"The Truth About Tonkin"
(See P. Paterson, pp. 52-59, February 2008 Naval History)
Commander William Buehler, U.S. Navy (Retired)
I was in the USS Maddox (DD-731) as ops officer during the Tonkin incidents. I had the deck and conn during both attacks and wrote the action reports and also was part of the group in Subic Bay interviewed by various agencies after the incident.
Lieutenant Commander Paterson's article noted that the Turner Joy (DD-951) had no torpedo contacts. That was true regarding her sonar, which had virtually no passive ability. However, the director crew and their officer in charge, Lieutenant (junior grade) John Barry, saw a torpedo pass close aboard paralleling their course. What follows is the background regarding their sighting.
Both ships were in a column formation, double standard distance, the Maddox in Station 1 as guide, course 160, speed 28-30. We were headed out of the Gulf of Tonkin and well south of previous activity. Both ships picked up a surface contact at high speed on the port beam at 2134, and tracked it by both surface-search and fire-control radars. It was inbound on an apparent attack course. At 2137 it was abeam at 6,000 yards when it came hard left, reversing course. We knew it had launched. This was a North Vietnamese tactic because their torpedo boats' speed nearly matched that of their torpedoes. We ordered an emergency turn and opened fire. The Turner Joy had, according to Lieutenant Barry in the main director, steadied when he saw the torpedo pass close aboard.
A steam torpedo at 45 knots does not resemble a porpoise. Its speed is impressive, leaving a pencil-thin, straight line. The wake was perfectly visible due to phosphorescence, according to Lieutenant Barry. I concur. I know what torpedoes look like; one missed us by about 10 feet in the first attack.
The reason there still is a stupid idea that we evaded so many reported torpedoes is that the commanding officer ordered me to assume the worst case: that every reported hydrophone effect (HE) was a possible torpedo and to evade it accordingly. I could evaluate quite easily what HE was our own ship noise and what was not; however, I evaded in every case as ordered. At least three contacts were low-flying aircraft; some others were the Turner Joy. I also did the same with radar contacts. Unfortunately, every turn was reported by radio to higher commands as it occurred.
Since that time, I have never been interviewed by any Navy source. It would appear that then-Commander James Stockdale's high-altitude, dark-night opinion carries more weight than mine. Although I'm 73 and shouldn't care anymore, I still find it highly irritating, professionally.
"'You Were Most Deceitful'"
(See T. H. Helvig, pp. 46-51, December 2007 Naval History)
Private First Class Herbert L. Parker, U.S. Marine Corps
Because our ship joined the Third Fleet only a few short months before the Tucson (CL-98), I was particularly interested in this piece. Our ship, the Atlanta (CL-104), was a Cleveland-class light cruiser [with 6-inch guns]. The Tucson, with 5-inch/38-caliber main guns, was an antiaircraft cruiser similar to our namesake Atlanta (CL-51), sunk earlier in the war off Guadalcanal in Iron Bottom Sound.
The author describes Task Force 38 turning loose battleships, heavy cruisers, and destroyer task units to daylight bombard facilities at Muroran on Hokkaido. I can assure him that at least one light cruiser—the Atlanta—participated in this mission. I was standing captain's orderly watch on the bridge and saw a huge smoke stack collapse under the intense fire from the bombardment group's guns. To our amazement there were no Japanese planes, no suicide boats, no ship of any kind, no resistance whatsoever because they were beaten.
"The Sculpin's Lost Mission"
(See C. R. Larson, pp. 28-35, February 2008 Naval History)
Charles R. Ryan
This account is a rare, interesting, and much-appreciated article about Vietnam War submarine operations. The fact that the Sculpin's well-conducted mission led to the sinking of a North Vietnamese/Chinese gunrunner makes this episode especially noteworthy.
The article states that the Sculpin was nominated for the Submarine Combat Patrol Insignia but that the award was denied. It's my understanding, although I can't cite an official source, that the Combat Patrol Insignia was only awarded during World War II for successful patrols, defined as a patrol during which the submarine was directly credited with sinking an enemy ship. In this instance a South Vietnamese destroyer, not the Sculpin, actually sank the gunrunner, so the sub would not have qualified for a Combat Patrol Insignia even if the action had occurred during World War II.
In reference to her earning the Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry (officially the Republic of Vietnam Meritorious Unit Citation—Gallantry), the article asserts that the Sculpin was "the only U.S. submarine during the entire Vietnam War to receive that award." She may have been the only nuclear-powered submarine to receive that award. OPNAV Notice 1650 indicates that at least three other U.S. submarines received the award on 11 separate occasions: the Cusk (SS-348), seven awards during 1965, 1967, 1968, and 1969; the Razorback (SS-394), two awards during 1967 and 1969; and the Ronquil (SS-396), two awards during 1966-67 and 1968. I'm sure Naval History readers would enjoy an article relating how those three diesel submarines earned this award in Vietnamese waters.
"Collision at Spithead"
(See J. Protasio, pp. 44-49, August 2007 Naval History)
Lieutenant Commander John T. Pigott, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
Captain Smith's difficulties with Olympic and Titanic early in the last century reminded me of refueling destroyers at sea during World War II. The curve of a ship's hull, much like the upper surface of an airplane wing, produced areas of increased velocity and decreased pressure, called the venturi effect. This kept planes in the air and tended to suck ships on parallel courses into each other.
I doubt that, in Captain Smith's time, he nor any other skipper had occasion to snuggle up to another ship in the manner required of destroyers about every third day at sea. It was tough enough to keep a tin can at a steady distance in calm weather; with any sort of a sea running it became a major challenge. A moment's inattention to rudder could produce damage and casualties in a collision, or a snapped fuel line and a DD covered with oil.
"A Gentlemanly Mutiny"
(See T. G. Martin, pp. 46-50, February 2008 Naval History)
Captain Andrew C. Emerson, U.S. Air Force (Retired)
This is an excellent account of the "mutiny" on board the USS Constitution, under the command of Captain Jesse Duncan Elliott, in 1835. Would he be the same Captain Jesse Elliott who played such a poltroon's role in the Battle of Lake Erie in 1813, when he commanded the USS Niagara?
Commander Martin responds:
Marylander Jesse Duncan Elliott was warranted a midshipman in 1804. He first came to notice as the principal defender of Commodore James Barron's conduct in the Chesapeake-Leopard debacle of 1807.
Sent to Lake Erie early in the War of 1812, then-Lieutenant Elliott led a successful raid that resulted in the capture of British brigs Caledonia and Detroit in the Niagara River and earned him a Congressional Gold Medal.
Second in command to Oliver Hazard Perry at the Battle of Lake Erie, 10 September 1813, Master Commandant Elliott was less than supportive. He took advantage of Perry's subsequent lack of public criticism of him to have powerful political friends secure for him a second gold medal, an act that caused public outcry from other participants and divided the officer corps for decades. Later, he, together with Commodore William Bainbridge, worked behind the scenes to bring about the March 1820 duel between James Barron and Stephen Decatur that resulted in the latter's death.
Two gold medals notwithstanding, his name never has been borne by a unit of the U.S. Navy.
"Historic Fleets: A Pearl Harbor Phoenix"
(See A.D. Baker III, pp. 10-11, August 2007 Naval History)
Commander James L. Barrett, U.S. Navy (Retired)
My father was a Nevada plankowner and served on board her for eight years. Following the war, in 1946, he was a ship's superintendent at the Long Beach Naval Shipyard where the Nevada was being prepared for her tow to Bikini and painted with red lead. A color photo ran on the cover of a special July edition of All Hands magazine in 1946.
While the ship was in the yard, my father walked up to the quarterdeck with a shipyard worker and said to the officer on watch, "I am a plank owner of this ship and I have come to get my plank." The yard worker then sawed out a piece of the teak deck and handed it to him. I still have the plank among other Nevada memorabilia my father thoughtfully saved.
"Guadalcanal: The Six-Month Struggle"
(See R. B. Frank and H. A. Chenoweth, pp. 14-43, August 2007 Naval History)
Senior Chief Aviation Structural Mechanic Luie R. Fuller, U.S. Navy (Retired)
The articles were excellent but I would be remiss to my service of six long months on Guadalcanal if I did not call your attention to the naval units and commands that performed the supporting tasks of maintaining Henderson Field. A chapter in The Amphibians Came to Conquer, by Vice Admiral George C. Dyer (U.S. Government Printing Office, 1972), details their activities.
The air detachment received the first aircraft to land there. We serviced all aircraft with fuel and oil and maintained naval aircraft sent from the disabled carriers.
"Who Was Henry Eckford?"
(See A. C. A. Jampoler, pp. 38-45, December 2007 Naval History)
Donald L. Canney
The article on Henry Eckford was informative and points to the need for a book-length biography of the gentleman. However, some points need to be clarified.
As to the alleged animus between Eckford and the Board of Navy Commissioners, it is an intriguing idea, especially since the Ohio was finally commissioned in 1838, shortly after John Rodgers' death. However, during that era, economy was the watchword in the Navy and ships-of-the-line were notoriously expensive to operate. Long building times and periods of disuse were not unusual. The Vermont was laid down in 1818 and launched in 1848; the Columbus was commissioned from 1819 to 1821, then laid up for 21 years before going to sea again. The Pennsylvania was being built from 1821 to 1837. The Virginia, laid down in 1822, was still on the stocks when she was sold in 1884, and the New York, begun in 1820, was still unfinished in 1861.
"The Marines' Written Record"
(See J. T. Hoffman, pp. 52-58, December 2007 Naval History)
Annette D. Amerman, Historian, Marine Corps History Division
While I found this piece very interesting and engaging, there were a few omissions from Colonel Hoffman's otherwise excellent listing that are certainly worth mentioning.
There are other significant comprehensive histories: Clyde H. Metcalf's A History of the United States Marine Corps, published in 1939, and, from 1960, Philip N. Pierce and Frank O. Hough's The Compact History of the United States Marine Corps. Surprisingly, the most notably absent book is the History of the United States Marine Corps by Richard S. Collum, published in 1875 and reprinted several times.
Each has a distinctive place and time in their coverage of Marine Corps history. One may say that Pierce and Hough's compact history was a forerunner to that produced by Brigadier General Edwin H. Simmons, who also wrote a similar article to Hoffman's in the February 2003 Naval History. One other work is that of Lynn Montross, whose 1960 book The United States Marines: A Pictorial History adds flavor to the history of the Corps that has not since been repeated.
The first work published by the Historical Division, Adjutant and Inspector's Department (ancestor to the present-day Marine Corps History Division) was written by Major Edwin L. McClellan and covered the Marine Corps in World War I. The United States Marine Corps in the World War was printed in 1920, and for those looking for statistical information on the Corps in the Great War, it remains an invaluable aid. However, the forthcoming book by General Simmons and Colonel Joe Alexander (Through the Wheat: The U.S. Marines in World War I, Naval Institute Press, 2008) is certainly anxiously awaited by many!
It is surprising that a historian of Lieutenant General Lewis B. Puller omitted Marine!, the fine biography written by respected and well-known Burke Davis. Until Colonel Hoffman's own biography, Dr. Davis' book was the best source on the life of General Puller. An often-used, but admittedly aging reference book is Karl Schuon's, U.S. Marine Corps Biographical Dictionary, first published in 1963. Many of the giants of the Corps are covered in this useful book, along with a truly excellent chronology of combat actions in World War II. It was first published in Leatherneck in 1950. This reference work often answers the quick-and-dirty-type questions regarding some of the Corps' finest.
These omissions aside, it was refreshing to read this very insightful article that covers the breadth of historical works produced on the long and proud history of the Marine Corps.
David Sweetman
The biography of the man who introduced "Gung Ho" to the U.S. military should not be ignored; see The Big Yankee: The Life of Carlson of the Raiders by Michael Blankfort (Little, Brown and Company, 1947). My father, at the time a senior Army sergeant, spoke with Carlson on board a ship just prior to the second invasion of Makin Island. My father quite respected Carlson (this from a prewar regular Army sergeant) both as a person and as a fighting leader—unlike his opinion of a number of Army generals.
"Historic Aircraft—A Very Able Mariner"
(See N. Polmar, pp. 14-15, December 2007 Naval History)
Commander Frank L. Shelley, U.S. Coast Guard (Retired)
Mr. Polmar's review of the Martin PBM Mariner was a welcome tribute to a grand old workhorse, which occupies a special place in my heart as the first "big" airplane in which I was designated an aircraft commander. The article did, however, contain an error with regard to the Coast Guard PBMs. With a single rather bizarre exception, the Coast Guard never operated any amphibious PBM-5As.
The designation PBM-5G denoted a basic, nonamphibious PBM-5 converted to search-and-rescue configuration. All armor and armament were removed, and the turret openings plexiglassed over. Bomb racks were modified to hold a series of standard inflatable rafts connected to each other by trail lines. A line of such rafts dropped upwind of survivors in the water almost guaranteed recovery by the survivors. The Coast Guard PBMs were eventually retrofitted with reversible-pitch propellers, which made the demanding seamanship of picking up a mooring buoy quite a bit easier.
The exception noted above involved one of the Coast Guard's most colorful aviators, the late Captain Donald B. MacDairmid (Coast Guard Aviator 59). During World War II, "Captain Mac" was chosen to head up a project to determine the best technique for open-sea landing in flying boats. Furnished an endless supply of obsolescent Navy PBM-3s, the project developed the procedure that is still recommended today for ditching in the open sea. Unacceptable procedures were determined empirically, and some government property was destroyed or badly bent in the process. Miraculously, there were no serious personnel injuries. The results earned MacDairmid a place on the NACA seaplane committee and membership in the Naval Aviation Hall of Fame at Pensacola.
When the PBM-5A was produced in the late '40s, knowledgeable people within the Navy rightly felt misgivings about the vulnerability of the nose wheel door in rough water conditions. The Navy turned to the acknowledged expert and provided a spanking new -5A for MacDairmid to "wring out."
"Captain Mac" turned to with gusto. It was his position that a procedure should be able to stand on its own and not be subject to the skill and experience of the pilot. Thus he normally rode in the copilot's seat when less experienced aviators were flying.
On the fateful day, a lieutenant (junior grade) nugget nearly fresh from his winging ceremony at Corpus was occupying the pilot seat with MacDairmid in the copilot seat. For whatever reason, the landing went awry, and the Navy's new PBM-5A ended up in the Pacific off Point Lorna minus one wing and the fuselage slowly flooding through the collapsed nose wheel well. MacDairmid and the nugget exited through the overhead hatches above the pilots' seats, soon to be joined by the uninjured crew.
Despite an ocean rapidly picking up a purple hue from grade 115/145 aviation gasoline, MacDairmid lit up a cigar. At this point lore differs as to what happened next. One version has him berating the hapless JG until the crash boat picked them up, while another says he leaned back on the slowly tilting remaining wing and said "Well, I guess that answers that," or words to that effect. I'm not sure if any of this had any affect on future Navy decisions, but for whatever reason, the PBM-5A never saw service in a fleet squadron.
I only saw one -5A in motion. It was ground taxiing and immediately brought to mind Walt Disney's hippopotamus ballerinas. The same might be said of its non-amphibious sisters lumbering along on beaching gear with attending platoons of sweating ground handlers. Gauche as they were on land, nobody could have observed a Mariner on the water without being moved. A Mariner on the step with its graceful gull wing, rakish dihedral tail, and white wake boiling out behind was an undeniable thing of beauty. Thank you, Norman Polmar, for a happy remembrance.
"Mom Remembers Pearl Harbor"
(See R. Bartlett, pp. 60-65, December 2007 Naval History)
Rear Admiral Peter K. Cullins, U.S. Navy (Retired)
I remember Pearl Harbor, too. Mrs. Bartlett's article brought back memories, although obviously different from hers. My family was also evacuated on the Matsonia on Easter Sunday, as was hers. I was just 13 at the time, and lived at 4715B Kahala, on the southeast coast of Oahu between Black Point on the west and Koko Head on the east. My father, T. O. Cullins, was the navigator of the battleship Oklahoma (BB-37).
About 0800 of 7 December, I awoke in my room downstairs behind the garage and went out to get the morning paper. A young Navy wife next door ran out into the driveway where I was, saying: "The Japanese are bombing Pearl Harbor, the Japanese are bombing Pearl Harbor. I heard it on the radio!" She was married to an ensign on the California (BB-44)—Herb Jones, who was killed in the attack and earned the Navy Cross. I immediately went upstairs where my parents were (my father didn't have the "duty"), and blurted this information out. My mother said, "Oh Peter, you have such an imagination." I replied, "Mrs. Jones just told me she heard it on the radio." My father got a stricken look on his face, turned the radio on, heard the report from station KGMB, tore out of the house, got in the car, and zoomed away. He got to Pearl Harbor after the Oklahoma had turned over. (When his ship was raised, several objects from his stateroom, including his sword and a brass Oklahoma ashtray, were returned to him. I still have the ashtray.)
My mother, sister, and I spent the next 15 minutes listening to the radio. I remember items like, "Parachutists have been sighted dropping on Halawa Heights," and "Japanese transports have been sighted off Oahu," so I naturally decided to go down to the beach, which was only 200 feet away, and see what I could see—nothing, of course. I then went home and saw about four other Navy wives who lived in our immediate area gathered around sharing information. About 0900 I went down to the beach again and saw a "V" of about 10 aircraft high up over Koko Head, heading east toward Black Point. (Years later I realized from books that the second wave of attackers had more or less flown to the east of Oahu whereas the first wave had come from the west. I must have seen some of the second wave.) I also saw what appeared to be a light cruiser on the other side of Black Point with puffs of smoke indicating that they were shooting at something.
Wilbur Wright's retelling of events at Pearl Harbor in
the Naval Institute's Americans at War Series
I don't remember too much about the rest of the day, as I was "helping" a coast artillery battery set up their French 75 right down on the beach where I had earlier been.
Corrections
The Japanese aircraft carrier Shokaku was not a survivor of the Battle of Midway as stated in "One-Boat Wolfpack," (pp. 24-27, February 2008 Naval History). She survived the Battle of the Coral Sea the month before and, due to damage sustained and loss of aircraft and personnel, was unable to participate in the June battle.
In "Taking on the Makiguma" (p. 62, February 2008 Naval History), the correct spelling of the Japanese destroyer's name is Makigumo. A destroyer in the postwar Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force has since borne the name.