‘The Best Watertender’
Commander Louis D. Chirillo, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Naval History’s February focus on African-Americans’ wartime experiences made me remember something that occurred soon after World War II ended.
“I’ll have no nigra in my fire room!” That’s what my red-headed, florid-faced, overweight chief watertender from the Deep South shouted as he burst into the log room. I must have looked somewhat steely-eyed as I digested his words and watched his countenance slowly change to one of shock. No doubt he was suddenly warning himself: “Yipes! This new engineering officer is a Yankee from Brooklyn!”
In mid-1946 the end of such Jim Crow attitudes was well under way both in and outside of the Navy. I responded menacingly, “Whose fire room?” The startled chief departed, it seemed, with the speed of light.
When the new arrivals from boot camp were mustered for the first time, I instantly spotted the fireman second class whose presence provoked the unreconstructed chief. The young striker was amid a dozen others and was the personification of the kind of sailor on recruiting posters—that is, bright-eyed, a bit taller than most, no flab, and very neat with uniform creases in the right places. I made no acknowledgement that would distinguish him from the others when I welcomed the newcomers and explained the pending challenge, i.e., to get our ship under way in a few days regardless of their inexperience.
After everyone else had departed the engineer’s log room, I told the fireman I believed he clearly understood his unique circumstance. I added: “On this ship, only your performance counts. Perform your job to the best of your ability, study, take the prescribed exams, and if you pass them, there is no reason you should not be promoted.” Within the next six months he did just that and was promoted twice. When he was detached upon our ship being decommissioned, he was sporting the insignia of a petty officer—that of a watertender third class.
I was really proud of his achievement, but its significance was matched by something else. As officers and crew prepared to scatter for their assignments elsewhere, the chief watertender from the Deep South came to me and volunteered, “That guy is the best watertender I ever had!” I knew who he meant.
Gold Box for Pinchpenny ‘VIP’
Captain Todd Creekman, U.S. Navy (Retired), Executive Director, Naval Historical Foundation
Dr. Bill Dudley’s excellent February article “The Pinchpenny Flotilla” (pp. 38–45) told the compelling story of Master Commandant Daniel Todd Patterson’s heroic efforts in support of Major General Andrew Jackson’s 8 January 1815 victory over the British at the Battle of New Orleans. Patterson received belated acclaim for his efforts in 1832 as he passed through New York City on the way to Europe to take command of the Navy’s Mediterranean Squadron. The native New Yorker was presented with a gold box and certificate declaring him a recipient of the “freedom of the city,” a precursor to today’s “key to the city” presentation to VIP visitors.
This honor dates from pre-Renaissance times in Europe, where special liberties such as tax freedom, trading rights, or voting privileges were accorded to a town’s distinguished visitors. New York had notably exercised this custom in 1784 with the presentation of freedoms in gold boxes to Revolutionary War dignitaries including George Washington, John Jay, and the Marquis de Lafayette. During the War of 1812, such boxes were given to naval heroes Stephen Decatur, William Bainbridge, Oliver Hazard Perry, and Thomas Macdonough. Nearly 20 years after that war, New York Mayor Walter Bowne honored Commodore Patterson in similar fashion on behalf of the city’s Common Council at a city hall ceremony.
While the freedom document accompanying the box is lost to history, the 4½-inch by 2¾-inch gold box, elegantly engraved with the seal of the City of New York, survived and was bequeathed to the Naval Historical Foundation in 1960 by Patterson’s great-grandson, Carlile Patterson Winslow. Displayed for many years in the foundation’s Truxtun-Decatur Museum in downtown Washington, D.C.’s Decatur House, the box was donated by the Foundation to the Winterthur Museum in Delaware in 2005 as a masterpiece of early American goldsmiths’ work.
Heroic Actions on the Maine
Captain Lawrence Brennan, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Robert E. Cray’s February article “Remembering the Maine in Key West” (pp. 56–61) highlights the role of Chaplain John P. Chidwick, the third Roman Catholic priest to serve as a U.S. Navy chaplain, in tending to the wounded and burying the dead after the explosion that destroyed the USS Maine. One of only 89 survivors of the tragedy, Chadwick was one of the last to leave the wreck. He had the task of collecting and burying the bodies, a gruesome job in light of the nature of the injuries and lengthy immersion of the remains in Cuban waters.
In 1908 Father Chidwick returned to the Archdiocese of New York, which supervised Catholic chaplains for nearly 70 years until the establishment of the Archdiocese for the Military. As a diocesan priest, he became rector of the major seminary, president of an all-women’s college, and rector of St. Agnes Parish, near Grand Central Terminal. After his death in January 1935, a bronze plaque in his memory was added to the Battleship Maine monument at Columbus Circle. The new St. Agnes Church on East 43rd Street contains a small plaque that also notes Chidwick’s heroism on 15 February 1898, and his chalice is on display at the St. Patrick’s Cathedral bookstore.
Chidwick’s premeditated heroism foreshadowed the courageous action of many Navy chaplains, including Reverend Joseph T. O’Callahan on board the USS Franklin (CV-13) and the chaplains on board the USS Nimitz (CVN-68) in May 1981 who helped to identify the remains of the many who had been killed in fires and explosions.
Editor’s note:
To learn more about heroic U.S. Navy chaplains, see “Ships of Honor,” pp. 42–45.
Merlin Dorfman
Thanks to Professor Cray for his excellent article, “Remembering the Maine in Key West.” He notes that the wreckage of the Maine was searched for cipher machines. I recently visited President Franklin Roosevelt’s yacht, the USS Potomac, which is now open to the public in Oakland, California. There was no coding or decoding equipment of any kind in the Potomac’s communications room, which I found strange because there must have been some secure way of communicating with the president while he was at sea.
I suspect that a SIGABA cipher machine may have been installed in the Potomac when they became operational in 1943 and that hand coding and decoding by means of codebooks was used before then. If any Naval History readers know what kind of cipher machines were installed in the Maine, how the Navy encrypted and decrypted messages before SIGABA, and what the practice on board the Potomac was, please send your responses to [email protected]. Another question: Was the Imperial Japanese Navy’s JN-25 system paper and pencil?
Logbooks Don't Lie
Captain James N. Higdon, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
Norman Polmar’s article in the October “Historic Aircraft” column (“A Most Versatile Aircraft, pp. 14–15) states that SNB (C-45) aircraft “served in the U.S. Navy into the late 1960s.” However, I flew with Fleet Composite Squadron (VC) 5 Det Cubi Point, R.P., from 1969 to 1971 and we had a RC-45J Twin Beach, bureau number (BuNo) 066459. I left the squadron on a permanent change of station to Naval Air Station Saufley Field in Pensacola, Florida, in the spring of 1971. My logbook reflects that I flew my last flight in Checkertail 20, BuNo 066459, prior to leaving Cubi Point on 15 March 1971. I have no doubt that VC-5 Det Cubi continued to fly this Twin Beach for several years thereafter, so these aircraft would have served “well into the early ’70s.” It was quite enjoyable to fly them, though sometimes it was quite an accomplishment to get them on the ground without “ground-looping” them.
Mr. Polmar responds:
Captain Higdon’s comment about an RC-45J flying with VC-5 in 1971 is welcome. The statement in my October column was based on the official Navy volume United States Naval Aviation 1910–1995, which states on page 508 that the JRB/C-45 was last reported in Navy inventory in June 1969.
His sentiment that the aircraft was “quite enjoyable to fly” was shared by many aviators with whom I have spoken. I accumulated quite a few hours in the right-hand seat as a passenger myself.
Fate of the Continental Congress’ Frigates
Captain William Riffer, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Robert Cressman’s February “Historic Fleets” column (“‘A Very Large & Capital Frigate,’” pp. 62–63) on the first USS Hancock is excellent but deserves a footnote. He notes that the Hancock was one of 13 frigates the Continental Congress authorized on 13 December 1775. These ships, five with 32 guns, five with 28, and three with 24, were to be completed in the next three months. The Navy was not successful in this; only eight were completed to the point of going to sea. The final disposition of the 13 were as follows:
Washington – Burned to avoid capture
Hancock – Captured
Effington – Burned to avoid capture
Randolph – Sunk in combat
Congress – Burned to avoid capture
Raleigh – Captured
Montgomery – Burned to avoid capture
Boston – Captured
Virginia – Captured
Providence – Captured
Delaware – Captured
Trumbull – Captured
Warren – Burned to avoid capture
The Trumbull, the last of these ships in use, was captured in August 1781, bringing the entire program to an inglorious end in five years. During this time, these 13 ships accounted for one enemy warship and 41 unarmed merchants. The Navy’s first major building program was clearly a major failure. Fortunately, much more successful programs lay in the future.