“A Cuppa Joe”
(See J. P. Riley, pp. 18-22, July/August 1998 Naval History)
Richard S. Greeley
I have recently seen a rerun of the movie Mr. Roberts with Henry Fonda and Jack Lemmon. It struck me as ironic that, in stark contrast to Lieutenant Riley’s lucky escape, Mr. Roberts . . died in the wardroom. . . . He was drinking coffee at the time.”
“Timeline to Justice”
(See H. Scott, pp. 47-49, July/August 1998 Naval History)
David J. Dorflinger, Sr.
Taking nothing away from Mr. Scott’s fine effort on behalf of Captain McVay, there are some errors in the chronology of the last voyage of the Indianapolis, and for the sake of accuracy, I offer the following comments.
The Indianapolis arrived in Apra Harbor, Guam, Naval Operations Base (NOB) 926, on Friday, 27 July 1945. I was a yeoman first class and the senior man in the Fleet Service Office. Captain McVay came ashore to the fleet landing, introduced himself, and asked me if I could arrange transport to Admiral Nimitz’s CinCPac Headquarters. He had said that he had just come in from Tinian. Of course, there was never mention of anything beyond that as to the nature of his mission. I was very impressed by him, and instead of assigning the job, I decided it was time for me to take the opportunity to “go up the hill.” It was about a ten-mile trip so I gave him the “public relations tour.”
He did not need return transportation, so the next time that I saw him was just before he boarded the ship’s boat at the landing for his return to the ship.
The Indianapolis departed Apra Harbor on Saturday, 28 July. (The “Ships Present List” that we had certainly showed her— and her estimated time of departure.)
The rest is history except for the dates and times. After steaming the remainder of Saturday and all day Sunday, 29 July, the Japanese submarine I-58 intercepted the Indy just after midnight, and she sank at 0015 Monday, 30 July.
The survivors were in the water almost the entire 24 hours of Monday, and the 48 hours that constitute Tuesday, 31 July, and Wednesday, 1 August. They were sighted at 1025, Thursday, 2 August, when the rescue operations were begun. They had spent at least three and one-half days in the water; more for those who were not picked up for many more hours.
The Navy News, Guam edition, 10 August 1945, made the first public announcement of the disaster. On the same page, it carried the story that Admiral Raymond Spruance, Commander, Fifth Fleet, had awarded Purple Heart Medals to survivors at the fleet hospital. Everyone at NOB was well aware of the loss long before that date.
As a matter of fact, there had been talk circulating among the communications personnel in my quonset hut prior to 2 August that “there was a problem with raising (by radio) the Indy." They suspected she was in trouble.
So, based on that, there was an attempt to communicate! This time frame is the fuzzy part! I do not know if it was Tuesday or Wednesday—but at least no later than Wednesday.
After the fact, I suspect that either NOB wasn’t talking to CinCPac or vice versa! Could this be an embarrassing oversight?
In any case, I feel that I will be reading more articles written by Mr. Hunter Scott; I will be looking forward for them. Fair winds and following seas.
“Innocent Passage”
(See W. K. Earle, pp. 43-45, July/August 1998 Naval History)
Hugh Ware
Captain Earle must have been momentarily overtaken by Coast Guard zeal when he wrote that the buoytender Storis made the first circumnavigation of the North American continent in the late 1950s. However, credit for that feat must go to our neighbors to the north and the tiny wooden Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RMCP) Arctic supply and patrol boat St. Roche. During her career at sea, she not only circumnavigated the continent earlier, but did it twice.
The St. Roche was used during World War II to maintain sovereignty of the Arctic region. This doughty vessel and her equally doughty crew made two “routine” passages between 1940 and 1944, transiting through the Northwest Passage from Vancouver to Halifax (the first west-to- east passage) and then back. Later, they sailed from Vancouver to Halifax via the Panama Canal in 1950, and the vessel returned by the same route in 1954 to become a museum exhibit after retirement from the RCMP. The best the Storis can claim is to have made a circumnavigation in one voyage.
“Cook and Peary: The Controversy, Resolved”
(See R. L. Langenheim, p. 50, January/February 1998; E. P. Stafford, pp. 11-14, July/August 1998 Naval History)
Robert M. Bryce, Author of Cook and Peary: The Controversy, Resolved
I can well understand and even sympathize with Commander Edward Peary Stafford’s desire to defend his famous grandfather, however, his defense is a response to Professor Langenheim’s review of my book—not the book itself. This is not to say that Professor Langenheim’s review was unfair or inaccurate. On the contrary, although some might not have gotten quite so positive an impression of Dr. Frederick Cook from reading it, on the whole, his review was fair and representative of its contents and obviously based on a careful, full, and thoughtful reading of my thousand-plus pages.
In Commander Stafford’s remarks, however, I found little evidence that he has read it at all. Otherwise he would know that my book is based entirely on primary documents, many written by his grandfather himself, and not, as he infers, “on recent publications by dedicated Peary detractors.” He also would know that rather than the arguments he cites in Peary’s favor being “ignored or disregarded” in my book, all are dealt with in enough detail to show that they are biased or otherwise flawed to the extent that they are worthless as evidence.
It also seems apparent that Commander Stafford has not read much of the 225 cubic feet of personal papers that his own mother and uncle donated to the National Archives. Had he spent hundreds of hours reading his grandfather’s personal correspondence, as I have, he would understand why, as Admiral Peary’s first biographer put it, “many in Peary’s command used to return hating him in a way that murder couldn’t gratify,” or why, as late as the 1950s, the Eskimos who knew him still referred to him as “the Great Tormentor.” To anyone who reads Peary’s personal correspondence, Peary’s true personal character is easy to discern. He was a man, as one acquaintance said, “to whom a few things mattered very much, and to whom everything else mattered not at all,” and all of those that mattered had to do with his “own glory and nobody else’s.”
Any objective examination of Peary’s evidence that he was near the North Pole on 6 April 1909 shows that he had nothing better to offer as proof than his own bare assertion that he had been there. It says everything about the strength of Peary’s claim that Commander Stafford hangs all of his hopes for Peary’s eventual vindication on someone eventually finding a slender strand of 90 year-old piano wire lying five miles deep in the crushing depths of the abysmal ocean that covers one of the most inhospitable and inaccessible spots on the surface of the earth.
That slender wire and its supposed resting place seem apt symbols for any tiny thread that they who wish to believe what all evidence and what all reason deny, will desperately cling to, and the depths they will go to find it.
“Friendly Target”
(See W. R. Wells, pp. 33-36, May/June 1998 Naval History)
“An Effective Umbrella”
(See R. G. Van Treuren, pp. 41-44, May/June 1998 Naval History)
Former Boatswain’s Mate First Class Richard C. Cole, U.S. Naval Reserve
The two fine articles remind me of an incident that occurred in early 1941. At the time I was an 18 year-old seaman first class serving in the USS Spry (PG-84), formerly HMS Hibiscus (K-24).
At the time of this incident, we were part of an escort group with a medium-size convoy proceeding from Trinidad to Recife, Brazil. The escort consisted of three PGs and four PCs. Our station was on the starboard side, and we were zigzagging toward and away from the convoy. Radar had picked up a large surface contact approaching the convoy at 22 knots. Around 2000, we were called to general quarters and I manned my battle station, trainer on the 3-inch 50-caliber gun.
It was an exceptionally dark night with choppy seas and very low cloud cover. The sight setter/talker started talking about a large surface target off the starboard side of the convoy not responding to recognition signals or challenge. This really started the adrenaline flowing. Our battle experience so far had been only with submerged targets that we had depth charged with no apparent damage to anyone. This sounded like a surface raider.
Then came the order for the 3-inch gun crew to illuminate with starshell and for the 4-inch gun crew to load and stand by with armor-piercing shell. We fired off four starshells that burst above the low clouds and drifted down to sea level without revealing anything. Almost immediately there was a break in radio silence by a blimp in the area announcing its presence. After a couple of minutes of silence the word was passed to secure from general quarters.
The next day a blimp appeared on the horizon and circled the convoy slowly. As it passed over the Spry it descended to near masthead height and hovered. Immediately, the escort commander’s signal light started to blink the message, “See the blimp?” Several days later, two of our men on liberty in Recife met a couple of crewmen from the blimp. Apparently, our star shells were “right on,” two opening up to starboard and two to port of the blimp envelope, resulting in an extremely high pucker factor on board.
Commander William Stewart, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
That oxymoron “friendly fire” reared its head too many times in Vietnam. At the time the USCGC Point Welcome was hit by friendly aircraft on 11 August 1966, the Marines and Sailors of First Air and Naval Gunfire Liaison Company (ANGL1CO), Fleet Marine Force Pacific, were finishing their initial year tour of duty in country. We had naval gunfire spotting experience at San Clemente Island, California, and Kahoolawe, Hawaii, before deploying, but none of us had spotted from observation aircraft before arriving overseas. We also had no experience coordinating with the Air Force or Army.
Early in my tour in the III Corps area, our ANGLICO units developed their own radio code using Hawaiian place names because for a time we had no access to conventional codes. On one occasion along the central coast in II Corps, similar to the situation mentioned by Master Chief Wells, this spotter dropped a note in an aspirin bottle alongside a destroyer from the back seat of an 0-1 observation aircraft, directing the ship to come up on a certain frequency so a naval gunfire mission could begin. On rare occasions, spotters and troop representatives were able to visit their gunfire support ship before an operation. Such visits made for great coordination, boosted morale on both ends of the gun target line, and resulted in a safer operation. As might be expected, such visits were infrequent and usually not feasible.
Master Chief Wells is correct in quoting Commander Istock: “Lack of liaison in these matters will lead to eventual disaster. Too many near misses have already occurred.” The World War II and Korean War vets with shore bombardment experience either were retired or too senior to be of routine assistance in Vietnam. Too much reinventing of the proverbial wheel took place. If there is anything troops have learned the hard way since combat began, it is that coordination among individuals and up to the largest units is everything. Without it, deaths by fire, which is anything but friendly, are waiting to happen.
“Ballard Group Locates Yorktown"
(See p. 31, July/August 1998 Naval History)
Edwin L. Gustafson
I have just read the article about Dr. Robert Ballard finding the Yorktown (CV- 5). and would like to call to your attention to a small detail. The USS Hammann’s hull number was DD-412 not DD-442. The Hammann (DD-412) was ordered to go alongside the Yorktown to supply power, while our ship, the Hughes (DD-410), picked up survivors and made two trips back and forth from the Yorktown.
I enjoy reading your magazine and look forward to reading more about Mr. Ballard’s locating the Yorktown.
“Isle de Gorée (Gorée Island)”
(See M. Collins, p. 62, July/August 1998 Naval History)
Commander Walter Dunn Tucker, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
Lieutenant Commander Collins is to be commended for mentioning the Arab slave trade and the African involvement in his museum report.
After he made his unsupported statement that the European trade was the worst, it would have been appropriate to mention that Europeans—particularly, British evangelical Christians and the Royal Navy—were instrumental in ending the slave trade. But I suppose it is politically incorrect to give dead white men credit for anything good.
“Nurses Spell Relief”
(See C. L. Reeves, pp. 38-42, July/August 1998 Naval History)
Jim Erwin
Your article brought to mind the comments of Colonel Frederic M. Wise, U.S. Marine Corps, in his book, A Marine Tells It To You (reprint, Marine Corps Association, 1981). The USS Solace and the USS Mercy were converted later to haul Marines to Hawaii, Guam, and the Philippines. Their conversions left much to be desired, according to Colonel Wise.
“There was no Mercy on the Solace and no Solace on the Mercy. I have been in one or two hell holes in my time, but the USS Solace wins the blue ribbon.”
The troop holds that carried up to 400 Marines required that they be brought up on deck in rotations to avoid heat prostration. A poor Marine being brought up on deck told Wise, “If this is a hospital ship, sir, I hope to hell I never sail on a transport.”
“Late Vietnam: Loyalty to Whom?”
(See K. Hagen, pp. 24-29, March/April 1998; D. G. Golio, P.S. Foley, pp. 8-10, July/August 1998 Naval History)
Tom Generous, Charles T. Wilson Jr., Teacher of History, Choate Rosemary Hall
An ex-naval officer and Vietnam veteran, I agonize over the realization that none of the conference’s participants seem to understand what really happened over there. Only if Americans stop focusing on the military side of the conflict will the bewilderment about how we could have lost a major war to a third-world country be ended.
The truth is that the armed forces we sent to Southeast Asia were wonderfully capable and generally well-led, and they performed unquestionably well in almost all the things they were called on to do. And their excellent work is why so many observers, including all your conferees, cannot understand why the United States lost in Vietnam.
The explanation for the defeat and the confusion of your experts is the same: the war was not a military one at all. It was a political struggle. It was like sending the Chicago Bulls to play in the Stanley Cup finals. Great team, wrong game.
In Vietnam, the United States played the wrong game. Our troops were not perceived as liberators but as foreigners. They looked and acted just like the French, and to a lesser degree like the Japanese and the Chinese, other foreigners whom the Vietnamese had learned to hate and had thrown out of their country. Worse than that, the Americans turned the friendly Vietnamese into oppressive foreigners, too, by putting them into the same uniforms worn by the French and the same palace used by the French Governor General, and using the same flag flown by the French puppet regime under Bao Dai. Then we fed them and supplied them so that they didn’t need the support of the Vietnamese people.
The Viet Cong in the South and the communists in Hanoi, for all their many flaws, had one thing going for them. They were not foreigners but were viewed by many as the protectors of the nationalist pride that had motivated generations of Vietnamese against foreign invaders.
The war we fought did not start in the minds of evil plotters in Hanoi, but in the hearts of oppressed and frightened southerners who had defeated the French in 1946-54, but then discovered that the Saigon regime was out to get them. They had the choice of submitting and being punished, or heading off to the jungle again to dig up the cached weapons that had served them against the French. Americans would have chosen the latter, as they did in 1775. That’s what the southern Vietnamese rebels did in 1957. Hanoi had to come help them a few years later, when the Americans began to give Saigon massive military aid and support.
Since the war didn’t start in Hanoi, it could not have been won by bombing or even invading North Vietnam. The North Vietnamese would have gone underground the same way the South Vietnamese did.
As for the U.S. military, everything it did was counterproductive. Let’s leave aside abominations like My Lai, of which there were so many that they alone would have been enough to convince the vast majority of Vietnamese not to trust the Americans. But every U.S. bomb or artillery round expended in South Vietnam that killed a few VC or NVA probably killed a couple of innocent bystanders, or a water buffalo, or destroyed a well or did some other damage or casualty that a subsistence-economy and a closely-knit society couldn’t tolerate.
The bombing of the North was equally counterproductive. With the two exceptions of 1940 Holland and 1945 Japan, strategic bombing has never driven a country to its knees. People on the ground who are bombed dig in, adapt, repair, and, although many of them do die, the survivors redouble their efforts.
There were two ways we could have “won” in Vietnam. We could have tried to do what we did against the Indians in the 1860-90 American West: exterminate the natives and replace them with our own people. Or we could have taken a practical and possible approach: political wisdom. In the 1950s, counterinsurgents defeated guerrilla rebels in Greece, the Philippines, and Malaysia by adopting a three-point program:
(1) Provide good government.
(2) After the first, isolate the guerrilla from outside support and hardware.
(3) After the first two are accomplished, crush the recalcitrants.
The first thing is the most important, and nearly all efforts have to be aimed at achieving it. Americans are loyal to the U.S. government not because there is an infantry patrol on every corner or in every village, but because the government is good.
If the Saigon government had been good, it never would have triggered the Viet Cong rebellion. But from the start the United States thought of Vietnam as a military struggle. We poured in weapons so that Diem and his regime could kill their political opponents, we supported a military coup when Diem not surprisingly lost the support of his people, and we poured in more weapons and our own troops when the resulting junta didn’t gain popular support. In 1969, David Halberstam wrote in his prize-winning The Best and the Brightest that the use of U.S. air power at the Bay of Pigs “would only have prolonged and deepened the tragedy without changing its outcome.” President Kennedy refused to use U.S. air power in 1961 Cuba, but President Johnson’s sending our armed forces to Vietnam prolonged and deepened that tragedy without changing the outcome.
Vietnam was a political struggle, and the United States should not have sent its wonderful Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard, who gave so much blood and so many years to prolonging and deepening the tragedy without changing the outcome. But your conferees have not learned that fact, and their bewilderment that those armed forces didn’t “win” only perhaps condemns us possibly to making the same mistake again.