"Where there is no imagination the people perish.” Let us examine some of the reasons why a dearth of imagination is deadly. It appears that without imagination there is no progress; civilization stagnates and the people perish through war, famine, pestilence, or floods. Now in military and naval organizations, regardless of the degree of mechanical perfection, where there is no imagination there will be little esprit de corps and without esprit de corps such an organization will perish through defeat when matched against a worthy adversary possessing such an attribute. Esprit de corps is an abstract, intangible, overwhelmingly important component in any fighting organization. It is a component based partially on tradition, partially on the strength of ties among members and among units of the organization, partially on the quality of leadership exhibited by those in command, and summed up in the pride of the members for the organization.
Obviously, it is well-nigh impossible to build any but short-lived traditions and a fleeting sense of pride in a ship or squadron, the name of which is an unimaginative number—and, like freight rates, “subject to change without notice.” That is especially true when such change occurs almost annually.
We who are serving in squadrons, and all of those dauntless pioneer aeronauts who have gone before, have a claim that, though we be only cogs in squadron organizations, those squadrons be not allowed to continue as nameless enigmas in the naval service. Our plea is not unreasonable. The insurance mortality tables show how few of us can expect to die of old age. But those few should not be denied the privilege, so dear to old men and old sailors, of spinning yarns and swapping tall tales with one another, bold exploits of their youth associated with the squadrons in which they served so gloriously. Nor should this yarn spinning necessitate overtaxing ancient heads with a series of elusive numbers which have long ceased to have any meaning. Such a profusive use of numbers even to the children of this pluperfect mechanical era, which deals principally in numbers and alphabetical combinations, must surely kill the yarn ere the oldster gets it launched.
Some of our grand old yarn spinners may offer the criticism that they find no trouble recounting stories which are associated with their service in organizations which have ceased to exist: “Now when I was in the Armored Cruiser Squadron aboard the Birmingham ...” or “I’ll never forget the time the North Atlantic Squadron visited Rio, I was a midshipman in the old Virginia then. ...” May I refute their contention by asking them to consider orienting their experience with the aeronautical “numbers racket” applied to their former ships and squadrons: “Now when I was in Squadron Seven, before it was changed to Squadron Four, then Squadron Six, finally going out of commission as Squadron Thirteen—anyway old ‘Hell’s Hatches Henry’ had command of the outfit then and I was serving in CL33, but that was before the number was changed after modernization to CL47. And then later the Doe-Clique (you remember all the brothers-in-law?) got control of the Department and passed all the good jobs out to each other. Well, as I was trying to tell you, they changed the number of my old ship to CLX18, after she was fitted for mine laying, and she went out of commission as such. . . . What’s that? You say your uncle served in a CL47 and his name was Jones? Did they call him ‘Gun Shutter’ Jones? Yes, well I knew your uncle but he was long after my time at the Academy. ‘Gun Shutter’ Jones was in CL47 all right, but that wasn’t my old ship. That was originally CL53 . . . ” and so it goes, far into the night, much wrangling and no yarn!
Since efficiency and proper handling of paper work seem to demand that squadrons be numbered—the numbers to be changed through necessity or by whimsy (as the case may be)—why can’t all squadrons be named just as battleships and destroyers are named and numbered? Even though such ships’ numbers have not been “subject to change without notice.” The battleships have used most of the state names; the cruisers the city names; the aircraft carriers the names of early American warships; the “beef-boats” the names of stars; the aircraft tenders those of birds (though God knows any bird, other than a buzzard or a gull, would spin-in at the tenders’ top speeds); and the submarines, having finally reached maturity, have gained the names of fish as substitute for their former numbers. Since all of that has come to pass, then why not give the aircraft squadrons names? American names that are individual, names which have signified clannishness and a war-like spirit in days gone by: the names of American Indian tribes. Then instead of “VF1 which was VB2 and is now VB3” we would have names for them all which would remain unchanged:
The Iroquois Squadron
The Navajo Squadron
The Comanche Squadron
The Apache Squadron
The Cherokee Squadron
The Seminole Squadron
The Mohawk Squadron
The Dakota Squadron
The Creek Squadron
The Osage Squadron
These might be written USS APACHE —meaning United States Squadron Apache—or USS CHEROKEE (VB4) of (RANGER), the parenthesis to indicate the squadron number and the ship to which attached, if necessary. Then regardless of the change in type of aircraft, with a consequent change in mission, and the shifting of base, tender, or carrier, the squadron name would continue unchanged, furnishing good American names as bedrock on which to build traditions, records, and esprit de corps.
Squadron names, might, however, be designated at random and still result in a vast improvement over the present system. There are a few squadrons which have kept some of their identity through the retention of the original insignia. These insignia, of course, lent themselves to the coining of pseudonyms which were adopted by the squadrons as unofficial titles, i.e., “The Red-Rippers” and “The High Hats.” We find in Harper’s Monthly Magazine for November, 1937, under Frederick Lewis Allen’s “One Day of History,” the following pertinent record: “ . . . Colonel Lindbergh has just returned to Hicksville, Long Island, after doing some spectacular stunt flying with the High Hat Squadron of naval aviators at the Cleveland Air Races. ...” This was in 1929. That squadron has had two sets of numbers applied to it since and it is safe to say that of the aviators in the Fleet not 5 per cent could trace the squadron’s numbers down to the present without the aid of its insignia. In naval aviation it was inevitable that the old barnstorming, cross-country hops at will should go, but some of the esprit de corps of those days could have been retained. If the “High Hat Squadron” was being organized today, it wouldn’t have a Chinaman’s chance of being called “High Hat.” Such an insignia would be too facetious for the senior minds which have at last put aviation into the strait jacket of officialdom. When the squadron numbers were being changed these pseudonyms helped not one whit as far as stationery, correspondence, and accounting were concerned. They have aided, nevertheless, in identifying personnel who have served therein and in keeping track of records made and trophies won.
The plan of naming the squadrons after Indian tribes is one that the writer personally prefers, but the most important consideration is to get names for the squadrons according to some plan—any plan that will rescue them from their present secret-service like anonymity.
History recites the brilliant record of Rome’s Imperial Legions when Roman arms pushed the savages back from Roman frontiers all the way from Ethiopia to the Wall of Antonine. And although the military organization required for frontier and garrison duty in the Roman Empire was immense, necessitating the numbering of the Roman Legions, we find, nevertheless, that 1500 years after Roman arms were withdrawn from Britain there is record of the Twentieth (Valeria Victrix) Legion guarding the western border and stationed at Chester; that the Second (Augusta) Legion was in South Wales; and that the Sixth (Victrix) Legion had headquarters at York. One wonders what record of fighting forces, designated by changing numerals, would have endured for one tenth the time that the records of valor of the Valeria Victrix Legion and the Augusta Legion have lasted.
The regiments of the British Army are noted for their devotion to traditions, their esprit de corps, their military smartness, and the keeness of competition among them. And though all of these regiments have doubtless had various numbers in brigades, divisions, and in armies as they have been shifted around over the world to build and bolster the British Empire, they have had, nevertheless, names which have remained with them for generations, such as “The Black Watch,” “The South Wales Borderers,” “The Seaforth Highlanders,” and “The Welsh Fusiliers.” When Charles II, during the Restoration, organized the first regular army its first regiment became the “Coldstream Guards” (in 1661). That regiment has seen all sorts of service. We know not what numbers have been applied to it, nor what variety of arms it has used, but it has retained the name of “The Coldstream Guards” for nearly 300 years! And since, from the founding of our Navy to the present, we have profitably borrowed a great deal from the British Navy, we should not be averse to borrowing from the “King’s Army” the very excellent practice of naming organizations independently of their designating numbers and their changing weapons.
We beg therefore that the “Squadron Numbers Chooser,” whoever he may be, will call us something if it be only a meaningless name while he shifts the numbers annually. But do, we pray, give us a name, don’t leave the aircraft squadrons as the illegitimate and nameless children of a numbers racket.