Saving the Footnotes on Naval History
John Alden—As a writer dealing in special aspects of naval history, I have found that readers often contribute new information and insights in the form of letters to the editor on subjects covered by articles in magazines such as Naval History and Proceedings. From these letters a great deal of information useful in my writing has come to my attention, including eyewitness accounts, references to previously unknown documents, personal photographs, and firsthand anecdotes.
Unfortunately, much of the information provided in this way is lost to students or researchers because such editorial responses are not normally included in the annual index for the journal. If an author receives the information, it may remain in his files indefinitely or be discarded. An author seldom has the opportunity to add new information or to correct errors, even when printing a new edition of the book. Therefore, many valuable footnotes on naval history are lost forever.
While pondering this problem and sifting through my own files, I thought of a project being carried out by the Submarine Veterans of World War II. A few years ago the society published a book recording the experiences of its members, initially in the form of “then and now” biographical sketches. Sales to members were good and more material kept coming, so two additional volumes were issued and a fourth scheduled for publication. These books were not conceived as historical references, but they contain the information I have called footnotes on naval history.
The American Society of Naval Engineers has completed an even more ambitious and professionally oriented project. What began as a centennial history of the society became the 700-page Naval Engineering and American Sea Power, written by volunteers from the society’s membership.
These examples represent two extremes of what can be done. One occurred with little editorial direction or control, the other with careful research, professional writing, footnoting, and editing. Somewhere there is a medium appropriate for the typical interest group requiring mainly that the project be undertaken under the guidance of a knowledgeable editor. There are organizations of destroyer sailors, battleship sailors, cruiser veterans, naval aviators, and nautical interest groups of all kinds. Would not each group or subgroup be interested in developing a volume dealing with its own type of ship, aircraft, or specialty? Instead of starting with a blank page, the editor might pull together a bibliography plus a small collection of stimulating articles and comments from back issues of the Proceedings and other journals dealing with the subject of interest, say aircraft carrier operations, perhaps supplemented by extracts from some relevant oral histories. Using desktop publishing techniques and simple photo-reproduction processes, material could be published quite inexpensively and at the same time saved on computer disks or tapes to be updated whenever republication appeared warranted.
A small grant from a foundation or company could initiate a project detailing historical footnotes with volunteer assistance and supplemental income from sales to members of the interest group. I propose this concept for consideration by my fellow naval history buffs. Let’s see whether it floats!
“Copper, Salt, and Worms”
(See J. E. Talbott, pp. 52-55, Winter 1989 Naval History)
Commander Robert C. Whitten, U. S. Naval Reserve (Retired)—Mr. Talbott’s technical report compared the failure by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) to anticipate rupture of the O-ring seals in the space shuttle Challenger in 1986 with the failure of the Royal Navy in the latter part of the 18th century to anticipate leaks in the seals applied to joints in copper-sheathed ships. In addition, the author implied that the O-ring failure could have been avoided by not launching Challenger during cold weather.
I brought Talbott’s article to the attention of Dr. Hans Mark, the deputy administrator of NASA until some seven months prior to the loss of Challenger and now chancellor of the University of Texas. Dr. Mark assures me that NASA management, including himself, was aware of problems with the seals. He wrote a memorandum to that effect (on file in the NASA archives) for NASA management and contractors several months before he left but did not pursue it far enough because of his imminent departure. This, coupled with the presence of a new and inexperienced administrator, undoubtedly contributed to the loss. The preceding administrator, Mr. James Beggs, had been forced out of government service because of ill-founded charges that were later dropped for lack of evidence.
Second, although the ice-water experiment performed by the late Professor Richard Feynman did indeed demonstrate the fragility of the O-rings when cold, another member of the investigating panel—an engineering professor at a prominent eastern institution—maintains that the seals were unsafe, even in warm weather. The presence of cold weather at the launch site may therefore have been a simple coincidence.
Finally, we must remember that in the early 1980s NASA operated under enormous pressure to maintain and accelerate the shuttle launch schedule. Some of this pressure came directly from the press, but most of it came indirectly from Congress and the Pentagon. While NASA management might have shown more courage by resisting that pressure, it was certainly not alone in its guilt.
“Australia’s Stake in America’s Civil War’’
(See R. Kennett, B. L. Fuqua, and C. S. Fuqua, pp. 50-54, Spring 1989 Naval History)
Rear Admiral John R. Wadleigh, U. S. Navy (Retired)—More about the principal character, the commanding officer of the CSS Shenandoah, may be of interest. An 1847 graduate from the United States Naval Academy, James Waddell chose to go with the Confederacy when his native state of North Carolina seceded from the Union. He was given a Confederate Navy commission as lieutenant and was a valuable addition to its ranks, having had some 15 years at sea, including service in the Mexican War. After his cruise as captain of the Shenandoah, he spent ten years in England until the United States offered amnesty in 1875. Later he commanded the City of San Francisco, a Pacific Mail Company steamer, and before he died in 1886, was Commander Maryland State Flotilla, engaged in policing Chesapeake Bay oyster beds.
The name Waddell rejoined the U. S. Navy in 1964 with the commissioning of guided missile destroyer Waddell (DDG- 24), last of the Charles F. Adams (DDG- 2) class. Still operating as part of Surface Force Pacific Fleet out of San Diego, she has the distinction of being the only ship named for an alumnus of our Naval Academy who was also an officer in the Confederate Navy.
James W. Thompson—As a past historian-in-chief for the Sons of Confederate Veterans for ten years, I was especially interested in the article about the Confederate cruiser Shenandoah. I learned quite a bit from it, but there were two errors in a single sentence that I must call to your attention. On page 50 of the article there is this sentence about the Sea King, which became the Shenandoah: “The ship set sail from London on 8 October 1864, under the command of Confederate Navy Captain James I. Waddell.”
The Sea King was not under the command of Waddell when she left London. She was commanded by Captain Peter S. Corbett, a British commercial captain. Waddell and his crew set sail later that day on board the tender Laurel (also under command of a British skipper) for Funchal, Madeira, where they would await the arrival of the Sea King. Waddell then received a bill of sale for the ship and took command. In addition, Waddell was not “Confederate Navy Captain James I. Waddell.” He never held a rank in the Confederate Navy higher than lieutenant. Of course, I know that the commanding officer of every ship is addressed as captain, regardless of his actual rank, but to refer to him as “Confederate Navy Captain” is clearly saying that he held the rank of captain in the Navy. Of course, I think that he should have held a rank higher than that of a lieutenant, which, incidentally, is the same as the rank I achieved in World War II in the Naval Reserve. Waddell deserved more.
“The Skipper and His Ship’’
(See E. B. Hooper, pp. 53-54, Fall 1988 Naval History)
Lieutenant James. M. Nugent. U. S. Naval Reserve—Admiral Hooper states that the Pueblo's (AGER-2) chief engineer was shown which valves could be rapidly knocked off with a sledgehammer to allow the ship to quickly flood and sink. Commander Bucher states in his book (Bucher: My Story [New York: Doubleday, 1970]) that the Pueblo had no seacocks to provide for rapid flooding, and explains how, when he consulted the chief engineer concerning the possibility of scuttling the ship before she was boarded by the North Koreans, the chief engineer stated that it could not be done quickly enough. (Information in the book provides estimates that unbolting and disconnecting engineering’s saltwater intakes would take one hour, flooding the engine room would take two hours, and breaching the engine room bulkhead would take two to four hours, for a total of five to seven hours to scuttle the ship. These are my rough estimates from information provided by Commander Bucher; he makes no such estimate in his book.) Commander Bucher did not believe that he had the means to scuttle his vessel rapidly. The reason he gives for not scuttling the Pueblo at all, despite the time involved and the relatively shallow water (30 fathoms), is that he felt it would be a futile gesture because North Korean divers would be able to gain access to her secrets. He does not address why he did not attempt a self-inflicted mass conflagration, which, if it did not sink the ship, would have left her a worthless hulk. Commander Bucher never seems to have considered the fact that, had he scuttled the Pueblo, regardless of how slowly, this would have left her sitting in international waters from which she eventually could be defended or destroyed. The Pueblo's resting place also would have been conclusive evidence of North Korea’s attempt at piracy in international waters.
Ultimately, Commander Bucher was responsible for his ship, and the reasons he offers for not scuttling her or setting her ablaze are not very convincing. Commander Bucher never addresses his failure to meet his responsibility toward his ship in his book. He does dedicate significant energy in his book to placing blame on others. For Commander Bucher in any way to believe or to lead anyone to believe that he was deserving of a Medal of Honor only indicates how far removed from the central issue he has placed himself. This is the man who gave up the ship.
“The Development of Night Fighters in World War II”
(See W. C. Odell, pp. 33-35, Winter 1989 Naval History)
Commander R. D. Meyers, U. S. Naval Reserve (Retired)—I enjoyed reading Colonel Odell’s article, but take exception to his statement that “The men of the RAF [Royal Air Force] who fought and won the desperate Battle of Britain in the latter half of 1940—hailed by Winston Churchill as the few to whom so many owed so much—were the world’s first night fighter pilots.” They were far from being the first.
Between 19 January 1915 and 6 August 1918, the Royal Flying Corps, Royal Naval Air Service, and Royal Air Force launched some 1,590 night flying sorties against attacking German airships and bombers over England, using aircraft tanging from lowly BE.2 reconnaissance planes to Sopwith Camel fighters. Aircraft illumination systems that today’s pilots accept as commonplace were developed during this period.
Regrettably, I do not know the number of fighter sorties flown by German aircraft against Allied night bombers, but I’m sure it would increase the total considerably.
“Leyte Gulf: A Bibliography of the Greatest Sea Battle”
(See S. L. Falk, pp. 60-61, Fall 1988 Naval History)
John W. Klar—Stanley Falk repeats the unjustified criticism of Admiral William F. Halsey that other armchair strategists blessed with 20-20 hindsight have made before. It is incredible that “most observers” muted their criticism of the inept Japanese commander, Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita, because of “mitigating circumstances,” but could find no such circumstances for Admiral Halsey.
The following facts not mentioned in Mr. Falk’s article must be considered by anyone studying the Battle of Leyte Gulf.
►Washington, D. C., politics prevented the appointment of one overall commander of the Leyte Island invasion forces; the only logical choice would have been Admiral Chester W. Nimitz.
►Even worse, the naval command for this operation was divided between the Third Fleet, under Admiral Halsey reporting to Admiral Nimitz, and the Seventh Fleet, under Vice Admiral Thomas C- Kinkaid reporting to General Douglas A. MacArthur.
►General MacArthur did not allow Admiral Kinkaid to communicate directly with Admiral Halsey; instead, Kinkaid had to direct all communications through the Southwest Pacific (SoWesPac) facilities at Manus, which caused many messages to be received only after long delays, and then out of sequence.
►Although one of the tasks assigned to the Third Fleet was to support the Seventh Fleet during the invasion of Leyte, its primary task was to destroy the Japanese Fleet if the opportunity arose.
►San Bernardino Strait, and all of the Philippine Islands, were in the SoWesPac area under MacArthur, and not in the Central Pacific Ocean Area under Nimitz; therefore, the primary responsibility for guarding that strait rested with MacArthur and Kinkaid, and not with Halsey and Nimitz.
►Intelligence reports provided by SoWesPac stated that the San Bernardino Strait probably was mined and was considered to be unnavigable.
►U. S. intelligence did not discover the Japanese “SHO” plan prior to the battle, as it had done in previous campaigns, and it indicated that the Japanese Navy would not be committed to a fleet action in the defense of Leyte.
►U. S. intelligence estimated that there were 10 to 11 heavy and light fleet aircraft carriers in the Japanese Navy based in home waters, but they did not report that these carriers lacked planes and qualified pilots.
►U. S. intelligence estimated that Japan had more than 400 planes in the northern Philippines, and that at least 100 additional planes would be brought in from Formosa. Also, it was known that Japan had approximately 60 operational airfields in the northern Philippines.
►Even if Admiral Kurita had continued on to Leyte Gulf, he would have had to approach the invasion beaches through a channel that the Seventh Fleet could have blocked at least long enough for the Third Fleet carrier planes to arrive and annihilate Kurita’s fleet before it could reach the troop transports. The statement that the Japanese plan almost worked is not correct.
In light of these facts and information available to Admiral Halsey at the time, the greatest danger appeared to be from the Japanese carriers that could shuttle bomb the Third Fleet from the airfields in the Philippines, and from aircraft carriers stationed on the east flank. Therefore, Halsey was well justified in preventing this from happening by attempting to destroy what should have been the most powerful of the Japanese forces. At that time it was inconceivable to any American that a rational enemy would deliberately sacrifice his potentially most powerful weapons to lure the Third Fleet carriers away from the San Bernardino Strait so that the much less capable battleships and cruisers could make an attempt to reach Leyte.
I wonder if the armchair strategists would have applauded Admiral Halsey if he had guarded an empty San Bemadino Strait and lost the Third Fleet carriers to a Japanese shuttle bombing attack.
In his article, Mr. Falk failed to mention that the Naval War College Strategical and Tactical Analysis of the Battle of Leyte Gulf has been declassified and is now available to the general public from the National Technical Information Service of the U. S. Department of Commerce. This large publication should be read by all persons interested in that battle since it provides reasons for many of the decisions made by the various commanders. It is far superior to most of the books cited in Mr. Falk’s article.
“The Spirit of the Essex”
(See R. L. Upchurch, pp. 18-24, Winter 1988; J. G. Daniels and K. D. Baldridge, pp. 4-6, Summer 1988; L. L. Behrmann, p. 7, Spring 1989 Naval History)
Ray B. Atwell—Here is another bit of information about the USS Essex (CV-9) and the Marine Corps. The Marine squadrons she carried into combat during World War II were VMF-124 and VMF- 213 under the command of Lieutenant Colonel William M. Millington. Their performance was in keeping with the true spirit of Essex, “The Fightin’est Ship in the Fleet” in World War II” and “the Oldest and the Boldest” in the Korean War.
That spirit dates back to the first Essex, a frigate under the command of Captain David Porter, and still lives in the hearts of her veterans. The 20th annual reunion of Essex veterans brought almost 400 of them and their wives to Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, in June. The highlight of the week-long reunion was the dedication of the Essex memorial room in the carrier Hall of Fame on board her sister, the Yorktown (CV-10), at Patriots Point. Memorial services to department shipmates were also held on board Yorktown.
Membership in this organization is open to all who served in Essex, whether as ship’s company, air groups, or embarked staff.
We of Essex are proud of her service to our country and her indomitable spirit.
“The Amphibious Role for the Coast Guard”
(See W. C. Capron, pp. 18-19, Winter 1989 Naval History)
Charles D. Gibson, author of The Ordeal of Convoy NY 119 and Merchantman? or Ship of War—The article cries out for some criticism. It is an unfortunate example of how hearsay, translated into the written word, often becomes history. During the early 1940-41 amphibious exercises of which Captain Capron spoke, Murphy’s Law apparently prevailed. But to lay blame for the problems on the Army’s civilian crews is contrary with the record. The role of civilian crews in military and naval auxiliaries during peace and war has generally been excellent. To allow unsubstantiated allegations to creep into journals such as Naval History is disappointing.
The Army may have refused to sail its ships under blackout conditions during pre-December 1941 exercises, but this would not have been, as Captain Capron implies, a result of civilian “crew refusals.” Captain Capron overlooked how Army transports were operated. Each transport had a top command structure consisting of a civilian master who held supreme authority over the internal discipline of the crew as well as the navigation of the vessel. However, whenever dealing with military matters and anything involving interservice coordination, the master was subjected to the influence of a military officer who was officially termed a “transport commander.” The transport commanders were commissioned Army officers assigned to each transport. A decision to carry out a Navy proposal in peacetime similar to a blackout request would have been a military decision, accepted or rejected by the transport commander after consultation with the ship’s master.
It should be understood that by the early 1940s, the Army Transport Service (ATS), established by the Army in 1898, possessed an excellent record of safety at sea in its coastal, intercoastal, and transoceanic operations. Its masters were seasoned professionals who would have made their recommendations to the Army based upon considerations of safety at sea, balanced by military necessity. It must have been of some concern to the Army that as recently as 1923, the Navy had lost seven of its destroyers on the rocks off Point Arguello, California, from operating in a follow-the-leader column. That disaster was a result of the Navy unnecessarily taking a risk. The blackout matter could have appeared in the same vein.
I cannot find anything in the Army’s records to substantiate Captain Capron’s claim that civilian crews refused duty after 1700 in the afternoon unless they received overtime pay. The ATS pay structure did not include a provision for overtime until after the war had started. Also, the crews of Army transports were civil servants employed by the War Department and were governed by Army regulations. Refusing duty at sea—especially during military operations—would have resulted in a discharge “for cause” at the termination of the voyage. Capron alleges that after 1700, Army civilian crews refused to hoist aboard the landing craft used to ferry the troops ashore. This charge has no recorded substance. In that particular exercise, the Problem was with the boom gear on the ships—not with the crews. The booms and tackle arrangements were of an inadequate rig to handle the chore in a seaway. The inability to get the boats aboard was probably the root source of a tale that ultimately and unjustly accused civilian crew members of a lack of cooperation— a tale which Captain Capron’s memory has carried forward into the article.
Based upon considerable research of beach operations (both practice and the real thing), I can attest that things rarely, if ever, go right. Civilians always seem to receive the dirty end of the accolades— Probably because they are not part of the club.
Captain Capron’s account is also off course when he alleges that the Army had requested a takeover of its transports by the Navy (or by Navy crews). The opposite took place. Beginning in 1940, a donnybrook developed between the Army and Navy. The Navy then attempted to take control of the entire sea-lift capability for the carriage of troops. The Army strongly resisted. The power struggle continued well into late 1942. At one point, three Army transports were transferred to the Navy, but the Navy shortly turned them back to the Army since the Navy could not assemble sufficient trained crews to sail them.
In the end, the Army maintained throughout World War II the general responsibility for overseas movement of troops while the Navy ended up with most of the attack transports. The Navy did get some large transports such as the Wakefield (AP-21), which incidentally had a Coast Guard crew, but the majority of the large liner-type ships were left either under Army civilian manning or were manned by civilian merchant seamen of the War Shipping Administration. Army dominance over troops sealift continued into the early postwar period when, in addition to its own ships, it took over a number of C-4 class transports (the generals) that had previously been operated and manned by the Navy as attack transports.
In 1949, with the creation of the Military Sea Transportation Service, the Navy inherited the Army’s sealift function. But even with this change, civilians were utilized to operate the vessels. The Navy realized that the system of civilian manning worked and a similar system is still used.
“When Courage Was Not Enough”
(See R. G. Graves, pp. 12-17, Spring 1989; T. G. Martin, p. 2, Summer 1989 Naval History)
Captain Carl H. Amme, U. S. Navy (Retired)—It is interesting to note that Captain Broke’s personal account to his friend and superior Captain Capel confirms in detail Ensign Graves’s description of the battle between Chesapeake and Shannon:
Shannon, Halifax
June 6, 1813
“Sir—I have the honour to inform you, that being close in with Boston Light House, in His Majesty’s ship under my command, on the 1st inst. I had the pleasure of seeing that the United States frigate Chesapeake (whom we had long been watching) was coming out of the harbour to engage the Shannon; I took a position between Cape Ann and Cape Cod, and then hove-to for him to join us; the enemy came down in a very handsome manner having three American ensigns flying; when closing with us he sent down his royal yards. I kept the Shannon's up, expecting the breeze would die away. At half-past five P.M. the enemy came up within hail of us on the starboard side, and the battle began, both ships steering full under the top-sails; after exchanging two or three broadsides, the enemy’s ship fell on board of us, her mizen channels locking in with our fore-rigging. I went forward to ascertain her position, and observing that the enemy were flinching from their guns, I gave orders to prepare for boarding. Our gallant hands appointed to that service immediately rushed in, under their respective officers, upon the enemy’s deck, driving every thing before them with irresistible fury. The enemy made a separate but disorderly resistance. The firing continued at all gangways and between the tops, but in two minutes time the enemy were driven sword in hand from every post. The American flag was hauled down and the proud old British Union floated triumphant over it. In another minute they ceased firing below, and called for quarter. The whole of this service was achieved in fifteen minutes from the commencement of the action.”
This letter was published in the London Times with the caution to its readers not to express too great jubilation over the capture of this one ship. It was hoped the day would never come when Britons would regard such victories as anything but that normally expected of His Majesty’s Navy.
A contemporary account of the battle discovered on the back of an 1816 English print in my possession claimed that the battle “was equally fortunate and glorious to the British arms, as it put an end to the false impressions of superior prowess of the American seamen which had arisen merely in consequence of the capture of a few of our frigates by American ships of a larger rate.”
V. T. Boatwright—In the interesting article, Ensign Graves states that Captain James Lawrence had his early instruction in seamanship and leadership from “Captain James Dale,” who had earned his reputation as first lieutenant in the Bonhomme Richard.
John Paul Jones’s first lieutenant in the Bonhomme Richard was Richard Dale, or so he is called in Holloway Frost’s We Build A Navy, which I studied as a midshipman 50 years ago; in James Fenimore Cooper’s History of the Navy of the United States', and on a historical marker erected by the Commonwealth of Virginia in Dale’s (and my) hometown, Portsmouth. Dale later was commodore in the Mediterranean during the war with the Barbary states.
Presumably Lawrence’s service under Dale occurred when the latter was captain of the Ganges, in which Lawrence served as midshipman.
“Aircraft Carriers on Lake Michigan”
(Sec D. E. Miller, pp. 42-43, Winter 1988 Naval History)
Rolf Bjornson—The thinking that instigated the conversion of Great Lakes, sidewheel passenger excursion vessels to the aircraft carrier configuration during World War II was also applied to those boats of the U. S. Coast Guard assigned to plane guard duty for the USS Wolverine and the USS Sable. The success of the carriers was not duplicated when the Coast Guard converted pleasure craft and subjected them to the rigors of sustained operations during all kinds of weather on a year-round basis. These craft, designated as ‘CGR-boats’ were, for the most part, lacking in stability, fuel and fresh water capacity, galley and refrigeration capability, heating during cold weather, and visibility from the conning tower.
The Coast Guard recognized the need to provide boats that were adequate for the job and selected three craft from Captain of the Port, New York, to be transferred to Captain of the Port, Chicago. They were CG-406, CG-407, and CG- 408 which were renumbered CG-80300, CG-80301 and CG-80302. These boats, designed by noted naval architect Walter McGinnis, were commissioned in 1937. They were 80 feet, 9 inches long, had a maximum speed of 26 knots, and a cruising radius of just over 700 nautical miles. The propulsion plants of these boats was a design feature. Each shaft was driven by two Liberty, 12-cylinder gasoline engines of World War I fame. Two oppositely rotated engines, each producing 400 h.p., drove through a common transmission with 1.343 to 1 reduction gears, reverse gear and clutch. All components were mounted on longitudinal beams to form a Vimalert Duplex Unit.
The three boats arrived at Captain of the Port, Chicago, in April of 1943, where they took over plane guard duty until late October when they were relieved by the newly-constructed 83- footers.
“The Coast Guard Celebrates its 200th Birthday”
(See R. L. Scheina, pp. 41-43, Summer 1989 Naval History)
K. R. Norling—I fear your Coast Guard 200th piece has a couple of errors. On page 42, the cutter’s name should be Seneca, not Senaca. And on page 43, the caption reads “Taney at Pearl Harbor.” But it looks to me like she’s docked in Honolulu Harbor near Aloha Tower.
Editor’s Note: Mr. Norling is correct that the Taney was in Honolulu. Keith Ferris called his painting ‘‘Taney at Pearl Harbor” to avoid a long, cumbersome title. He performed extensive research in order to place the cutter accurately. Because of the proximity of Honolulu, the Coast Guard considers the Taney as being part of the overall attack on Pearl Harbor.
“The Day Vice Admiral Yamagata Joined his Honorable Ancestors”
(See R. T. Briggs, pp. 29-35, Spring 1989 Naval History)
Lawrence V. Colt—I was surprised by the identification of author Ralph T. Briggs as the person “who intercepted the Japanese ‘Winds Code Execute’ on 4 December 1941, indicating Japan’s decision to attack the United States and Great Britain.” The existence of such an execute signal before the attack has never been conclusively established, so I assume the claim is made by Mr. Briggs and not endorsed by Naval History.
Briggs first made this claim in his 1977 interview with Captain Raymond Schmidt, historian of the Naval Security Group Command, but there are substantial reasons to doubt his recollections, made 35 years after events. Briggs said he made the intercept ‘ ‘on the evening of the mid [mid] on 4 December, Washington date time . . .’’at Station M, Cheltenham, Maryland. But, as has been pointed out by, among others, Donald Goldstein in Gordon Prange’s Pearl Harbor: Verdict of History, Briggs of 1977 conflicts with Briggs of 1960.
In 1960, Briggs was officer in charge of a facility where radio back-traffic was stored. He combed voluminous records at that time and located the log sheet for the material he had intercepted, but not the transcripts. Briggs marked the log, noting that “all transmissions intercepted by me between 0500 thru 1300 on the above date are missing from these files & that these intercepts contained the ‘Winds message warning code . . .’” This note appears on the log sheet for 2 December 1941. That marked logsheet is attached—without comment—to the 1977 interview (National Archives, RG 457, SRH-051), in which Briggs gave the 4 December date.
Dr. Goldstein errs in thinking 0500 to 1300 did not include a mid-watch. Except for Japanese Naval Net, the U. S. Navy interceptors used Greenwich Civil Time, so 0500 to 1300 GCT was 0000 to 0800 local time at Station M—i.e., the midwatch and morning watch. However, as Goldstein noted, Briggs’s logsheet claim is still more than 48 hours off Captain Safford’s last claim (Pearl Harbor Attack, Vol. 8:3579) that the Winds message was broadcast by station JAP at 1330 (i.e., 0830 Washington time) 4 December. That would be after Briggs went off duty.
Briggs’s failure to locate some Station M files proves nothing, one way or another. Some files were destroyed when the facility moved to Chatham, Massachusetts, during the war. Briggs may think he copied the message on the midwatch of 4 December or on the midwatch of 2 December, but he can’t have it both ways. As Captain Schmidt said after the 1977 interview, the whole Winds code controversy was an historical red herring. Amen.
As for the accompanying photo caption (page 30) of Navy operators in a Corregidor tunnel, I question whether the kata kana transmission code had 60 characters. There were 48 basic characters of the syllabary, plus symbols for nigori and han-nigori modifiers, a long sign for vowels, single break, double break, separator, and change from kana to continental code and vice versa. I count 55, not 60.
“The Strange Fame of Thomas Stone”
(See S. Meyer, pp. 46-48, Summer 1988 Naval History)
Rear Admiral George W. Bauernschmidt, Supply Corps, U. S. Navy (Retired)— Shortage of manpower was a recurring problem in World War II that was relieved in part by the Thomas Stone, a transport that had been bombed and beached off Algiers. For many months the ship had been used as a receiving station of sorts and its crew had remained on board. When word was received at Naval Supply Depot Oran that the crew was finally to be removed, a request for some of the men was sent to Algiers and approved. These men proved to be a valuable asset to the depot. But they also offered me an interesting study in discipline. They had not been paid for many months and suddenly were affluent. A duty officer put several of them on report for playing poker. At mast I asked how much had been in the pot when the game was stopped and I was told that it had been $600. The reporting officer had done his duty, but I also knew the recent history of the men. They received only a lecture on the evil of gambling and a warning.
“Historic Naval Ships Association”
(See J. W. Cheevers, pp. 68-69, Spring 1989 Naval History)
Norman Polmar—Mr. Cheevers’s update of the large number of U. S. historic naval ships is most useful, but he errs when he identifies the Tampa-based Requin (SS-481) as a radar picket modified to the greater underwater propulsive power (GUPPY) project. There were 52 fleet-type submarines converted to the GUPPY configuration.
None of those 1946-52 GUPPY conversions were to radar pickets or any other specialized configuration. The Re- quin was one of ten fleet boats converted to the radar-picket role; she received a streamlined conning tower structure or “sail” and a snorkel system, but she had none of the other GUPPY features.
Also, for the historical record, the former presidential yacht, the Sequoia, was given the designation AG-23 when commissioned by the Navy on 25 March 1933. (The Sequoia was in commission for only three brief periods; for most of her career she had the status “in service.”)
“The Other Pearl Harbor Disaster”
(See H. E. Shuman, pp. 32-36, Summer 1988; W. L. C. Johnson, p. 7, Fall 1988 Naval History
Francis J. Clune, Associate Professor, State University of New York, College at Brockport—I became interested in “The Other Pearl Harbor Disaster” in about 1978 when I came across the 1946 publication of the reports of Admiral Ernest King on the Navy during World War II. An appendix in that book listed all of the ships that had been lost in the war and where they had been lost. I read that five (sic) LSTs had all been sunk in 1944 in Pearl Harbor. With that as an incentive, I began research on the subject of the 21 May 1944 disaster.
I think that two items should be mentioned to your readers. First, the total casualties; 163 killed + 396 injured = 559 casualties. In addition to the six LSTs (353, 480, 69, 43, 179, 39) that were sunk, the following LSTs were damaged: 242, 20, 205, 225, and 23. In addition, several tugs were damaged during the firefighting operations. Tug 306 had been right next to an LST when the LST blew up, and it was calculated that at least three weeks work would be necessary before it was back in operation. One major problem was that both of the modem firefighting tugs available had been under repair at the time of the disaster. The combination of high-octane gasoline and large quantities of deck-loaded explosives was a fatal mix, since the gasoline both exploded and burned, thus spreading fire all around the deck area.
Second, I believe that there was sufficient evidence for the court to decide that smoking in the vicinity of the gasoline was the cause of the initial explosion, and testimony in the report indicates that the initial explosion was gasoline, not explosives. This, along with testimony of smoking on board, is the case for Admiral King’s endorsement of the report.
There is one other element that I think might be of interest and pertinent to the case: the unit handling the ammunition was an Army unit, the ammunition was Army ammunition, and this might at that time have weighed on the board. The board had already recommended two naval officers for courts-martial (they were not tried). The board might have felt that enough was enough.
“‘V’ is For . . .”
(See T. E. Lahey, pp. 2, Summer 1989 Naval History)
Chester W. Klabe, Weapon Systems Branch, Philadelphia Naval Base— When he was in grade school, my son presented me with this 1943 poster of the five Sullivan brothers as a Christmas present, and as many times as I have looked at it, I never noticed the “V” plate until I saw this article.
First, I thought it to be the Roman numeral V for the five brothers, and Victory sign that was common during this period. Then I spoke with employee George Hance, a naval architect technician (we both work for planning and engineering for repairs and alterations on cruisers and destroyers), who showed me a document that he acquired during his apprenticeship at the Philadelphia Navy Yard. It was titled “General specification, appendix, 10—Nomenclature of decks. Numbering watertight compartments, Labeling, for vessels of the United States Navy,” edition of May 1936.
In chapter three, titled “Specification for Labeling,” it states:
“Identification plates shall be provided for all access openings in compartment boundaries. This includes doors, hatches, manholes, scuttles and skylights. These plates shall be 4 inches square with 3 inch high single block letters and shall be engraved X, Y, Z, V, or W.
The letter used is determined by the construction superintendent and coordinated with the prospective commanding officer.
This significance is as follows:
X = closed at all times except during periods of inspection or continuous use
Y = closed outside of working hours
Z = closed in action emergency
V = closed at all times during war time cruising
W = open during action
The X, Y, V, and W plates shall have black letters, the Z plates shall have red letters.”
“The Great Enterprise”
(See B. I. Burnett, pp. 16-20, Summer 1988; G. Hagerman, pp. 8-11, Fall 1988; J. J. Dougherty, pp. 6-7, Spring 1989 Naval History)
William G. Key—With all respect that may be due Commander Dougherty, not all troubled Armada ships and crews were treated to the kindnesses of the Irish. Many of the probable 64 ships lost to the English and to the weather were lost off the coast of Scotland and the islands to the north.
It would appear that the Scots were more hospitable hosts than the Irish. An account in the May/June 1989 Highlander (the magazine of Scottish heritage, Barrington, Illinois) tells of the landing of the captain and crew of El Gran Griffen at Anstruther, Fife, on the Firth of Forth. The then-minister of the little fishing port, the Reverend James Melville, greeted the shipwrecked mariners and recorded their safe arrival for posterity. The captain, Don Gomez de Medina, presented a chest reputedly containing gold to the minister and, according to The Highlander account, it today may be seen embedded in the walls of the Manse. This, it was said, was given by the Spanish captain in return for “kindness, Christian hospitality and help afford him and his crew.”
Torpedo Junction
Captain John F. Vandegrift—I am an old navy man (1928 to 1937), and my heart will always lie with the Navy. But since 1937 I have hung my hat under the U. S. Merchant Marine banner.
I have just received a copy of Torpedo Junction published by the Naval Institute Press. Brave men, well presented. But it brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat for my unsung, lost merchant marine brothers. They had no escort vessels. Armed guard crews were still on the planning board, and except for the captain’s 38 or 45 pistol, there was not a single gun of any caliber on board any merchant vessel. But when their country called, they shouldered their seabags and marched up the gangway to what they knew was almost sure death. Many of our faint-hearted couldn’t take it and fled to join the safety and security of the military.
But we had no photographers, reporters or movie men to sing a song of public relations on our behalf. The only word the public got that we were in existence was an occasional waterfront sign that said “A slip of the lip can sink a ship”!
Those first few months of all-out sub warfare against unarmed and undefended merchant ships took the lives of some 1,500 shipmates we used to hoist a friendly schooner with in the exchange alleys and waterfront bars throughout the world.
Boy voyage, my brothers. We who knew you loved you.
“Life as ‘Employed Enemy Personnel’”
(See H. Raumann, pp. 28-34, Summer 1989 Naval History)
J. Russell Phillips—I much enjoyed the article about the Prinz Eugen. She remains a thrilling recreational dive site off Kwajalein. My father visited there in 1974 while on contract as engineering facilities manager on the islands. He remarked at the time that the Prinz Eugen looked as if she could have been launched last year!
“Voyage of the NC-3”
(See C. G. Reynolds, pp. 34-41, Spring 1987 Naval History)
Charles Cunningham—What really happened at Ponta Delgada in the Azores in May 1919 has been a point of discussion for many years. Three Navy seaplanes, the NC (Navy-Curtiss)-1, NC-3, and NC-4, hoped to fly nonstop from Trepassey, Newfoundland, to Ponta Delgada. Only the NC-4, commanded by Lieutenant Commander A. C. “Putty” Read, reached the Azores as planned. The NC-1 was sunk and its crew rescued. The NC-3, commanded by Commander John H. Towers, who also led the overall expedition, landed at sea and, disabled, sailed 200 miles to Ponta Delgada, where the crews of the three planes were reunited.
Towers had received orders that if his plane could not continue he should board a plane that was flyable. Following these orders and naval tradition, he naturally assumed that he would join the NC-4, which was in top shape, and continue with Read. The confusion began when the naval commander in the Azores, Rear Admiral Richard H. Jackson, without Towers’s knowledge, sent to the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations a request that Towers be allowed to continue with Read. Jackson had not been aware of Towers’s earlier orders.
Much to the dismay of Jackson, as well as Vice Admiral Harry S. Knapp, who was in London, Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels became aware of telegrams coming to Washington from both admirals. To the outrage of many, he ordered that Read continue his flight without Towers. Towers and the other crews were to continue to Plymouth, England, by destroyer.
It is here that rumors of a feud between Towers and Read began. According to a New York newspaper published in May 1919, Read appealed over the heads of the admirals to Daniels, objecting to Towers accompanying him and requesting that he be allowed to continue the flight alone. “[Read’s] glory,” concluded the account, “will always be dimmed by the unsailorly lack of discipline, and by the thoroughly un-American and unsportsmanlike spirit of selfishness of which he has given so painful a display in his hour of victory.”
Read’s widow Bess recalls what happened:
“There was a great deal of controversy at the time—telegrams going back and forth between the Azores and Washington—about whether or not Towers should indeed take over command, or even get on the plane at all. When I was in Washington I was in the middle of this. There were friends of mine who were actually taking up sides on the matter. I heard that the questions were even raised in Congress. . . . Some have said that Putty violated a direct order from Towers to let him take over command.”
The story has been further embellished through the years with talk that Towers’s grudge against Read caused him to be instrumental in seeing that Read was passed over twice for promotion to rear admiral.
In fact, reports from both sides indicate that there was no Read-Towers conflict and that much that was made of the reported friction was fiction. There is no evidence of any animosity between the two; Towers, far from standing in the way of Read’s promotion, unhesitantly recommended him for rear admiral. There is also no evidence that Read appealed directly to Daniels to overturn the decision of the admirals.
Admiral Read was well respected throughout the Navy for his integrity and his devotion to the service’s highest traditions. His daughter, my wife Elizabeth, recalls that when asked if Towers resented him. Read always replied, “Nonsense.” Read’s wife states adamantly that accusations that her husband appealed directly to Daniels are
“. . . simply not true. It seems to me that Putty spoke decisively to this when he wrote to me from Ponta Delgada: ‘It’s too bad the Navy Department won’t let Towers continue on.’ Putty also talked to me many times about all the hard work Towers had done on the project. He said in another letter from Ponta Delgada: ‘He was the Division Commander and he really should have come on. I’m sorry that he won’t get to ride with me.’ ”
Read’s only fault, if one wants to call it a fault, was following the orders of the most senior Navy person in Washington— the Secretary of the Navy. Indeed, if anyone is to be at blame in the proceedings, it must be Daniels, who disrupted Navy discipline and unduly interfered with operational orders.
“The Bumblebee Can Fly”
(See T. Blades, pp. 48-52, Fall 1988 Naval History)
William F. Benage, Jr.—I found the article to be an interesting one, but noticed an error on page 52. Commander Blades states, “Finally, when the Navy converted its missile ships’ fire-control computers from analog to digital, the redesign was done for Talos too, but only the Albany (CG-10) got it.”
I was on the Long Beach (CGN-9) during her overhaul in 1970. The Talos system was converted during this overhaul from analog to digital. I was a missile fire control technician first class assigned to the Talos battery and spent many hours running tests on the digital system.
“Release of the Crew”
(See G. P. Steele, pp. 58-59, Fall 1988 Naval History)
Raymond E. Messier—Admiral Steele’s coverage of the release of the Pueblo crewmen rekindled memories of a highlight of my tour in Eighth Army G-3 in 1968-69. Arriving in Seoul in September 1968, I witnessed the massive effort exerted by the headquarters preparing for and welcoming the sailors upon their return from captivity. A lieutenant colonel at that time, I personally participated in a very small way in the activities on 23 December 1968, the transfer date.
I must first comment on the role of General Charles Bonesteel in the return operation. Besides being Commander-in- Chief United Nations Command, General Bonesteel wore the hats of Commander U. S. Forces Korea, and Commanding General Eighth U. S. Army. In these multifaceted roles, he commanded all U. S. forces in Korea—Army, Air Force, and Navy. Any show on the Korean land- mass was General Bonesteel’s show, his being subordinate to Commander in Chief Pacific notwithstanding. The processing of the Pueblo crewmen upon their release was a Navy show to the extent that General Bonesteel concurred that it be so.
Further, the support effort by Eighth Army was too extensive to be sluffed away by Admiral Steele’s remark, “He [General Bonesteel] was supposed to provide only logistic support.” When I joined Eighth Army, a contingency plan was already in place, and had been for several months, predicated on the assumption that the Pueblo crewmen would some day be returned. Under the charge of Major Warren Harris, the six-inch- thick plan for Operation Breeches Buoy considered every possible variable and assigned tasks to dozens of Eighth Army units to be executed on order in conjunction with the release of the sailors.
On transfer day, 23 December 1968, nearly every officer assigned to G-3 operations was manning a phone, monitoring a particular aspect of the transfer and movement to Army Service Command City, assuring the rapid application of corrective action in the event of any problem. I recall no hitches whatsoever—a flawless operation! Rear Admiral Edwin Rosenberg reportedly expressed his amazement at and compliments for the efficiency of the entire operation on such extremely short notice. We were all surprised that he seemed to have no concept of the degree of planning which went into Breeches Buoy—that it just happened. Perhaps his indisposition as described by Admiral Steele was at least partly responsible for this. At no time throughout the entire transfer did I hear any mention of the Army pulling Navy chestnuts out of the fire. All of us were anxious and proud to help in the first step of the return of fellow Americans from communist captivity to their homeland. Possible disciplinary action was not our concern; that was a Navy matter.