Vets Weigh In on Santa Cruz Mysteries
Lieutenant Commander Richard J. Nowatzki, U.S. Navy (Retired)
I would like to make a few comments regarding “Solving the Mysteries of Santa Cruz” (October, pp. 42–49) by John Prados, and my experiences in the battle his article is about.
I was a coxswain on board the USS Hornet (CV-8) during this action. My battle station was on Mount 57, a 5-inch/38-caliber antiaircraft gun, the last gun aft on the starboard side. I was a “sight setter.” Normally, our gun director would pick out the target and electronically offset the gun sights to lead the target. I would match dials and place the unit in automatic. I was the manual backup for the system in case we lost power.
At a little after 0900 on 26 October 1942, we were attacked by Japanese dive bombers and torpedo planes in a professionally executed and coordinated attack. The first bomb that struck the flight deck disrupted all power to our gun. We fought the entire daylong battle in “manual control.” The only communication we had was via our sound power phones.
These were open gun mounts, and I had an unobstructed view to starboard. Without director inputs, I had to offset the sights manually. I would continually observe the incoming planes and coordinate with the pointer and trainer to ensure we were all tracking the same target. I watched the low-flying torpedo planes as they turned toward us from the horizon. They would fly erratically, jinking around to spoil our aim until they were within range. Then they would smooth out their flight, drop their torpedoes, and zoom away. During the morning attack, I watched as two torpedoes struck our starboard side, causing a list of about 18 degrees. During this attack we also suffered four bomb hits and had two planes dive into us. The Hornet was dead in the water.
During the afternoon, we had a faint glimmer of hope when the USS Northampton (CA-26) began towing us. However, she had to cast us loose to maneuver when another attack developed. I saw another flight of torpedo planes turn toward us from the horizon and commence their erratic moves. As they came within range, two planes were almost wingtip-to-wingtip and dropped their torpedoes simultaneously. I watched as they both struck the starboard side. This double explosion actually caused the Hornet to rise to an even keel. After a few moments she rolled again to starboard, hesitated, and then rolled further before settling at an estimated 20- to 25-degree list.
Over the years I have read several accounts of the damage to the Hornet during this battle. They invariably cite three torpedo hits: two in the morning attack, and one in the afternoon. I saw the four torpedoes that hit us.
At a Hornet reunion, I came across the deck log from the USS San Diego (CL-53), a member of the Hornet Task Force. It concerned the day of the battle. In the log, it states that at 1620, “Commenced firing on two dive bombers, eight torpedo planes making attack on carrier. Two torpedo hits observed.” I believe this confirms my observations.
John B. DeFields
“Solving the Mysteries of Santa Cruz” is a fine article, but I would like to comment on it.
I spent my whole six-year enlistment on board the USS Shaw (DD-373), including her decommissioning at the Brooklyn Navy Yard in October 1945. After we were severely damaged during the 7 December raid on Pearl Harbor, she was rebuilt at Mare Island, California. After a few convoy runs between Pearl and San Francisco for shakedown purposes, we headed for the South Pacific, arriving just in time for the Battle of Santa Cruz.
During this action my battle station was on the ship’s bridge, which gave me a great view of the surrounding area. When a friendly torpedo plane was disabled and ditched, we were instructed to pick up the pilot; however, the USS Porter (DD-356) said she was closer and would do it. In the process she took a torpedo that crippled her. We were instructed to pick up the survivors off the Porter and to sink her, which we did.
My reason for this letter is to say that neither I nor any of the shipmates at the time would ever agree with the idea that the torpedo that damaged the Porter came from the friendly plane that ditched; it came from a Japanese sub. I am enclosing a copy of the Shaw’s rough log for your inspection that surely does not agree that a friendly torpedo did the job.
Excerpt from the Shaw’s log: “1103 Torpedo passed astern distant 75 ft. striking Porter at bulkhead between #1 and #2 firerooms on port side. . . . 1140 Sighted periscope on port bow distant 500 yds. Made sound contact and attacked. Released four six hundred pound and fired two three hundred pound dept[h] charges. 1145 Circled Porter. 1150 Made sound contact on starboard bow. Changed course to right and attacked. Dropped two six hundred pound and fired two three hundred pound depth charges.”
Sailing Chinese Waters
Commander Peter M. Stroux, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Edward Marolda’s outstanding article “Asian Warm-Up to the Cold War” (October, pp. 26–32) brought home some memories of my tour on the “China Station.” I served in USS LST-854 (later named the USS Kemper County) 1947–49, while she was homeported in Tsingtao, China, as a “non-rotating unit” of the 7th Fleet. We did numerous logistic and training jobs, including twice landing Marine negotiators on a beach near Tsingtao in an effort to repatriate some U.S personnel who had survived a transport plane crash. This effort was unsuccessful, although later a sister ship (LST-855) with the same negotiators did return the hostages. The communist Chinese were intransigent in demanding recognition, which we refused to do. We made several trips to Tientsin to show the flag and support the American consulate there. In late 1948 with Mao’s forces closing in on Peking/Tientsin, we evacuated the consulate personnel and other U.S. citizens back to Tsingtao. In early February 1949, we carried almost 300 refugees of various nationalities from Tsingtao to Shanghai.
After debarking our refugees, we were ordered to a mooring a few miles downstream in the Huang Po River. On or about 22 February 1949, the Chinese Nationalist navy flagship, the Chung King (ex-HMS Aurora), steamed by headed down the Huang Po to the Yangtze River and presumably to sea. She was really moving out, apparently in somewhat of a hurry. We rendered passing honors, which were totally ignored. We later learned that on 25 February, her crew defected and she became an element of the communist Chinese navy. She was later sunk by the Nationalist air force near Taku, the river entry port for Tientsin.
In late February or early March 1949 we were ordered back to San Diego via Subic Bay and Pearl Harbor despite Vice Admiral Oscar Badger’s “stand and hold, come hell or high water” position subsequently quashed by the Truman administration. We thought this was an interesting position especially when the Marines were pulling out. By then it was obvious the Navy was no longer welcome in China.
Ann-Margret’s Carrier Shows
Lieutenant Commander J. S. “Jerry” Prather, U.S. Navy (Retired)
This is a footnote to Hill Goodspeed’s article “Beauty High Above, Horror Below” (October, pp. 58–65) regarding Ann-Margret’s March 1966 show on board the Kitty Hawk (CVA-63). That was her second show of the afternoon. The first was on board the Yorktown (CVS-10), which was steaming in company for the purpose of sharing this entertainment.
Alas, I did not get to see the show, as I was standing watch as the Yorktown’s officer of the deck. Ann-Margret arrived (I got to see the top of her head as she exited her aircraft) and immediately went to the hangar deck to entertain. After the show, the captain offered her the use of his in-port cabin to shower and freshen up before going on to the Kitty Hawk (that was one of the few air-conditioned spaces on board the Yorktown), and she accepted. Of course, that diversion delayed the Kitty Hawk’s show.
On the bridge, signals reported receiving a flashing-light message from the Kitty Hawk that read, “Captain to Captain—Let her go, you dirty old man.” The senior officer on the bridge at the time took charge and directed signals to respond, “Navigator to Captain—Can’t find the captain.”
Of course, Ann-Margret soon appeared and continued on her way to her next show.
Ship Museum Success Factors
Robert B. Fish, Trustee, USS Hornet Museum
I found “Keeping Floating Museums Afloat” (August, pp. 52–57) both timely and excellent. Lieutenant Commander Cutler covers most key issues and critical success factors involving ship museums. I would add to his list one other very important point that has to do with the length of time the ship has been out of service (i.e., number of years that have passed since her decommissioning and her rebirth as a museum).
This is important for two reasons. First, of course, the amount of restoration and repair necessary to make her float-worthy as a museum contributes heavily to the upfront expenses. Ongoing maintenance expenses are much higher as well; it’s very difficult to find spare parts for a World War II Essex-class ship or the aircraft she carried.
Second, and not so obvious, is the available volunteer labor pool. All successful ship museums rely heavily on volunteers—docents, electricians, sign painters, ship and aircraft restoration crews, cash donors, etc.—as their initial labor and knowledge pool. This is a critical factor in allowing the museum to gain positive cash flow reasonably quickly. The longer a ship has been out of service, the fewer of her former crew are able to assist in her transition to a museum.
Again, the Hornet and Midway are polar opposites. The World War II–era Hornet (CV-12) was decommissioned in 1970, while the USS Hornet Museum was opened in 1998. As a result of this 28-year gap, there were very few World War II veterans still agile enough to participate in museum operations. The post–World War II Midway (CV-41) remained in active service until 1997 and opened as a museum in 2004. With only a seven-year gap, the vast majority of her former crew remain physically fit and mentally aware of their service specialties and able to assist the museum in many valuable ways.
Davis Barrier Operator Perk
Chief Warrant Officer 3 Robert Andresen, U.S. Navy (Retired)
The articles printed in this year’s Naval History have been of special interest to some old-timers who served in the Essex-class carriers from the Korean War through the Vietnam War. We all can relate to mishaps during flight operations, and they certainly were a factor in flight-deck crews receiving hazardous-duty pay.
“Catastrophe Averted” (August, pp. 32–37), by Nicholas J. Mirales, was especially interesting to me because as a teenage aviation boatswain’s mate in the USS Philippine Sea (CVS-47), I witnessed several accidents and close calls on deck. After being promoted from captain of the head and chief coffee maker, my first job on deck was the deck-edge operator for the two Davis barriers. Although we had a nylon barricade available, it was not rigged, since we only operated with S2F antisubmarine aircraft. There were 11 cross-deck pendants rigged across the deck, but if an aircraft missed the first five wires, number six wire engaged and would cause the plane to strike the first Davis barrier. Deck-edge operators were trained to drop the barrier if the hook was engaged with a wire so that the barrier would not be destroyed, nor would it damage the aircraft. The pilot of the plane would not have to fill out an accident report either, so he would always bring up a carton of cigarettes for the operator.
Still in Government Service
Chief Warrant Officer 5 John M. Harris, U.S. Army (Reserve)
I much enjoyed the detailed “Historic Aircraft” column on the Lockheed Neptune (“The God of the Sea’s Namesake,” October, pp. 16–17). As usual, Mr. Polmar’s article was extremely well-researched and well-written.
However, I believe there is a notable footnote regarding the P2V’s remarkable career. I am both a current Army Reserve aviator and a wildland firefighting pilot in California. On a daily basis at least 11 Neptunes, consisting of both P2V-5 and P2V-7 models, continue to fly for the U.S. Forest Service as contract airtankers in the western states. These venerable airframes reliably respond to wildland fires on short notice, and it is great to hear the roar of those huge radial engines overhead before and after a drop.
So the fact that they continue to serve the U.S. government after more than 60 years means we taxpayers got a great deal from Lockheed!
Lockwood’s U-boat Command
Captain James E. Wise Jr., U.S. Navy (Retired)
In reading the “Left Off the List” (“In Contact,” October, p. 8), I was reminded of Admiral Charles Lockwood’s World War I service. Following the end of the war, the Allies were allocated a number of prize German U-boats. Six were sailed to the United States to be exhibited in raising funds for the sale of Liberty Bonds. Lieutenant Commander Lockwood was given command of the UC-97 and assigned to the Great Lakes region. To reach the inland lakes, the boat had to negotiate the St. Lawrence canal system. Lockwood caused a stir at Kingston, the canal’s westernmost point, by refusing to fly the Union Jack at the fore. His explanation to his Canadian hosts was simply that “no U.S. man-of-war flies any foreign flag except when she is firing a salute to that nation or to one of its high officials—unless she has been surrendered.”
After visiting a number of cities and towns around the Great Lakes, the U-boat’s engines gave out and she was initially tied up at the Navy Pier in Chicago, then moved to the foot of Monroe Street on the city’s lakefront at Grant Park. Lockwood was ordered to a new command, the R-25 (submarine number 102). In accordance with the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles, the boat was sunk by gunfire from the USS Wilmette on 7 June 1921, some 20 miles off Evanston, Illinois, in Lake Michigan.
The Wilmette was the former excursion ship Eastland, which the Navy had acquired and converted into a gunboat after the overloaded ship capsized in the Chicago River, causing the death of 844 passengers.