In Contact

The Olympia Then and Now

Thomas S. Wyman

In “‘Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight’” (February, pp. 32–37), Lieutenant Commander Thomas Cutler graphically recounts the decisive role of the Olympia and her crew in the 1898 Battle of Manila Bay. In doing so, he makes a compelling case for saving this “Matriarch of the Fleet.” She is a historical vessel that recalls the time when coal was supplanting sail. Fire control was a manual operation. This reminder of times past offers a compelling overview of how far naval design has evolved over the last century. It should not be lost to future generations.

The author mentions only in passing the cruiser’s last assignment in returning the body of the Unknown Soldier to his homeland some 90 years ago following World War I. This was a ceremonial voyage under the command of Captain Henry Lake Wyman that captured the nation’s attention. The homeward voyage of the Olympia, with the Unknown’s casket lashed to an upper deck, had its tense moments when the vessel encountered gale-force winds and heavy seas in the mid-Atlantic and began to roll alarmingly. The ship’s last assignment was completed as the Navy formally transferred the casket to the Army on 9 November 1921 at the Washington Navy Yard. Two days later, after an emotionally charged ceremony, the Unknown Soldier was laid to rest at Arlington Cemetery. (See “Known But to God,” December 1996, pp. 45–48, by this writer.)

This final assignment of the Olympia and its importance in the consciousness of the nation is an additional compelling reason to assure that this historic vessel is preserved. The ship is an integral part of American history.

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Commander Tyrone G. Martin, U. S. Navy (Retired)

I attended the recent Maritime Heritage Conference as an observer and heard speaker after speaker bemoan the problems of getting funds with which to maintain their ships. None of them offered any solutions to the problem. In private conversations around the conference area, however, could be heard such questions posed as “Are there too many preserved ships?” and “Would it be useful to establish a set of nationally recognized standards against which ship-preservation projects could be measured with the aim of discouraging impractical schemes?”

I attended the session concerned with the Olympia, perhaps the session that garnered the greatest interest, but the end result again was only a series of hopeful aspirations.

Lieutenant Commander Cutler’s enthusiastic article about the Olympia and the Battle of Manila Bay echoed the enthusiasms of a century ago, when journalists superhyped everything about the Spanish-American War. But I wonder if, today, many consider it less passionately and in so doing make the Olympia’s importance a harder “sell.” The war, after all, was a lopsided affair in which a bullying United States beat up on a decrepit Spain and gained itself a cheap empire in the process. And how many think it “iconic” and “glorious” that an overpowering American naval force shot up an essentially anchored foe, pausing at one point and feeding the crews, and suffering only six WIA in the battle? A tough sell, indeed, when compared with other U.S. naval actions before and since.

Recollecting a Civil War Hero

Major Norman T. Hatch, U.S. Marine Corps (Retired)

I was greatly surprised and pleased to read in the December issue about John Bickford of Gloucester, Maine, serving as a young man on board the Kearsarge in the Civil War (“‘I Didn’t Feel Excited a Mite,’” pp. 36–41). I first met him when I was about five years old and he was the owner of Bickford’s Float on Rocky Neck in East Gloucester. He was known by the nickname “Bunch” and was extremely kind to the youngsters who hung around the float doing minor jobs or getting sailing instruction. Bunch owned, among other craft, several ten-foot cat boats that he used for the latter purpose. I was large for my age and hung out with the older boys whenever possible, but Bunch saw through my efforts and didn’t put me in one of the cat boats.

To the best of my knowledge, Bunch never told the youngsters of his exploits on board the Kearsarge. Therefore, one day in the Pentagon when I was preparing to invite the audiovisual media in to view a new exhibit extolling all of the Medal of Honor winners, I was greatly surprised to come across Bunch’s name among the names of the medal’s recipients. To read the excellent article by Norman C. Delaney outlining Bunch’s heroics at sea in those perilous times put the frosting on the cake.

I have enclosed a color print of a painting by Emile Gruppe of Bickford’s Float. Gruppe was considered the finest seascape artist of his time and documented much of Gloucester’s fishing fleet.

El Dorado Canyon Reflections and Insights

Vice Admiral Robert F. Dunn, U.S. Navy (Retired)

Congratulations to Naval History and to Lieutenant Commander Stanik for his article “America’s First Strike Against Terrorism” (February, pp. 24–31), reminding us all of a very important event from 25 years ago: the retaliatory strike against Moammar Gadhafi. El Dorado Canyon was a signal event, the first blow in what would become the War on Terror, and the beginning of a shift from the Cold War focus on the Soviets to other missions for the Sixth Fleet. By and large the author gives a clear description of the events and what led up to them, but he gives the U.S. Air Force far too much credit. It invited itself in, and it wasn’t needed, except in the context of interservice politics.

The aircraft carriers deployed to the Mediterranean had more than enough assets and firepower to carry out the mission. Yet capable A-7s and F/A-18s were relegated to support missions so the F-111s from Royal Air Force Station Lakenheath could play. At this late date it’s difficult to pinpoint the source of the demand for the Air Force to play, but all signs point to its influence on the Commander-in-Chief Europe staff. No matter where the idea originated, Air Force participation was approved, and to their credit, crews at Lakenheath geared up. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough of them on hand, so the operation had to be delayed several days while needed aircraft and crews flew from Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana.

Once started, the 1,600-mile flight from the U.K. to the scene of action had to be supported by numerous refuelings, AWACs, and command-ship logistics. Worse, some of the crews had never before flown together as a team. Some scholars believe that may have been the root cause of the fly-into-the water loss of one of the F-111s off the coast of Tripoli. Meanwhile, except for A-6 Intruders, capable and well-trained carrier-based Navy and Marine crews and their A-7s and F/A-18s either sat on the deck or bored holes in the sky waiting for the Air Force to coast out and start on that return 1,600-mile trek.

Time and again the value of joint operations has been shown, but it’s almost always when more numbers are needed or one service has a needed capability the other does not have. Joint operations for purely political reasons is costly and never makes sense. Operation El Dorado Canyon was an example of such nonsense. One would hope the record would be corrected.

Editor’s note: Vice Admiral Dunn was commander Naval Air Forces, U.S. Atlantic Fleet at the time of El Dorado Canyon.

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Gary Hudson

While reading “America’s First Strike Against Terrorism,” the phrase the “United States’ first war against international terrorism” brought to mind the actions taken from September 1983 through February 1984, when several U.S. Navy combatants fired into Druse and Syrian positions in the hills east of Beirut. Targets were command bunkers and artillery, rocket, mortar, and antiaircraft batteries, which had fired into and around Beirut, at U. S. Marines ashore and at two U.S. Navy F-14s. Retaliation by A-6 and A-7 aircraft resulted in the loss of an A-6 and an A-7. Ships responding to various attacks included the battleship New Jersey (BB-62), carriers Independence (CV-62) and John F. Kennedy (CV-67), and destroyers Caron (DD-970) and Tattnall (DDG-19).

An interesting aspect of these bombardments was that some of the 16-inch firing was rather inaccurate. Investigation determined the cause was faulty ammunition; no 16-inch ammunition had been manufactured for 30 years. Some analysts considered that the resultant collateral damage may have contributed to the downgrading of U.S. influence in the Middle East.

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Frederick C. Leiner

I read with interest “America’s First Strike Against Terrorism,” a well-written account of the retaliatory strike against Libya. Commander Stanik makes only a brief reference to the fact that “few allies would support the mission,” but the map of the “F-111Fs’ Long Round-Trip” shows the effect of their unwillingness to support the United States; when France, Italy, and Spain forbade American warplanes to overfly their territories, the F-111s had to fly a circuitous route of double the distance, complicating the mission. In light of the more recent contributions of many nations in the ongoing struggle against terrorism, this lack of cooperation by our NATO allies—except for the British, who allowed F-111s to fly from an RAF base—is noteworthy. At “crunch time,” the United States had little international support.

But our allies did not merely stay on the sidelines. Two years ago, Libyan Foreign Minister Abdel Rahman Shalgam disclosed that in April 1986, Bettino Craxi, then the Italian prime minister, warned Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi that the United States would bomb his country two days later (“Italy Warned Libya of Bombing, Saved Qaddafi’s Life,” Bloomberg News, 30 October 2008). According to the Bloomberg account, Giulio Andreotti, who was Italy’s foreign minister in April 1986, and Margherita Boniver, then the foreign affairs chief of Craxi’s Socialist Party, both confirmed that the disclosure occurred. The U.S. strike targeted Libyan military sites, and at least 36 Libyans died in the raids, including Gadhafi’s adopted daughter, although Gadhafi survived an attack on his compound at Bab al Aziziya.

Andreotti called the U.S. strike on Libya in 1986 “an uncalled-for initiative, an error in international affairs,” and Boniver boasted that Craxi had not only denied U.S. aircraft permission to use Italian airspace, but also “used all the channels available to him to warn the colonel [Gadhafi].”

Guns and Ships at the ‘Canal’

George S. Mihalik

I enjoyed James Hornfischer’s article “The Washington Wins the Draw” (February, pp. 38–47) very much and look forward to reading his book, Neptune’s Inferno: The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal. On page 42 there is a reference to the first naval officer to take fire from 16-inch guns. This did not occur in this battle, but in the May 1941 Bismark action during which the German battleship’s captain, Admiral Günther Lütjens, took 16-inch gunfire from HMS Rodney. Also, the USS Massachusetts (BB-59) fired her 16-inch guns against the Vichy French squadron of Admiral François Michelier on 8 November 1941 at Casablanca.

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Robert Stern

Regarding James Hornfischer’s article, I believe a few clarifying comments would be useful. 

While it adds to the drama to state that neither the Washington (BB-56) nor South Dakota (BB-57) “was put through the usual round of sea trials prior to deployment,” this is not in fact the case. The South Dakota, the newer of the two, had put in two months of shakedown between the beginning of June 1942 and the end of July, and had a three-week-long post-shakedown yard period before departing for the South Pacific. The Washington, which had been in commission since May 1941, had spent the period between March and July 1942 operating with the Royal Navy from Scapa Flow and Hvalfjordur.

Describing a night action is always difficult, and describing one in which several of the participants were sunk even more so, but a little clarification of the order in which events happened among the four van destroyers would help. In particular, it would be difficult to explain how the explosion of the Preston’s fire rooms, which occurred a few minutes before she rolled over at 2337, could have rained oil and debris on the Benham after she was torpedoed in the bow at 2338. It is possible that the clocks on the Benham and Preston were not set identically or that after-the-fact reporting might misstate the timing of events by a few minutes. 

Still, the only way the debris and oil from “Preston ahead” could fall on the Benham, which had been ahead of the Preston in line, is to note, as Hornfischer did not, that the Benham turned back briefly toward the sinking Preston. Some sources say this was done to aid the Preston, others that it was done to escape concentrated gunfire. But regardless, the Benham’s CO found his ship rapidly losing speed and increasingly difficult to control and decided to turn back again, away from the Preston and from the Japanese.

‘The Kid’s’ War Service

Lieutenant Commander Robert L. Bratman, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)

In Paul Stillwell’s “Looking Back” (“A Night at the Ballpark,” February, p. 6), he states that Jerry Coleman was a Marine Corps pilot and “the only major-league player who fought in combat in both World War II and the Korean War.” Wrong! Try Ted Williams, who also flew in combat in both World War II and Korea as a Marine Corps pilot. There are probably others, but Williams, for obvious reasons, stands out.

Mr. Stillwell responds:

Ted Williams joined the Boston Red Sox in 1939 and began a spectacular baseball career. In 1941 he compiled a batting average of .406; no player has had an average that high in the succeeding 70 years. At the time he was classified 3-A in draft status because he provided sole support for his mother. When World War II came in late 1941, he was reclassified as 1-A, fit to be drafted. Williams protested and regained his previous status. But public opinion was against him, so the stubborn Williams enlisted in the Navy in May 1942 and entered the V-5 flight-training program.

He earned his wings as a naval aviator and a commission in the Marine Corps Reserve in May 1944. The exceptional eyesight that served him so well as a hitter in baseball also made him very capable as an aerial gunner. After he was commissioned he served as a flight instructor at the Pensacola Naval Air Station. In the summer of 1945 he received operational training in the F4U Corsair fighter.

Had the war lasted longer than it did, Williams probably would have gotten into combat because he received orders for duty overseas. Instead, the Japanese ceased hostilities in August 1945 and formally surrendered the following month. Williams left active duty in early 1946, rejoined the Red Sox, and played in that year’s World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals. During the Korean War a few years later, Williams was recalled to active duty and served as an F9F Panther pilot in combat. In February 1953 he barely escaped being killed in a crash landing after his aircraft was damaged as a result of being hit over North Korea. He left active duty in July 1953 and rejoined the Red Sox, for whom he played until 1960.

McCampbell’s Famous Nephew

Captain James E. Wise Jr., U.S. Navy (Retired)

Concerning “Hellcat Ace in a Day—Twice!” (February, pp. 18–23), Captain McCampbell is a major player in the “Wayne Morris” chapter of Stars in Blue: Movie Actors in America’s Sea Service, which I coauthored with Anne Rehill (Naval Institute Press, 1997). The following is based on an excerpt from the chapter.

During World War II, one Hollywood star not only got into the action but became an air ace: Bert DeWayne Morris Jr., popularly known as Wayne Morris. He flew Hellcats off the USS Essex (CV-9) as a member of “Fighting Fifteen.” Following flight training and receiving his wings, Morris was initially assigned as a flight instructor at NAS Hutchinson, Kansas. Determined to see action, he requested assignment to a fighter squadron. His request got him transferred to Jacksonville, Florida, not for fighter duty but for PBY training. He hand delivered a second request to the Bureau of Naval Personnel, again requesting assignment to a fighter squadron, and with a little help from his wife’s uncle—David McCampbell—he was transferred to VF-15.

Morris was credited with downing seven Japanese aircraft and survived the war. Three of the Hellcats he flew had to be pushed over the side because they were too shot up to be of further use. On release from the Navy in 1945, he resumed his film career, appearing in several movies and on television in the late 1940s and early ’50s.

In 1959 the USS Bon Homme Richard (CVA-11) pulled into Oakland, California, where the ship’s skipper, then-Captain David McCampbell, invited Bert and other ex-squadron mates to come aboard for a short cruise and breakfast. After eating a hearty meal, Morris climbed five ladders to the bridge, where he collapsed and died. His remains now rest at Arlington National Cemetery.