeck with him. U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Here, then, is the hypothesis: When Hardy met Stewart socially in 1822, he learned that they both had been in the Mediterranean at the same time, almost 20 years earlier. Upon discovering that Stewart was Decatur’s friend, Hardy told him what his friend, Nelson, had said about the raid into Tripoli Harbor—that the burning of the Philadelphia was “the most bold and daring act of the age.” Stewart remembered what Hardy had said and later told Mackenzie. To return to Mackenzie’s actual language, he wrote that Nelson “is said to have pronounced it ‘the most bold and daring act of the age,’” indicating that Mackenzie recognized the multiple-hearsay nature of whatever was told to him. I concede that this hypothesis is highly conjectural. Even if Stewart was the source for the Nelson quote, he might have heard it from another British officer—although none of them had Hardy’s near-constant access to Nelson in 1804. It is easy to question the Nelson quote as “quite unlikely” or “apocryphal” because, apparently, there is no contemporary account of it. In our modern day, we distrust the oral tradition as unreliable and susceptible to manipulation. Fair enough. Given the standards that Mackenzie set for himself—he “claim[ed] to have sought truth diligently from every source within his reach”—and the overall reliability of his Decatur biography, it is difficult to believe he fabricated the Nelson quote.18 Indeed, by using the passive voice (“is said”), Mackenzie indicated he was not vouching for the quote, but passing along what someone had communicated to him. That someone may have been Stewart, having spoken with Hardy; perhaps in the fullness of time, we will have an answer.
of Stephen Decatur, the U.S. Navy’s Most Illustrious Commander (New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2006), p. 18; Claude Berube and John Rodgaard, A Call to the Sea: Captain Charles Stewart of the U.S.S. Constitution (Washington, DC: Potomac Books, 2005), p. 39. 8. Glenn Tucker, Dawn Like Thunder: The Barbary Wars and the Birth of the U.S. Navy (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill., 1963), p. 283; Ian W. Toll, Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the U.S. Navy (New York: W. W. Norton, 2006), p. 258; George C. Daughan, If by Sea: The Forging of the American Navy from the Revolution to the War of 1812 (New York: Basic Books, 2008), p. 370. 9. Frederick C. Leiner, Query (“Stephen Decatur”), The Mariner’s Mirror, vol. 88, no. 2 (May 2002), p. 219; Colin White, ed., Nelson: The New Letters (Woodbridge, Suffolk, England: The Boydell Press, 2005) (publishing 507 of 1,300 newly found Nelson letters). 10. W. M. P. Dunne, “Stephen Decatur, 1779–1820: A Critical Biography,” MSS (1995), pp. 281, 285–86, citing Dudley W. Knox, ed., Naval Documents Related to the United States Wars with the Barbary Powers (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1941), vol. 3, p. 446, E. Preble to S. Decatur, 20 February 1804; vol. 3, p. 456 , S. Decatur to E. Preble, 26 February 1804; vol. 3, pp. 454–55, E. Preble to A. Ball, 24 February 1804. 11. National Maritime Museum (NMM), Greenwich, England, Phillips-Croker Collection, CRK/1/132, A. Ball to H. Nelson, 17 March 1804 letter. 12. Email, Quintin Colville, Curator of Naval History, NMM, to F. Leiner, 19 November 2010. 13. Letter, Eve Rabinovits (executive assistant to the publisher, Little, Brown and Co.) to F. Leiner, 30 March 2011. 14. Mackenzie, Life of Decatur, p. 4. 15. Charles Morris, The Autobiography of Commodore Charles Morris, U.S. Navy (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2002; orig. pub. 1880). 16. Berube and Rodgaard, A Call to the Sea, p. 149. 17. See Ludovic Kennedy, Nelson and His Captains (London: William Collins, Sons & Co., 1975); biographical sketch of Hardy at www.royalnavalmuseum.org/ info_sheets_thomas_hardy.html. 18. Mackenzie, Life of Decatur, p. 5.
1. Washington Irving, “Biography of Commodore Decatur,” Analectic Magazine, vol. 1 (1813), pp. 502–10; Thomas Wilson, The Biography of the Principal American Military and Naval Heroes (New York: John Low, 1819), vol. 2, pp. 99–118; S. Putnam Waldo, The Life and Character of Stephen Decatur (Hartford: P. B. Goodsell, 1821); J. Fenimore Cooper, History of the Navy of the United States of America (New York: Stringer & Townsend, 1856; orig. pub 1839). 2. Alexander Slidell Mackenzie, Life of Stephen Decatur (Boston: Charles C. Little and James Brown, 1846). 3. Ibid., pp. 288–89. 4. See Buckner F. Melton Jr., A Hanging Offense: The Strange Affair of the Warship Somers (New York: Free Press, 2003); Dictionary of American Biography (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1933), vol. 6, pp. 90–91. 5. Mackenzie, Life of Decatur, p. 81. 6. Edgar Stanton Maclay, A History of the United States Navy from 1775 to 1898 (New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1898), vol. 1, p. 268; Gardner W. Allen, Our Navy and the Barbary Corsairs (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., BlueJacket Shipcrafters is pleased to introduce two new models of 1905), p. 173; Fletcher Pratt, Preble’s Boys: Commodore the ultimate WWII destroyer USS GEARING (DD-710). Dr. Al Ross Preble and the Birth of American Sea Power (New York: has created kits of the GEARING in both her WW II William Sloane Associates, 1950), p. 95. configuration and after her FRAM I (Fleet Rehabilita7. Irvin Anthony, Decatur (New York: Charles Scribner’s tion and Modernization) of the 1960s. These kits are Sons, 1931), p. 138; Charles Lee Lewis, The Romantic truly works of art. Each kit includes a carved solid Decatur (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, hull, etched brass and Britannia fittings, and detailed 1937), p. 45; James Tertius de Kay, A Rage for Glory: The instructions. Recommended for expert modelers only. Life of Commodore Stephen Decatur, USN (New York: Free Press, 2004), p. 59; Spencer Tucker, Stephen Decatur: USS GEARING (DD-710) A Life Most Bold and Daring (Annapolis, MD: Naval WW II: Kit K1945 FRAM I: Kit K1961 Institute Press, 2005), p. 57; Robert J. Allison, Stephen Scale 1/16” = 1’ LOA: 24 7/16” Decatur: American Naval Hero, 1779–1820 (Amherst: INTRODUCTORY PRICE (,* University of Massachusetts Press, 2005), p. 53; LeonReg. Price $430. Offer good 1-800-448-5567 ard F. Guttridge, Our Country Right or Wrong: The Life until 7/30/12 www.bluejacketinc.com
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ou may send my new camera to me, without the tripod, as I am allowed to use it.” So wrote Frederick Richard Foulkes in a letter home on 17 April 1917, just four days after enlisting in the U.S. Coast Guard. Seaman Foulkes, the son of a Presbyterian minister, very quickly had acquired the nickname “Parson.” When the United States declared war on Germany on 6 April 1917, the Coast Guard had been transferred from the Treasury Department to the Navy Department. Veteran crews were augmented with fresh recruits; Foulkes was assigned to the cutter Manning. A small warship by today’s standards, she was 205 feet long and displaced 1,155 tons. Commissioned on 8 January 1898, the Manning was a veteran of the Spanish-American War, one of the last class of U.S. revenue cutters rigged for sail, and the first to carry electric generators. Powered by one steam engine, she could attain 17 knots and boasted two 3-inch gun mounts and two 6-pounder rapid-fire guns. Filled out to a full complement of 8 officers, 4 warrant officers, and 100 crew, the Manning was deployed o Gibraltar. She escorted her first convoy out through the danger zone, some 15 miles, on 19 September 1917. oulkes frequently wrote to his family in Philadelphia and made ample use of the amera he had requested—the result being a rich trove of letters and photographs. he excerpts from his letters reproduced here, along with a sampling of his dozens f p otographs, provide an up-close look—nearly a century later—at wartime duty n board a heralded cutter of Squadron 2, Division 6, Atlantic Fleet Patrol Forces. ( ( ( ( (
30 September 1917: I cannot tell much because of censorship, but I will do my est. To begin with, I am well now but have been seasick. . . . We don’t think bout getting the Germans near so much as we think about getting home.
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11 October: I am now signalman; there are four of us, and every other day we are off. At sea, I turn to again as an O.S. [Ordinary Seaman] In case my other letter did not reach you, I am going to repeat a request for some stuff—Durham Duplex [razor] blades, vest pocket Kodak film, and a box of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit Gum, also newspapers. 11 November: Your Freddie has seen a real German U Boat, but would much rather see the Statue of Liberty loom up before his gaze, still I am not homesick, although I surely do miss home. It’s funny, one day I think of home as a means of getting a certain dish that I liked and the next day it will be some music I would like to play on the piano and so it goes. 6 December: Uncle Sam has given us free postage as a Christmas gift. It is welcome more because of the convenience it gives than the money saved. Stamps sure were scarce articles, but now we can write and mail a letter whenever we wish. About the fellows on the ship. There are some mighty fine boys on board and I get along very well with them. The crew runs from one “gob” who has taken postgraduate work at Yale, to one who claims that he has been in practically every jail in the States, so you see I have plenty of companions to choose from. There is very, very little swiping among the crew. In fact, things I have lost have been returned to me. Of course, unmarked clothing is not owned by any one, so if a fellow fails to mark his clothes, he has to take a chance. ALL PHOTOS COURTESY THE AUTHOR
Ordinary Seaman Frederick R. Foulkes poses proudly in full uniform. This photo most likely was taken at Fort Trumbell, New London, Connecticut, in April 1917, the same month he enlisted in the Coast Guard. Four days after his enlistment he wrote home requesting his camera, and used it frequently to chronicle his wartime service. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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9 February 1918: This is the sixth day out and I have not written before because of the restless waves. The sea is still rolling but not rough. The first thing we saw, after leaving port, was a torpedoed tramp. The stern was under water. Fritz did not get her though, as she was heading for land, under her own power. Believe me, we kept some lookout. While looking at her, the crew’s attention was called back to our ship by a fire on board. We soon had it out as every man knew his place. As soon as we were away from the sheltering shores we had rough weather again. The weather was not near as rough as some we have had, but the waves were very high, making the ship roll and pitch a great deal. We did not use tables to eat on but used bowls. I do not swing [use a hammock] but sleep on the deck. In good weather it seems crowded below, but when the fellows on deck are driven below by bad weather, it sure looks like a cattle car, or better yet, a chicken car, as there are about three layers of us. First come the gents who swing. All hooks are used and everything else that a hammock can be swung on. On the sides of the berth deck are benches used for lockers and seats. They are about a foot and a half wide; those are used next. Fellows lashing themselves on them so that they will not roll off. Then the benches used to eat from are next in order for beds. Much the same procedure used for the other benches except that the benches must be lashed to something to keep them from sliding around the room. Last of all come the men in Freddy’s class; we sleep on the deck. I prefer to sleep on deck as it is cooler and more convenient. The men on deck sleep in a scrambled egg fashion. Some will be using my feet for a pillow and I will very likely be using somebody’s back or other portion of his body, for my pillow. We must not show a light so a little shaded light is all we have down there. I will describe one night’s sleep. . . . I turned in around seven thirty. I had the
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The USS Manning at sea. This image of the aft deck gives a sense of the cutter gently rolling on the Atlantic. Seaman Foulkes noted in a letter home, however, that when in rough weather the ship would “roll and pitch a great deal.”
four to eight in the morning. I tried to get asleep as soon as possible (O yes, I had all my clothing on, just my shoes were off) so that I would not get seasick. I went to sleep alright. The next thing I knew a fellow sleeping on a bench fell off, overturning the bench on me. I just told him what I thought of him and went to sleep again. The next thing to happen—someone going on watch steps on my head, trying to navigate through the crowd. I don’t blame him for I have done the same myself. It is hardly possible to get around without walking on some one’s hand or foot. I prefer walking on their stomachs as I hate to hear the bones crunch. O! the wonders of my Navy sleep! A man swinging above me fell out of his hammock. He hardly woke up and in his fall he received a black eye. My “fat” has done some good. I always wake up with a bad taste in my mouth, but help is in sight, we are having better weather and a lot of us are sleeping on deck. I should add that the remaining cat always sleeps with me, or on my bunk. Why I don’t know. We had a number of cats. One was sat on, one climbed in a hammock and was lashed up, the rest fell or jumped overboard. What used to be the chart room is now used by the captain as living quar-
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ters, while at sea. . . . In front of the chart room is the old pilot “Earning my bread and butter,” was Foulkes’ house. The ship is now steered caption for this. He wrote of climbing up “to send from the bridge. In the pilot house a signal when a large wave broke over the whole the signal flags are kept, so that bridge. I was soaked [and] finished my watch in allows the signalman and quarter- the wet clothes . . . and never even sneezed.” master freedom of that room. As Note the pattern of light and dark tones that are the pilot house is high above the part of the ship's camouflage. water-line, we can get fresh air and light from the lee side. . . . There has been some complaint gun that broke loose on a man-of-war. about the food lately, so the Captain I did not understand it then, but I can called me into the chart room, day be- now. A vinegar barrel broke loose when fore yesterday, and had a half hour talk the ship was hitting the high seas. Talk with me about food, liberty, etc. He said about your “bull in a T shop.” We are a he would try and let us have pie twice very modest bunch and no one wanted a week and all night liberty. The food to be a hero, but at last it was captured. Yesterday was the first day since leavhas improved and for the last two days we have eaten well. When the captain ing port that the decks were dry. So I decalled me I thought he was going to tell cided to sleep on deck. I had the 4 to 8 me to wash but he did not, he usually this morning and I was mighty glad I did does about once every trip. So I washed for it started to rain this morning at 3:15. yesterday for the first time since leaving I made up my mind not to get up ’till I port. I have not shaved, though. Really, went on watch. I was just a little damp at for a young chap, I have quite a vigor- four but if I had slept through until seven, I would have had a bath. Water does not ous fringe. I am getting to be quite a person on seem to hurt one though. Today is wonderful, a blue sea, no board here. I have charge of a life raft when we abandon ship. I am in a ma- caps, hardly any wind and a white sky. chine gun crew, also. We use both the But O the sea is deeply moved. Go to the bathroom (I could spend a day in Colt and the Lewis. I remember when I was younger the shower now and need it), fill the reading about a hero who captured a tub and greatly disturb the water, put a U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
match or some small object on a cake of Ivory soap put the soap in the tub, look at the soap, watch how it floats up one wave and down the next, then look at the toothpick or match slide around, that’s ME. . . . But I think there is something grand about a wild and rough sea. Maybe I will be [a] sailor yet. The days have been, as a rule, cloudy and the nights dark. When I am on watch, during the night time, I take it upon myself to pass the coffee around. It usually comes up about once every two hours, or twice on a watch. It is some job passing the java on a dark night. One night I offered it to the compass, which I mistook for the Officer of the Deck. On another time I thought I was filling a cup, but instead I was pouring it up my sleeve. 13 February: Yesterday I found the secret of bathing in one bucket of water. . . . For quite a while I have washed my teeth with the aid of an old jam can, in which I held the water. The jam can is about the size of a large water tumbler. Here is the way I washed. First I filled my bucket as full as possible with water which I heated by means of steam to a fairly warm temperature. I then went into the wash room (about five square feet). Next I took off all my clothes, except my underwear. The said underwear was in need of a washing also. I filled the jam can with water and washed my hands in it. I got them clean, too. The soap water was then poured over myself. I filled the can again and washed my face. You need soap on your face here, too. The soapy water left was again poured over me. I next used the jam can full of water for my hair. Next came my back and chest to be cleaned, so I removed my jersey which was by now well filled with suds and stood for it. It took about two cans of water to wash my body and then I removed my drawers which were well sudded and gave myself a good foot and leg bath. By using the can three or four more times, I was able to rinse off all the soap and dirt. It is to be noted here that my original bucket of water is still clear. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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So I gave myself a copious shower of the clean water, which by this time was cooled quite a bit. But the remarkable thing is this, after all the water used on myself I had half a bucket of clean water to wash clothes in. I guess I must have the making of a good sailor in me to do that. 8 March: I have received a half bag of North Americans [a Philadelphia newspaper]. I think it is best to cancel the order, as they all come at one time and I cannot read one tenth of them. Besides the policy of the N.A. nearly drives me mad. Things are bound to go wrong and this business of enlarging the faults of our hard working President and others nearly makes one doubt the sincerity of the paper. . . . We have plenty
A signalman in the Manning stands his station clad in foul-weather gear, with Gibraltar looming in the background. “For watches at sea, we have underwear, a blanket shirt, a wind suit, laced boots that go on over our shoes and a sheep skin coat, besides rain clothes for bad weather,” Foulkes wrote.
Crewmen use the ship’s rigging as a clothesline. “I washed everything I owned two months ago," Foulkes commented, adding that "I have not been wearing dirty clothing but my bag is full of it. I will have to wash soon though. I would not mind washing a motor car . . . but clothes are not in my line.”
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over our shoes and a sheep skin coat, besides rain clothes for bad weather. 22 April: Of course U-Boats are our “ambition,” you might say, so a very good lookout is suppose to be kept. As there are four signal boys we stand four hours on and twelve off. I have stood lookout and wheel watches also. The wheel watch is not bad but the lookout, My! A fellow feels far from home way up in the crow’s nest. The ship may not be rolling much but the lookout feels every move. 31 May: Yesterday being Decoration Day I was “decorated” with four hours extra duty. The exact reason for my voluntary (on the officers’ part) work was not because yesterday was the 30th but because I failed to lash my hammock up properly. I was the official lemonade maker. In fact, fellows coming back from “Liberty” would wake me up to During an outbreak of the flu, many of the crew took to “flu bunks” on the ship’s deck. Foulkes preferred to sleep on deck as a matter of course, for on those make the stuff.” 26 June: I have not been to church for a long occasions when the entire crew slept belowdecks, he wrote, “it sure looks like a time, as Sundays have either been used up at sea, cattle car, or better yet, a chicken car, as there are about three layers of us.” or I am on watch if they found us in port. I sure do miss going. In fact, that is the kind of thing that I of warm clothes. Most of the fellows use their Red Cross have missed most. sweaters for liberty. For watches at sea, we have under30 July (the last letter that was saved): I was going wear, a blanket shirt, a wind suit, laced boots that go on to do a lot of writing this last trip but for a mighty good
“We spent six days reading ancient [news from home], in other words history from a newspaper,” Foulkes (left) wrote to his parents. He suggested they cancel the subscription because “they all come at one time and I cannot read one tenth of them.” That’s not to mention that he didn’t much care for the newspaper’s political positions.
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“I am getting to be quite a person on board here. I have charge of a life raft when we abandon ship,” Foulkes wrote home. “I am in a machine gun crew, also. We use both the Colt and the Lewis.” This photo (either posed or taken while training) was captioned: “My station when in fights with U-Boats.” reason did not. The sea was rough. Roll? There were times when I thought the “old packet” never would come back.
One of the ships with us had her life boats torn from her side by the wild sea. For three nights had no sleep and no one else did either. Water even came below to the berth deck.
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With that, the extant commentary from Foulkes—my grandfather—draws to an abrupt end. Contemporary accounts, including the ship’s log, help fill in some blanks. At 0920 on 11 November 1918, the Manning “received signal from dockyard that Germany has signed armistice.” By war’s end, the Manning had escorted 24 convoys consisting of more than 700 merchant ships, escorted troop ships on special service, and conducted antisubmarine patrols in the Mediterranean. Typical of the cutters of Squadron 2, the Manning was under way more than 40 percent of the time. Although she didn’t earn a star on her funnel for sinking a U-boat, there were a few brushes with German submarines, including a narrow escape from an enemy torpedo. After returning to the States, my grandfather was honorably discharged on 26 January 1919. He got married and worked at a number of jobs in and around New York City, including high-rise steelworker, merchant seaman, and hotel manager. Responding to the devastating losses from U-boat attacks during World War II, the War Shipping Administration telegraphed him that “vessels of our Merchant Marine may be delayed in November and December for lack of qualified officers. . . . We urge you to ship as quickly as possible.” Well into his 40s and father of a 10-year-old daughter, he answered the call, quoting to my grandmother a couplet from Richard Lovelace’s famous poem: I could not love thee, dear, so much, Lov’d I not honor more. He served for the rest of the war as first mate on a series of Liberty and Victory ships—but that’s another story. He died in 1971 at the age of 73. N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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Frederick Foulkes answered his nation’s call again in World War II, serving as first mate on Liberty and Victory ships.
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GETTY IMAGES (TIME/LIFE ALFRED EISENSTAEDT)
The Story behind the
Famous Kiss BY LAWRENCE VERRIA AND CAPTAIN GEORGE GALDORISI, U.S. NAVY (RETIRED)
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The two participants in the world’s most famous kiss didn’t even know each other, nor was their photograph staged. A new book, The Kissing Sailor, tells how it came about and was captured for posterity. The following condensed version weaves together key sections of chapters 9 through 12. She Looked Like a Nurse Tuesday, August 14, 1945, started off for Greta Zimmer in the same manner as did most weekdays during that year. Hurrying to get ready for work, she showered, dressed, and pinned her hair up tightly to keep her long locks from covering her ears and neck. Before leaving her Manhattan apartment she grabbed a quick bite to eat, reached for her multicolored, small purse, and rushed out the door. When running late, Greta walked briskly toward the subway station to catch a train that could get her to work on time. Her destination was the 33rd and Lexington subway stop, approximately three blocks from Dr. J. L. Berke’s dentist office. Greta had worked as a dental assistant at the Manhattan office for several months. While she hoped to someday design theater sets and pursue other vocations in the arts, work as a dental assistant bought her some independence and took her mind off a prolonged war. When Greta arrived at the office on the morning of August 14, she changed into her working uniform. If it were not for her place of employment, she could have been easily mistaken for a nurse. Her white dress, white stockings, white shoes, and white cap did not distinguish her from thousands of other caregivers in New York. While Greta performed her dental assistant duties that Tuesday morning, many patients burst into the office short of breath and beaming. Excitedly, they informed the staff and patients that the war with Japan had ended. Most patients and workers believed them. Greta wasn’t so sure. She wanted to trust their reports, but the war had rained more than a fair share of misery upon Greta. Her defenses remained high. She opted to delay a celebratory mindset that could prove painfully premature. During the later morning hours, patients continued to enter the dentists’ office with more optimistic news. While Greta tried to ignore the positive developments, the temptation to flow with the prevailing winds challenged her reserve. As the reports became more definitive and promising, Greta found herself listening, contemplating, and growing eager. When the two dentists returned from their lunches after 1:00 pm, Greta quickly finished the business before her. Soon after, she grabbed her small hand purse with the colorful pattern, took off her white dental assistant cap (as was customary before going out in public), and set out during her lunch break for Times Square. There N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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the Times news zipper utilized lit and moving type to report the latest news. She wanted to know for herself if the claims that had been tossed about over the past several hours were misleading hearsay, or if, on this day, the reports would finally be true. When Greta arrived at Times Square, a holiday atmosphere was taking hold. While the celebration was subdued compared to what would follow later that day, Greta sensed a vibrant energy in the air. Suited businessmen, well-dressed women, and uniformed soldiers and sailors entered the pandemonium from all directions. Some ran with no determined direction. Others walked with purpose. Some remained stationary, as if waiting for something big to happen. Greta paid no one particular person much attention. As she proceeded into the square she moved by several recognizable landmarks: the 42nd Street subway stairwell, a replica of the Statue of Liberty, and a large statue of Joe Rosenthal’s famous picture from a few months earlier. After walking a few paces beyond the 25-foot model of the Marines raising the flag at Iwo Jima, Greta spun around and looked in the direction of the Times Building. She focused her sight just above the third-floor windows where the scrolling lighted letters spelled out the latest headlines. Greta read the racing and succinctly worded message quickly. Now she knew the truth. The Last Day of Leave On the last day of his leave, Petty Officer First Class George Mendonsa paid no attention to the day’s newspaper headlines and worried little about his Japanese enemy. After almost two years in World War II’s Pacific theater, his mindset was that the war would unfold independent of his blessing or curse. On the morning of August 14, 1945, his thoughts focused primarily on Rita Petry, an attractive Long Island girl he’d met a few weeks earlier in Rhode Island. George woke up that Tuesday morning alone in a bedroom at the Petry family’s Long Island home. After breakfast with Rita’s family, he leafed through The New York Times looking for show times in New York’s theaters. He and his new girlfriend decided to take in a matinee at Radio City Music Hall. They thought the 1:05 pm showing of A Bell for Adano would give them plenty of time to make it back to Long Island by early evening. George was scheduled to depart for San Francisco that night. In a few days he expected to board The Sullivans and prepare for what he hoped would be
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the last battles of World War II. He knew an invasion of the Japanese mainland was imminent. While he did not welcome the looming chain of events, he thought finishing off the Japanese in their homeland would be a fitting bookend to a war that had commenced almost four years earlier with the empire’s surprise bombing of Pearl Harbor. But all that was in the future. He still had one day left to enjoy in New York. Preparing for that day, George wore a formal blue Navy uniform that he’d had tailor-made while on leave in Newport. Rita liked how well fitted the new uniform appeared, but she’d also noticed that “he didn’t look like a usual sailor. He didn’t have those things [rates] on his shoulder.” She’d offered to sew on the chevron, but George had insisted he would take care of the matter with a crossbow hand-stitch he had perfected affixing rates on uniforms on board The Sullivans. He never got around to it, so, in the event the shore patrol inquired as to the whereabouts of his rating badge, George made sure to carry the chevron on his person when he and Rita set out for the city. When they arrived in Manhattan at approximately noon, the city already buzzed with rumors of Japan’s anticipated surrender. However, neither Rita nor George listened much to people’s conversations. Intent on getting to the theater for the 1:05 movie, they made their way from the subway directly to Radio City Music Hall. For all their rushing, George and Rita never saw the climax of A Bell for Adano, the movie they had come to see. After a few scenes of the film had played on the large screen, a theater employee interrupted the show by pounding on the entrance door and announcing loudly that World War II had ended. Radio City Music Hall patrons simultaneously leaped to their feet with a thunderous applause. Though President Truman had not yet received Japan’s official surrender, and the White House’s official announcement of Japan’s capitulation was still hours away, few raised the slightest objection to the premature declaration. Seconds after the theater attendant’s announcement, George, Rita, and most other moviegoers poured out of
Radio City Music Hall into a bustling 50th Street and 6th Avenue. As they merged into the frenzied scene, they fed off the contagious excitement that surrounded them. People yelled out news of victory and peace. They smiled and laughed. They jumped up and down with no thought of proper decorum. As if caught in a magnetic field, the historic celebration moved toward Times Square. People from other sections of the city were funneled to the same crossroads where they had gathered for celebrations in the past. At the corner of 7th Avenue and 49th Street, George and Rita dropped into Childs restaurant for celebratory libations. As in other watering holes in New York, people walked, skipped and ran up to the jam-packed counter to tip a glass or two (or significantly more) to the war that they thought had finally ended. The scene at Childs looked much like that on 7th Avenue. Order and etiquette had been cast away. Rather than placing orders for a specific mug of beer or a favorite glass of wine, patrons forced their way toward the bar and reached out an arm to grab one of the shot glasses of liquor that lined the counter. A generous bartender
News of the war’s end had primed America’s meeting place for a one-in-a-million kind of picture.
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rrrrrrrrrrrrrr COURTESY OF GEORGE MENDONSA
On 14 August 1945, Petty Officer First Class George Mendonsa and his new girlfriend (soon to be wife) Rita Petry were in New York when news of the war’s end broke and everyone hit the streets, celebrating. rrrrrrrrrrrrrr
continuously poured the contents of hard liquor bottles into waiting glasses. George grabbed whatever the server dispensed and did not ask what it was he drank. He knew the desired result would be the same whether the contributor was Jack Daniel’s, Jameson, or Old Grand-Dad. Even Rita gave over to the reckless abandon. After several minutes and the consumption of too many drinks, George and his date made their way out of the packed bar. Emotions and alcohol-based fuel propelled them out into Times Square where victorious World War II celebrants continued to mass. George thought, My God, Times Square is going wild. And at that point, so was George. He felt uncharacteristically blissful and jubilant. As George moved U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
briskly toward the 42nd Street subway station, the sailor from The Sullivans outpaced his girlfriend. For the moment, no one could corral George. And no one tried—not even Rita. The realization of a triumphant war created more vigor than his large frame could hold. He needed to release the energy. Rita did her best to keep up. At most points she trailed him by only a few feet. Although she enjoyed the folic through Times Square, she wondered if George would ever stop for a breather. In Search of the Picture As the spirited celebration of Japan’s surrender grew, reporters from the Associated Press, The New York Times, the New York Daily News, and other well-known publications descended on Times Square to record the spontaneous merriment that was enveloping the world’s most important crossroads. Photographers added more bodies to a burgeoning impromptu gala. One of them represented Life magazine. On August 14, 1945, the magazine sought pictures that differed from most others printed earlier in the war. On this day, Life wanted its viewers to know what the end of the war felt like. The editors didn’t know with any degree of certainty what incarnation that feeling might take, but they left it to their photographers to show them— just like they had with other events over the publication’s nine-year history. Those unsupervised approaches had rarely led to disappointment in the past, and Life’s editors trusted their photographers to deliver again today. The magazine’s trust in its photographers was especially complete when Alfred Eisenstaedt was on assignment. He had photographed the people and personalities of World War II, some prior to the declaration of war and others even before Life existed. As a German Jew in the 1930s, he had chronicled the developing storm, including a picture of Benito Mussolini’s first meeting with Adolf Hitler in Venice, on June 13, 1934. In another shoot he’d photographed an Ethiopian soldier’s bare cracked feet on the eve of Fascist Italy’s attack in 1935. After the outbreak of war between Japan and the United States, Eisenstaedt focused on the American home front. In 1942 he photographed a six-member Missouri draft board classifying a young farmer as 2-C, indicating draft deferment because of his occupation’s N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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importance to the nation. For another series in 1945, he visited Washington and photographed freshman senators performing comical monologues and musical numbers to entertain Capitol reporters. During World War II, Eisenstaedt showed the world what war looked like on the U.S. mainland. On the day World War II ended, Eisenstaedt entered Times Square dressed in a tan suit, a white shirt with a lined tie, tan saddle shoes, and a Leica camera hanging from his neck. Despite his distinctive ensemble, he traveled stealthily amongst the kaleidoscope of moving parts looking for the picture. He made sure not to call attention to himself. He was on the hunt. He knew there was a picture in the making. Kinetic energy filled the square. Eisenstaedt wished for others to feel it, too. To create that sense, Eisenstaedt’s photo needed a tactile element. It was a tall order for the five-foot, four-inch photographer. He relished the challenge. At some point after 1:00 pm, Eisenstaedt took a picture of several women celebrating in front of a theater across the street from the 42nd Street subway staion stairwell. The picture showed ladies hrowing pieces of paper into the air, reating a mini-ticker-tape parade. rrrrrrrrrrrrrr COURTESY OF GRETA FRIEDMAN
Greta Zimmer, who worked as a dental assistant, had been forced to leave her parents in Austria, where they assured the survival of their three daughters by sending them away. Not sure the war was really over, Greta walked to Times Square to see for herself the Times news zipper. Meanwhile, Life magazine photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt was on the prowl to capture the image that would define this national moment. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
While the photo had its charm, it was not the defining picture Eisenstaedt was searching for that day. Shortly after closing the shutter on that scene, he turned to his left and looked up Broadway and 7th Avenue to where 43rd Street connected to Times Square’s main artery. As Eisenstaedt continued to search for a photograph that would forever define the moment at hand, he peered around and beneath, but probably not over, the sea of humanity. News of the war’s end had primed America’s meeting place for a one-in-a-million kind of picture. A prospect would present itself soon. Eisenstaedt knew that. So he looked and waited.
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The Kiss
blue uniform. As he did so, Greta looked away from the Times zipper and started to turn to her right. George crossed Greta Zimmer stood motionless in Times Square near the intersection of 44th and 7th Avenue, lengthening the a replica of the Statue of Liberty and a model of the space between him and Rita. The photographer, the sailor, Marines raising the flag at Iwo Jima. To Greta’s left was and the dental assistant were on a collision course. Childs restaurant, one of several in New York, includWith a quickening pace that matched the surrounding ing this establishment at 7th Avenue and 49th Street. scene’s rising pulse, the sailor who But Greta did not come to Times served his country aboard The SulSquare to stare at statues or belly livans zeroed in on a woman whom up to bars. She wanted to read the he assumed to be a nurse. The liTimes zipper and learn if Japan quor running through his veins really had surrendered to the transfixed his glassy stare. He reUnited States. membered a war scene when he With the 44th Street sign and had rescued maimed sailors from the Astor Hotel to her back, she a burning ship in a vast ocean of looked up at the tall triangular water. Afterward, gentle nurses, anbuilding that divided one street gels in white, tended to the injured into two. The lit message running men. From the bridge of The Sullivans he watched them around the Times Building read, “VJ, VJ, VJ, VJ . . .” perform miracles. Their selfless service reassured him that Greta gazed at the moving type without blinking. A faint one day the war would end. Peace would reign, again. That smile widened her lips and narrowed her eyes. She took day had arrived. in the moment fully and thought, The war is over. It’s George steamed forward several more feet. His girlfriend really over. was now farther behind. He focused on Greta, the “nurse.” Though Greta had arrived in Times Square by herself, She remained unaware of his advance. That served his she was not alone. While she continued to watch the mopurpose well. He sought no permission for what he was tioning “VJ” message, hundreds of people moved around about to do. He just knew that she looked like those her. Greta paid little attention to the swelling mass of hunurses who saved lives during the war. Their care and manity. But they were about to take notice of her, and nurturing had provided a short and precious reprieve from never forget what they saw. Within a few seconds she bekamikaze-filled skies. But that nightmare had ended. And came Times Square’s nucleus. Everybody orbited around there she stood. Before him. With her, with one exception. He was background noises barely registerdrawn to her. ing, he rushed toward her as if in Fresh from the revelry at a Childs a vacuum. on 49th, George Mendonsa and his Though George halted his steps new girlfriend, Rita Petry, made their just before running into Greta, his way down Times Square toward the upper torso’s momentum swept over 42nd Street subway station. Rita fell her. The motion’s force bent Greta behind George by a few steps. Meanbackward and to her right. As he while, Eisenstaedt persisted in his overtook Greta’s slender frame, his hunt for the photo. After traveling right hand cupped her slim waist. a block or so up Times Square, he He pulled her inward toward his took notice of a fast moving sailor lean and muscular body. Her initial who he thought he saw grabbing a attempt to physically separate her woman and kissing her. That sailor person from the intruder proved a was heading quickly south down futile exertion against the dark-uniBroadway and 7th Avenue. Wonderformed man’s strong hold. With her ing what he might do next, Eisenright arm pinned between their two staedt changed direction and raced bodies, she instinctively brought her ahead of the darting sailor. To avoid left arm and clenched fist upward in bumping into people in the crowded defense. The effort was unnecessary. street, he had to look away from He never intended to hurt her. the sailor he was trying to track. He To order your copy of The Kissing Sailor, go to As their lips locked, his left arm struggled to regain his focus on the www.usni.org/store/books. supported her neck. His left hand, Navy man wearing the formal Navy
He sought no permission for what he was about to do. He just knew that she looked like those nurses who saved lives during the war.
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turned backward and away from her face, offered the singular gesture of restraint, caution or doubt. The struck pose created an oddly appealing mixture of brutish force, caring embrace, and awkward hesitation. He didn’t let go. As he continued to lean forward, she lowered her right arm and gave over to her pursuer—but only for three or four seconds. He tried to hold her closer, wanting the moment to last longer. And longer still. But they parted, the space between them and the moment shared ever widening, releasing the heat born from their embrace into the New York summer afternoon. The encounter, brief and impromptu, transpired beyond the participants’ governance. Even George, the initiator, commanded little more resolve than a floating twig in a rushing river of fate. He just had to kiss her. He didn’t know why. For that moment, George had thought Times Square’s streets belonged to him. They did not. Alfred Eisenstaedt owned them. When he was on assignment, nothing worth capturing on film escaped his purview. Before George and Greta parted, Eisenstaedt spun around, aimed his Leica and clicked the camera’s shutter release closed four times. Other photos were also snapped of the kissing sailor. Lieutenant Victor Jorgensen, One of those clicks produced V-J Day, 1945, U.S. Navy, happened to be on the scene and captured the moment. Times Square. That photograph became his rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr career’s most famous, Life magazine’s most reas far she could tell, she had not been photographed at any produced, and one of history’s most popular. The image point in time during that day. She did not learn otherwise of a sailor kissing a nurse on the day World War II ended until years later, when she saw Eisenstaedt’s photograph of kept company with Joe Rosenthal’s photo of the flag raisa Times Square couple kissing in a book entitled The Eyes ing at Iwo Jima. That photo proudly exemplified what a of Eisenstaedt. hard-fought victory looks like. This photo savored what a George did not realize that he had been photographed, long-sought peace feels like. either. When George turned from the act he’d instigated, Alfred Eisenstaedt was not the only photographer to he smiled at Rita and offered little explanation for what take notice of George and Greta. Navy Lieutenant Vichad transpired. As hard as it is to believe, she made no tor Jorgensen, standing to Eisenstaedt’s right, fired off one serious objection. George’s actions fell within the acceptshot of the entwined couple at the precise moment the able norms of August 14, 1945, but not any other day. Life photographer took his second picture of four. Though Actually, neither George nor Rita thought much of the Jorgensen’s photo did not captivate audiences to the same episode and proceeded to Rita’s parents’ home via the degree that Eisenstaedt’s second photograph did, Kissing the 42nd Street subway train. Later that evening, the Petrys War Goodbye drew many admirers as well. transported George to LaGuardia Airport for a flight to And then it was over. Shortly after the taking of V-J San Francisco that left at approximately midnight. NeiDay, 1945, Times Square, Greta returned to the dental ofther he nor Rita discovered Eisenstaedt’s V-J Day, 1945, fice and told everyone what was happening on the streets. Times Square until 1980. Dr. Berke had her cancel the rest of the day’s appointments and closed the office. Afterward, as Greta made her way home, another sailor kissed her, this time politely on the Excerpt reprinted, by permission, from Lawrence Verria and George Galcheek. For this kiss Greta no longer wore her dental assisdorisi, The Kissing Sailor: The Mystery Behind the Photo That Ended World War II (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2012). tant uniform and no photographers took her picture. And U.S. NAVY (VICTOR JORGENSEN)
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Naval History News continued from page 11
WWII Big Guns Rescued As reported earlier in “Naval History News,” efforts have been under way to find homes for guns from the USS Missouri (BB-63) and other iconic World
arrived at the Fort Miles Historical Area in Delaware’s Cape Henlopen State Park in April. The 16-inch/50-caliber Mark 7, which could hurl 2,700-pound shells more than 23 miles in 50 seconds, had witnessed history when the Japanese surrendered on the deck of the Missouri on 2 September 1945.
The guns were removed after the war, and were rumored to have been scrapped and turned into razor blades. The Missouri gun was fated to become scrap as well, until the Fort Miles Historical Association (FMHA) requested it, launching a fund-raising effort to move it to Delaware. According to the
CAPEGAZETTE.COM (RON MACARTHUR)
Saved from the wrecker’s yard, a gun barrel from the USS Missouri makes its way across the Lewes-Rehoboth Canal trestle bridge en route to its new home at Fort Miles in Delaware. rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
War II battleships, rescuing these relics from the wrecker’s yard (“Who Will Save the Big Guns of WWII?” December 2011, p. 10). This spring, the news was good for three of the guns, with two heading westward from their storage site in Norfolk, Virginia, and another heading off to stand perpetual, honorary sentinel on the East Coast. After a long journey by water and rail, the 68-foot gun barrel from the Missouri
“Delaware is honored to be the new home of this significant piece of American history,” said Senator Thomas Carper (D-DE). “As a major operational center of our nation’s coastal defense during World War II, Fort Miles is the perfect place to display this artifact.” At one time, two similar guns were installed at Fort Miles, which served as a coastal fortification for the Army.
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FMHA, the total cost of getting the big gun to its new home was $113,500. The funds were raised through private donations and several key grants. The barrel was donated by the U.S. Naval Systems Command through a joint plan written by FMHA and Delaware State Parks. Also in April, another gun from the Missouri departed Norfolk for a new lease on life, but instead of traveling two states away, this one was traveling 2,000 miles away. And it had a traveling companion—the last gun from the USS Arizona (BB-39). The 14-inch Arizona gun and 16-inch Missouri gun were bound for the Arizona Capitol Museum in Phoenix; they will remain there on permanent exhibit and are scheduled to be dedicated on Pearl Harbor Day, 7 December 2012. “We are very fortunate because this is our 100th anniversary as a state, so to have this come to fruition in 2012 is really neat for Arizona,” said Arizona Secretary of State Ken Bennett. U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Pete Kolakowski of the Naval Surface Warfare Center said, “We are proud to be a participant in preserving the U.S. Navy’s heritage by contributing the last gun from the USS Arizona to the state of Arizona.” How was this particular gun barrel spared the fate of its mother ship? The barrel had been removed from the Arizona to be relined before World War II, and was at the Dahlgren Naval Proving Ground for proof-testing when the attack on Pearl Harbor occurred on 7 December 1941. The gun had been part of the Arizona from 1925 to 1938 and would be used in support of multiple World War II operations—including the D-Day invasion on 6 June 1944—after its installation aboard the USS Nevada (BB-36) in 1942. With the sinking of the Arizona at Pearl Harbor marking America’s entrance into World War II and the Japanese surrender on the Missouri marking the conflict’s end, exhibiting the pair of gun barrels together provides a certain historical symmetry. As Smith noted, “The USS Arizona and USS Missouri gun barrels represent bookends of World War II—the beginning and end.”
‘Gallant John’ Gets His Marker at Last
NATIONAL PARK SERVICE
Representatives from the Embassy of Ireland, the Naval Order of the United States, and the National Park Service gathered in Washington, D.C., on 4 May to unveil the new Commodore John Barry Memorial wayside marker designed by Karen Erlinger. The Irish-born Barry (1745– 1803) is celebrated as a Revolutionary War hero and important founding father of the U.S. Navy. Although his statue has been in Franklin Park since 1914, there had been no interpretive marker to explain to the public who Commodore Barry was and why he is relevant to America’s naval history. Now, Barry’s story rightfully accompanies his image.
Membership in the Historic Naval Ships Association is open to individuals interested in the preservation of our naval heritage. Memberships are renewable annually. Among the benefits are: Historic Naval Ships Visitors’ Guide, free or reduced admission to more than 70 vessels, Anchor Watch Quarterly Newsletter, invitation to attend Association annual conferences, and the satisfaction of knowing you are helping to preserve historic Navy, Coast Guard, and other ships who proudly defended their nations!
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Book Reviews Utmost Gallantry: The U.S. and Royal Navies at Sea in the War of 1812 Kevin D. McCranie. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2011. 365 pp. Illus. Maps. Notes. Bibliog. Index. $39.95. Reviewed by David Curtis Skaggs
Among the plethora of bicentennial books describing the War of 1812 at sea, Professor Kevin McCranie of the Naval War College sets an unequaled standard for depth of research and analysis. In Utmost Gallantry, he seeks “a balanced appraisal of the war based on British and American archival sources” and “to place engagements in a broader operational and strategic context” than do previous studies. Within the operational limits he establishes for this volume, he succeeds admirably. Most American studies emphasize the ship-to-ship duels of the war’s first six months and ignore the ever-increasing effectiveness of the British blockade of the East Coast of the United States. McCranie stresses the latter and declares the war’s turning point to be the inglorious 1 June 1813, when British sailors bottled up Stephen Decatur’s squadron of the USS United States, Macedonian, and Hornet at New London, Connecticut, and when HMS Shannon defeated the Chesapeake off Cape Ann, Massachusetts. McCranie rightfully concludes: “When adding the combat loss of the Chesapeake to the operational loss of Decatur’s squadron . . . the Royal Navy had rendered ineffective in a single day four U.S. warships, or slightly less than half of the total operational strength of America’s oceanic navy.” At the same time the Constellation lay blockaded at Norfolk, from which she never sailed. For the remainder of the volume, McCranie traces cruises of ships from both sides, recounting their many failures and occasional successes in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. It is here that the author’s indefatigable research skills bear their ripest fruit. One cannot help but admire his use of American and British ship logs, and of inquiries into such little-used archives as the Suffolk Record Office in Ipswich, England, where the papers of Captain (later Rear Admiral Sir) Philip Broke
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reside along with the Chesapeake’s log and the Shannon’s journal. McCranie and the Naval Institute Press deserve high accolades for the superb maps and engagement diagrams depicted throughout the book. Unlike most scholars of the naval war, this author is not an unabashed admirer of Secretary of the Navy William Jones. Because McCranie concentrated on warship combat, he belittles Jones’ emphasis on using the Navy as commerce raiders. Nor does he see privateering as an adjunct to naval policy, as did Jones.
the lakes were the one place where the United States could match the Royal Navy, and where two decisive battles and one indecisive campaign affected the war’s outcome more than oceanic operations. The same can be said for the British decision to engage in littoral raids. Designed to encourage opposition to the James Madison administration and to detract American Army regulars from the Canadian campaign, they did exactly the opposite. By diverting soldiers and sailors from the Canadian operations, London strategists may well have contributed to British failures on Lake Champlain and the Niagara frontier in 1814. For these interconnections, readers should consult George Daughan’s less-well-researched and error-prone 1812: The Navy’s War. It is to be hoped that Professor McCranie will follow up this volume with a second one dealing with those aspects of the naval conflict omitted in Utmost Gallantry. His talents in research diligence and analytical insight are too well demonstrated to leave us without a complete history of the naval aspects of the War of 1812.
Dr. Skaggs is a professor emeritus of history at Bowling Green State University, and the author of three books dealing with the War of 1812 on the northern lakes. He is the 2012 recipient of the USS Constitution Museum’s Samuel Eliot Morison Award for his “research and award-winning scholarship about the United States Navy’s role in the War of 1812.”
However, too often blame for mission failure is placed on Jones’ shoulders rather than those of his self-serving, honor-hungry captains. The one problem with Utmost Gallantry is the book’s narrow focus. McCranie confines it to the oceanic war, omitting the conflict on the North American lakes and Royal Navy raids on the American coast from Maine to Louisiana. There is an interrelation between these aspects of the naval conflict that can only be seen through a detailed analysis of their interconnections. For instance, the lakes effort not only took manpower from the oceanic war, it also diverted money, matériel, and shipwrights from the coastal ports. But
De Ruyter: Dutch Admiral Jaap R. Bruijn, Ronald Prud’homme van Reine, and Rolof van Hövell tot Westerflier, eds. Rotterdam: Karwansaray Publishers, 2011. 279 pp. Illus. Maps. Notes. Bibliog. Index. $93.19. Reviewed by Virginia W. Lunsford
This inaugural offering of Karwansaray Publishers’ series Protagonists of History in International Perspective is a valuable contribution to early modern maritime studies. Edited by three Dutch scholars, the handsome compendium of essays surveys the life, achievements, and contributions of Michiel de Ruyter, the great 17th-century admiral from the Dutch Republic. Several pieces also investigate his impact beyond the borders of the Netherlands by exploring U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
the greater world in which de Ruyter lived and worked in an environment characterized by European expansion, the birth of the global economy, significant developments in naval tactics, technology and professionalization, and important geopolitical changes. The contributors themselves are an admirably diverse lot. Naval historians and specialists in Dutch history will find the essays about specific aspects of de Ruyter’s life and career fresh and illuminating. Jaap R. Bruijn writes about the relationship between de Ruyter and his fellow flag officers in the Dutch Navy. Michel Vergé-Frenceschi analyzes the naval rivalry (and respect) between the admiral and his formidable French counterpart, the Marquis Abraham Duquesne. Henk de Heijer explores de Ruyter’s 1664–65 expedition to West Africa and America, while J. D. Davies considers British perceptions of him during the Anglo-Dutch Wars. Niels M. Probst assesses his role in the conflicts between Denmark and Sweden in the 1650s from a Danish point of view. Finally, Ronald Prud’homme van Reine, in two different pieces, considers de Ruyter’s place in 17th-century Dutch arts and letters. Other chapters use the admiral’s influence and achievements as a means to discuss broader topics in early modern history. Among these are Karim Bejjit’s look at the relationship between Dutch and North African states, Jan Glete’s exploration of the political and military context, and John Hattendorf’s discussion of the century’s European navies, naval strategy, and naval tactics. Visually, De Ruyter, Dutch Admiral is a beautiful volume of very high print quality and striking appearance. Especially impressive are the numerous maps and images. The former are large, clear, attractive, to the point, and organized in such a fashion as to be easily consulted. The images are stunning. The book is replete with large, richly colored reproductions of 17th-century Dutch paintings, maps, drawings, and engravings. Indeed, probing essays aside, the illustrations alone are reason enough to peruse this work. Because it transcends a narrow focus on just de Ruyter’s career and also offers illuminating essays on broader historical topics as well as sumptuous reproductions of Golden Age Dutch art, the book’s title is too limited. A more descriptive or inclusive title would enable potential readers to grasp the scope of what this N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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attractive and informative text actually covers. One could object a bit, too, to the publisher’s stated historiographical intent for the series (and, hence, for this book as its initial offering). The project’s goal, Bruijn declares in his introduction, is to promote a “collective European historical consciousness,” because “this continent is a collective of nations on its way to unity.” This stated purpose sounds somewhat forced, almost recasting the work as a piece of polished propaganda rather than presenting it as the topnotch, early modern scholarship that it actually represents. It is to this volume’s credit that it offers views of the admiral from a variety of national perspectives, informs readers that he was well known throughout much of Europe, and that he made contributions beyond Dutch culture and naval history. However, his widespread influence does not necessarily fulfill the contemporary longing for a
historical “joint path.” It is anachronistic, in fact, to insert this perspective into a century when European states were at war with one another almost continually. No doubt as the process of integration proceeds, a distinctive sense of European identity and collective consciousness will develop, but this will develop organically and over time This fairly superficial feature of the book does not permeate the essays per se, even though the editors’ desire to promote a European ethos is the reason they engaged a diverse set of contributors in striving to reveal de Ruyter’s transnational
impact. This is all for the good. The admiral was an especially influential and innovative figure in the most powerful navy and most economically dominant nation in the 17th-century world. Numerous accounts of his story exist in Dutch, but studies in English are far fewer. This beautiful work helps to redress the scarcity. In contextualizing de Ruyter, it provides insightful information on aspects of the broader early modern world. Michiel de Ruyter is worthy of such treatment, and the book is certainly deserving of readers’ attention.
Dr. Lunsford is an associate professor of history at the U.S. Naval Academy, where she specializes in maritime and European history.
Reefs and Shoals: An Alan Lewrie Naval Adventure Dewey Lambdin. New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2011. 354 pp. Fiction. $25.99. Reviewed by Wade G. Dudley
It is January 1805, the birth of a new year in the continuing war against the Corsican Ogre and his allies. Dragged by duty from a warm bed (heated by the lovely but straitlaced Lydia Stangbourne) in Portsmouth, England, to battle the enemies of King George III in North American waters, Captain Alan Lewrie at last hoists the broad pendant of a commodore on HMS Reliant. The challenges before him are numerous, not least among them confronting his eldest son, Seawallis, for the first time since the lad secured a midshipman’s berth for himself after forging his father’s name to relevant documents (a chip off the old block). The Admiralty has ordered Lewrie and the Reliant to his old stomping grounds of the West Indies and the American coast via Bermuda. Upon arrival, he is to capture or destroy French and Spanish privateers, show the flag in American ports, and investigate rumors of U.S. support of enemy privateers. Along the way he must commandeer ships for his squadron from an unsupportive admiral, worry about the persistent threat of yellow fever, be wary of a French fleet rumored to be heading his way from Toulon, try to avoid the bull-in-achina-shop approach to diplomacy with easily offended Americans, and keep his pants buttoned (a mutual attachment is beginning to bloom with Lydia). Can he do it? Well, even at the age of 42, Lewrie is still quite the ram cat.
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He is also a widower, a father, and a man with many enemies (including the great Napoleon himself). Lewrie cannot escape the past, whether wandering the streets of Nassau with visions of his lost Caroline, the birth of Seawallis, and deserved death of Calico Jack Finney, or being accosted by patriot harridans in Wilmington. Fortunately he has friends of old acquaintance as well, notably
Kit Cashman, to help him along in his investigations. In the end, those lead to cruel battle between Lewrie’s squadron and a perfidious alliance of French, Spanish, and greedy Americans in Georgia’s Cumberland Sound and the St. Mary’s River. Dewey Lambdin may well be the best author of Age of Sail fiction currently practicing the art. His research is frequently impeccable, and his interpretation of life ashore and afloat is
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always near or on the mark. For example, he captures the Wilmington of 1805 perfectly, from its Cape Fear pilots to the town’s waterfront to the tradition revolving around the Dram Tree. The same can be said for the attitudes of Americans with whom Lewrie must deal: most of them eager for a whiff of British nobility, many still bitter about their hard-earned independence. Even the final battle draws inspiration (and information) from an actual 1805 encounter between British ships and Franco-Spanish privateers. Lambdin’s writing skills are a perfect match for his research. His well-chosen words capture the feel, the tang, almost the taste of the moment. His characters are immensely believable, either drawn from the pages of history or evocative of the cads, scamps, and occasional good friends that we meet in life. Even Toulon and Chalky, Lewrie’s shipboard cats, come alive with his frequent requests for a hundredweight of treats and several barrels of clean beach sand (the kitty litter of his time). Yet the greatest attraction in the 14 volumes of the Alan Lewrie Naval Adventures is the main character himself and his coterie of friends, family, lovers, and enemies who appear, disappear, and frequently die. Across the tomes, Lewrie grows from an unknown teenage rakehell intent on leaving the harsh life and discipline of King George’s navy (to which his father had committed him) to a rather famous (or infamous) profligate of middle years who would not dream of leaving the Royal Navy despite its many blemishes. In Reefs and Shoals, Lewrie has a maturity about him that has been for the most part absent until now. Only he questions his leadership and tactical skills, a self-doubt that is laid to rest in
the ultimate test of battle. Those whom he leads have no such doubts. Let none have uncertainties about Dewey Lambdin or his Alan Lewrie: “hearts of oak” both! Reefs and Shoals (and the entire series of novels) is heartily recommended to lubbers and sailors alike.
Dr. Dudley, author of the award-winning Splintering the Wooden Wall (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2003), is a professor of history at East Carolina University.
Turning the Tide: How a Small Band of Allied Sailors Defeated the U-Boats and Won the Battle of the Atlantic Ed Offley. New York: Basic Books, 2011. 506 pp. Illus. Maps. Notes. Bibliog. Index. $28.99. Reviewed by Jennifer L. Speelman
In this book, journalist and militaryaffairs specialist Ed Offley examines the intense struggle for control of the Atlantic between September 1939 and May 1945. The author of Scorpion Down (Basic Books, 2007), Offley seeks to interject the human element into “the longest and deadliest naval conflict in world history and the crucial naval battle of the Second World War,” relying primarily on secondary sources, Internet sites, and memoirs. In particular, he credits Clay Blair’s two-volume Hitler’s U-boat War (Random House, 1996, 1998) and personal U-boat archives, now housed at the University of Wyoming’s American Heritage Center. Offley succeeds in placing individual sailors within the greater political, strategic, and technological contexts of the Battle of the Atlantic. He concurs
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with the significant body of scholarship that the battle’s crucial months occurred between March and May 1943. During this period, U-boats reached their zenith before the tide turned in favor of the Allies. The book unfolds around Allied convoys SC122 and HX229, which departed New York 6 and 9 March 1943 respectively, unaware that 46 U-boats, the largest Wolfpack so far, awaited them. We see the battle unfold from many levels: the headquarters of the Western Approaches Command under Admiral Sir Max Kennedy Horton; the Befehlshaber der Unterseeboote under the command of Rear Admiral Eberhard Godt, who assumed day-today control for U-boat headquarters after Gross Admiral Karl Dönitz took overall responsibility of the Kriegsmarine; the naval escort groups and their commanders; the U-boats and their captains; and the merchant vessels, their crews, and Naval Armed Guards. The author provides biographic information and photographs of the men involved at each of these levels. In addition, appendices detail each merchant vessel in the convoys, including the flag, year built, tonnage, cargo, and fate; as well as the displacement, length, complement, armament, and speed of each escort vessel. Sixteen merchant ships in SC122 and HX229 flew the flags of Germanoccupied countries, their crews having decided to do their part for the Allied war effort. The convoys faced impossible odds. The limited range of land-based aircraft made the 600 miles southwest of N AVA L H I S T O R Y
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Iceland, the so-called “Greenland Air Gap,” particularly dangerous. Converted B-24D Liberator bombers could have covered that distance, but Offley argues that interservice rivalry prevented the convoys from having adequate air cover. Equally problematic was the inadequate numbers of warships in Escort Groups B-4 and, B-5, a blanket over German naval intelligence, broken or limited submarine-tracking technology, and challenging weather conditions. B-4 Escort Group Commander Edward C. L. Day believed the situation “amounted to a maritime suicide pact.” The gripping, page-turning account that follows details the loss of 21 Allied ships, 146,596 tons of shipping, and 373 Allied sailors. The Allies used this defeat to re-evaluate their defense of North Atlantic convoys. Western Approaches Command increased the numbers of VLR Liberators and escort carriers, as well as adding support groups tasked with finding and destroying the U-boats. Allied codebreakers, having deciphered Enigma machine–encrypted messages, figured out the variation in the German naval weather code that had caused the March 1943 blackout and were once again decrypting transmissions sent to U-boat headquarters. The use of centimetric
radar and submarine-tracking technology had the desired effect. The hunters had become the hunted. Nowhere was this more evident than in the Battle in the Fog on 4–6 May 1943, in which the Allied support groups sank seven U-boats and killed 348 of Admiral Dönitz’s elite force. By the end of the war, 27,490 German submariners would be dead, a fatality rate of 70 percent. Offley’s work reminds us of the human cost of gaining command of the Atlantic. In World War II, 9,500 American merchant mariners died at sea, most of them in the North Atlantic, and another 1,640 Naval Armed Guardsmen lost their lives protecting those same merchant ships. Their British counterparts suffered even more heavily: 37,318 British and Commonwealth sailors perished, as did another 10,777 seamen from German-occupied countries sailing with Allied convoys. These sacrifices made possible the control of vital supply lines to Great Britain, leading to the cross-channel invasion and Allied victory in Europe.
Dr. Speelman is an assistant professor of history at the United States Merchant Marine Academy, Kings Point, New York.
World War II Afloat! Spend a day in 1944 as you experience a sea and air adventure aboard Baltimore’s restored Liberty Ship John W. Brown.
This exciting six hour “Voyage into History” features: continental breakfast, bountiful luncheon buffet, afternoon snacks and beverages; live big band music of the 40’s; Abbott & Costello; military reenactors; FDR; barbershop music; flybys of wartime aircraft (weather permitting), with the ship’s Armed Guard gunners manning the guns to fight off attacking Axis planes; the ship completely open for tours. View the magnificent 140 ton triple-expansion steam engine as it powers the great ship through the water. Tour museum spaces, crew quarters, bridge, messrooms, troop berthing areas and much more. This is Living History!
Tickets for our 2012 Voyages are $140 each All cruises sail from Baltimore, MD. Saturday 30 June, Saturday 28 July, & Saturday 8 September SS John W. Brown sails at 10:00 AM and returns at 4:00 PM. For information and to order tickets, call: Project Liberty Ship at (410) 558-0164 '"9 t7JTB.$%JTDPWFSBDDFQUFE Explore our web site at: www.liberty-ship.com
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Museum Report
By Kevin M. Hymel
Respecting Marines and Prehistory on Parris Island
M
European cultural record of the region as en who enlist in the international peacekeeping missions, the far back as the 1500s, through artifacts Marine Corps east of the first Gulf War, and the wars in Iraq and from the French and Spanish colonies. Mississippi River and all Afghanistan. Its many displays include a It also describes the land and naval women joining the Corps doughboy helmet with a 2nd Infantry battles of the American Revolution and must first report to the Marine Corps Division emblem (the Marines were Civil War. Especially impressive is an Recruit Depot at Parris Island, South attached to the Army unit during World interactive battle map of the 7 April 1863 Carolina, for four hellish months of War I), a Marine officer’s sword from the naval attack on Charleston, during which physical training and conditioning. If USS Arizona (BB-39), and a sight from a they make it through, they grenade launcher retrieved from emerge as Marines. An imporBaghdad during the first Gulf War. tant teaching tool there is the As part of its oral-history Parris Island Museum, where program, the museum features raw recruits—and visiting touch-screen kiosks that tell civilians—can learn about the the stories of former Marines, service’s heritage and the rich their experiences as trainees on history of the island where the island, and their time in the Marines leave behind civilian service. Their memories span life and become warriors. many years of American history. The museum is located in a Marine uniforms, weapons, circa-1951 building that once and equipment, as well as those housed an enlisted recreation of the United States’ various center, was later transformed adversaries, historic photographs, i n t o t h e Wa r M e m o r i a l and information for context, Building, and dedicated as comprise each display. One the museum in 1975 by then- U.S. MARINE CORPS particularly interesting exhibit Marine Commandant General Exhibits at the Parris Island Museum include uniforms, weapons, maps, includes a uniform designed Robert E. Cushman Jr. for pregnant Marines. Before and memorabilia that reveal the Corps’ distinguished history from the Today the 10,000-square- beginning of the 19th century to the present. the 1970s, a female Marine foot building contains artifacts rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr who became pregnant was specific to the Marine Corps’ immediately discharged. The Union ironclads tried to run a gauntlet of history from the turn of the 19th century times, and the Corps, have changed. fire from Confederate batteries. to the present and also concentrates on The Parris Island Museum also In addition, the museum’s website the Parris Island and Port Royal area. houses a gift shop named after the takes viewers back even further in The heart of the museum consists of late Phyllis Alexander, a retired chief time, covering the Native American a two-story octagonal hall displaying warrant officer and former island drill and natural history of the region, with uniforms and pictures that tell the island’s instructor. The shop stocks numerous articles treating the Paleo-Indian period story. An introductory film describes Marine Corps items, including clothes (more 10,000 years ago) through the present-day Parris Island and the process and memorabilia, many of which are Mississippean period (during the early of training Marines. It cleverly contrasts exclusively designed for Parris Island. 1500s). It also contains articles on the beautiful beaches of nearby Hilton Charlesfort, the French colony on Parris Head, South Carolina, with the fleaKevin M. Hymel is a historian for the U.S. Army’s Island (1562–63); Spain’s colony Santa ridden dunes of Parris Island. Combat Studies Institute. He is the author of Patton’s Elena I (1566–1576); and the 1715 The recruitment-training displays Photographs: War as He Saw It (Potomac Books, 2006) and leads battlefield tours for Stephen Ambrose sale of the island from Edward Archer explain how the island became home Historical tours. to Alexander Parris, who laid its first to new enlistees in 1915 and has since plantations raising food, cattle, and produced more than one million Marines Parris Island Museum indigo (sea-island cotton was grown into who have served their country all over the next century using slave labor until the world. The exhibits in the main hall Bldg. 111, Marine Corps Recruit Depot the Civil War). include an old field-drill sergeant’s hat, Parris Island, South Carolina 29905 The second floor of the museum is a female Marine’s 1948 uniform, and Tel.: (843) 228-2951 http://parrisislandmuseum.com/ dedicated to a more recent chronicle of an M1 Garand rifle, the standard U.S. Open daily 1000–1630 the Corps, from 1900 to the present. The infantry weapon of World War II. Closed Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, exhibits highlight its actions in Mexico, The Parris Island exhibits provide and Easter Central America and the Gulf of Mexico, much more than the story of the Marine Admission free World Wars I and II, Korea, Vietnam, recruiting station. The museum traces the
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VIDEOS FOR SAILORS Just Released! DESTROYERS IN VIETNAM, 65 MIN
This video provides an overview of the role played by destroyers and their sailors during the Vietnam War. Includes excellent scenes shot above and below deck depicting day-to-day activities while off the coast of Vietnam. There are scenes of sailors performing numerous duties such as loading and Àring the 5-inch guns and performing routine maintenance throughout the ships. There are excellent aerial views of destroyers operating in open seas. The video includes numerous scenes of sailors working at various stations - engine room, sonar, plotting, etc. and tending to the wounded.
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