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By Captain William C. Green, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Back in 1956 I was a lieutenant, newly assigned to the USS Sea Fox (SS-402), commanded by Lieutenant Commander L. H. Neeb. “Uncle Lew,” as he was known throughout the submarine force, was a charismatic leader, who was given to much honest bragging about his boat. He was set on having a perfect 4.0 cruise. Among other things, he was determined to keep his officers out of trouble on the beach. He had several ideas, one of which included the pursuit of the Esther trophy.
The prize consisted of nothing more than a World War II publicity photo of Esther Williams, the swimming star of many Hollywood films. Possession of the trophy was nil the rage in the Western Pacific (WestPac). According to legend, the whole thing started during World War II on board an Australian ship. A young officer who constantly mooned over this photo was due to be transferred. One version has it that his mates, not wanting to lose the picture, stole it; the other is that it was purloined just to vex this star-struck youth.
After this, Esther passed through many hands. By 1956, having endured the attentions of pursuers during both World War II and the Korean War, the tradition had spread to all allied navies cruising the Western Pacific. A few simple rules had been set down: first, to possess Esther Was to have her. And, whoever had her was required to display her free and clear on a wardroom bulkhead. Those desiring Esther could pursue her by use of stealth, guile, °r brute force. Finally, suitors were restricted to wardroom members only.
During the outbound passage. Uncle Lew regaled the junior officers with Esther stories, making it plain that he Would be more than pleased to have Esther in our wardroom and her flag flying from our periscope. Also, when entering port, the ship carrying Esther was entitled to send 4 message addressed to all ships present, announcing her Presence on board, and inviting one and all to come, look, and admire, but not touch. Such messages were usually Written in doggerel verse.
In Auckland, the Sea Fox learned from HMAS Black Prince that there were actually two photos of Esther Williams. The original, having become worn over the years, was encased in plastic and mounted on a handsome mahogany board with a file of all Esther messages attached. The fighting copy, also encased in plastic, was sale- guarded with an attached kapok life ring.
When the Sea Fox arrived in Yokosuka, Esther was in port, residing in the USS Boxer (CV-21). The wardroom quickly laid up to the Submarine Sanctuary bar to make plans. For the younger members, unfortunately, quenching their thirst made any action impossible that night. Not so with the XO, Lieutenant Commander Bob Merrick. At the end of the planning session. Bob stumbled back to the boat and documented himself as a torpedoman first class, carrying identification and liberty cards taken from the ship’s safe. With a borrowed set of dress blue bellbottoms, he set off in quest of Esther.
The next morning, the XO was nowhere to be found. During quarters, a caravan of vehicles from the Boxer drew alongside Berth One. The XO, in handcuffs and leg irons, was convoyed by a large group of raucous aviators across the other boats in the nest and deposited on board the Sea Fox with jeers about the submarine force.
Uncle Lew was beside himself. It didn't take much to whip us into a frenzy of desire for Esther. However, we had to change our plans when we learned that the USS Lexington (CVA-16) had made a successful run on Esther. It seemed the “Lex” had on board an ensign named Ming E. Chang. Dressed in hardhat and work clothes. Ensign Chang passed perfectly as a Japanese shipyard worker. He boarded the Boxer during the noon meal and planted a smoke bomb in the hangar bay. When fire quarters sounded, he simply walked into an empty wardroom and lifted Esther. He tossed the picture over the side to a waiting boat, and the “Lex” had her.
Esther’s new residence was a heaven-sent opportunity as my next-door neighbor in Coronado was a member of the ship’s company. I devised a plan to find this neighbor and invite him to the Submarine Sanctuary; several of us would sandbag him at the bar, then carry the helpless wretch back to his stateroom on board the “Lex,” thus
Apprehended while trying to steal Esther from the Lexington (CVA-16), the author had a large “L” shaved on his head by members of the carrier’s wardroom, including Ensign Ming E. Chang (left), destined to become the Navy’s IG.
circumventing the Esther security. My plan was only partially effective, as, like so many aviators, my friend had a hollow leg. By the end of the evening we weren’t sure who was carrying whom, but three of us from the Sea Fox, with our protagonist in company, set off for the “Lex.” My friend was under the impression that he was showing Esther to some naive and uninformed submariners. Once aboard, we found Esther, according to the rules, hanging free and clear from the wardroom bulkhead, but she also rested against a pressure switch hooked into the ship’s chemical alarm and to a release mechanism attached to a large net suspended from the overhead. To add to our concern, several beefy ensigns were standing watch over her.
What happened next is none too clear. Our attempts at diversion were not completely successful. We grabbed
Esther, the alarm sounded, the net dropped, and the ensigns pounced. We spent the rest of the night handcuffed to a wardroom stanchion, where an amateur barber shaved a large L on each head.
The next night, I had the duty, but several smash-and-
More About Esther
I can attest that the Esther controversy was alive and doing well as late as 1957. I was electronics officer on board the USS Philippine Sea (CV-47) and was personally involved that year in two attempts (the second, successful) to acquire the trophy.
The first attempt was set up by the Philippine Sea's assistant gunnery officer. He had spotted the trophy flag flying from a destroyer nested second outboard alongside a destroyer tender in Yokosuka Harbor. He recruited two of our young ensigns as the boarding party, an engineering lieutenant (junior grade) as boat engineer, myself (a lieutenant) as underwater retriever, and he would be the coxswain. The scheme was simple. Using a motor whaleboat, we would pass some 200 yards off the bows of the nested destroyers. Wet-suited and equipped with scuba and waterproof red flashlight, I was to swim to the bow of the Esther destroyer. (Not all of the hazards of the Esther Trophy were cuts and bruises—the bow sentry on each of these ships was armed with a carbine!) Our two youthful ensigns were outfitted with enlisted uniforms and equipped with false identification and liberty cards, purporting to be from another of the nested destroyers. They were to cross the tender, board the trophy destroyer without being detected, grab the “fighting copy” from the wardroom, and throw it over the bow to me. They had resigned themselves to being held captive overnight, having their heads shaved and painted with gentian violet or potassium permanganate, and being returned to the Philippine Sea in chains.
We did not execute our plan. In those days, effluent from the ships’ heads was drained directly into the harbor, with none of the modem sanitary processing. Fortunately, the water phosphoresced, so I could avoid certain floating objects. After hanging on the bow of the trophy destroyer for about 20 minutes (it seemed like two hours),
I heard yelling and whistling faintly, through the black hood covering my head. Thinking 1 had been spotted by a sentry, and not wanting to collect a carbine bullet, I went deep and swam back to about where the whaleboat had left me. In a few minutes the boat came along, spotted my red light, and picked me up. It devolved that the destroyer officers had chained shut all but one entry to the wardroom, and there were at least a half-dozen large officers in there. Realizing they didn’t have a chance, our two young ensigns were whistling and yelling, trying to tell me to call off the operation. Even knowing where I was supposed to be, they couldn’t see me in my black wet suit. Their commotion had attracted the attention of the tender’s bow sentry, who came over to see what was going on. Just as he arrived at the rail, I took off underwater, phosphorescing like a giant squid— the ensigns said the sentry just about dropped on the spot!
We returned to the Philippine Sea, and sent a message in verse to the trophy destroyer, complaining that Esther was being
grab parties sortied from the Sea Fox. Lieutenant Gene Wells was captured again. Gene had no hair left to barber, so Esther’s guardians dyed his head with purple permanganate. Lieutenant Lou Montanero made a heroic human- fly ascent up the Lexington’s side, only to be found hiding in the cockpit of an A-4 by the flight-deck security watch. He, too, lost his hair.
We sailed from Yokosuka the next day with heads hurting but still determined to capture Esther. After several weeks at sea, we were overjoyed to spot the Esther flag flying from the yard of the USS Luzon (ARG-2) as the Sea Fox came alongside for a two-week upkeep in SaSebo Harbor. The Luzon was no match for our determined quest for Esther, even though they broke the rules by locking the wardroom. Dangling the command duty officer over the side soon produced the key. But by this time Lou Montanero had become impatient. Using a ten-pound sledgehammer, he quickly gained access to Esther. In the process, he smashed the key flat in the lock.
For the remaining two weeks sleep was hard to come by, but Uncle Lew was in his element, bragging to the other skippers. Various ships mounted nightly raids. Twenty or so young studs from the USS Hornet (CVA-12) even made a daring daylight attack, but it was unsuccessful as well.
The Sea Fox was happy to leave Sasebo for the peace and quiet of an underway period. The next port call in Kaohsiung soon became chaotic, to the point that even the skipper was beginning to tire of Esther’s charms. So he decided that during our upcoming Hong Kong visit, we would find some way to get rid of the lady gracefully.
As the Sea Fox prepared to moor alongside HMS Hobart, we flashed a message: “We have Esther, are you interested?” The Hobart snapped back a quick reply: “We have gin, are you interested?” After the lines were doubled a swap was soon arranged. We got free gin, the Hobart's wardroom got black and blue. After five days, as the boat was preparing to depart, the Hobart asked if we would like the lady back. But since the Sea Fox was returning to the United States, and the rules said Esther had to remain in WestPac, we had to decline the offer.
That was the last I saw of Esther.
By Lieutenant Commander Robert Irving, U.S. Navy (Retired)
held prisoner in durance vile, chained and barred. They replied, not politely, questioning °ur antecedents and implying that we were all cowards. That annoyed me, so I planned a counterattack.
Memorial Day 1957 was a typical spring day in northern ■Japan—overcast, foggy, and drizzling rain. It was a holiday for the U.S. fleet, but few people felt like going ashore in such Poor weather. So I collected about 20 ship’s officers, one of whom was qualified to operate a utechanized landing craft (LCM), borrowed the LCM on loan to the ship, and headed out to collect the fighting copy. Swinging beyond the nested destroyers to allay suspicion, we approached the nest from the side away from the Philippine Sea and tied up across the stern of two of the destroyers. Leaving a watch on the LCM, the rest of us headed for the wardroom. En route we encountered an officer coming out of the showers with only a towel around him. We promptly neutralized him. The first halfdozen of our officers entered the wardroom, occupied only by the executive officer. Two of our officers sat on him, and a third grabbed the fighting copy. It was then only a matter of returning to the Philippine Sea, and the next day receiving the trophy copy and the Esther flag.
We didn’t keep the Esther trophy very long. After the next exercise, consisting of about two weeks at sea, we pulled into Kobe for liberty. The Philippine Sea (with a flag officer on board) got a dockside berth, but the destroyers, including the prior trophy holder, were anchored out. A storm blew up, severe enough to prevent liberty boats from running. Consequently, we made the empty bunks in berthing spaces and staterooms available to the men and officers from the destroyers. The overflow officers found spaces to sleep on the settees in the wardroom lounge, where both copies of the Esther Trophy were on display. One of the destroyer officers slit open the fighting copy’s plastic case and sent the picture to himself by guard mail—and so the Philippine Sea lost the Esther trophy, not by force, but by guile.
Editor’s Note: In July 1986, the Proceedings published an account of an Esther Trophy escapade that occurred in 1950 (see “We’ve Come for Esther,” pp. 115-116).