“Indispensable in Every Operation”
(See D. W. McComb, pp. 18-29, February 2006 Naval History)
Captain Lefteris Lavrakas, U.S. Navy ( Retired)
As an old destroyerman, I read this article with great interest. I found it to be most informative and historically accurate. McComb deserves kudos for his research and analysis.
I did find, however, that he glossed over some in describing the armament of the 1,850-ton destroyers, which were “set by treaty.” As he reports, “these destroyers first served as squadron flagships and then, in light of their weak anti-aircraft defenses were refitted with the dual 5- inch/38-caliber or deployed where air attack was a reduced threat, such as in the South Atlantic.” I am not certain how many received the 5-inch/38s, but since I served on a destroyer in the South Atlantic with destroyers of this class, I am well aware that their “weak AA defenses” consisted of 5-inch guns which could not elevate beyond 35°. This was in the 1942-43 period.
I am still puzzled that no one, naval historians especially, has sought to find out how our Navy leadership let this happen. Is Mr. McComb able to shed any further light on this weapons failure?
[Editor’s note: There was no subterfuge. The 5-inch/38-caliber dual-purpose, radar director controlled gun firing proximity-fused ammunition was the ultimate in World War II anti-air weaponry by 1945. All that existed in 1932, however, when the 1,850-ton destroyer leaders were designed, were the guns. There was a small but significant weight difference between single-purpose and dual-purpose guns. With the destroyer designs on the knife-edge of weight allowance and distribution, Norman Friedman in U.S. Destroyers: An Illustrated Design History (Naval Institute Press, 2004) points out that, “This quibbling over very small weights in the earliest design stage is typical of U.S. treaty-era design practice." The Porter (DD-356) design was originally accepted with two dual and two single open-shielded dual-purpose mounts. During detail design, eight single-purpose guns were mounted in four enclosed gunhouses. Firepower was chosen over capability. The decision was influenced by the lack of cruisers to protect attacking destroyer squadrons.]
Harris C. Alter Jr.
Where might I get more information on the incident at Honda Point depicted in the photograph on p. 20? I had heard about this incident during my childhood, since my father, a 1920 U.S. Naval Academy graduate, was a junior officer in this command. As luck would have it, he was in San Diego with the flu at the time of the accident. Mmother told me how the lights burned late in many Coronado houses in preparation for the official inquiry.
[Editor’s note: The Naval Historical Center Web site at http://www.history.navy. mil/library/online/honda.htm provides a succinct overview and a detailed bibliography of the event. Among the books and articles listed are Tragedy at Honda by Charles A. Lockwood (Philadelphia, PA: Chilton Co., 1960); and “Comments on Navigational Aspects of the Disaster” by Donald McClench, pp. 47-48, U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings .January 1957.]
Captain Bob Kennedy USN
I enjoyed the entire February 2006 edition but did notice one correction to pass on. The chart on p. 27 and associated text on p. 28 lists the Virginia- class as having two ships. Actually the class had four; Virginia (CGN-38), Texas (CGN-39), Mississippi (CGN-40), and Arkansas (CGN-41).
At 11,300 tons (full load) these beautiful ships were the largest of those you listed in the article and were the only ones to have a below-deck helicopter hangar, which was later removed to install Tomahawk cruise missiles.
[Editor’s note: The start dates for Years in Service are one year earlier than stated in the chart History of U.S. Destroyer Designs.]
“A Tin Can’s ‘Habitability’”
(See J. K. Parker, pp. 30-31, February 2006 Naval History)
Commander Lander H Turpin, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Admiral Parker’s excellent article really hit the spot. I was lucky enough to be stationed in one of the “gold platers,” USS Balch (DD-363). Our basic habitability wasn’t as bad as that in the admiral’s ship, but some of [his points] were repeated—particularly the oil sloshing in the crew’s compartment. Whoever designed the Balch put the outlet oil tank vents in the crew’s compartment instead of topside. As a fireman, I got tired of cleaning the decks in that compartment. Also the ship had portholes fore and aft. In port we could open them and insert wind scoops. After World War II started, the British found that bombs exploding near a ship under air attack would blow out the portholes— so they welded them all closed. Whenever we were in port our cross-ventilation was nil, particularly in hot climates such as in the South Pacific.
The engineering spaces in Balch were bad. The closed pressurized firerooms were pure hell. I know, because I was carried out once with heat exhaustion. The Navy changed to air-cased boilers for modem ships. Balch was commissioned in 1936. 1 came on board in 1938 and left in 1944, so it was a fairly modem ship even though its main armament was obsolete single-purpose 5-inch/38-caliber guns— all eight of them.
The main advocate for improving the engineering spaces’ habitability was then-Rear Admiral John D. Bulkeley, head of the inspection and survey board. When he was inspecting the boiler room of USS Farragut (DLG-6), he saw one sailor keel over and another one stick his head in an air duct to gain momentary respite. The admiral pulled out his pocket thermometer and it registered 184°. In April 1973, he ran his own test in USS Henry B. Wilson’s (DDG-7) fireroom by working with the men for four hours. Later he felt dizzy and his vision blurred from the effects of the debilitating 190° heat. He was rushed to the sickbay, where his blood pressure measured 100 over 43. The medics voiced their diagnosis— the admiral had suffered a heart attack. However, after spending a few hours in an air-conditioned bay, his heartbeat and blood pressure returned to normal.
The Pentagon brass went to fleet commanders to remedy the situation of crewmen working in heat-stress spaces. In 1974 the Chief of Naval Operations ordered ship design changes based on Admiral Bulkeley’s recommendations.
As a limited duty officer (LDO) engineering, I spent two tours in the Board of Inspection and Survey—one in San Diego and the other in San Francisco as a boiler and machinery inspector—so I could see a lot of changes being made in the heat-stress spaces, all because of Rear Admiral Bulkeley. His later promotion to Vice Admiral was well deserved, and all future crewmen will reap the results of his work.
“Destroyers at Tokyo Bay”
(See D. W. McComb, pp. 32-36, February 2006 Naval History)
Charles Paty
I read every issue from cover to cover and have just completed the February issue. I have one small complaint.
Mr. McComb was very thorough, but it seems to me he left out an element of ships that should have been recognized: destroyer escorts (DEs) and high-speed transport (APDs). These were little brothers to the destroyers (DDs).
During the war I was assigned to the North Carolina (BB-55) as a radioman second class. On 20 August 1945 the North Carolina transferred about 70 Marines from the ship’s Marine detachment to Garrard (APA-84). The same day detachments of Bluejackets, called Prize Crews #1, #2, and #3, were transferred to the Runels (APD-85). The next day another detail of officers and men was transferred to the Wantuck (APD-125). This was more than a week before the surrender on 2 September.
The transfers took place some miles out to sea east of Tokyo Bay. The APDs formed up and proceeded to Sagami Wan, arriving on 29 August. The next morning we were under way proceeding into Tokyo Bay. I was a member of Prize Crew #1 on board the landing craft from Runels, which approached Green Beach, Yokosuka Naval Base. Other landings were carried out around the base by both Marines and Bluejackets the same day.
While it may be that Mr. McComb was strictly covering destroyers and thus left them out since the DEs and APDs are technically not DDs, those little ships have a story equally as important, perhaps more diverse, and certainly one that should be told.
“A Tin Can’s ‘Habitability,’” “Five Iranian Fishermen,” and “The Missing Link: Expeditionary Logistics”
(See J. K. Parker, pp. 30-31; H. R. Bailey, pp. 37-41; and J. C. Bradford, pp. 54-61, February 2006 Naval History)
RMC(SS) John Hummel, U.S. Navy (Retired)
One of Rear Admiral Jackson K. Parker’s responses was, “Food—on a 1,630-ton destroyer, the mess deck was forward in the forecastle, in the poop deck section of the ship.” The poop deck, by definition, is a partial raised deck at the aftermost part of a ship. What could the admiral have meant?
With regard to the “Five Iranian Fishermen” article and frigate Fanning (FF-1076), the author states, “An aft turret on the frigate, however, became inoperable.” Fanning was a Knox-class frigate. They had one large (if you call 5-inches large) gun, and it was on the forecastle. It was a mount, not a turret.
In “The Missing Link,” Mr. Bradford cites Olympia as CA-15. Actually, she was CL-15. The first CA was Pensacola (CA-24), but she was commissioned as [a light cruiser] CL-24 along with seven other cruisers. Their designations were changed on 1 July 1931 in accordance with the provisions of the London Treaty of 1930. I guess Mr. Bradford was bitten by the [Olympia’s] 8-inch guns.
“What If?”
(See J. E. Valle, pp. 34-38, December 2005 Naval History)
Mr. James W. Grace
This article led to some observations and questions. The Bismarck’s opening salvos against British cruisers disabled her radar (same problem for the Admiral Graf Spee), so I wonder if that problem had been corrected in Tirpitz by 1942? Did German 15-inch guns outrange U.S. 16-inch/45-caliber guns? And I thought the South Dakota's (BB-57) radar failure was because of human error rather than from shock damage. The Washington (BB-56) did not lose her radar.
One source for my book, The Naval Battle of Guadalcanal (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1999), was an article by the Kirishima’s Lieutenant Michio Kobayashi that contained the following: “The rear main turret was afire . . . Only #2 turret was still operable . . . The engineers were forced to leave their areas due to fire and smoke.” This seems to suggest that the Kirishima's armor belt and her turrets or barbettes may have been pierced by the Washington's 16-inch shells. I note that Kirishima was originally a battlecruiser with an 8-inch armor belt (never increased) although Masataka Chihaya and Yasuo Abe stated that decks, magazines, and funnel uptakes were given added protection (“IJN Kongo,” Warships in Profile, Vol. 1, [Doubleday, 1973]). Turrets had 9-inch faces with 6-inch roofs (increased from 3 inches).
I was surprised to read that the Iowa's (BB-61) 16-inch guns were “poorly aligned in the turrets” since she and the New Jersey (BB-62) straddled the Japanese destroyer Nowaki at Truk at ranges from 34,000 to 39,000 yards!
In a similar article in the July 1983 issue of Proceedings, Thomas Hone and Norman Friedman suggested smoke screens to hamper Japanese optical fire control equipment in an engagement between the Iowa and the Yamato. I wonder what role spotter aircraft might have played?
Dr. Valle’s article really got me thinking, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
“The ‘Horrors of These Hulks’”
(See R. E. Cray, pp. 42-47, February 2006 Naval History)
John M. Egan
About 1972 a new police headquarters and a telephone building were built just north of the Brooklyn Bridge on the site of the old “Sugar House,” a Revolutionary War British prison. This location is but a short walk to the East River where the prison hulks were moored. During the course of excavation, human and horse skeletons were unearthed along with other artifacts, which would indicate a garbage dump of colonial origin.
Construction was temporarily stopped and an archaeologist called in who deemed the remains of no historical importance. Work quickly resumed. In view of the enormous expense of halting such a huge project, the decision has always been suspect, at least in my opinion. I have had an avid interest in the history of Manhattan and believed then, and still do, that those skeletons were prisoners of war who were dumped in a garbage ditch with dead horses and other refuse. Those bones of Revolutionary prisoners deserve at least a plaque or some sort of remembrance placed on the spot.
It amazes me that Philip Freneau and I share the same frustrations and concern across such a yawning gap in time. The author asks of Freneau, “But was anyone listening?” Eventually people did listen to him regarding the Brooklyn burials. In this modern day, when we had an opportunity to honor other Revolutionary War dead, we chose instead to ignore them and leave them literally relegated to a trash pit of history.
The unhonored dead lying beneath the sidewalk and parking lot have no Freneau to speak for them, no champion, no future generation to remember or honor them. They are truly forgotten and known but to God. Whenever I pass that spot, I offer a silent prayer for them, and for the people who could so callously treat their remains and memory.
Tom de la Vergne
The author states, “11,000 people died in these hulks, a number that exceeded the American losses in any single land battle during the Revolution.” I believe he meant during the entire Revolution rather than in any one battle as 11,000 is the estimated number of deaths during the entire war.
“Book Reviews: A Call to the Sea: Captain Charles Stewart of the USS Constitution”
(See F. C. Leiner, pp. 69-70, February 2006 Naval History)
Lieutenant Claude G. Berube, U.S. Naval Reserve, and Captain John Rodgaard, U.S. Navy
We are disappointed that the reviewer found it necessary to take a prosecutorial approach that was tendentious, unbalanced, and largely inaccurate.
Throughout the process that led to the publication of our work, we welcomed—indeed we actively pursued—constructive criticism. It was peer reviewed. Specialists provided comments on particular sections or chapters. We accepted and incorporated all of their recommendations by the time the manuscript was submitted to our publisher in November 2003. There was only one exception. One of our reviewers provided comments that were incorporated at that time. He was later given a courtesy proof as the book went into production. He provided new suggestions with which we agreed (such as the issue with Stewart’s merchant service) but that could not be incorporated prior to publication. Therefore, we advised him we would include those in a future edition or in another medium.
Mr. Leiner states that we are “oblivious to basic sources of history” such as Dudley Knox’s work. That is incorrect. We included his “Naval Documents Related to the Quasi-War” in the bibliography without including his name. We also consulted his work on the Barbary Wars, but recognize the oversight in that it was not cited in the final work. He states that we used “dubious sources” based on an unpublished local Bordentown history. That source was used sparingly and supported by other sources. In the one case where it could not be clearly supported, as in the case of Stewart’s stepfather on page 3, we clearly noted a discrepancy based on other research. In addition, although that local history was compiled in 1967, it was based on the work of an individual who was Stewart’s contemporary in that town. Mr. Leiner also criticizes the reference to the Naval Historical Center; that secondary source was referenced only three times in the entire book. The majority of the work, such as chapters 8 through 11, were based on primary sources. If he had looked at the six-page bibliography he would have found 29 primary sources that we identified and consulted.
Mr. Leiner criticizes us for not consulting recent biographies of Stewart’s contemporaries. That is blatantly false. We read and included in our bibliography works published in the past six years, such as, Gene Smith’s work on Thomas ap Catesby Jones, David Curtis Skaggs' book on Thomas Macdonough, Craig Symonds book on Franklin Buchanan, and Robert Harvey’s book on Thomas Lord Cochrane. In addition to these secondary sources, we conducted research at repositories that included the papers of Stewart’s midshipmen, such as David Farragut and Louis Goldsborough. If Mr. Leiner supposes that we ignored recent works on Stephen Decatur, then he is again mistaken. Our manuscript was submitted more than one year before the two recent Decatur biographies were released in 2005 (in addition to yet another Decatur biography currently in progress). Nevertheless, we did read Decatur’s correspondence and previous biographies and were, therefore, familiar with the material.
We take exception to his comment that the battle between the USS Constitution and HMS Cyane and HMS Levant was muddled. We did not attempt to describe the battle in detail because numerous expert accounts had already been written. We acknowledged on page xvi that Commander Ty Martin was the author of the best text on this battle, quoted him in the text on page 91, as well as in Notes on page 268. Therefore we recognized and deferred to his extensive work on the subject. Other readers, especially currently serving surface warfare officers, found the account descriptive and flowing.
Another egregious assertion in the review is that we did not mention or were unaware of Stewart’s advocacy of sending ships to sea at the outset of the War of 1812. That issue is clearly addressed on pages 60 through 62. In addition, one of our cited publications (Lieutenant Berube’s essay in the U.S. Naval Institute’s Proceedings three years ago) refers to that specific incident.
Since submitting our manuscript two years ago, we have found new sources and have in our possession some additional Stewart correspondence that we expect to use in revising our book. But just as there have been numerous Decatur biographies, we also hope there will be Stewart books written by other authors with different perspectives and experiences.
“The Great War Crucible”
(See E. H. Simmons, pp. 16-23, December 2005 Naval History)
Cyril J. O’Brien
I am happy you were so fortunate to publish the illuminating article on the role of U.S. Marines in the Great War. As a Marine and writer about veterans, I have always eagerly sought to be enlightened by the well-defined, deep reaching, and so understandable texts of the general, long the director of Marine Corps History and Museums.
“The Cat, Alas, is Not”
(See pp. 9-10, February 2006 Naval History)
Keith B. Rosenberg
I sent this message to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration:
“I think NOAA needs to rethink for a moment the article that debunks the claim that one of Monitor’s sailors put a cat in one of the Dahlgrens [cannon]. That article also says a lot of coal was found in their barrels. How did that coal get there? Surely the Navy did not make a habit of keeping coal in the guns of their warships. It got in there during, or soon after, the sinking. And if coal can get in during such an event, surely things already in the guns could have fallen out. Another sailor might have removed the cat and other items before the sinking. You can say with 90% certainty that the mortal remains of a cat were not in the guns when they were recovered, but you still cannot say with much greater certainty than before that the sailor did not put a cat in one of them.”
NOAA responded:
“I think each of us was a little disappointed that we didn’t find any feline remains. You bring up a good point though, that if coal got deposited in the cannons during the sinking surely other items could have fallen out.”
“Collision at Sea”
(See D. W. Joy, pp. 56-61, December 2005 Naval History)
Lieutenant Paul]. Fritz, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
I read this article with great interest. I was the officer of the deck in the USS John R. Craig (DD-885) at the time, having relieved Lieutenant (junior grade) Larry Valade shortly before the collision.
My memory of the event is vivid 50 years later, though I must say, Valade’s recollections are a bit different from mine. I recall we were on a three-section watch, so I was on the bridge during the second dog watch the evening before the crash. At that time we received a blinking light signal to turn without further signal at 0400 for flight operations. At 0400 I gave the order, “right standard rudder,” and we turned. I could only assume the Floyd B. Parks (DD-884) somehow missed the signal the previous night.
I was ordered to stand by as a witness at the inquiry in Subic Bay but was never called. I was surprised at the complicated explanation given in Joy’s article.
“USS Missouri Chain”
C. Henry Depew
Every photograph of the USS Missouri (BB-63) entering Tokyo Bay that I have seen shows her with a cable or chain hanging from the bow. Why is whatever it is hanging there while the ship is under way?
[Editor’s note: Mr. Depew is referring to the paravane chain used for sweeping mines.]
“Historic Fleets”
(See A. D. Baker III, pp. 12-13, February 2006 Naval History)
Jim Preston
I want to say how much I enjoyed the articles on destroyers and note a small error in this article.
Mr. Baker identifies the German cruiser Prinz Eugen as being sunk in the A-bomb test at Bikini atoll in 1946. In truth the Prinz survived with some damage and was towed to Kwajalein Island. It was there in the late 1960s where I observed the Prinz at anchor many times while transiting the island as an Air Force pilot. I later returned as a Continental Air Lines Air Micronesia pilot in 1977-80 and found the Prinz upside down in the lagoon near shore.
“The Amphibious Revolution” and “In Contact”
(See R. B. Frank, pp. 20-26, August 2005, and C. H. Hollander, p. 6, October 2005 Naval History)
Lawrence V. Cott
Retired Ensign C. H. Hollander’s letter remarks on his service on board USS Appalachian (AGC-1), an amphibious force flagship, and his inability to find much about such ships in the literature. “It has been a well-kept secret,” he commented.
Indeed these ships were secret, and their existence was not disclosed to the public (or the enemy) until a few days after the Japanese indicated they would surrender. Newsmen on board could not wait to tell the secret of these ships with their elaborate communications plan and impressive radars. They were designed to carry an admiral and his staff in charge of a landing, and a general and his staff who stayed on board until a lodgment had been made and he could go ashore. By 1945 there were 14 AGCs in the Pacific, most of them with names of mountains. The USS Eldorado (AGC-11) was Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner’s flagship, and there was the Blue Ridge (AGC-2) and Rocky Mount (AGC- 3), among others. A few months after hostilities ended I was a quartermaster striker assigned to USS Pammint (AGC- 13), a veteran of Okinawa. She carried Admiral Arthur D. Struble who was in charge of sweeping mines in the Far East.
Mr. Hollander will find a number of AGCs mentioned in The Amphibians Came to Conquer: The Story of Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1972), an official Navy account of the most experienced American amphibious commander.
The AGCs were so secret that not even a Russian spy in the Pentagon could determine what AGC meant. In a coded message to Moscow, the chief KGB officer in New York listed a table of U.S. Navy ship construction and under the heading AGC noted “PILOT doesn’t know the meaning of this abbreviation.” This 10 February 1945 message was broken some years later, and PILOT was identified as the Russian codename for U.S. Army Air Forces Captain William Ludwig Ullman.
The Soviets would get a chance to see an AGC in February 1945 when USS Catoctin (AGC-5) slipped through the Dardanelles and moored at Sevastapol, where its elaborate apparatus provided communications for President Franklin D. Roosevelt at Yalta. The Russians got another look at AGCs in June-July 1946 when representatives of the Soviet Union and other delegates from the United Nations Security Council sailed on board Panamint for the first atomic bomb tests at Bikini Atoll. A Soviet military reporter was embarked on the Blue Ridge, which served as a press ship. Other AGCs at Bikini were Appalachian, Rocky Mount, and Mt. McKinley (AGC-7), flagship of Vice Admiral W. H. P. Blandy, commander of Operation Crossroads.
“Armed Guard Veterans Seek Recognition”
(See B. Bleyer, pp. 10-11, 65, December 2005 Naval History)
Joseph G. Dimmick
This piece reminded me that long ago the syllabus for first-class midshipmen featured a semester on operations analysis. Included was a case history that involved the Armed Guard. Somebody wanted all those people back on Navy ships, and, to support the recommendation, he produced an operations analysis that showed the Armed Guard had had very little success in downing enemy airplanes or sinking enemy ships.
Someone else produced another analysis that showed enemy airplanes seldom attacked, let alone sank or damaged, ships protected by the Armed Guard. The Armed Guard stayed put protecting merchant ships.
The lesson for midshipmen was to ask the right question before doing any operations analysis. It has been more than 40 years, so at least that part of the course was effective in getting us to remember that important point.
Commander Thomas D. Anderson, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
This article struck a responsive chord. I was stationed in the headquarters of the Eighth Naval District in New Orleans, shuffling papers in the intelligence office during the time of multiple sinkings of tankers and cargo ships in the Gulf of Mexico by U-boats between May 1942 and December 1943. According to a district headquarters press release of 22 August 1945, there were 44 torpedo attacks on merchant vessels in district waters, resulting in 36 sinkings, and the loss of nearly 300 lives and 200,000 tons of shipping. Some of the men lost were armed guards.
I had two close friends in the Armed Guard. The late Henry Beissner, as captain of an Armed Guard unit, sailed from Galveston, Texas, three times and never made it out of the Gulf of Mexico. Some months later, when I was in New York following an uneventful cruise on the USS Monitor (AN-1), I encountered a college classmate who was in charge of the Armed Guard on an ammunition ship loaded with blockbusters bound for Murmansk. He did not smile much when we suggested he acquire a parachute, for he was sure to go up before coming down. He survived and lived a calm life in Memphis.
The Eighth Naval District’s portion of the Gulf of Mexico is not widely recognized today as a fierce war zone, but nearly half of the [36] sinkings occurred within 150 miles of New Orleans around the Southwest Pass where the Mississippi River meets the sea. The 44 attacks cited here took place in the western Gulf of Mexico. There were many more in Florida waters and the Caribbean. I heartily agree that the brave Armed Guard officers and enlisted men deserve praise and recognition for their heroic service.