“Looking Back”
(See P. Stillwell, p. 2, February 2005 Naval History)
PNCM Gordon O. Boles, U.S. Navy (Retired)
This article brought back a long-forgotten memory concerning Admiral Sam Gravely, whom I knew well.
I was attached to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California, working for an army general. He remembered that I knew Admiral Gravely when he told me that the admiral would be coming aboard for a tour and instructed me to take care of the visit. I did so.
Among other things, I had to pick him up at the airport. As the laboratory had no appropriate vehicles, I called around to naval facilities in the area, but could find nothing but small cars. Admiral Gravely was a very large man who would not fit comfortably in anything that was available. I called a friend who owned a Cadillac agency and asked to borrow a limousine for the day. I arranged for a CPO as a driver and obtained the necessary bumper flags. Because the director would not be at the laboratory that day, I recruited the deputy director to escort the admiral.
The visit went off without a hitch, and at the end, the admiral, deputy director, and I stood by the gate waiting for an aide. While making small talk, the deputy director asked me where the car had come from since the lab had none like it. The admiral spoke up saying, “General, I don’t know too much about the army, but in the Navy you don’t ask master chiefs questions like that.”
On the drive back to the airport, the admiral sat up front with me and we had a very pleasant conversation about old times.
RM2 Harley R. Schwarz, U.S. Navy
It was with a heavy heart that I read of the passing of Sam Gravely. I first met Sam when he was a lieutenant commander and communications officer aboard the USS Toledo (CA-133) in the spring of 1953, when I reported aboard at Mare Island in San Francisco.
When I learned that the comm officer was black, I was kind of surprised, but it didn’t bother me. I was a tall, skinny kid, 19, enlisted in the Navy from the mountains of Montana. Growing up in Bozeman, I had never experienced racial prejudice because there were only two black families there at the time and they were just part of the community. I learned some about racial prejudice during my stint in boot camp.
Where I really learned about it was on my first deployment to WESTPAC and Korea aboard the Toledo. Being naive about it, I assumed that this would not carry over to the officers of the ship. Boy was I wrong.
One day, while steaming off the coast of Korea with TF77 there was a lot of radio traffic back and forth within the task force. The 1A squawk box exploded with the XO screaming, “Comm officer to the bridge immediately.” Poor Sam went running out of the radio shack, climbed the seven or eight levels (I can’t remember which) to the bridge and got his butt chewed about some little thing the XO thought he did wrong. For some reason the XO seemed to delight in harassing him. This didn’t happen once or twice, but quite a few times. If I wasn’t witness to the events, other radiomen were. How do I know Sam was chewed out on the bridge? Well, the radiomen, quartermasters, and radarmen were in one large berthing compartment, and there weren’t very many secrets among us.
Sam was the kind of guy who went to bat for his people. If one of his crew got crossways with the SP’s on liberty, he was there to help. He couldn’t afford to have two radiomen in the brig at the same time because we were very shorthanded for qualified operators.
I wish to express my condolences to Alma, whom I never met. Of all the officers with whom I served, both good and some not so good, Sam was the one I remember the most—and he was the best.
(See P. Stillwell, p. 2, April 2005 Naval History)
Captain Frank C. Gilmore, U.S. Navy (Retired)
The question of “who will remember it when we are gone” is a solemn and important question. The reference is, of course, to who will remember the USS Utah (BB-31/AG-16) when the few survivors who still live are gone. That question can be partly answered by the Fort Douglas Military Museum, located in old Fort Douglas in Salt Lake City, Utah. Although essentially an Army museum, there is a vigorous Navy and Marine room, a portion of which is dedicated to the many ships and people of Utah who have served the sea services so gallantly.
The Utah’s story takes up a portion of the wall in the room, as does another display honoring Captain Mervin Bennion, who lost his life at Pearl Harbor while trying to save his command, the USS West Virginia (BB-48). He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.
Part of the museum’s mission is to see that the heritage of all the ships that served our Navy and are in any way related to. our state shall not be forgotten. In Utah we take great pride in our ships and people— from the first midshipman from our state to attend the Naval Academy, Vice Admiral Robley D. Evans. He was wounded during the Civil War and lived to be the officer in tactical command when the Great White Heet steamed out on the first leg of its famous around-the-world adventure. Our state seriously supports our nation and our Navy.
Rest assured that “the other ship at Pearl Harbor” will not be forgotten.
“Forgotten Sub Reexamined”
(See “Naval History News,” p. 62, August 2005 and “In Contact,” p. 8, October 2005 Naval History)
Commander Frank W. Wood, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
This is the story of the loss of USS O-9 (SS-70) as I remember it. I was stationed at Portsmouth Navy Yard at the time, and was well acquainted with Lieutenant George A. Sharp, who was the commanding officer of the USS Falcon (ASR-2). He must have been my source for most of this.
As stated in the article, the O-7 (SS-68), O-9, and O-10 (SS-71) left New London, Connecticut, on 19 June 1941 for their annual deep test dive, which must have been less than 200 feet since test depth for the newest class of fleet boats was only 250 feet at that time. The three boats arrived in the Portsmouth area on 20 June 1941 and were assigned to “Area A,” a rectangular area swept to 400 feet north of the Isles of Shoals.
The Falcon at that time was operating west of the isles on a special operation carrying the submarine rescue chamber used in the Squalus (SS-192) rescue.
The O-7 and O-10 dove first, and on seeing their surfacing smoke signals, the 0-9 dove before the others surfaced. When she didn’t surface at the expected time (a surfacing message was not received at Portsmouth Navy Yard) the Falcon was asked to move over to Area A and COM- SUBLANT was alerted. I remember seeing a Catalina landing in the afternoon bringing divers from the deep sea diving center at Washington (D.C.) Navy Yard.
While sweeping the area that night, the Falcon located the O-9 just off the southeast corner of Area A. Divers were sent down and identified the number 70 on the conning tower. Since the depth was over 400 feet, there wasn’t much they could do. So the grappling line was cut and salvage efforts abandoned.
With such definite conclusions, the O-9 tragedy didn’t stay on the front page very long, and it was sad to see the families of the crew, some of whom had driven up from New London, give up hope of rescue.
“Midway, The Decisive Battle”
(See G. Till, pp. 32-36, October 2005 Naval History)
Robert W. Cermak
The author at first seemed to write that the battle was not “decisive” but later deemed it “necessary.” The Oxford English Dictionary definition of “necessary” is “indispensable,” in other words, “decisive.”
Determining whether or not Midway was “decisive” requires that the right question be asked. What if the Japanese had won the battle and in so doing had sunk all three American carriers, a distinct possibility? Yamamoto had already decided to attack Hawaii after defeating the American fleet. This time he surely would have destroyed the oil supplies and the repair facilities at Pearl Harbor, which would have sent the U.S. fleet back to the mainland.
What would have happened is anybody’s guess, but submarine attacks on shipping, air raids on coastal cities, invasion of Hawaii, and attacks on the Panama Canal are a few of the possibilities. The American public would have demanded a shift in priorities from the Atlantic to the Pacific War, and D-Day would have been postponed or maybe never would have happened. Other effects such as Adolf Hitler’s secret weapons extending the war and/or Soviet occupation of all of Europe could have occurred. Perhaps the Japanese gamble on a negotiated peace would have paid off.
An American victory at Midway was decisive because without it Guadalcanal could not have happened, and the entire Pacific War and the outcome of World War II would have been different. All subsequent events would have been changed, perhaps drastically.
Referring to the Oxford Dictionary once again, its definition of “decisive” is “that finally decides the outcome of a contest; conclusive.”
“Book Review”
(See B.S. Murphy, p. 6, August 2004 Naval History, and D. Walsh, pp. 60-62, April 2004 Naval History)
Chief Warrant Officer 3 Julian Hatch, U.S. Coast Guard (Retired)
I concur with Mr. Murphy’s comments relative to Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall’s three books [Mutiny on the Bounty, Men Against the Sea, and Pitcairn’s Island], Great storytellers, but lousy historians.
Author Caroline Alexander has performed a distinct service in bringing in a great deal of background information that helps us to view things in a new light.
The best basic account of the affair that I have found, which includes the genesis, voyage, mutiny, Bligh’s small boat voyage, the pursuit of the mutineers, court martial, and Pitcairn and Norfolk islands, is Great Historical Mutinies by David Herbert (London: William P. Nimmo, 1879).
In it you will find an excellent and very precise factual account of the entire story.
“More Ships Should Be Named for Women”
(See A.V. Mandel, p. 19, August 2005 Naval History)
George G. Dawson
Mr. Mandel points out that a Liberty- class ship named SS Amelia Earhart was completed in December 1942. I strongly agree with Mr. Mandel’s view that more ships should be named for women. I know of at least one other Liberty ship that was named for a woman.
In September 1941, the Deborah Gannett was launched in Baltimore, Maryland. The namesake, better known by her maiden name Deborah Sampson, served heroically in the American Revolution. To serve, she disguised herself as a man. Now that many women are in uniform and serving heroically, we ought to see more ships named for them.
Editor’s Note: The U.S. Army Women's Museum at Fort Lee, Virginia, notes that “Deborah Sampson Gannett, early one morning in 1778, left the family with whom she was living, telling them she was going to find work; however, when she reached the edge of town, she exchanged her skirts for male clothing and enlisted in the nearest Army camp. Giving her name as Robert Shirtliffe (alternately ‘Shurtleff,’ ‘Shurtliffe,’ and ‘Shurlieffe'), she joined the company of Captain Nathan Thayer, which later became a part of the 4th Massachusetts Regiment under the command of Colonel Richardson. She enlisted in the Army for three years but ultimately served for 18 months. During her career with the Army, she showed courage and endurance.
“After she was wounded and sent to the hospital, it was discovered by the doctor that she was female. When she recovered, she teas sent to Washington’s headquarters with a personal letter to the Commander-in-Chief. General Washington read the letter, and without speaking to her, handed her a discharge from the Army.
“In later years, the American Congress recognized Gannet's claims as a Revolutionary soldier by granting her husband a widow’s pension after her death."
A fact sheet issued on National Maritime Day, 22 May 1945, by the United States Maritime Commission and War Shipping Administration states that, of the more than 2,700 Liberty ships produced during World War II, 114 carried the names of women.
Two among the currently commissioned U.S. Navy warships honor women: The Arleigh Burke-class destroyers USS Hopper (DDG-70), is named for Rear Admiral Grace Murray Hopper, and USS Roosevelt (DDG- 80), for former first lady Eleanor Roosevelt and her husband, former president Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
“Historic Aircraft”
(See N. Polmar, pp. 14-15, October 2005 Naval History)
Richard G. Dorr
This article brought back some memories. On 6 July 1960, when one of the ZPG-3W blimps plunged into the Atlantic off Lakehurst, New Jersey, I was serving on board the salvage rescue vessel USS Salvager (ARSD-3) as a radioman seaman. Our ship had a number of divers on board, and we were capable of sending deep-sea divers down to retrieve the wreckage. This was accomplished by running cables over our twin bow booms—our bow looked like two big horns with an A frame lifting crane between them—and then lifting the wreckage.
If memory serves me correctly, we were able to recover in excess of 90% of the wreckage. We also recovered some of the bodies, and the Coast Guard had to take them from our ship to shore, as we had no facilities to keep them on board. Upon completion of the recovery, the wreckage was taken to the Philadelphia Naval Ship Yard and off-loaded.
Richard G. Van Treuren
The last operational U.S. Navy airship flight [on 31 August 1962] was actually made by a ZPG-2, BuNo 141561, now at the National Museum of Naval Aviation at Pensacola, Florida. ZPG-3Ws were retired following their final flight on 22 May 61.
The [poor performance cited in the] K-ship’s published World War II record is understandable considering their 1939 prototype was somewhat inferior to blimps retired by both the British and French 20 years earlier. K-ships were the last fleet units to receive the most capable weapons and sensors, and were rarely vectored to known submarine locations. True, the K- 74 bungled its [July 1943] attack, but its crew survived; they damaged the U-134, and she turned for home. (U.S. Enigma decoders mistranslated the U-134’s attack report as “flying boat;” the British knew that “luftshiff” meant “airship.”)
The simple scorecard of U-boats 1, Blimps 0 should be challenged. Vice Admiral C. E. Rosendahl detailed the K-6’s attack on the U-99, after which the sub retreated from the coast. Researcher Gordon Vaeth found U-boat logs reporting another five attacks, and the battle between the U-107 and K-34 has been documented. In records declassified in 1996, the Tenth Fleet credited blimps with four other damaging attacks (not including the K-74/U- 134, which was rated “miss”) and other encounters. Only hinted at in the records, during the war’s closing weeks, selected ZP squadrons were trained and equipped with sono-buoys and the “Fido” homing torpedo. Proof may soon be found that on 18 April 1945 the K-72 found, tracked, and fatally torpedoed the U-boat now lying some 75 miles off Norfolk, Virginia. (That sub is not the U-548, as was surmised when discovered during the 1968 search for the USS Scorpion (SSN-589).)
Vice Admiral Robert B. Pirie’s shortsighted decision will likely be corrected when the new five-million-cubic-foot High-Altitude Airships restore the cost-effective helium-borne radar picket line.
CORRECTIONS
“Midway, The Decisive Battle”
(See G. Till, pp. 32-36, October 2005 Naval History)
The Japanese lost one heavy cruiser, the Mikuma, during the Battle of Midway. Her sister ship, Mogami, was so badly damaged during the battle that she was out of service for more than a year.
“Fatal Cruise of the Princeton”
(See A. Blackman, pp. 37-41, October 2005 Naval History)
The USS Princeton featured a 14-foot-diameter, six-bladed screw propeller.
“Historic Fleets”
(See A.D. Baker 111, pp. 12-13, October 2005 Naval History)
The USS Northampton (CLC-1), was initially equipped with four Mk 42 5-inch/54-caliber mounts.