“The Trouble With Admiral Sampson”
(See M. G. Netsky and E. L. Beach, pp. 8- 16, November-December 1995 Naval History)
Martin G. Netsky, M.D., coauthor, “The Trouble With Admiral Sampson”
An error was introduced to the text on page 9, column 2, lines 7 and 8 of paragraph 2. The sentence “Medical science was not aware of the symptom’s serious nature. . . .” is incorrect. I wrote that “He [Rixey] was not aware of the serious nature of the symptoms.” My statement is correct. The altered phrase not only is inaccurate but also is contradicted by my sentence on page 16, column 1, lines 5-7 of paragraph 3: “Neurologists of that time, however, were fully aware that repeated episodes of aphasia cumulatively impeded judgment. They should have been consulted.” In addition, on page 12, column 1, “Saturday 3 July” should be “Saturday 2 July.”
Lieutenant Commander Byron Morgan, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
In an article that deals with the medical problems of Admiral William Thomas Sampson, Doctor Netsky and Captain Beach take a cheap shot at Lieutenant Richmond Pearson Hobson, his character, and his performance as a naval officer. Lieutenant Hobson was an assistant naval constructor and as such reported to Admiral Sampson on the strength and weakness of the ships of the U.S. North Atlantic Fleet and of the ships in the fleet under the Spanish Admiral Cervera.
On one occasion on board the New York at Key West, Admiral Sampson ordered Commodore Winfield Scott Schley to sink the Merrimac in the harbor entrance of Santiago de Cuba. The word was carried via the ship New Orleans, due off Santiago de Cuba in two days. Admiral Sampson, however, doubting that Schley would accomplish the task within good time, called upon Lieutenant Hobson to study the problem and to come up with a detailed report on how it could be accomplished. Lieutenant Hobson determined that the Merrimac should go in at flood tide with ten
torpedoes placed on the port outside the hull, abreast the bulkheads, and at 12 feet below the waterline. He needed electric generators to fire the torpedoes, but none were on board. He requested that he be allowed to place two warheads inside the Merrimac, but Admiral Sampson refused. Lieutenant Hobson reported that the mission required a crew of six: a commanding officer, one man with an axe on each of two anchors, two men below—one in the engine room and one in the boiler room— and one man to assist with the torpedoes. Lieutenant Hobson recommended himself as commanding officer. He had been a line officer and navigator.
Admiral Sampson was not sure about this decision, but Lieutenant Hobson forged ahead with the mission, rigging the torpedoes, selecting the crew, preparing the Merrimac, and making the navigation sights on the harbor. Within hours of the planned mission to scuttle the Merrimac, Commander Miller, the commanding officer of the Merrimac, requested of Admiral Sampson that he be in command of the Merrimac on the mission. Lieutenant Hobson argued that Captain Miller could be nothing but a passenger. He was unfamiliar with the mission and its crew, and he was not as young and athletic as the other men. Lieutenant Hobson argued that Commander Miller’s presence in the mission would put the entire crew at risk. Admiral Sampson agreed and did not allow the commander to go.
Certainly, Doctor Netsky and Captain Beach would have agreed with Lieutenant Hobson’s reasoning and Admiral Sampson’s decision if they had had the responsibility of the mission. They claim Lieutenant Hobson did it for glory. That is an unfair judgement for a noble effort. Netsky and Beach also cite Hobson’s “missing the plotted sinking point and failing to detonate most of his torpedoes,” as an example of Sampson’s “uneven performance.” Several factors demand a closer examination of what happened.
During the preparation of the Merrimac, the ship was fair game for other crews to liberate what they needed for their ships. Lieutenant Hobson and his men had to deal with this, hiding anything they would need. In addition, they relocated coal from the port bulkheads where the torpedoes were rigged; the starboard anchor to the aft, using the crane on the New York; and the port anchor chain aft by the ship’s winch. The men hauled chain by hand. And at night, Hobson’s crew worked by the light of the only two lamps not stripped by the rest of the fleet.
Lieutenant Hobson planned to launch the mission at 0400. His crew towed a lifeboat to port as the Merrimac made headway in a trial run, but the boat broke away and sank. In the early morning, the Merrimac was approaching the entrance to the harbor, when the torpedo boat Porter pulled alongside, and Lieutenant Hobson was ordered to return to the New York. Once in Admiral Sampson’s quarters, Lieutenant Hobson complained about the recall and explained that his men were under great tension. He reported that if the navigation was as difficult as it was the night before—if the moonlight was too dim—he would abort the mission and go in after daybreak. Captain Chadwick agreed that the channel was a hazard even at high noon, and Lieutenant Hobson said that if the plan had a weakness it was in that maneuver.
Once Lieutenant Hobson’s crew began the mission, they took fire from Morro Castle, from small-arms fire on the shore, and from a picket ship lying in close to shore. On Lieutenant Hobson’s signal to stop engines, the sea cocks were opened. The rudder was hit, and the Merrimac was in the channel, not turning as the bow anchor was cut away. Torpedoes two and three did not fire. The batteries were shattered on deck, and only two torpedoes fired. The aft anchor line was shot away, and the ship drifted in the channel. Then, a Spanish torpedo hit right under the ship, and it started to sink—with a cheer from Lieutenant Hobson’s group huddled forward on deck.
In spite of Admiral Sampson’s medical difficulties, as well documented by Doctor Netsky and Captain Beach, his decisions regarding Lieutenant Richmond Pearson Hobson were outstanding.
“Resurrecting the Kimmel Case”
(See F. L. Schultz, pp. 43-46, July-August 1995; E. R. Kimmel, pp.4-6, November- December 1995 Naval History)
Paul W. Burgess
As a Navy enlisted veteran of ten years service, I am disappointed but hardly surprised by the attempt by senior naval officers to clear Kimmel and Short of any responsibility for the Pearl Harbor debacle. In the third paragraph of the report, brief lip service is paid to responsibility and accountability, the bedrock of the Navy’s honor, and the values upon which it has been built. The rest of the report offers excuses to ignore those concepts.
No doubt there were insufficient patrol planes, but during the attack some 33 of 36 PBYs were destroyed at Kaneohe; the three that were not were the only ones out on patrol. Surely, given the war warning of 27 November 1941 and given that dusk and dawn were the most likely times when an attack might occur, a few more planes might have been out during those hours. Couldn’t the length of the radius of the search arcs have been shortened to increase coverage at a closer range? And what about all the Army aircraft? Given Kimmel and Short’s grave responsibility to defend the islands, interservice cooperation might have been more strongly encouraged to make use of some Army bombers to fly close-range, early-warning type flights.
The attacking Japanese force was detected on search radar, and nothing was done, because an inexperienced officer was left in charge of the air center. Why was this so in view of the 27 November warning? The USS Ward (DD-139) attacked and sank a submarine well before the air assault and promptly reported her encounter. Why didn't every ship in the harbor get sent to general quarters until the situation had been sorted out? Why were communications on the incident fumbled around until time ran out?
The answer to all these questions can be explained by Kimmel’s and Short’s failure to impress upon their subordinates the essential need for increased vigilance and readiness in view of the 27 November war warning.
Kimmel and Short were in command! Regardless of what was going on in Washington, much more could have been done to be ready—but was not. The current effort to somehow void the responsibility for Pearl Harbor is disgraceful and unworthy of senior officers involved.
G. W. Dye
The Kimmel case started several years before the Pearl bash! It started with Japanese officers as observers on board our ships during the Pan-Pacific War Games of 1937-38. We showed them how to bomb Pearl, and when Lockhart and others heard the planes, it was too late! Our Skunk Works in Washington, D.C., had broken
the Japanese codes, but President Franklin D. Roosevelt did not want them to know that we had done so. So, when the Japanese Minister came to Washington in 1941, he knew that Pearl was going to be hit, and I believe our President knew, also! But Admiral Kimmel and General Short were thrown to the wolves and court martialed. Why can’t this sorry chapter in our service history be corrected to the extent of at least finding these officers not guilty of any dereliction of duty?
“The Halsey-Doolittle Raid”
(See J. Sweetman, pp. 24-25, May-June 1995; T. K. Borchers, p. 5, July-August Naval History)
Lieutenant T. J. Conboy, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
This article about General James Doolittle’s heroic raid on Tokyo in 1942 reminded me of one day at the Pensacola Naval Air Station in fall 1955.
I had just received my commission from Officer Candidate School and was assigned to pre-flight as assistant legal officer. The Naval Aviation Cadets (NavCads) were having a dress parade, and several dignitaries—including Admiral William Halsey—had been invited. When I came into the wardroom for breakfast, the only seat available was at a table occupied by an older gentleman in civilian clothes. I assumed that he was the father of a Nav- Cad and asked if I could take the seat. He was most cordial and invited me to join him. We talked about everything concerning the NavCad review, and I asked him if he was there to see his son. He replied that he was just an observer. Conversation then came to Admiral Halsey for whom he had glowing words.
He asked about my Navy career and drew me out with respect to my ambitions, especially if I was going to apply for flight training. He mentioned that he had done a “little flying” in his younger days, which I took for general aviation experience. His entire demeanor was so ingratiating that I felt as if I were educating him on naval aviation.
I finished breakfast before he did, shook his hand, and wished him a pleasant visit to Pensacola and the NavCad review. I walked away thinking, “What a kindly older gentleman he was.” Leaving the wardroom, an officer asked me how it was I managed to sit with General Doolittle for breakfast. I nearly fell through the floor.
I said that I had no idea who the man was and that I felt like a complete idiot for not recognizing him. I headed back to the table to apologize, but General Doolittle had several other senior officers gathered about him.
I took a severe ribbing for several weeks after my monumental goof-up. But I have no regrets about taking a seat at a table with a famous flyer and kindly gentleman named James Doolittle.
“We Got the Sonafabitch”
(See B. Hubinger, pp. 17-18, November-December 1995 Naval History)
David L. Wright
It is very disheartening to see a tabloid level treasure-hunting article appear in such at fine magazine. The author is to be commended for his unbiased presentation, but by providing a forum for so-called “commercial historians” such as Paul Tidwell and Clive Cussler to tell their pirate tales, a grave disservice is being committed to both your readership and the history community at large.
Mr. Tidwell assures us that any human remains found will be treated with respect, while in nearly the same breath, he dismisses the idea that any will be found. It is likely that the sea largely has reclaimed I-52. This does not, however, detract from the fact that the wreck is the final resting place for 109 human beings, whose memory deserves the dignity of being left at peace. One wonders what the reaction would be if a treasure-hunter was to attempt such an operation on the wreck of a U.S. or British man-of-war.
Paul Tidwell has added to nautical history and archaeology by discovering the final resting place of I-52. He negates this contribution in being activated to do so by greed, rather than historical interest.
James A. Broshot
The caption of the photograph of the Japanese submarine in the article on the I-52 is misleading. According to your publication, Submarines of the Imperial Japanese Navy, by Dorr Carpenter and Norman Polmar, the I-52 was an attack submarine of the C3/C4 type and carried no aircraft. The photograph is of the I-400, which was an “aircraft carrying submarine” of the STo type. The first I-15 that carried one airplane was a B1-Type scouting submarine, and the second I-15, which never was finished, was an AM-Type aircraft-carrying submarine. The I-400 and the second I-15 were significantly larger than the I-52.
“Women at War”
(See M. T. Armas, pp. 10-14, March-April 1994; C. B. D. Brown, p. 9, July-August 1994; G. C. Davis, M. A. Snyder, pp. 6-7, September-October 1994 Naval History)
Jean Ebbert, co-author, Crossed Currents: Navy Women from WWI to Tailhook
I was delighted to see an article about the WAVES featured as the cover story in your April 1994 issue. My delight faded, however, when I read in the large-print subhead that Congress had established a Navy “Women’s Auxiliary Reserve.” As the author makes very clear in her text, the Navy was adamant that its women’s component would not be an auxiliary; its members would serve in the Navy rather than with it. Since the author was clear and accurate on this point, this editorial error serves her poorly.
I also must address several inaccuracies that occur within the text:
► On page 14, Armas quotes a source referring to a Navy estimate that the WAVES made available enough men to man a battleship, two large aircraft carriers, two heavy cruisers, four light cruisers, and 15 destroyers. That estimate significantly understates the WAVES’ contribution and would account for fewer than 20,000 women—whereas the WAVES’ peak strength was about 82,000. In 1944, WAVES Director Mildred McAfee found that the number of WAVES on duty that year equaled the number of men it would have taken in peacetime to man ten battleships, ten aircraft carriers, 28 cruisers, and 50 destroyers.
► On page 12, Armas states that in 1943 women were allowed to rise to the grade of captain, whereas previously they could go no higher than lieutenant commander. In fact, the 1943 amendment allowed Navy women officers to rise only to the permanent rank of commander, a restriction that lasted until 1967. One Navy woman only, the one who served as Director of the WAVES (and, after 1948, as Assistant Chief of Naval Personnel for Women), was allowed to hold the temporary rank of captain only while in that billet.
► On page 13, we read that Lieutenant Commander Mildred McAfee became the WAVES’ commanding officer, but no WAVE, including McAfee, ever commanded anything, because Congress and the Navy agreed that such was not appropriate. McAfee and her successors (until 1948) were termed “Director.” Women were not allowed to become commanding officers of any other units until 1967.
► Also on page 13, Armas writes that under the terms of a lease, New York City’s Hunter College was renamed USS Hunter. Not quite. The city simply vacated its Hunter College facilities and turned them over to the Navy for the duration of the war. The Navy then installed its recruit training unit, named U.S. Naval Training School (WR), The Bronx, New York. Once established, that unit was dubbed “USS Hunter” only informally, the same way the U.S. Naval Reserve Midshipmen’s School (WR), Northampton at Smith College was nicknamed “USS Northampton.”
► On page 12, Armas states, “Eventually, the WAVES lowered their minimum entrance age to 20....” But two paragraphs earlier, she correctly states that enlisted women had to be at least 20 years old. Perhaps she is referring to that time in 1951, years after the close of World War II, when the Navy lowered its enlistment age for women to 18.
“A Matter of Class, Part V”
(See S. L. Morison, pp. 46-49, November-December 1995 Naval History)
Jack A. Vaughan
Mr. Morison states that “. . . a 24-foot section was spliced into the hull forward . . . .” The correct figure is 30-31 feet (see page 201 of Jane’s American Fighting Ships of the 20th Century, edited by Captain John Moore, RN, 1991). This insert also included a small berthing space forward of the air control center, which was at least 12 feet in length (two bunks in tandem) and left the ACC at only 12 feet. I was the recommissioning engineer officer for USS Pompon (SSR-267), and the extra length was a continuing concern in making diving compensations.
“He Who Sees First Lives Longest”
(See A. van der Moer, pp. 35-40, July- August 1994; M. C. Jones, p. 4, September- October 1994; Editor’s Note, p. 8, November-December 1994 Naval History)
Master Chief Quartermaster John C. Pond, U.S. Coast Guard (Retired)
Admiral van der Moer might be pleased to know that as late as January 1945 the Dutch freighter Kota Baroe, which evacuated him from Tjilatjap, Java, was still sound and afloat. I was serving in USS Holland (AS-3) at the time and the Kota Baroe sailed with us in a convoy from Pearl Harbor to Guam.