“The Enigma of Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher”
(See H. Buell, pp. 50-51, February 2003 Naval History)
Randy Stone
With all due respect to Commander Buell, who correctly acknowledges Admiral Fletcher’s position during the Wake Island relief mission and the Guadalcanal invasion, I must take exception to his comment that somehow Fletcher was responsible for the loss of four SBD Dauntless bombers used as part of an inner air patrol during the Battle of the Coral Sea. This was part of Captain Frederick Sherman’s tactics in defending the Lexington (CV-2) and was not some ill-considered gambit by Fletcher, who still was learning the art and reality of carrier warfare. Rarely making the same mistake twice, Fletcher never condoned such a tactic again. Yet, as Commander Buell points out, by fall 1942, Admiral Ernest King (who had held a grudge against Fletcher since the previous March) believed “someone had to answer” for operations around Guadalcanal. Interestingly, Commander Buell implies that both the Wasp (CV-7) and the Hornet (CV-8) were lost as a result of Fletcher’s actions.
I must disagree with these points. First, Fletcher was not a party to the loss of either the Wasp or Hornet. Second, considering that these two carriers were lost without corresponding gain to the Guadalcanal campaign and before adequate carrier reinforcements could arrive, one must wonder what measure of prudence and judgment was lost with the relief of Fletcher in October 1942. By that time, only the Enterprise (CV-6) remained in a position to exert a decisive influence. The situation truly could have been characterized as hanging on a razor’s edge.
In fact, because one could argue that Fletcher was responsible for the destruction of six Japanese carriers while suffering the loss of only the Lexington and York- town (CV-5) and that he always secured strategic victory during his actions, I think we can arrive at a reasonable conclusion regarding Fletcher’s command capabilities. Fletcher succeeded in preserving his own carriers during a time in which Commander Buell notes was fraught with “nothing but hard fighting” while inflicting punishing damage on the Imperial Japanese Navy in the first eight months of 1942. Admiral Fletcher strikes me as someone who was an intelligent, flexible, and brave combat admiral as well as a commander who was able to make the most of his opportunities during a most difficult and decisive time for the U.S. Navy in the Pacific War. I can think of no other U.S. admiral who accomplished as much during this period.
“Lucky Lady”
(See J. Miller, pp. 56-57, August 2003 Naval History)
Jack Whitmeyer
On page 56, Colonel Miller writes that the light cruiser Houston (CL-81) was “taken under tow with another crippled cruiser.” Let it be known that the other cruiser was the Canberra (CA-70), which had suffered an aerial torpedo strike during evening air defense some 80 miles off Formosa (Taiwan) on 13 October 1944- It was odd that the Houston got her first torpedo the following day when assigned to replace the Canberra in the Fast Carrier Task Group. Two days later, while in tow, the Houston got her second torpedo, and the Canberra shot the offending aircraft down when the pilot came for a “look see.”
“A Rudyard Kipling Sea Story”
(See F. Hoyt, pp. 25-29, April 2003; J. Ferguson, p. 19, August 2003 Naval History)
Michael S. Cubitt
I am originally from England and served in the Royal Marines in the 1950s. I am familiar with the wonderful poem “Soldier and Sailor Too.” It is one of Kipling’s best. I wanted to point out, having discussed this with other former Marines and sailors, that the pictures shown on page 27 do not depict “Jollies” (Royal Marines). The men shown are sailors (known to many as “Jolly Jacks” or “matelots” in British naval parlance). You can tell this from their head- gear and white (but covered in coal dust) uniforms, that they are not Royal Marines. In those days of coal-fired ships, it was not uncommon for the Royal Marines in a ship’s detachment to be part of coaling parties, but these pictures definitely show naval ratings. I am pleased to say I never had to go through that onerous and unpleasant experience. It is possible that some of the men shown in the photo on page 26 are Marines, but it is hard to tell. One wonders why men were made to wear “tropical whites” while working on a coaling party.
“Harding Policies Foster Future Naval Success”
(See M. Irwin, pp. 28-31, August 2003 Naval History)
Matt Clark
I find the connection between the U.S. Navy of World War II, in all its power and complexity, to the administration of Warren G. Harding to be tenuous at best. True, the conversion of two battle cruisers to aircraft carriers began during his time as President. But to give these ships direct credit as progenitors of the fast carriers of the Pacific War is not only a stretch, it is a bit unfair to the Langley (CV-1), which was being converted to a carrier before Harding took office.
There is a far more serious problem with Dr. Irwin’s account of the Navy during the Harding years. He neglects to mention that Harding’s Navy Secretary, Edwin Denby, became the unwitting lynchpin in the biggest scandal of a scandal-ridden administration: Teapot Dome. Arguably the most incompetent Navy Secretary in history, Denby allowed himself to be cajoled by Secretary of the Interior Albert Fall into turning over custody of the naval oil reserves at Teapot Dome, Wyoming, and Elk Hills, California, to the Interior Department. Without public bidding, Fall secretly leased these properties to, respectively, oil magnates Harry Sinclair and Edward Doheny. In return, Fall received about $400,000 in thinly disguised bribes.
At the Senate hearings held after these transactions were revealed, Denby was at a loss to explain why he had let Fall gain control of the oil reserves without even consulting the Navy’s General Board or the bureau chiefs. “His ignorance, his weak memory, his irresponsibility, his feeble grasp of facts and their significance, his gullibility,” wrote contemporary historian Marcus Eli Ravage, “would have discredited a junior clerk.”
The Senate did not “sack” Denby, as Dr. Irwin writes, “for executing [former Navy Secretary Josephus] Daniels’s Pearl Harbor defense plan.” The Senate passed a resolution asking Harding's successor, Calvin Coolidge, to dismiss him. Coolidge, questioning the Senate’s authority in the matter, declined. Denby resigned on his own, however, and spent the rest of his life in relative obscurity. Fall eventually went to prison.
“Battle Stations Missile!”
(See N. Spark, pp. 24-27, August 2003 Naval History)
Sherman N. Muffin
In May 1960, as a Lockheed Electronics junior field engineer, I was sent to Portsmouth Naval Shipyard to checkout a Regulus missile simulator, newly installed on the Halibut (SSGN-587). A yardbird and I did this work on the graveyard shift. At about 0100 the executive officer came back on board to go to bed. He turned on the intercom and bellowed (and this is the clean version), “This boat is a pig pen. I want all hands aboard to clean up this boat, and that includes all you damned civilians.” The two of us did a first-rate cleaning job on the Regulus missile control center and went back to work. The next evening when I arrived at the pier where the Halibut was moored, it looked like all hell had broken loose. Several big trash dumpsters had been emptied on the pier, and the contents were being searched. A dive boat was next to the Halibut, and a diver was searching in the muck in the channel. The reason for all this was that the rotary joint for the Regulus command guidance radar, a precision-made mechanical microwave transmission assembly, was missing. It never was found. My company sold the Navy a new one for $440,000. I am certain it was shoved overboard by an irate sailor the night before and that it remains still very deep in the mud at the shipyard.
R. O. Holbrook
The article infers that the Tomahawk missile is a direct result of the Regulus missile. The Tomahawk may have used some “technology derived from the Regulus,” as stated in the article, but the statement the “Tomahawk land missile of today traces back to a 50-year-old weapon” is not exactly correct. The first Tomahawk design was based on the Harpoon antiship missile and not the Regulus. The Tomahawk project first began in the Harpoon office, when Commander Walter Lock was taken from the Harpoon project to become the manager of the Tomahawk program. The Tomahawk used extensive technology from the Harpoon program, including the all- important altimeter. I am sure of my comments since I worked as an engineer on both the Harpoon and Tomahawk missile programs starting in the early 1960s.
“Exhuming the Constellation”
(See D. Wegner, pp. 24-30, June 2003 Naval History)
Mabry Tyson
I want to report one error. The article states, “This would amount to about 186 cubic feet of timber in a ship composed of approximately 19,000 cubic feet of live oak, or about .01%.” The first two numbers are correct; the last number should be 1% or .01.
“Sailors to the End”
(See P. Rinn, pp. 60-61, August 2003 Naval History)
Michael J. Carlin
The review of the book Sailors to the End, about the fire on the Forrestal (CV- 59), was of great interest to me. I am the author of a book on the 1969 Enterprise (CVN-65) fire and was one of the flight- deck firefighters. Of particular note was Captain Rinn’s statement that “no sailor goes through shipboard firefighting school without seeing the riveting film about the Forrestal fire. The film vividly shows the firefighting teams attacking an out-of-control fire as exploding ordnance engulfs the flight deck in flames.”
The films indeed are very powerful. Everyone who has served in the Navy for the past 30 years must have seen that training film, Trial by Fire, at least a dozen times. Those film sequences of which Captain Rinn speaks, however, are not those from the Forrestal but PLAT (pilot attitude landing tape) deck-edge monitor and handheld 16-mm motion picture films taken during the Enterprise fire of 14 January 1969.
The only action footage taken during the Forrestal fire of which I am aware was high-angle color film taken by the ship’s island-mounted camera. This film shows A- 4 Skyhawk aircraft lined up across the fan- tail and all the way up the port side with two more A-4s ready for launch on nos. 3 and 4 catapults. Lieutenant Commander John McCain’s aircraft becomes engulfed in flames as he scrambles from his cockpit and jumps from the wing while the crash/salvage team deploys to fight the fire. Very shortly, a 1,000-pound bomb explodes under the aircraft, wiping out the team.
It is at this juncture that the Enterprise PLAT deck-edge monitor film is spliced into the show. Now we have gone from high-angle color film to the stationary, deck-level, black-and-white film with crosshairs in it. A careful observation at this point reveals the presence of A-7 Corsair I Is on both the port and starboard sides of the flight deck within the scope of the PLAT film. The A-7s were new to the fleet in 1968, and the Forrestal had none on her flight deck in the summer of 1967. Then there also is our own hand-held motion picture film spliced in, showing a F-4 Phantom being towed clear of no. 4 catapult just as a massive explosion goes off.
The decision to incorporate the Enterprise video records into existing Forrestal films to create that Navy training film produced the most profound images most people ever had seen, but no credit ever was given to the Enterprise. That video record was made at a staggering cost in blood and suffering. The men who fought that fire were my brothers on the flight deck of the Enterprise. The Forrestal fire was a tragedy, with nearly five times the number of dead that we had on the Enterprise. On the other hand, we had nearly twice the number of total casualties. The Navy had learned many things from the fire on both the Forrestal and the Oriskany (CV-34) in 1966. Those lessons were applied to great effect on board the Enterprise in 1969.
“Winning the War with Don Winslow of the Navy”
(See E. Rosenberg, pp. 46-49, June 2003; W. Anderson, pp. 10-11, W. Wells, p. 11, August Naval History)
Robert C. Austin
Readers may have discovered that the caption, “The ever-spanking-clean Lieutenant Commander Don Winslow,” on page 48 depicting a commander in white uniform is somewhat inaccurate.
“The Final Run”
(See C. La VO, pp. 42-45, June 2003; L. Gaillard, p. 18, August 2003 Naval History)
Wesley L. Hammond
I would like to correct an error in one sentence. On page 43, the author states: “Also, it was on the fantail of the slow moving sub tender USS Falcon (ASR-2) in New London, Connecticut, more than 300 miles to the south.” The Falcon was not a sub tender, but a submarine salvage and rescue vessel. Submarine tenders carry the designation “AS.”
“A Hanging Offense”
(See J. Valle, pp. 57-60, June 2003; T. Davis, p. 19, August 2003 Naval History)
Rear Admiral Harley D. Nygren, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (Retired)
Mr. Davis’s letter concerning the review of A Hanging Offense refers to a case of hanging by the U.S. Navy in 1849. This was the mutiny on the Coast Survey schooner Ewing, commanded by Navy Lieutenant Commander William P. McArthur. Although the ship belonged to the Treasury Department (U.S. Coast Survey), the crewmen were enlisted in the Navy. When a boat’s crew threw the officer in charge overboard off California’s San Pablo Bay and headed for the gold fields, they were apprehended quickly. One was hanged, and the other three were sentenced to prison for the remainder of their enlistments.