Discussions, Comments and Notes

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A New Approach to Collision Prevention

(See page 55, January, 1947, Proceedings, and page 453, April, 1947, Proceedings)

Commander J. S. Horner, U. S. Naval Reserve.—The article A New Approach to Collision Prevention by Commander D. N. Lott in the January issue of the Proceedings was very interesting. The ideas expressed and the charts and diagrams show a lot of thought on the problems involved, and study of them should give any destroyer-handler a better insight into his job. However, it ap­pears that Commander Lott’s article is an over-simplification, particularly from the standpoint of destroyer operations in war­time.

First, a good share of collisions occur at night or under conditions of reduced visi­bility, when the conning officer is never quite sure of the other ship’s target angle or speed. In addition, both of these would undoubtedly change—which way is usually anyone’s guess.

Second, the times are extremely rare when two ships meet all by themselves and have a nice, quiet collision. Maneuvering is usually complicated by the presence of other ships of widely varying tactical characteristics, enemy ships and aircraft, navigational haz­ards such as islands and reefs, and minor an­noyances such as PT boats, landing craft, helmsmen who put the wheel the wrong way, ship-handlers fresh from the beach who can usually be counted upon to do the unex­pected, etc. Considering the number of vari­ables involved, and the dependence on personal judgment or guess for a lot of the information, it is no wonder that the conning officer can rarely say, “Ah, this is Case III B. I’ll turn left!”

In view of this, the principal needs of a successful destroyer-handler appear to be a good radar, a good set of binoculars, and plenty of experience—particularly the last two. A good radar set-up, including a remote PPI where the conning officer can conveni­ently get at it, is invaluable in keeping a de­stroyer out of situations where maneuvering to avoid collision becomes necessary. Once the case has gotten down to close-range ma­neuvering, however, radar is of little value, and a good pair of night glasses (better than 7X50 if possible) is about the most valuable item of equipment a captain can have.

During the latter stages of the War, graduates of various schools set up on the beach invaded the fleet in droves. These schools were undoubtedly valuable in certain lines, but in destroyer-handling there is no substitute for experience. A good automobile driver drives with very little conscious thought of his actions, and reacts instinc­tively in emergencies. A good destroyer handler must do the same—he cannot stop to think when maneuvering at high speed. He must keep a picture of the tactical situation and the vectors involved in ship movements continuously and subconsciously in his mind, and be able to act as fast and as easily as the automobile driver. Too little attention has been given to this fact, both in training and in actual operations. Because an officer has the requisite rank, or has served in de­stroyers in peacetime, or has been to the proper schools, does not necessarily qualify him as a wartime destroyer-handler. A reasonable break-in period under actual

operating conditions is a necessity, and is the best insurance against collision.

Commander Lott’s article is valuable background material, but the right answer in an emergency will still prove very elusive. P.S. How often do 2100-ton DD’s make 34 knots?

Distance Without Stadimeter

(See page 187, February, 1947, Proceedings)

Captain K. C. McIntosh (SC) U. S. Navy, Retired.—Aside from providing a useful and fascinating new gadget to play with, Captain Barleon’s article on the “Eye- Finger Range Finder” in the February Pro­ceedings solves a generation-old mystery. During the troubles in Mindanao, an officer of the old Second Field Artillery, Captain Gatley, made a name for himself by getting his guns into a position almost impossible to attain, but highly disastrous to the Moro Juramenlados around Lake Lanao. In later years, he mystified his colleagues when the battery was in position by wrapping the string of his Bull Durham sack around the thumb, second, and third fingers of his right hand, squinting along his outstretched arm and announcing “Range 1800 yards!” I have seen him do it.

His colleagues experimented at length with Bull Durham sacks, but never attained his range-finding efficiency. It is now evident that the “Bull” was just that. We should have watched his forefinger and his eye-lids!

Brothers in Arms

Editor’s Note.—Last year, shortly after the Army- Navy football game, officers, instructors, and midship­men at the Naval Academy were interested to read part of a letter from a West Point graduate which was posted on all the Naval Academy bulletin boards.

Believing that the sentiments expressed will be of equal interest to the Services as a whole, the Proceed­ings takes pleasure in reprinting below the entire let­ter—a letter which does as much honor to its author as to the recipients.

The Superintendent,

United States Naval Academy,

Annapolis, Maryland,

Dear sir:

Shortly after the surrender of Japan, sev­eral units of the United States Pacific Fleet put in at Colombo, Ceylon, on their way home. Many of the officers of these fleet units graduated from the Naval Academy the same year I graduated from West Point. These naval officers were full of buoyancy and excitement, still holding the keen edge of battle-fitness to which they had been honed during the war. I asked the group how it had been, out there in the naval battles of the Pacific. One of them flicked a glance at the great grey ships floating impressively in the harbor. When he looked at those vessels the pride shone in his face like a light. He said: “We just beat hell out of them, that’s all.”

Later, when I witnessed the disintegration of our Army and Navy and Air Force, I was depressed to think that the powerful spirit­ual tide which had lifted our armed Forces to victory was ebbing, perhaps never to be seen again. War has few consolations, but cer­tainly the greatest of these few is the oppor­tunity to witness the growth of a team spirit, morale, esprit de corps—call it what you will —which overcomes the ego of the individual and lifts him to supreme heights of courage and determination as a member of a team. While thanking God for the end of a devas­tating war, I reserved a regret that I would see no more of that great team spirit for victory.

But last Saturday, watching the Army- Navy game, I saw that spirit again in the Brigade of Midshipmen. A twelfth man was on the field playing with your Navy football team—a twelfth man placed there by the utter determination of the Middies for vic­tory. It is not to disparage our own great West Point team that I say this. They won the game, in my opinion, against odds of 12 to 11. I know beyond any doubt that should the conditions be reversed, you of Navy will in turn feel the terrible strength of that twelfth man. Yes, sir, you had a twelfth man on the field last Saturday. I was over-joyed to know that he is still around. I heard great things of him at Midway and Tarawa and the Philippine Sea.

Sincerely

Andrew J. Kinney

Colonel, Air Corps,

West Point, 1939

100 Years Ago

Mr. L. K. Stewart.—With the thought that members of the U. S. Naval Institute might be interested in the strides taken by the Navy in the past century, I am sending herewith a clipping from a United States newspaper dated almost exactly one hundred years ago.

July 18, 1837

Commodore Hull, with his family, has left Paris for Havre (says Galignani’s Paris Messenger of June 5th) to embark for the United States. It may be interesting to the iriends of the Commodore to learn that he re­ceived a note from one of the peers, written at the re­quest of His Majesty, offering to the Commodore the most flattering attentions, with an expression of re­gret from the King at not having known he was in Paris, until the day before his departure for Fontaine­bleau. This unsought attention and kindness from His Majesty will gratify those who know with what excess of modesty the Commodore avoids those honors which he has so nobly won, and to which his exalted private character give additional weight.

The launch of the U. S. Ship Pennsylvania is fixed for 3 o’clock this afternoon, and all Philadelphia is in commotion on the subject. A writer in the Philadel­phia National Gazette proposes that the Banks be closed at 2 instead of 3 o’clock—assured that no busi­ness will be done after the former hour, and to the end that the clerks of the Banks may witness the spec­tacle.

From the Philadelphia U. S. Gazette of Monday.

The Pennsylvania.—At the present moment every­body—that is, everybody in the neighborhood of Philadelphia, and the word “neighborhood” may be taken in a pretty extensive sense—is thinking and talking about the Great Ship. We therefore have pleasure in ministering to the talking appetite, by laying before our readers the following statistics of the pride of our State, furnished to us by a friend who has the means of knowing as well as writing. It will be long before we have the birth of such another Levia­than to chronicle.

The keel of the Pennsylvania was laid in Novem­ber, 1822.

Total height,                               283 feet.

Draught of Water 25 feet.

Mounts 136 guns.