Left Off the List
Merlin Dorfman
Many thanks to Richard B. Frank for his excellent article, “Picking Winners?” in the June issue of Naval History (pp. 24–30). This kind of insight into history is very difficult to find, and I’m appreciative of U.S. Naval Institute publications for presenting it.
Two flag officers who were prominent to some degree in the early months of World War II are not mentioned in the article, presumably because they received less than the five votes needed to make the list of top flags: Wilson Brown and John Newton. Does Mr. Frank have any information about their standing in the ad-hoc board’s report, or for that matter their roles later in the war?
Mr. Frank responds:
John Lundstrom’s superb Black Shoe Carrier Admiral (Naval Institute Press, 2006) explained that Vice Admiral Wilson Brown’s record as a carrier task force commander in the first months of the war secured the firm approval of Admirals Chester Nimitz and Ernest King. Earlier accounts alleging their dissatisfaction with Brown as lacking aggressiveness were in error. Brown was relieved from carrier task force command on 28 March 1942 to take charge of the newly formed Amphibious Force, Pacific Fleet. His background in planning amphibious operations made him the logical choice for this command. Why he did not secure at least five votes from the selection board is not known. The one possible explanation is that one criterion for making the list was fitness for sea command, and the board may have been aware that Brown’s physical health and hence his stamina were subpar. Brown later returned to Washington and served well in a post he’d previously held: naval aide to President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
On 7 December 1941, Rear Admiral John Henry Newton was serving administratively as commander, Cruisers, Scouting Force, Pacific Fleet. Tactically, he was then in command of the Lexington (CV-2) task force headed to deliver Marine planes to Midway. He was relieved by Wilson Brown on board the Lexington shortly afterward and eventually ended up a vice admiral in command of the South Pacific Area after the fighting had moved on. Why the selection board declined to give him at least five votes although he later went on to three stars is unknown, but obviously only one in three of the then-serving admirals could have made the cut.
David Martin
In the article “Picking Winners?” it would seem that Richard Frank left out Charles Andrews Lockwood, who was a naval attaché in London at the time of Pearl Harbor. Why wasn’t he mentioned in the article? He was a member of the U.S. Naval Academy class of 1912, had submarine duty before the war, and ended the war as the “boss” of the U.S. submarine force in the Pacific.
Mr. Frank responds:
This is an excellent question—and one I considered in preparing the article.
Besides Admiral Nimitz and Rear Admiral Raymond Spruance, I deemed Rear Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid and Captain Lockwood the two other obvious omissions from the list in light of later war experience. Kinkaid achieved the rank of full admiral and participated in major actions. I do not, however, have a high opinion of him and do not therefore find his omission noteworthy. In view of the already substantial length of the article, I had no trouble omitting Kinkaid.
On the other hand, I believe Lockwood turned in an outstanding performance as a submarine commander in the Pacific. I agonized over his inclusion and had him in early drafts. By its nature, however, the submarine war was a protracted attrition struggle with no singular big battle. Ultimately, I concluded that Lockwood was a specialist in what was in early 1942 a very small part of the Navy. Therefore, for this combination of reasons I weighed his omission from the list as less remarkable than that of Nimitz and Spruance. I did not intend to imply, much less express, any discredit to Lockwood, but rather thought the selection board’s omission of him was more understandable and not worth extending the length of the article to discuss.
Bias and the Alabama
Stanley Kalemaris
In his letter, Bob Dowd asserts that “. . . bias is always evident when considering the history of the South” (“In Contact,” June, p. 9). His letter proves his point. If, as he says, the Alabama was unmolested by the U.S. Navy (until she was sunk), her freedom of operation was at least partly due to the fact that the United States recognized that the Schwerpunkt of the naval war were the rivers, bays, and sounds. While the crew of the Alabama was avoiding combat and enjoying the hospitality of ports whose officials turned a blind eye to the obligations of neutral nations, their comrades in arms were fighting and dying in battles that mattered. A ship that was built in England, provisioned and repaired in neutral ports, and did not fight in battles that mattered is a reflection of the economic and industrial weakness of the Confederacy and muddled thinking on the part of the leadership of the Confederate Navy.
Saving the Olympia
Major Richard G. DuVall, U.S. Marine Corps (Retired)
I read Lieutenant Commander Thomas Cutler’s article on museum ships with great interest (“Keeping Floating Museums Afloat,” August, pp. 52–57). I am one of those who are appalled at the idea of the Olympia being allowed to deteriorate into oblivion. I visited her during the early 1960s as a teenager and was impressed by this famous warship.
I followed the author’s ideas about how certain ships are better at drawing a crowd because of location and prevailing weather, etc. When in England, I visited HMS Warrior and Victory at Portsmouth and HMS Belfast in London, and they certainly have several of these factors going for them. I suggest that the selection of a future site could be influenced by these ships.
The Victory is no longer afloat for the very reasons stated in the article. It is too expensive and time-consuming to keep the damage from constant immersion at bay on such an historic vessel. Perhaps the best thing to do with the Olympia is to put her into an old, relatively small dry dock and, after repairs are completed, seal her in the dock as was done for the Victory. This should reduce the upkeep expense a considerable extent. Doing this in an area such as Baltimore, which already has several historic vessels, would also meet one of the article’s criteria.
There doesn’t seem to be much of an effort on a national basis to raise awareness about nor funds to save the Olympia. Why not get the History Channel involved with its “Save Our History” program? Why not devote a segment to the Olympia and publish information on where to send donations? In a country of 300 million, I would think that if a number of organizations were tapped—the Scout movement, store/restaurant chains, other national historical sites—the $20 million could be raised. If everyone just sent in a quarter they would have a substantial amount of money. It just seems that the biggest obstacle is the lack of the word getting out to the public. At this time, unless you are a reader of a few publications like your magazine, the average person does not know about the problems of this great old ship.
Robert P. Smith
Although not “afloat” the Japanese battleship Mikasa, Admiral Togo’s flagship at the Battle of Tsushima Strait, is a national museum. The ship was moored in a slip that was then filled in around the ship with earth, avoiding the problem of lower-hull corrosion from seawater. Wouldn’t that be a practical and economical solution for the Olympia in Philadelphia?
Nelson Motivated by Money?
Rear Admiral Joseph F. Callo, U.S. Navy Reserve (Retired)
Joseph Dimmick is of course entitled to question my view that when then-Captain Horatio Nelson was enforcing the Navigation Acts in the Leeward Islands, he was motivated primarily by his sense of duty. (“In Contact,” August, p. 64). On the other hand, Mr. Dimmick’s suggestion that “there might have been nothing altruistic about it” does seem odd.
He cites no specific evidence of his contention, and there is very little substantiation, if any, that prize money was an overarching motivation for Nelson. Further, Mr. Dimmick’s immediate morphing into a case against shore establishments through history does not seem to advance his initial point about Nelson’s motivation.
During the period in question, no captain or admiral in the Royal Navy could be without some interest in prize money. On the face of the evidence during Nelson’s career, however, it would seem that when he wrote to one of his captains from HMS Victory in 1804 that “I am not a money-getting man,” he was speaking the truth.
Recollecting the Mark 37
Captain Akihiko Yoshida, Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force (Retired)
Like Captain Galvani, who stood in the Mark 37 gun director on board the USS Burns (DD-588) on the early morning of 30 January 1944 (“Beep, Beep, BOOM!” August, pp. 26–31), I’ve stood in the director on board the Hatakaze, the former USS Macomb (DD-458), a Livermore-class destroyer transferred to Japan in 1954.
The article brought to mind good memories from 1960—when I was a lieutenant and the gunnery officer in the destroyer—of the excellent Mark 37 gun fire-control system, a really good analog one.
The ships the Burns sank during her “picnic” were the tanker Akibasan-Maru; a merchant ship converted into a gunboat, the Nichiei-Maru; and small fishing ships converted into subchasers, the Fuji-Maru and Kikyo-Maru. The Japanese convoy had been sent to Kwajalein and Roi-Namur with cargo and fuel for the naval air station and garrisons there. Sadly for the ships, they were without radar and the attack came without warning.
Collision off Cuba
Commander Peter M. Stroux, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Paul Stillwell’s excellent article “Fiasco in the Bay of Pigs” (“Looking Back,” June, p. 6) brought back a few personal memories of that tragic affair.
In early April 1961 I was XO of the USS Diamond Head (AE-19). We were conducting a two-week cruise off the Virginia Capes with some 50 Reservists on board for their annual training. About mid-morning one day we received a classified message directing us to cease exercises and proceed “South.” No destination or mission was specified. We headed south and shortly thereafter received another cryptic message essentially canceling the previous and directing us to return to port (Norfolk). About three hours later we received a third message canceling the second, directing us to rendezvous with a fleet tug, transfer the Reservists to same, and proceed to Guantanamo Bay for further orders. We were then directed to change operational control to commander, 2nd Fleet.
On arriving at GTMO, we refueled and were ordered to station south of Cuba and join a task group for operations in support of ongoing “exercises.” We had no idea what was going on. Around 0200 on 15 or 16 April we were in a replenishment formation and ready to rearm the USS Independence (CV-62). She had just refueled from the Waccamaw (AO-109). We had bombs ready on deck for the rearming process. The Independence pulled way from the oiler and made as if to head out in front of the formation and, when clear, was supposed to turn and come alongside our port side, as was required when replenishing carriers.
She cut it too close and steamed across our starboard bow, her port quarter colliding with our starboard side just slightly aft of number 1 hold and just forward of number 2, where nuclear weapons were stored. The Diamond Head rolled to port about 35 degrees, and a fire broke out at number 1 hold, where miscellaneous stores were kept. After a few agonizing moments, our ship rolled back upright. We’d sustained a hole about the size of a large truck, fortunately above the waterline. The Independence suffered a dent in her port-quarter gun blister. The fire was contained in short order, but there was concern about the heat getting to the cargo in number 2 hold, which, had it happened, would have been calamitous.
We returned to Guantanamo for emergency repairs. With them completed, we were ordered back to home port and subsequently to a commercial shipyard in Baltimore for real repairs. We didn’t find out what the operation was all about until we’d returned to port and learned of the tragic fiasco to depose Fidel Castro, who must have had a few laughs at our expense.
Clarification
The photograph of Lieutenant (junior grade) Alexander Vraciu (“Flight Line,” August, p. 13) was taken when he left Fighter Squadron (VF) 6. He was in VF-16 at the June 1944 Battle of the Philippine Sea.