“Pearl Harbor—Attack from Below”
(See J. Rodgaard, P. Hsu, C. Lucas, A. Biache, pp. 16-23, December 1999 Naval History)
Glen C. Turner
I am a survivor of the attack mentioned in the article. I was amazed that this article about Japanese submarines at Pearl Harbor was touted as a “new angle,” and that this team of experts were “convinced that the 7 December 1941 attack was more than an air raid.”
It has been general knowledge that the Japanese launched five midget submarines against Pearl Harbor that day. One was sunk by the USS Ward (DD-139) near the entrance to the harbor a full hour before the air raid started, and another was sunk by the USS Monaghan (DD-354) during the lull between the first and second waves of Japanese aircraft. One ran aground on a beach of Oahu, and one man was captured and imprisoned. None of the five subs survived the attack.
My battle station that morning was in Spot One (main battery fire control station) at the top of the foremast of the USS California (BB-44). This gave me a 360° view of the entire harbor and the terrible defeat we were suffering. There were two things that we could cheer about that morning—the USS Nevada (BB-36) getting under way and the Monaghan attacking the submarine in the channel on the opposite side of Ford Island.
I really did enjoy the article and the theory about the submarine attack on Battleship Row, but I do not believe that these experts should be given credit for discovering that “the 7 December 1941 attack was more than an air raid.”
John Di Virgilio
I am horrified by this article. I thought that enough people within the Pearl Harbor history circles, myself included, had debunked this story six years ago. The entire research on this topic is based around one vague photograph. Why the authors did not use a first-generation photograph is beyond belief. Instead, they fell into the high-tech-world catch-22 of “garbage in, garbage out.”
There is a first-generation photograph in Japan, which I have seen several times. Plain to the naked eye is the object in question: a battleship officers’ motor launch, and no more.
“Naval Milestones”
(See H. Allen, et al, pp. 18-23, October 1999 Naval History)
Rusty Bloxom
I am sure that this will not be the only letter you receive on this topic, but it is necessary that someone correct either Professor John Rieken, or the editor who made the slip. Although the Battle of Hampton Roads, 8-9 March 1862, indeed is one of the most pivotal events in naval history, it occurred just past the middle of the 19th century, not the 20th.
Lieutenant Commander John K. Hafner, U.S. Naval Reserve
I was shocked and dismayed by Captain Henry Allen’s reference to “the idiot who drove the Exxon Valdez aground” in your “Naval Milestones” story. As a Merchant Marine officer, both Captain Allen’s comment as well as your lapse in editorial judgment in publishing this flippant remark insult me.
The grounding of the Exxon Valdez was an ecological disaster, and the parties involved have paid a heavy price for their mistake. To add insult to this in a magazine of such stature is unconscionable. Would such a comment have been published had “the idiot” been a naval officer serving on board a U.S. Navy vessel?
The relevance of this comment to the author’s point also is questionable, as the Global Positioning System (GPS) was not yet in commercial use at the time of the incident. Even if GPS had been available at the time, it would have been unwise to rely on this while operating a very large crude carrier in the tight, ice-strewn confines adjacent to Bligh Reef.
I hope that, should my professional shortcomings and weaknesses ever come to light in such a public manner, I will not have to suffer the additional indignity of a personal insult on the pages of a U.S. Naval Institute publication.
“The Secret Side of the Tonkin Gulf Incident”
(See D. Andrade and K. Conboy, pp. 27- 32, August 1999 Naval History)
Joseph W. Koch, Jr.
I found Andrade and Conboy’s article very interesting, as it finally indicated a possible answer to an incident in which I was a participant during the Vietnam War. In 1966-1967, I served as chief engineer of the USS Annapolis (AGMR-1) operating off the coast of Vietnam as the floating communications station for the Seventh Fleet. When the Marines landed near the demilitarized zone in October 1966, the Annapolis was stationed to seaward of the fleet to provide communications support.
Although we were operating in a combat zone, we still were required to follow many peacetime shipboard practices. One of these practices was cleaning boiler firesides every 600 steaming hours. In order to disregard the practice, you had to have special permission from the Bureau of Ships. The Annapolis was a converted Commencement Bay (CVE-105) class ship with twin-geared turbine propulsion plants. The boilers feeding the forward and after plants, however, could not be cross-connected. Additionally, the uptakes for the two forward and two after boilers were constructed in such a manner that both boilers had to be shut down when cleaning firesides. Thus, when cleaning boiler firesides at sea, one plant was shut down, giving the ship a maximum speed of 8 knots.
While operating off the DMZ, we reached maximum hours on one boiler, and the captain ordered it cleaned at sea. While the boiler was being cleaned, the general quarters alarm sounded with, “General Quarters. This is no drill! Four unidentified contacts closing at 40 knots,” coming over the intercom. The armament of the Annapolis was four twin 3-inch mounts with four local directors, one located at each comer of the antenna deck. We were sitting ducks for four high-speed boats. Luckily, the contacts were four of our Navy boats returning from operations north of the DMZ. They possibly could have been returning from operations similar to those described in the article.
“The Unmanned Helicopter”
(See N. Polmar, pp. 10-11, December 1999 Naval History)
Charles Fazio
The picture on page ten brought back fond memories. I served on board the USS Hazelwood (DD-531) as a reservist out of Boston, Massachusetts. It was not until I was assigned to the USS Charles P. Cecil (DD-835), however, that I saw DASH operations up close and had the pleasure of watching the frisky critter’s antics once it was launched from the flight deck.
The last time this particular DASH flew while I was on board the ship, it nearly caused the captain to burst a blood vessel—and almost cost the DASH its life. Things began to go wrong when one of the clips holding the Mk44 dummy torpedo in place failed to release. The DASH, with a torpedo dangling from one clip, then proceeded to fly in circles and dance around with total disregard for the DASH officer’s efforts while he tried everything in his bag of tricks to release the torpedo and return the DASH to the ship.
The captain, having had enough, ordered the thing shot down before it crashed into the ship. While two gunner’s mates, smiling from ear to ear, were loading their M-l Garands, the unflappable DASH officer figured out what was wrong with his console and against all odds landed the DASH, torpedo and all, safely on board the flight deck. The DASH was relegated to its hangar, never again to see the light of day.
“The Final Blossom: HMCS Sackville”
(See W. Schleihauf, p. 72, December 1999 Naval History)
David F. Barr
I thoroughly enjoyed the December “Museum Report.” Readers may be interested to know that Alan Easton has written an interesting autobiography of his wartime service. Titled 50 North—An Atlantic Battleground, the book was published in 1963 by The Ryerson Press, Toronto.
Lieutenant Easton spent most of the war in command of a warship at sea. Much of the book describes his time in command of the Sackville, with the Battle of Convoy ON-115 prominently featured. During the war, the Royal Canadian Navy expanded by a ratio of 50 to 1, from 2,000 to 100,000, and the progress is clearly evident as the story unfolds. The expansion ratio of the Royal Navy was about eight to one.
I visited Halifax to attend a naval reunion in July 1993, having reread 50 North in preparation for the trip. By chance, I met Alan Easton in the Interpretation Centre at “Sackville Landing,” the ship’s pier. It was a very great pleasure to shake his hand and to congratulate him on both his wartime career and his book.
My copy of the book was given to my late stepmother, Marian Boultbee Barr, by a school friend, Helen Brooks-Hill. Her husband was Lieutenant Commander Fred Brooks-Hill, RCNVR (Royal Canadian Naval Volunteer Reserve), who was commanding officer from December 1942 to July 1944 of the corvette HMCS Bittersweet (K182), a sister ship of the Sackville (K181). I believe the Bittersweet replaced the Sackville in the C.3 Escort Group, based in Londonderry, Ulster, in January 1943.
“Pan Am Gets a Pacific Partner”
(See J. Libby, pp. 24-28, October 1999; R. Blake, pp. 6-7, J. Hammond, p. 7, December 1999 Naval History)
Commander David H. Grover, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
Dr. Libby has done a commendable job of exploring the relationships between Pan American Airways and the Navy, and the role Harold Gatty played in brokering airline routes.
While Pan Am indeed did emulate shipboard procedures and terminology in its operations, it actually was the merchant service, not the Navy, that served as the model. The company’s house organ, New Horizons, was even subtitled The Magazine of America s Merchant Marine of the Air. Many of the navigators, including the famous Fred Noonan, were former Merchant Marine officers.
Harold Gatty also had been an officer on British merchant ships. It is gratifying to see him get more credit for his role in the development of trans-Pacific aviation. He was a highly effective diplomat; after negotiating landing rights for Pan Am in New Zealand, he re-negotiated an extension of the contract when the company failed to meet the service deadline. He personally surveyed all the potential island sites on the New Zealand route from the deck of Pan Am’s chartered schooner Kinkajou, and more than once had been dumped into the surf while trying to get ashore at these primitive desert islands.
Gatty also deserves greater recognition for his contributions to aerial navigation. His school, which brought him to the attention of Wiley Post, was operated in conjunction with Commander P. V. H. Weems, and did much to acquaint pilots with the elements of accurate dead reckoning and celestial navigation. His early pupils included Art Goebels, who won the Dole Race in 1927, and Anne Morrow Lindbergh, who flew with her husband on Pan Am’s survey of routes to the Orient in 1931.
At various times Gatty worked on navigational improvement projects for both the Army Air Forces and the Navy. His technical accomplishments include devising the ground-speed and drift indicator, which formed the basis of the automatic pilot, and developing the standard World War II manual for lifeboat navigation and survival that was used by all the services. He died in 1957 in Fiji, where his multidimensional career had culminated in operating his own airline. He truly was a universal citizen of the Pacific Basin.
Mr. Dave Lotz
Dr. Libby’s article states that nothing ever was found of the disappearance of the Hawaiian Clipper between Guam and Manila in 1938. However, in his book China Clipper (Naval Institute Press, 1991), Robert L. Gandt states that the Army transport Meigs found a large oil slick at the last reported position of the Hawaiian Clipper. The September 1938 issue of The Guam Reporter also confirms this story.
“The Constellation Comes Home”
(See “Naval History News,” p. 57, October 1999 Naval History)
John D. Barnard
Michael D. Nauton’s article was marred by a totally inaccurate first paragraph and unfair and/or inaccurate parts elsewhere.
The sail corvette Constellation in Baltimore harbor is the second ship of the name. She was built in 1853-55 and is the successor to the first ship, the frigate, which was launched 202 yeas ago. I am sorry this is not better known to Mr. Nauton in spite of the many newspaper and magazine articles over the past four years.
He acknowledges that there is “more reconstruction awaiting within” and that “the officers’ and crew quarters will be restored to their original (1855) appearance,” but in the last paragraph he bemoans that “way down below, where the crew ate and slept and supplies were kept, there is darkness.” Naturally this was true on 2 July 1999, because the lower decks were not yet ready for exhibition. The berth deck (below the gun deck) has been ready for visitors since mid-August.
His referral to “some posters that depict the steps in her restoration, but little else” is most unfair. In reality, on 2 July there were 16 large full-color display panels on board telling of the ship’s history and her major restoration. Later, 28 additional panels went up describing life on board. All of these panels represent a well- researched effort by the Constellation’s curator/historian Glenn Williams. Augmenting them now are audio self-guiding tour tapes. In her old “frigate” guise, the ship never had anything as good to tell her story.
I do not want people to think, after reading Mr. Nauton’s piece, that the Constellation is not worth a visit. She most definitely is.
“Senate Exonerates Pearl Harbor Commanders”
(See “Naval History News,” pp. 56-60, August 1999; J. Sauter, p. 17, October 1999 Naval History)
Captain Edward L. Beach, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Your October 1999 issue of Naval History contains a letter from John C. Sauter, whom I do not know, but with whom I disagree deeply.
If we are to believe the “Navy dictum” that the man in command goes down with his ship, why were all the captains of ships damaged or sunk at Pearl Harbor not court-martialed? Why, indeed, were some of them actually given Medals of Honor? Enlarging the concept just a tad, what was the “ship” and who was, in fact, “captain?”
I disagree totally with everything John Sauter wrote in his letter, except his last sentence—and even this he misapplied. Truth indeed was the last victim of Pearl Harbor, as it was the first, and truth has been a victim ever since. Before Mr. Sauter and others like him commit themselves further, they should study the judgments of the “nine exhaustive bipartisan investigations” to which he refers. They might learn something.
Our entire national ethic is based on the ideal of justice for the individual, but it now appears that the higher-ranking the participants, the less likely real justice will occur.
“Time Capsules”
(See R. Seamon, pp. 35-37, October 1999 Naval History)
Chief Warrant Officer John Hau, U.S. Navy Reserve (Retired)
The signal background to Vice Admiral Henry Hewitt’s World War II portrait was based on the 1901 International code of Signals, wherein C through G were still pennants (now pennants 1-5); the current set was adopted in 1931-32 and should have been used for this 1944-1945 rendering. The “answer” pennant, when used superior to a signal, is termed “code.”
If we add appropriate “tacklines” and translate Colonel Seamon’s “3,” “4,” and “2” to their respective predecessors, we have “CODE [TACK] U E T [TACK] F O D”, which does indeed “add context,” and had these meanings in the 1931 Code; UET: [Am/Is/Are] going to meet FOD: Enemy [ies] of The October cover reminds me of the signal made by Royal Navy Admiral Andrew Cunningham to Admiral James Somerville on the receipt of Somerville’s second knighthood.
“Fancy, twice a knight and at your age. Congratulations.”