In Praise of the Wilburs
Commander Peter B. Mersky, U.S Naval Reserve (Retired)
I was very glad to see the note about Morgan Wilbur in the April issue (“Naval History News: What’s Up at the NHHC,” p. 13). Having known retired Navy Captain Ted Wilbur and his son Morgan for a long time, I have always considered them to be among the top illustrators of American naval aviation. Ted has a long-established place as a senior artist, and Morgan has been working very hard to find his own position in the lineup. He is always enthusiastic about his work and always ready to help with various projects.
Indeed, as the assistant editor (later editor) of Approach magazine at the Naval Safety Center, I knew I could always call on Morgan for occasional help with one of his illustrations. I had been a volunteer writer for Naval Aviation News for many years myself, so I might have had a special “in.” But I do know that his periodic contribution to a special issue of Approach always helped elevate the magazine in visual appeal. I should point out that Ted Wilbur was a “plankowner” on the staff in the 1950s. The early issues of the magazine are full of his often-humorous artwork. I was very glad to see your brief write-up on Morgan and be reminded how he and his father have contributed over the years to the production and appeal of two very important Navy publications.
Competing Missiles
C. Ashby Shoop
I take exception to the statement in Norman Polmar and Thomas B. Allen’s February article, “Naval Weapon of Choice” (pp. 24–29), that “The Air Force preferred its own air-launch cruise missile [ALCM] rather than accepting a Navy-developed weapon.” It was hardly as parochial as that. Boeing had developed a cruise missile for the U.S. Air Force, the AGM-86A, that was capable of deployment from a B-52. It was sized to take the place of an AGM-69 short-range attack missile on a rotary launcher located in the bomber weapons bay. The existing launcher occupied about two-thirds of the weapons bay volume, leaving space for additional gravity weapons to be carried.
The development of that missile was abruptly canceled, and a fly-off competition was announced between the then–General Dynamics Tomahawk in an ALCM configuration designated the AGM-109 and a modified version of the Boeing missile, the AGM-86B. The major change was to lengthen both missiles to occupy the entire length of the B-52 weapons bay. The competition was staged by the Air Force Aeronautical Systems Division from Edwards Air Force Base under the auspices of the Joint Cruise Missile Office (JCMPO), headed by Rear Admiral Walter Locke.
Common elements of both missiles, including the engine and guide set, were mandated by JCMPO. In support of the competition, three B-52Gs were modified by Boeing Wichita (a different division than the source of the AGM-86). One airplane was uniquely configured for the AGM-109, one uniquely for the AGM-86, and one for evaluating both missile types as the performance and flight-qualities test airplane. Boeing Wichita was also the source of common-support equipment and ALCM pylons that allowed the carriage of six missiles under each wing. The pylons could be jettisoned after missiles were launched to give the B-52 more range. Both missile-launching test airplanes were equipped with a modified weapons bay that allowed a full-length rotary launcher unique for each missile type that could carry eight ALCMs. The program cost millions of dollars, took more than two years, and resulted in the AGM-86 being declared the winner. The decision was hardly the result of the Air Force refusing to consider a Navy-sourced weapon.
Mr. Polmar responds:
I thank Mr. Shoop for his additions to the Tomahawk story. Obviously, with space limitations, Tom Allen and I could not go into the full story of the Tomahawk’s development and competitive missile developments.
However, our statement that the basis for the Air Force rejection of the Tomahawk was the service not wanting to adopt a Navy-developed weapon is correct. Although missile trials were carried out, without guidance to adhere to “jointness” and no realistic cost constraints, the Air Force had no interest in the Tomahawk. Further, this was the time when the Air Force was forced to stop production of its preferred fighter/attack aircraft—the F-105 Thunderchief—and adopt the Navy’s F4H/F-4 Phantom.
These views are based in large part on my having had lengthy discussions with two top U.S. strategic planners of the era, Rear Admiral George Miller, U.S. Navy, and Lieutenant General Glenn Kent, U.S. Air Force. I was also a consultant for several years to Rear Admiral Walter Locke, U.S. Navy, the head of the Tomahawk program.
In Defense of Our Book
Thomas P. Ostrom
Lieutenant Commander Krystyn Pecora, U.S. Coast Guard, has a distinguished professional background and is of course entitled to her views and analysis. But John Galluzzo and I think her criticism of our recent book, United States Coast Guard Leaders and Missions, 1790 to the Present, emphasizes style more than substance and lacks a thorough discussion of the topics we pursued in the book. Commander Pecora emphasized her take on the sweep of topical history but neglected to mention what we said about a plethora of topics. Commander Pecora did not mention book topics that include predecessor agencies, missions, and leaders. We think the inclusion of female Coast Guard leaders is worth acknowledging. She just covers what we allegedly didn’t do, or should have done.
She criticized the editing of the book, admittedly the responsibility of the authors and publishing company editors, and our alleged lack of primary sources. Archival and primary and secondary sources are listed in the bibliography, including the National Archives in Washington, D.C. The reviewer said nothing about the appendix, extensive index, and illustrations. The book covered historic and contemporary U.S. Revenue Cutter and U.S. Coast Guard joint missions with the U.S. Navy, a story not generally told in Coast Guard history.
Depth Charges and Hedgehogs
Commander Joseph E. Lyons, U.S. Navy (Retired)
In regards to Norman Friedman’s February “Armaments & Innovations” column (“Crude but Effective in Large Doses,” pp. 10–11), yes, there were fast submarines postwar, and depth charges (DCs) did disappear, but not right away. The destroyer Fleet Rehabilitation and Modernization (FRAM) program was cranking up around 1960, and many dozens of destroyers (Fletchers, Sumners, and Gearings) were in the pipeline for it. Probably all of them still had DCs on board. Some the ships took years to convert.
As a midshipman in the summer of 1963 I rode the aircraft carrier Intrepid (CV-11) in an antisubmarine-warfare task group, and at least one non-FRAMed destroyer was in the formation. Some of us were boated over for a day and witnessed a live DC drop. It exploded as advertised but must have been set “deep,” for it was not nearly as exciting as filmed drops.
In the fall of 1966, radar picket DEs (DERs) were still active in Pearl Harbor, and most (all?) had a Mk 15 rotating Hedgehog launcher forward of the bridge. I had the duty as command duty officer one day, with a DER moored astern of my ship. The ship was undergoing a Board of Inspection and Survey (INSURV) inspection, which included of course the Mk 15. The launcher was loaded out with dummy projectiles painted blue, certified as inert like all such devices.
The warheads were in fact filled with concrete and were inert, but the impulse-firing charges were not. Part of the inspection was testing the firing circuits to the 24 projectile spigots on the Mk 15. As soon as the circuit was energized, all 24 hedgehogs ripple-fired down the axis of Bravo Pier in the direction of the Merry’s Point boat landing.
In a few moments, it started raining Hedgehogs in the naval exchange (then located adjacent to the pier) parking lot. I did not get to witness this but was told by others that it was quite exciting. Amazingly, no one was hurt.
Presumably, the INSURV folks declared “test satisfactory,” but it must have been an interesting day at Naval Ammunition Depot Oahu.
Memories of Saigon
Captain William Galvani, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Tom Cutler’s reference to the Vietnamization of the war (“From Blue to Green and Brown,” pp. 26–34, December 2015) reminded me of my own experience. I arrived in Saigon as a lieutenant (junior grade) in July 1971 and was assigned a room in Horn Hall, an Army bachelor officer quarters (BOQ) far from Naval Advisory Group (NAG) headquarters, where I worked. Traveling between the two resulted in me establishing predictable movement patterns and standing on the street for long periods while waiting for a bus; doing either of these made Americans a target.
After almost a month of this routine, I returned to the billeting office and asked the Navy chief petty officer for a billet closer to NAG HQ. He studied my paperwork and announced he could do it because I was billeted on the wrong side of the MOOSE line. “What’s the MOOSE line?” I asked. “Move Out Of Saigon Expeditiously,” he said. I never heard this acronym used again, but within a week I moved to the Navy’s Le Qui Don BOQ, where I lived, more or less safely, for the next 11 months.
Halsey Advice and Lore
David Buell
I enjoyed the coverage of Fleet Admiral William F. Halsey in the April issue. A comment in the companion article about Captain Miles Browning by Alan Rems (“Out of the Jaws of Victory,” pp. 28–35) comparing him with Admiral Robert B. Carney in their roles as Halsey’s chiefs of staff is thoughtful and interesting, but slightly off-base. Browning, if he had remained chief of staff into 1945, may well have counseled Halsey to different actions than those that he took at Leyte and during the two typhoons if Browning were more open to advice from staff than Carney. Carney himself may well have counseled Halsey into controversy by advocating the “all or nothing” run north after Japanese Vice Admiral Jisaburo¯ Ozawa, or by not considering the full scope of the Japanese “Plan Z” war plans as witnessed and noted by members of his staff.
Task Force 38 had overwhelming numbers compared to the Japanese, so even leaving TF 34 (or even a portion of it) at San Bernardino Strait made tactical sense, as did leaving only a destroyer division there. Either decision would have changed the battle for the better once they discovered Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita coming through the strait at night. Why the Independence night snooper aircraft contacts of Kurita’s fleet returning east were ignored by Carney and the staff has never been adequately explained. Carney as chief of staff also did not seem open to real-time suggestions by others during the Leyte battle, such as those given by Admiral Willis A. Lee and as well as his own staff.
In virtually all biographies of Admiral Halsey, Carney seems to get a pass for his participation in all of Halsey’s mistakes, though he was a full partner in the decision-making process. One is left to wonder if Halsey would have acted differently had he had different chief-of-staff counsel. This is not an indictment of Admiral Carney, who served Admiral Halsey and the nation well, only an observation that his participation and responsibility in Halsey’s failures bear closer historical examination.
Captain Raymond J. Brown, U.S. Coast Guard (Retired)
Admiral Halsey’s love affair with the home front was seconded and sent back stateside by the men he led. My father was in the Marine detachment in the USS Yorktown, both CV-5 and CV-10.
One time he was the sentry outside the flag cabin and, according to family lore, had the following conversation:
“Hey, Marine. Where you from?”
“New York City, sir.”
“Oh, yeah? I’m from Elizabeth, New Jersey.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“You’re a big guy. You played football?”
“Yes, sir.”
And then the two men of very different age and rank shared sports stories. And I am quite sure, from my own scuttlebutt and mess-deck intelligence experience, that the report was duly made to messmates when my dad got off watch. “Bull” Halsey was always a revered name in my family.