We Remember
1941-1945
DECEMBER 7,1941 Vol. II, pp. 35-37
MY SIDE OF THE STORY
Paul Walker
My story begins about one week earlier, when my ship, the cruiser USS Portland arrived back in Pearl Harbor. We had been on a seven week cruise to Manila. We had escorted an army ammunition ship by way of New Guinea, Borneo and the Java Sea. Arriving in Manila spent four days from November 14 to 18. Word from China was that the U. S Marines were fighting Japs. Steaming by ourselves across the Pacific, we arrived in Pearl Harbor December 1st. We found the harbor full of ships of all types. We were supposed to go alongside a tender for a 10 day stay.
But some things soon changed. I had a friend from home (Poplar Bluff, MO) on the battleship USS Nevada. I contacted him and we went on liberty together. This was Wednesday, December 3rd. His ship was to go out the next day for gunnery school. That night, rumor had it (and it was depicted that way in the movie "Tora,Tora Tora") was the night of the big conference of top commands to upgrade the defense of Pearl Harbor. So, when we parted we had no idea we would not see or hear of each other for years.
When I got back to my ship we had an oil barge alongside and were bringing on stores to go back to sea, which we did the next morning. Steaming out the next morning along by the battleships and outside joined a large group of ships — all types. There were carriers loaded down with airplanes, cruisers, destroyers, tankers, everything. We were never told our heading, but as the days passed steaming west, having drill and more drills we were sure this was another big drill or battle practice such as we had been in many times before.
Saturday, December 6th I took the written examination for Ship’s Cook 3rd class. With the results good, I was sure I would be rated 3rd class soon. Next day, December 7th, we were told we would cross the "date line" 180th meridian still heading west. Then about 1100 we heard "General Quarters" and we thought it was just another drill.
After lunch and after a Department Head meeting we were told to "strip ship." We took down light globes from the mess decks. Then other items not needed. Also painted our beautiful white decks blue. Then we began to believe what we were hearing. We again went to General Quarters and was told "This is no drill." Later, at condition two, we began to hear radio news of the Pearl Harbor attack, still hardly wanting to believe – we were at war.
If we had met the Japanese ships, perhaps we would not have had the Pearl Harbor attack. Which ships would have survived will never be known.
The next day the Task Force of ships was broken up. We were left with two other cruisers. About noon we launched one of our seaplanes, supposedly to go to Midway or somewhere to get more news. Somehow he had trouble, ran out of gas or something and had to land on the water. We went after him by ourselves and picked him up. As we started back to join the other ships a bomb was dropped at us. It seemed a PBY had spotted us and asked for identification. Since we had no new news or signs and the Captain was slow in giving the right answer, we were thought to be an enemy ship. Luckily he missed us but made some war scared believers out of us. We almost became one of the lost ships.
A week later on Sunday, December 14, we came back into Pearl Harbor. What a mess. My friend's ship, USS Nevada, backed up on the beach - bow in the water. USS Utah on its side. And we came around battleship row - hard to believe - we were ready to give up. But we tied up at our usual mooring and proceeded to stock and ready the ship for war. All night long we worked. Stood watch, slept when possible and by dawn were ready to get out of the harbor.
A month went by - convoy to meet ships coming to Pearl - jittery all the time. Then, after a Mare Island yard period, we returned to the Pacific. As the Tokyo raid by Doolittle was going on we were shelling islands in the South Pacific making the Japs think we had a lot of Navy down there.
"If I could write a book, it would be dedicated to the men and ships who did not die at Pearl Harbor, but went on to carry the war to the Japs and eventually beat them." A quote from Paul Harvey and "The Rest of the Story." Undermanned and outnumbered in ships and planes we sailed on to meet the enemy. The USS Portland was in a task force with the USS Yorktown. So when the USS Lexington was meeting the Japs in the Coral Sea we soon joined them. After two days of attack back and forth the "Lex" was hit and was sinking. As the famous picture of the "Lex" sinking and men jumping and being blown over the side, the Portland was there bringing on board some 750 men - some badly wounded.
What a blow. We had 800 men in our crew and an additional 750 to berth and feed – and me a cook. Then three days later a ship met us and took on the "Lex" survivors. We steamed back to Pearl with the damaged USS Yorktown. 72 hours later we were headed out again with the patched up Yorktown, headed for Midway. There we met the Japs in the battle that turned the tide. But lost our pride, USS Yorktown. We turned them back and enjoyed their defeat.
The Portland went on to other battles such as Guadalcanal. Then I left the ship in September, 1942 for new construction which later turned out to be the USS Essex, CV9, the first war-built carrier, and another story.
The Portland made history in the battle at Santa Cruz (ed.note Third Savo.) Hit in the stern by a torpedo and dead in the water she still was able to fire her guns - sinking and damaging Jap ships as related in a citation.
I went on through World War II, made Chief Commissary Steward in 1944, a rate I changed to in 1948 I stayed in the navy and retired in 1960 as Chief Store Keeper. After a circle around the "Horn" I had the honor of being Neptune Rex crossing the equator ceremony. This was on the USS Shangri La, CV 38.
MY SIDE OF THE STORY
Paul Walker
My story begins about one week earlier, when my ship, the cruiser USS Portland arrived back in Pearl Harbor. We had been on a seven week cruise to Manila. We had escorted an army ammunition ship by way of New Guinea, Borneo and the Java Sea. Arriving in Manila spent four days from November 14 to 18. Word from China was that the U. S Marines were fighting Japs. Steaming by ourselves across the Pacific, we arrived in Pearl Harbor December 1st. We found the harbor full of ships of all types. We were supposed to go alongside a tender for a 10 day stay.
But some things soon changed. I had a friend from home (Poplar Bluff, MO) on the battleship USS Nevada. I contacted him and we went on liberty together. This was Wednesday, December 3rd. His ship was to go out the next day for gunnery school. That night, rumor had it (and it was depicted that way in the movie "Tora,Tora Tora") was the night of the big conference of top commands to upgrade the defense of Pearl Harbor. So, when we parted we had no idea we would not see or hear of each other for years.
When I got back to my ship we had an oil barge alongside and were bringing on stores to go back to sea, which we did the next morning. Steaming out the next morning along by the battleships and outside joined a large group of ships — all types. There were carriers loaded down with airplanes, cruisers, destroyers, tankers, everything. We were never told our heading, but as the days passed steaming west, having drill and more drills we were sure this was another big drill or battle practice such as we had been in many times before.
Saturday, December 6th I took the written examination for Ship’s Cook 3rd class. With the results good, I was sure I would be rated 3rd class soon. Next day, December 7th, we were told we would cross the "date line" 180th meridian still heading west. Then about 1100 we heard "General Quarters" and we thought it was just another drill.
After lunch and after a Department Head meeting we were told to "strip ship." We took down light globes from the mess decks. Then other items not needed. Also painted our beautiful white decks blue. Then we began to believe what we were hearing. We again went to General Quarters and was told "This is no drill." Later, at condition two, we began to hear radio news of the Pearl Harbor attack, still hardly wanting to believe – we were at war.
If we had met the Japanese ships, perhaps we would not have had the Pearl Harbor attack. Which ships would have survived will never be known.
The next day the Task Force of ships was broken up. We were left with two other cruisers. About noon we launched one of our seaplanes, supposedly to go to Midway or somewhere to get more news. Somehow he had trouble, ran out of gas or something and had to land on the water. We went after him by ourselves and picked him up. As we started back to join the other ships a bomb was dropped at us. It seemed a PBY had spotted us and asked for identification. Since we had no new news or signs and the Captain was slow in giving the right answer, we were thought to be an enemy ship. Luckily he missed us but made some war scared believers out of us. We almost became one of the lost ships.
A week later on Sunday, December 14, we came back into Pearl Harbor. What a mess. My friend's ship, USS Nevada, backed up on the beach - bow in the water. USS Utah on its side. And we came around battleship row - hard to believe - we were ready to give up. But we tied up at our usual mooring and proceeded to stock and ready the ship for war. All night long we worked. Stood watch, slept when possible and by dawn were ready to get out of the harbor.
A month went by - convoy to meet ships coming to Pearl - jittery all the time. Then, after a Mare Island yard period, we returned to the Pacific. As the Tokyo raid by Doolittle was going on we were shelling islands in the South Pacific making the Japs think we had a lot of Navy down there.
"If I could write a book, it would be dedicated to the men and ships who did not die at Pearl Harbor, but went on to carry the war to the Japs and eventually beat them." A quote from Paul Harvey and "The Rest of the Story." Undermanned and outnumbered in ships and planes we sailed on to meet the enemy. The USS Portland was in a task force with the USS Yorktown. So when the USS Lexington was meeting the Japs in the Coral Sea we soon joined them. After two days of attack back and forth the "Lex" was hit and was sinking. As the famous picture of the "Lex" sinking and men jumping and being blown over the side, the Portland was there bringing on board some 750 men - some badly wounded.
What a blow. We had 800 men in our crew and an additional 750 to berth and feed – and me a cook. Then three days later a ship met us and took on the "Lex" survivors. We steamed back to Pearl with the damaged USS Yorktown. 72 hours later we were headed out again with the patched up Yorktown, headed for Midway. There we met the Japs in the battle that turned the tide. But lost our pride, USS Yorktown. We turned them back and enjoyed their defeat.
The Portland went on to other battles such as Guadalcanal. Then I left the ship in September, 1942 for new construction which later turned out to be the USS Essex, CV9, the first war-built carrier, and another story.
The Portland made history in the battle at Santa Cruz (ed.note Third Savo.) Hit in the stern by a torpedo and dead in the water she still was able to fire her guns - sinking and damaging Jap ships as related in a citation.
I went on through World War II, made Chief Commissary Steward in 1944, a rate I changed to in 1948 I stayed in the navy and retired in 1960 as Chief Store Keeper. After a circle around the "Horn" I had the honor of being Neptune Rex crossing the equator ceremony. This was on the USS Shangri La, CV 38.
A SUNDAY SHATTERED
Lawrence Kotula Vol. I, pp. 23-24
(Ed. note: This is taken from an article which appeared in the Sioux City Journal, Dec. 7, 1991)
"I was in the Hawaiian waters out of Pearl Harbor on the heavy cruiser USS Portland. We had Life Magazine photographers on board to take pictures, etc. of "Life Aboard Ship" under wartime conditions. Well, they did not have to pretend.
"About zero ten hundred (can't remember the time for sure) word was announced over the speaker system Pearl Harbor was attacked, then no further word. I thought it was a show for life Magazine. We were sent to general quarters to prepare for action but we still did not believe it was the real thing. All at once I heard the whistling sound of bombs. (I thought it was the boatswain's whistle for further word on what was going on.) Here it was two bombs dropped on us from high altitude. They missed off the starboard quarter by 100 yards. We never did find out who dropped them. Later we figured it must have been friendly planes retaliating from one of our bases thinking we were Japanese.
"Later we headed for Pearl Harbor but can't remember just how many days or hours. They had tight security and would not let us in the harbor as Jap midget subs might be trying to follow us in. We had sub alert and headed to sea at high speed.
"When we finally entered Pearl Harbor it was a sight I will never forget: Battle ships blown up, sunk in shallow water, laying on their side,
Arizona still burning, destroyers blown up still smoking, Hickman (sic) Air Base smoking. You could not see anything left - just ruins all over. At night you could hear gunfire from rifles and machine guns. It was sickening - we all thought we had lost the war before it started.
"Then the real thing started as we regrouped. We made a fast trip to San Francisco, had more anti-aircraft guns installed. Radar came out about that time. Then we were sent out to look for Japs. Many times on lone raids on Jap harbors, then the Battle of Coral Sea, Midway, Tarawa, Guadalcanal, Caroline Island, New Guinea, Philippine Islands, Okinawa and many others I cannot recall. I stayed on USS Portland from day one to the end of the war. We earned 16 battle stars and a presidential citation."
Notes:
Life Magazine reporters and photographers were aboard the Portland gathering information and images that were featured in a story appearing in the January 5th, 1942, edition of the publication. Since wartime censorship was in effect, no mention of the ship's name was made in the article.
The bombs aimed at Portland on 7 December were indeed ‘friendly’ fire, dropped from a Navy PBY that mistook the ship as Japanese.
Early in 1942 Portland conducted a lone raid on Tarawa early in 1942 to disrupt initial Japanese efforts at fortifying the island.
In addition to the sixteen battle stars, the ship was awarded the Navy Unit Citation award for its performance in the night battle of Guadalcanal, 12-13 November, 1942. CAPT Settle, who commanded the ship in 1944-1945, petitioned for the ship to be awarded the Presidential Citation award for its part in the night battle.
Lawrence Kotula Vol. I, pp. 23-24
(Ed. note: This is taken from an article which appeared in the Sioux City Journal, Dec. 7, 1991)
"I was in the Hawaiian waters out of Pearl Harbor on the heavy cruiser USS Portland. We had Life Magazine photographers on board to take pictures, etc. of "Life Aboard Ship" under wartime conditions. Well, they did not have to pretend.
"About zero ten hundred (can't remember the time for sure) word was announced over the speaker system Pearl Harbor was attacked, then no further word. I thought it was a show for life Magazine. We were sent to general quarters to prepare for action but we still did not believe it was the real thing. All at once I heard the whistling sound of bombs. (I thought it was the boatswain's whistle for further word on what was going on.) Here it was two bombs dropped on us from high altitude. They missed off the starboard quarter by 100 yards. We never did find out who dropped them. Later we figured it must have been friendly planes retaliating from one of our bases thinking we were Japanese.
"Later we headed for Pearl Harbor but can't remember just how many days or hours. They had tight security and would not let us in the harbor as Jap midget subs might be trying to follow us in. We had sub alert and headed to sea at high speed.
"When we finally entered Pearl Harbor it was a sight I will never forget: Battle ships blown up, sunk in shallow water, laying on their side,
Arizona still burning, destroyers blown up still smoking, Hickman (sic) Air Base smoking. You could not see anything left - just ruins all over. At night you could hear gunfire from rifles and machine guns. It was sickening - we all thought we had lost the war before it started.
"Then the real thing started as we regrouped. We made a fast trip to San Francisco, had more anti-aircraft guns installed. Radar came out about that time. Then we were sent out to look for Japs. Many times on lone raids on Jap harbors, then the Battle of Coral Sea, Midway, Tarawa, Guadalcanal, Caroline Island, New Guinea, Philippine Islands, Okinawa and many others I cannot recall. I stayed on USS Portland from day one to the end of the war. We earned 16 battle stars and a presidential citation."
Notes:
Life Magazine reporters and photographers were aboard the Portland gathering information and images that were featured in a story appearing in the January 5th, 1942, edition of the publication. Since wartime censorship was in effect, no mention of the ship's name was made in the article.
The bombs aimed at Portland on 7 December were indeed ‘friendly’ fire, dropped from a Navy PBY that mistook the ship as Japanese.
Early in 1942 Portland conducted a lone raid on Tarawa early in 1942 to disrupt initial Japanese efforts at fortifying the island.
In addition to the sixteen battle stars, the ship was awarded the Navy Unit Citation award for its performance in the night battle of Guadalcanal, 12-13 November, 1942. CAPT Settle, who commanded the ship in 1944-1945, petitioned for the ship to be awarded the Presidential Citation award for its part in the night battle.
WHY WERE WE LEFT IN PEARL HARBOR?
John Reimer Vol. II, pp. 37-41
United States Ship Portland Friday 5 December, 1941
4 to 8
Moored as before. 0440 Lighted fires under boilers #3, 4, and 8.
0530 cut in boilers #3, 4, and 8 on the main steam line.
0543 pursuant to Commanding Officer's orders CA33/P16-4 /MM dated December
5, 1941, Brame, C.J., 265-40-25, BMl/c, USN, took charge of the
below named men and the gig, motorboat, #2 motor whale boat, and
#3 motor launch and left the ship to report to the Officer-in-Charge of
boats at the Coal Docks, Pearl Harbor, T. H., for temporary duty until
the return of this vessel to Pearl Harbor, T. H.:
Booth, E.K., 375-81-81,MMl/c, USN,
McKirahan, S. A., 316-68-98, Fl/c USN,
Kemph, A. M., 376-13-20, GM3/C, USN;
Robinson, P. S, 337-37-19 Sealc, USN;
DeYong, L. R., 356-49-95, Sealc,
USN; Koine, W. M. ,321-48-33, Seal/c,
USN; Reimer, J. R, 337-39-70, Seal/c, USN;
Sullivan, G. A.,Seal/c, USN;
Mc Lain, T. E., 321-48-39, Seal/c USN;
McKellip, G.,368-48-47, Seal/c USN...
The above is an excerpt from the USS Portland CA33 Log, page 1040, Friday 5 December, 1941. Of the names listed only Booth, E. K. and I are listed on the Reunion Association roster.
The Log is not always correct. The gig and motorboat are correctly named. The motor launches I am not sure of but 1 seem to recall they were #1 and 2, and they will be named as such for my story. #2 motor whaleboat was in the Port davits when the Portland sailed. #2 motor whale boat had been my duty station as Coxswain since the day I attained the prestigious rate of Seaman 2nd class, nearly a year previous.
The scuttlebutt as I recall was that the main battery was to fire night battle practice, and turret three always knocked the caulking loose in the boats. Quite likely. Two of those boats were nested near that gun.
Robinson and I were qualified boat coxswains and were not in the eight inch gun crews. Our only orders were to keep the boats in shipshape order. That was not much of a task since we would not be operating them except to test the engines each day. We had been issued a rifle with two clips of ammo for a sentry to stand watch at the boats 24 hours a day. We were assigned berthing and messing in the Marine barracks only a few blocks from the coaling docks where the boats were secured. We would observe liberty hours at the usual shipboard time, but each day, except when we had sentry duty during liberty hours. Great duty, hey!?
I don't recall going on liberty on Friday, but I did go into Honolulu Saturday evening to have dinner at the YMCA and back to the base and to the recreation center for a few beers. A seaman first didn't make much money in those days, the number $36 per month seems to come to mind, and we didn't know how long the Portland would be out, and beer at the rec. center was cheaper than in Honolulu. At the rec. center we had to buy a string of chits, $.05 each, to make a purchase. Today I still have three of those little purple $.05 chits. I had a few beers and I also bought a couple of sandwiches to take back with me. That would be my Sunday morning breakfast.
Rather than sleeping in the marine barracks I chose to sleep in the forward cabin of the motorboat. Robinson, being about six months senior to me, had chosen the Captain's Gig for berthing. The gig and motorboat had canopies. Snug. A little privacy for a change. Sunday morning, a few minutes before 0800, as per shipboard routine, we mustered on station at the boats and to designate the watch standers for the next 24 hours. A quick wipe down of the boats and they were in good enough shape for Captain's inspection. Needless to say, they would never look that good again.
It was a beautiful morning, seeming more quiet than usual. Koine had taken the rifle and duty belt for the 0800 to 1200 watch After what happened next, he would not relinquish that rifle till we were back aboard Portland.
We could not see the main part of the harbor, the shipyard or Ford Island from our vantage point. The sound of planes didn't seem out of place, but did they have to practice bombing on Sunday morning so close to the harbor? But the explosions were too loud and too near. Then one of the Jap planes flew over our area strafing the yard area and, seeing the red ball under the wings, we knew this was IT.
Koine had the rifle loaded in short order and was firing at the planes which came over our area. There was nothing we could do but take cover, standing in knee deep water under the dock. At that time I lost track of time by the clock. After some time there was a definite lull in the action over the harbor. One of the enemy planes had crashed into some hospital barracks about a hundred yards fi-om our location. Having no idea what to do, we went to the area and helped firemen tend hoses to put out the fire. It was an unoccupied wooden building and not much damage was done. When the fire was out we looked through the wreckage of the plane. At that time I chose to eat the second of my breakfast sandwiches. When I saw part of the torso of one of the occupants of the plane I did not finish my sandwich.
During this time the second phase of the attack started. At that time an officer came by and told us to take our motor launches to the liberty landing. Now we had something to do. Robinson took #1 and I took #2 motor launch and headed for the liberty landing. There was another lull over the harbor, but on our way to the landing another wave of planes flew over. These were high-level bombers. We could see the bombs falling but they were falling West of the harbor. By now many AA guns were in action and shrapnel was falling all around us. One piece fell between my feet standing at the tiller. That caused me to realize that we didn't even have helmets. I lost no time in getting a section of floorboard of the launch to hold over my head.
The liberty landing was crowded with sailors that had gone ashore for Church Service. All large ships had a Chaplain, but men not in the duty section were allowed to go ashore for service at a church of their denomination. Other officers, Chiefs and first class who had dependents were granted overnight liberty. They all wanted to get back to their ship, no matter what the condition. That was their home. I took a load to capacity, plus probably a dozen. The landing officer told me to take them to their ship.
Most of the men were battleship sailors. Battleship row was in complete chaos. Oklahoma was on its port side. The other BBs were in the bottom, except Nevada which was trying to get underway. She had to run aground at Hospital Point in an effort to get to sea. Most of the ships were burning. At one point I had to plough through the burning oil to get to the side of a ship. Dangerous! I thought it would be but the motor launch ploughed the burning oil aside and we sailed through without a singe.
My second trip to the landing most of the sailors had been taken to their ships or stations. A Captain came aboard. The landing officer told me to take my orders from the Captain. Who or what he was I don't know, and in those days a seaman didn't ask why or what. The Captain was carrying a clipboard with a yellow legal pad and pencils. He told me to go slow past the shipyard docks. Then past battleship row and around Ford Island and the entire harbor, all the while he was making notes, I assume, of the damage that had been done. This took the better part of an hour, and I was not keeping track of time. Back at the landing, the Captain disembarked, thanked me and left.
My next assignment was to take my motor launch to the supply dock. There my launch was loaded to capacity with stores and I was told to proceed to ship so-and-so. I don't remember which ship. Various ships were coming in to get stores, fuel, ammunition and return to sea as quickly as possible. This was our assignment for the remainder of the day till after dark. We were told to return to the Coal Docks and secure for the day, to return in the morning as early as possible.
On returning to the docks, the harbor was in total black-out. The battleship Nevada was still aground at hospital point with tugs trying to refloat her. Instead of trying to go through that congestion I decided to go the long way around Ford Island on the west side. About half way around the island a nervous sentry on the beach fired a few rifle rounds which hit the water just ahead of the launch. I immediately signaled the engineer to kill the engine so I could hear and speak to the sentry. I shouted as loud as I could "Portland motor launch, headed for the coaling docks." "Proceed" was the answer. We made the dock without further incident. We secured the launch and, without posting a sentry, we went to the marine barracks for my first meal of the day and a bunk.
In the mess hall we watched a male prisoner being taken through the chow line, followed by a marine with ready rifle, the same chow line we had gone through a few minutes earlier. Who that was we do not know. He was oriental, and at that point they were all Japs to me.
To get some sleep that night was almost impossible Rumors were rampant that the Japs were landing on the island. At some time, I don't know by the clock, all AA guns were firing. This caused me to believe that the rumors were true. This turned out to be a flight of our own planes arriving from the west coast being fired upon. The damage done I don't know. I leave that to the historians.
Morning and daylight did not come soon enough. After a good breakfast, compliments of the marine barracks, we returned to the supply dock with our motor launch. Monday, Dec. 8, the day after. We were busy again hauling stores, ammunition, and who knows what else, to the ships that were returning for that purpose. All day with a keen eye on ships entering the harbor, hopeful that the Portland would be one of them. After all Portland was our HOME. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday went by and no Portland. I was getting worried, as I assumed my shipmates were. We tried not to show it. This is what we had been training for, though hoping it would not happen.
Then late Saturday, Dec. 13 (1803 by the Portland log) Portland came steaming into the harbor to berth C-5, which was a familiar berth. We hardly recognized her. Change in paint color, no bright work showing and those holystoned decks painted gray. Small wonder that a U.S. patrol plane had dropped two bombs in her wake, missing by about a hundred yards, on the day after Pearl Harbor, thinking she was an enemy ship.
We lost no time in going alongside. For once "To hell with the last order." We were now at home and had a fighting chance. At this time Portland began taking on fuel, ammo and other necessary stores. Also, some hundred survivors from the damaged ships, plus or minus a dozen, came aboard, minus service records and with less than a full seabag. Some of them would stay with the Portland for the duration. In the confusion the ten men and the motor launches who had stayed in port were not logged back aboard in the Log. We forgive the Quartermaster on Watch for that.
By noon Sunday, Dec. 14, Portland was loaded and with enough manpower to man all battle stations, and was going to sea to fight a war. Fighting that war is recorded in the book "The History and Times of the U.S.S. Portland," by Heber A. Holbrook of Dixon, California.
John Reimer Vol. II, pp. 37-41
United States Ship Portland Friday 5 December, 1941
4 to 8
Moored as before. 0440 Lighted fires under boilers #3, 4, and 8.
0530 cut in boilers #3, 4, and 8 on the main steam line.
0543 pursuant to Commanding Officer's orders CA33/P16-4 /MM dated December
5, 1941, Brame, C.J., 265-40-25, BMl/c, USN, took charge of the
below named men and the gig, motorboat, #2 motor whale boat, and
#3 motor launch and left the ship to report to the Officer-in-Charge of
boats at the Coal Docks, Pearl Harbor, T. H., for temporary duty until
the return of this vessel to Pearl Harbor, T. H.:
Booth, E.K., 375-81-81,MMl/c, USN,
McKirahan, S. A., 316-68-98, Fl/c USN,
Kemph, A. M., 376-13-20, GM3/C, USN;
Robinson, P. S, 337-37-19 Sealc, USN;
DeYong, L. R., 356-49-95, Sealc,
USN; Koine, W. M. ,321-48-33, Seal/c,
USN; Reimer, J. R, 337-39-70, Seal/c, USN;
Sullivan, G. A.,Seal/c, USN;
Mc Lain, T. E., 321-48-39, Seal/c USN;
McKellip, G.,368-48-47, Seal/c USN...
The above is an excerpt from the USS Portland CA33 Log, page 1040, Friday 5 December, 1941. Of the names listed only Booth, E. K. and I are listed on the Reunion Association roster.
The Log is not always correct. The gig and motorboat are correctly named. The motor launches I am not sure of but 1 seem to recall they were #1 and 2, and they will be named as such for my story. #2 motor whaleboat was in the Port davits when the Portland sailed. #2 motor whale boat had been my duty station as Coxswain since the day I attained the prestigious rate of Seaman 2nd class, nearly a year previous.
The scuttlebutt as I recall was that the main battery was to fire night battle practice, and turret three always knocked the caulking loose in the boats. Quite likely. Two of those boats were nested near that gun.
Robinson and I were qualified boat coxswains and were not in the eight inch gun crews. Our only orders were to keep the boats in shipshape order. That was not much of a task since we would not be operating them except to test the engines each day. We had been issued a rifle with two clips of ammo for a sentry to stand watch at the boats 24 hours a day. We were assigned berthing and messing in the Marine barracks only a few blocks from the coaling docks where the boats were secured. We would observe liberty hours at the usual shipboard time, but each day, except when we had sentry duty during liberty hours. Great duty, hey!?
I don't recall going on liberty on Friday, but I did go into Honolulu Saturday evening to have dinner at the YMCA and back to the base and to the recreation center for a few beers. A seaman first didn't make much money in those days, the number $36 per month seems to come to mind, and we didn't know how long the Portland would be out, and beer at the rec. center was cheaper than in Honolulu. At the rec. center we had to buy a string of chits, $.05 each, to make a purchase. Today I still have three of those little purple $.05 chits. I had a few beers and I also bought a couple of sandwiches to take back with me. That would be my Sunday morning breakfast.
Rather than sleeping in the marine barracks I chose to sleep in the forward cabin of the motorboat. Robinson, being about six months senior to me, had chosen the Captain's Gig for berthing. The gig and motorboat had canopies. Snug. A little privacy for a change. Sunday morning, a few minutes before 0800, as per shipboard routine, we mustered on station at the boats and to designate the watch standers for the next 24 hours. A quick wipe down of the boats and they were in good enough shape for Captain's inspection. Needless to say, they would never look that good again.
It was a beautiful morning, seeming more quiet than usual. Koine had taken the rifle and duty belt for the 0800 to 1200 watch After what happened next, he would not relinquish that rifle till we were back aboard Portland.
We could not see the main part of the harbor, the shipyard or Ford Island from our vantage point. The sound of planes didn't seem out of place, but did they have to practice bombing on Sunday morning so close to the harbor? But the explosions were too loud and too near. Then one of the Jap planes flew over our area strafing the yard area and, seeing the red ball under the wings, we knew this was IT.
Koine had the rifle loaded in short order and was firing at the planes which came over our area. There was nothing we could do but take cover, standing in knee deep water under the dock. At that time I lost track of time by the clock. After some time there was a definite lull in the action over the harbor. One of the enemy planes had crashed into some hospital barracks about a hundred yards fi-om our location. Having no idea what to do, we went to the area and helped firemen tend hoses to put out the fire. It was an unoccupied wooden building and not much damage was done. When the fire was out we looked through the wreckage of the plane. At that time I chose to eat the second of my breakfast sandwiches. When I saw part of the torso of one of the occupants of the plane I did not finish my sandwich.
During this time the second phase of the attack started. At that time an officer came by and told us to take our motor launches to the liberty landing. Now we had something to do. Robinson took #1 and I took #2 motor launch and headed for the liberty landing. There was another lull over the harbor, but on our way to the landing another wave of planes flew over. These were high-level bombers. We could see the bombs falling but they were falling West of the harbor. By now many AA guns were in action and shrapnel was falling all around us. One piece fell between my feet standing at the tiller. That caused me to realize that we didn't even have helmets. I lost no time in getting a section of floorboard of the launch to hold over my head.
The liberty landing was crowded with sailors that had gone ashore for Church Service. All large ships had a Chaplain, but men not in the duty section were allowed to go ashore for service at a church of their denomination. Other officers, Chiefs and first class who had dependents were granted overnight liberty. They all wanted to get back to their ship, no matter what the condition. That was their home. I took a load to capacity, plus probably a dozen. The landing officer told me to take them to their ship.
Most of the men were battleship sailors. Battleship row was in complete chaos. Oklahoma was on its port side. The other BBs were in the bottom, except Nevada which was trying to get underway. She had to run aground at Hospital Point in an effort to get to sea. Most of the ships were burning. At one point I had to plough through the burning oil to get to the side of a ship. Dangerous! I thought it would be but the motor launch ploughed the burning oil aside and we sailed through without a singe.
My second trip to the landing most of the sailors had been taken to their ships or stations. A Captain came aboard. The landing officer told me to take my orders from the Captain. Who or what he was I don't know, and in those days a seaman didn't ask why or what. The Captain was carrying a clipboard with a yellow legal pad and pencils. He told me to go slow past the shipyard docks. Then past battleship row and around Ford Island and the entire harbor, all the while he was making notes, I assume, of the damage that had been done. This took the better part of an hour, and I was not keeping track of time. Back at the landing, the Captain disembarked, thanked me and left.
My next assignment was to take my motor launch to the supply dock. There my launch was loaded to capacity with stores and I was told to proceed to ship so-and-so. I don't remember which ship. Various ships were coming in to get stores, fuel, ammunition and return to sea as quickly as possible. This was our assignment for the remainder of the day till after dark. We were told to return to the Coal Docks and secure for the day, to return in the morning as early as possible.
On returning to the docks, the harbor was in total black-out. The battleship Nevada was still aground at hospital point with tugs trying to refloat her. Instead of trying to go through that congestion I decided to go the long way around Ford Island on the west side. About half way around the island a nervous sentry on the beach fired a few rifle rounds which hit the water just ahead of the launch. I immediately signaled the engineer to kill the engine so I could hear and speak to the sentry. I shouted as loud as I could "Portland motor launch, headed for the coaling docks." "Proceed" was the answer. We made the dock without further incident. We secured the launch and, without posting a sentry, we went to the marine barracks for my first meal of the day and a bunk.
In the mess hall we watched a male prisoner being taken through the chow line, followed by a marine with ready rifle, the same chow line we had gone through a few minutes earlier. Who that was we do not know. He was oriental, and at that point they were all Japs to me.
To get some sleep that night was almost impossible Rumors were rampant that the Japs were landing on the island. At some time, I don't know by the clock, all AA guns were firing. This caused me to believe that the rumors were true. This turned out to be a flight of our own planes arriving from the west coast being fired upon. The damage done I don't know. I leave that to the historians.
Morning and daylight did not come soon enough. After a good breakfast, compliments of the marine barracks, we returned to the supply dock with our motor launch. Monday, Dec. 8, the day after. We were busy again hauling stores, ammunition, and who knows what else, to the ships that were returning for that purpose. All day with a keen eye on ships entering the harbor, hopeful that the Portland would be one of them. After all Portland was our HOME. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday went by and no Portland. I was getting worried, as I assumed my shipmates were. We tried not to show it. This is what we had been training for, though hoping it would not happen.
Then late Saturday, Dec. 13 (1803 by the Portland log) Portland came steaming into the harbor to berth C-5, which was a familiar berth. We hardly recognized her. Change in paint color, no bright work showing and those holystoned decks painted gray. Small wonder that a U.S. patrol plane had dropped two bombs in her wake, missing by about a hundred yards, on the day after Pearl Harbor, thinking she was an enemy ship.
We lost no time in going alongside. For once "To hell with the last order." We were now at home and had a fighting chance. At this time Portland began taking on fuel, ammo and other necessary stores. Also, some hundred survivors from the damaged ships, plus or minus a dozen, came aboard, minus service records and with less than a full seabag. Some of them would stay with the Portland for the duration. In the confusion the ten men and the motor launches who had stayed in port were not logged back aboard in the Log. We forgive the Quartermaster on Watch for that.
By noon Sunday, Dec. 14, Portland was loaded and with enough manpower to man all battle stations, and was going to sea to fight a war. Fighting that war is recorded in the book "The History and Times of the U.S.S. Portland," by Heber A. Holbrook of Dixon, California.
FIRST LIBERTY Vol. I, p. 25
Ted Waller
In trying to think back and remember some of the most memorable experiences aboard the Portland, it is funny that the ones about the battles, etc. seem to take second place.
One of my most vivid memories involves my FIRST liberty in the Navy and, except for the small group that were assigned to the Portland at the same time as I was, is quite unique.
I joined the Navy on December 8, 1941. After signing up we were told to go home and spend Christmas with our families as it would probably be a long time before we had another opportunity. We were then instructed to report back on January 1st where we would be sent to Great Lakes for Boot Camp. Arriving at Great Lakes we were issued our uniforms, sea bag, mattress and hammock. Our training at Great Lakes and trying to sleep in a hammock lasted one day when we were shipped to the old Navy Pier in Chicago for our shots.
We stayed there for about 2-3 weeks and our training consisted of marching a few times and reading the Blue Jackets Manual. We then boarded a troop train for the West coast and a couple of days at Treasure Island waiting for assignment. On February 6th, 1942, we were put aboard a bus for Mare Island Navy yard and our first glimpse of the USS Portland which was to be our home for the next four and a half years.
Our welcome aboard the Portland was memorable. As soon as we stepped on the quarter deck, we were told to put our gear in a pile and join a working party to carry on stores and ammunition. There was not enough bunk space aboard for all of the new crew members so we were told that at night we were to spread our mattresses out and sleep on the deck in #1 mess hall. In the Navy for a grand total of five weeks and proud to be a sailor on a US Navy fighting ship. Only one problem - we were broke and did not have enough money to go into Vallejo on liberty even if we had the strength after more and more working parties.
We left Mare Island Navy yard on February 17, 1942. We quickly learned to settle into the routine of gun drills, four hours on and four hours off on gun watches, filled in with more working parties.
We were escorting two transports to Australia when two Australian cruisers took our place and we headed to Samoa where we arrived at Pago Pago on March 6th. We were in Pago Pago for three days and I was one of the lucky ones that got to go ashore on two different days. What a thrill it was to have my first liberty after being in the navy for only three months and then getting to go ashore on a beautiful South Sea Island that was still like you read about in books of the South Pacific. My next two liberties were in Tonga Tabu and New Caledonia before the Portland headed to Pearl Harbor after participating in the Battle of the Coral Sea.
All I can say is that my first five months in the Navy are unforgettable. Five months and my only liberties were in three "exotic" south
sea island ports.
Ted Waller
In trying to think back and remember some of the most memorable experiences aboard the Portland, it is funny that the ones about the battles, etc. seem to take second place.
One of my most vivid memories involves my FIRST liberty in the Navy and, except for the small group that were assigned to the Portland at the same time as I was, is quite unique.
I joined the Navy on December 8, 1941. After signing up we were told to go home and spend Christmas with our families as it would probably be a long time before we had another opportunity. We were then instructed to report back on January 1st where we would be sent to Great Lakes for Boot Camp. Arriving at Great Lakes we were issued our uniforms, sea bag, mattress and hammock. Our training at Great Lakes and trying to sleep in a hammock lasted one day when we were shipped to the old Navy Pier in Chicago for our shots.
We stayed there for about 2-3 weeks and our training consisted of marching a few times and reading the Blue Jackets Manual. We then boarded a troop train for the West coast and a couple of days at Treasure Island waiting for assignment. On February 6th, 1942, we were put aboard a bus for Mare Island Navy yard and our first glimpse of the USS Portland which was to be our home for the next four and a half years.
Our welcome aboard the Portland was memorable. As soon as we stepped on the quarter deck, we were told to put our gear in a pile and join a working party to carry on stores and ammunition. There was not enough bunk space aboard for all of the new crew members so we were told that at night we were to spread our mattresses out and sleep on the deck in #1 mess hall. In the Navy for a grand total of five weeks and proud to be a sailor on a US Navy fighting ship. Only one problem - we were broke and did not have enough money to go into Vallejo on liberty even if we had the strength after more and more working parties.
We left Mare Island Navy yard on February 17, 1942. We quickly learned to settle into the routine of gun drills, four hours on and four hours off on gun watches, filled in with more working parties.
We were escorting two transports to Australia when two Australian cruisers took our place and we headed to Samoa where we arrived at Pago Pago on March 6th. We were in Pago Pago for three days and I was one of the lucky ones that got to go ashore on two different days. What a thrill it was to have my first liberty after being in the navy for only three months and then getting to go ashore on a beautiful South Sea Island that was still like you read about in books of the South Pacific. My next two liberties were in Tonga Tabu and New Caledonia before the Portland headed to Pearl Harbor after participating in the Battle of the Coral Sea.
All I can say is that my first five months in the Navy are unforgettable. Five months and my only liberties were in three "exotic" south
sea island ports.
UNSUNG HEROES Vol. I, pp. 26-27
Unknown
After watching the 50th Anniversary of Pearl Harbor, I’ve been thinking that the ships at sea on that date deserve some recognition. These ships went on to contain the Japanese the first year of the war. They prevented them from landing in Australia at the battle of the Coral Sea, winning the battle of Midway, which Time magazine called "The most decisive battle in history," and the landing and holding of Guadalcanal. All these occurred before new ships were completed to come with help. I’d like to wear a medal indicating that I was there, or at least a bumper sticker saying I was a veteran of the above.
When the ship [Portland] was damaged at Guadalcanal, the training and effort of the "Oil King Gang" helped to save the ship. With the battle still in progress, much oil was moved to correct the list and also to reduce the pressure on the After Engine Room's aft watertight bulkhead. Oil was moved and ballast was pumped to bring the stern out of the water. This pumping and moving oil was a complicated process on a heavy cruiser because all the oil tank's fuel level was determined by using a sounding rod through a cap above the armored deck for each.
All pumps and valves controlling the oil flow were located in the four fire rooms and two engine rooms. This meant that a person had to check the oil level of each tank being pumped "In" or "Out" and then lift an armored hatch to the engineering space and climb down a long ladder and through two air lock doors to operate pumps and oil valves used to control oil movement "from" and "to" the various oil tanks. The USS Portland had 66 oil tanks.
This incredible effort not only kept the guns able to bear on the enemy without great difficulty, but no doubt contributed to keeping us afloat.
Note: The action referenced here took place during the night battle off Guadalcanal, 12-13 November, 1942.
Unknown
After watching the 50th Anniversary of Pearl Harbor, I’ve been thinking that the ships at sea on that date deserve some recognition. These ships went on to contain the Japanese the first year of the war. They prevented them from landing in Australia at the battle of the Coral Sea, winning the battle of Midway, which Time magazine called "The most decisive battle in history," and the landing and holding of Guadalcanal. All these occurred before new ships were completed to come with help. I’d like to wear a medal indicating that I was there, or at least a bumper sticker saying I was a veteran of the above.
When the ship [Portland] was damaged at Guadalcanal, the training and effort of the "Oil King Gang" helped to save the ship. With the battle still in progress, much oil was moved to correct the list and also to reduce the pressure on the After Engine Room's aft watertight bulkhead. Oil was moved and ballast was pumped to bring the stern out of the water. This pumping and moving oil was a complicated process on a heavy cruiser because all the oil tank's fuel level was determined by using a sounding rod through a cap above the armored deck for each.
All pumps and valves controlling the oil flow were located in the four fire rooms and two engine rooms. This meant that a person had to check the oil level of each tank being pumped "In" or "Out" and then lift an armored hatch to the engineering space and climb down a long ladder and through two air lock doors to operate pumps and oil valves used to control oil movement "from" and "to" the various oil tanks. The USS Portland had 66 oil tanks.
This incredible effort not only kept the guns able to bear on the enemy without great difficulty, but no doubt contributed to keeping us afloat.
Note: The action referenced here took place during the night battle off Guadalcanal, 12-13 November, 1942.
"CATHEDRAL" IN THE PALMS
Bob Werner
This occurred 1942 when we and some other ships formed a convoy to go to New Zealand. We broke off from the group before getting to New Zealand and went to what I remember as being New Caledonia. We tied up to the dock and were refueling when, for reasons beyond my understanding there were a few of us in the 4th Division who were authorized to go ashore as long as we were back by 1700. They were very firm about the 1700. We didn't have liberty passes or anything. We got off anyhow.
As we were getting off along the dock, we walked along about a quarter of a mile away from the ship, there was a very small village, perhaps six or eight sitting around this spot and there was an Italian Catholic priest, I presume a missionary, who greeted us. We had a terrible time to start with communicating. The Priest knew very little English and the natives didn't know any. That's the situation we found ourselves in.
The natives were very friendly and I guess you would call it Pidgin English is what we were able to come up with. Anyhow, we made ourselves comfortable and were able to communicate all we wanted to. After talking with them for perhaps a half hour, one of these natives said they would have a pig roast for us. If you know anything about pig roasts, it takes some time and we had to be back to the ship at 1700 no matter what, so we immediately and as gracefully as we could, declined the offer and thanked them for being so considerate. As far as I could see there wasn't any kind of manufacturing or trading going on there and I don't know how they got by.
When I asked the priest if I could see his church, he was so pleased that somebody asked and he was so proud of what he had you couldn't believe it. When we got to his church, it was a thatched roof building, nothing covering the sides at all. The seats were about 2 x 8's nailed on to what appeared to be cut off telephone poles, and a dirt floor. The place was very neat and orderly. The aUar was a shock. Catholic churches, as you know are usually done in very good taste and very pretty. This poor guy didn't have hardly anything for an altar and everything he had, as I've pointed out, he was so very proud of It was probably the most modest Catholic church I'll ever see. It has been up to now, anyhow.
The priest was just overjoyed to have us there even for such a short time. He then took delight in showing me his church bell. The bell was a good sized bell for the size of the church. He told me he had written to his original church and asked them if they could get a bell for him. The net result of it was the Navy Department in Italy had an old destroyer that they were going to cut up and they sent him that bell. It was just beautiful. He was so proud and so humble and so nice you couldn't believe it.
We stayed there a couple of hours, I guess, and talked to him and the natives. They were very interesting. He seemed to be at peace with the world. He had no cares, no problems, nothing to be worried about.
When it got about 4:15 we decided we'd better get back to the ship. He thanked us for coming and we were delighted to have such a visit with natives like we'd never seen before.
Before going, one of the natives came up with a whole stalk of bananas, ripe and ready to eat. He insisted that we take it as a gift from them. I had a dollar bill and 35 cents in my pocket. That's all I had and I offered it to the one who was kind of "in charge." He wouldn't take the dollar but he took the 35 cents. When I asked the priest if he understood that the dollar was worth more than the 35 cents, he said "Yes, I know that but don't try to give it to them any more. They think they've got you skinned for 35 cents. Paper money don't mean anything out here."
Before leaving I said "Father, tell me something. It's been bothering me. They were going to kill a pig and roast it for us but I haven't seen any pigs. How many do they have?" He said "One." That just floored me. People we'd never seen before and would never see again, had such good manners and wanted to be remembered that way.
We started back to the dock., I told the other guys "You carry the bananas. I paid for them, you're going to have to carry them" When we got back to the dock and headed for the gangway, the Officer of the Deck said "Are you planning on bringing those bananas aboard?"
We said "Yes. "
He said "You can't do it. Nothing can be brought aboard ship that might be a danger or some problem."
He said, however, we could eat them and then come on board. We did eat some, but we still had a lot of bananas. Everybody that came down that dock, we'd collar them and asked them to take some. We finally got rid of them. We were sure full of bananas.
This was my first experience at being on foreign soil.
I don't know if any of those others who were with me can remember it or not. It's been such a long time that I've forgotten their names and I suppose they've forgotten mine but it was a bit of an unusual experience.
Bob Werner
This occurred 1942 when we and some other ships formed a convoy to go to New Zealand. We broke off from the group before getting to New Zealand and went to what I remember as being New Caledonia. We tied up to the dock and were refueling when, for reasons beyond my understanding there were a few of us in the 4th Division who were authorized to go ashore as long as we were back by 1700. They were very firm about the 1700. We didn't have liberty passes or anything. We got off anyhow.
As we were getting off along the dock, we walked along about a quarter of a mile away from the ship, there was a very small village, perhaps six or eight sitting around this spot and there was an Italian Catholic priest, I presume a missionary, who greeted us. We had a terrible time to start with communicating. The Priest knew very little English and the natives didn't know any. That's the situation we found ourselves in.
The natives were very friendly and I guess you would call it Pidgin English is what we were able to come up with. Anyhow, we made ourselves comfortable and were able to communicate all we wanted to. After talking with them for perhaps a half hour, one of these natives said they would have a pig roast for us. If you know anything about pig roasts, it takes some time and we had to be back to the ship at 1700 no matter what, so we immediately and as gracefully as we could, declined the offer and thanked them for being so considerate. As far as I could see there wasn't any kind of manufacturing or trading going on there and I don't know how they got by.
When I asked the priest if I could see his church, he was so pleased that somebody asked and he was so proud of what he had you couldn't believe it. When we got to his church, it was a thatched roof building, nothing covering the sides at all. The seats were about 2 x 8's nailed on to what appeared to be cut off telephone poles, and a dirt floor. The place was very neat and orderly. The aUar was a shock. Catholic churches, as you know are usually done in very good taste and very pretty. This poor guy didn't have hardly anything for an altar and everything he had, as I've pointed out, he was so very proud of It was probably the most modest Catholic church I'll ever see. It has been up to now, anyhow.
The priest was just overjoyed to have us there even for such a short time. He then took delight in showing me his church bell. The bell was a good sized bell for the size of the church. He told me he had written to his original church and asked them if they could get a bell for him. The net result of it was the Navy Department in Italy had an old destroyer that they were going to cut up and they sent him that bell. It was just beautiful. He was so proud and so humble and so nice you couldn't believe it.
We stayed there a couple of hours, I guess, and talked to him and the natives. They were very interesting. He seemed to be at peace with the world. He had no cares, no problems, nothing to be worried about.
When it got about 4:15 we decided we'd better get back to the ship. He thanked us for coming and we were delighted to have such a visit with natives like we'd never seen before.
Before going, one of the natives came up with a whole stalk of bananas, ripe and ready to eat. He insisted that we take it as a gift from them. I had a dollar bill and 35 cents in my pocket. That's all I had and I offered it to the one who was kind of "in charge." He wouldn't take the dollar but he took the 35 cents. When I asked the priest if he understood that the dollar was worth more than the 35 cents, he said "Yes, I know that but don't try to give it to them any more. They think they've got you skinned for 35 cents. Paper money don't mean anything out here."
Before leaving I said "Father, tell me something. It's been bothering me. They were going to kill a pig and roast it for us but I haven't seen any pigs. How many do they have?" He said "One." That just floored me. People we'd never seen before and would never see again, had such good manners and wanted to be remembered that way.
We started back to the dock., I told the other guys "You carry the bananas. I paid for them, you're going to have to carry them" When we got back to the dock and headed for the gangway, the Officer of the Deck said "Are you planning on bringing those bananas aboard?"
We said "Yes. "
He said "You can't do it. Nothing can be brought aboard ship that might be a danger or some problem."
He said, however, we could eat them and then come on board. We did eat some, but we still had a lot of bananas. Everybody that came down that dock, we'd collar them and asked them to take some. We finally got rid of them. We were sure full of bananas.
This was my first experience at being on foreign soil.
I don't know if any of those others who were with me can remember it or not. It's been such a long time that I've forgotten their names and I suppose they've forgotten mine but it was a bit of an unusual experience.
DO YOU REMEMBER? Vol. I, pp. 26-27
Pete Cole
How we gathered in #1 mess hall when the pay list was posted? Of course, we were each interested in how much money we had coming but the item that attracted the most attention and elicited the most comment was the amount of pay Dean Shattuck had on the books. $100, $200, $500, $800 This was in the days when a MMlc on his third cruise made about $100 a month. Dean evidently did not think there was that much to do ashore in Long Beach and stayed aboard for months at a time. For a seaman or fireman, making $21 to $54 a month, the amounts that Dean accrued were astronomical and were viewed with open-mouthed awe.
Do you remember standing on the fantail and looking at that strange looking object at the top of the Enterprise mast? We were tied to a pier at Pearl Harbor and the "Big E" came into port and tied up astern of us. At the top of her mast was what appeared to be a big bed-spring. We learned that it was a radar antenna and was very hush-hush. When we had our radar installed months later the "radar shack" was a restricted area and we could not go near it.
I think that one of the greatest feats of seamanship, of all time and all navies, was performed by the deck force of the Portland and yet it appears to be one of the most ignored actions of the entire war.
When the Yorktown and the destroyer Hammond were sunk during the battle of Midway, the Portland picked up 500-600 survivors of which about 100 were wounded. Immediately we headed toward Pearl Harbor to rendezvous with the USS Fulton, a brand new repair ship that had just come out from the States. When we met up with the Fulton we reversed course, heading back toward Midway. The Fulton came alongside to port, with each ship making 18 to 21 knots. Five or six high-lines were secured between the ships and large canvas bags were hung from each. A line from each bag was sent to the Prairie to be used to pull the bag over and a restraining line was held by sailors on the Portland to control the speed at which the bag was pulled. With these arrangements, 3 survivors wearing life jackets were put in each bag. The bag was then pulled over to the Fulton where it was unloaded. The empty bag was then pulled back to the Portland and the procedure was repeated.
It was an inspiring, exciting sight, to watch the bags going back and forth with the two ships proceeding at a good speed, the water churning and boiling between them. At the beginning of the maneuver, sailors from both ships did all the work, but as survivors reached the Fulton, they took over the task of helping their own shipmates. The part of the operation that kept me on pins and needles was the transfer of the wounded. This was accomplished through the use of wire basket stretchers. A wounded man would be placed in a stretcher and then strapped in. The stretcher was then hooked to the high-line and carefully pulled across. As each stretcher was pulled across, my heart would be in my mouth and I would hold my breath. It was certain death for the sailor if something went wrong, as he was strapped in and, conscious or unconscious, he would be unable to break free if the transfer line was to part.
Pete Cole
How we gathered in #1 mess hall when the pay list was posted? Of course, we were each interested in how much money we had coming but the item that attracted the most attention and elicited the most comment was the amount of pay Dean Shattuck had on the books. $100, $200, $500, $800 This was in the days when a MMlc on his third cruise made about $100 a month. Dean evidently did not think there was that much to do ashore in Long Beach and stayed aboard for months at a time. For a seaman or fireman, making $21 to $54 a month, the amounts that Dean accrued were astronomical and were viewed with open-mouthed awe.
Do you remember standing on the fantail and looking at that strange looking object at the top of the Enterprise mast? We were tied to a pier at Pearl Harbor and the "Big E" came into port and tied up astern of us. At the top of her mast was what appeared to be a big bed-spring. We learned that it was a radar antenna and was very hush-hush. When we had our radar installed months later the "radar shack" was a restricted area and we could not go near it.
I think that one of the greatest feats of seamanship, of all time and all navies, was performed by the deck force of the Portland and yet it appears to be one of the most ignored actions of the entire war.
When the Yorktown and the destroyer Hammond were sunk during the battle of Midway, the Portland picked up 500-600 survivors of which about 100 were wounded. Immediately we headed toward Pearl Harbor to rendezvous with the USS Fulton, a brand new repair ship that had just come out from the States. When we met up with the Fulton we reversed course, heading back toward Midway. The Fulton came alongside to port, with each ship making 18 to 21 knots. Five or six high-lines were secured between the ships and large canvas bags were hung from each. A line from each bag was sent to the Prairie to be used to pull the bag over and a restraining line was held by sailors on the Portland to control the speed at which the bag was pulled. With these arrangements, 3 survivors wearing life jackets were put in each bag. The bag was then pulled over to the Fulton where it was unloaded. The empty bag was then pulled back to the Portland and the procedure was repeated.
It was an inspiring, exciting sight, to watch the bags going back and forth with the two ships proceeding at a good speed, the water churning and boiling between them. At the beginning of the maneuver, sailors from both ships did all the work, but as survivors reached the Fulton, they took over the task of helping their own shipmates. The part of the operation that kept me on pins and needles was the transfer of the wounded. This was accomplished through the use of wire basket stretchers. A wounded man would be placed in a stretcher and then strapped in. The stretcher was then hooked to the high-line and carefully pulled across. As each stretcher was pulled across, my heart would be in my mouth and I would hold my breath. It was certain death for the sailor if something went wrong, as he was strapped in and, conscious or unconscious, he would be unable to break free if the transfer line was to part.
RIM FIRE Vol. I, pp. 27-28
Bob LeMasters
It was either in the Santa Cruz mess, Midway or off Guadalcanal (I can't remember which.) I was a gunners mate in charge of quad mount #2 40mm and we were being buzzed by torpedo planes and dive bombers. The old 4-piper was going hell for election and I had my 20 lb maul in hand to give her a good "pop" if she should jam, but she kept on firing. Then all of a sudden we had an explosion in the gun shield where we had the extra clips. For a few seconds we had a little confusion with a couple of ammo passers on their knees and a few scratches (but no Purple Hearts.)
At the Norfolk reunion, I talked to George Eager and asked him if he knew what had happened. He told me we had been strafed and one or two rounds had hit our ammunition. After 43 years I felt lucky.
THE THINGS I REMEMBER Vol. II, pp. 41-43
Kenneth Joy
I REMEMBER:
Reporting aboard the USS Portland at 1900 hours, January 17, 1941 with a small group of recruits. Lt. Bidell chose 5 of us for F Division. Worked in Sky Control and got my first "blackeye" as a rangefinder in turret one in February.
Commander Coleman - our new Exec - reporting aboard on February 15, 1941.
My first introduction to the PEAK TANKS.
At sea with Task Force 12 on the 7th of December when war was declared. Throwing all that loose gear over the side.
The "Life" photographers that we had on board that we transferred to DesComRon #1 for safe passage back to Pearl.
The terrible devastation we saw at Pearl as we reentered the harbor late in the afternoon of the 13th.
Lucas, Walker, Barrett and others that made up our great ball team. Master-at-Arms Paddy Mullen and Jake Shugrue. The tailor, etc.. Ken Slough - and what went on behind the curtain. The GeeDunk stand owners Bunky Schneider and Ross Zimmerling and the great coca-colas we had when we got "mix" from the paint locker!
The slow convoys we nursed from the states into Pearl. Our stay at Mare Island when we put on the 1.1's - the "Chicago Pianos." Convoying the Matsonia and Monterey loaded with troops toward Australia - turned them over to the HMS Achilles and HMS Leander - then looping back to Samoa anchored in Pago Pago. Remember the natives?
Our visit to Tongatabu when Captain R. R. Thompson took a header down a ladder and we exchanged skippers with the hospital ship Solace.
Our first big battle in the Coral Sea when we watched in horror as we lost the Lexington. We took aboard about 700 of the Lex crew, for transport back to Tonga.
Picked up a radio broadcast early in the morning of May 25, 1942 that the USS Portland had been sunk in the Coral Sea.
The battle for Midway on June 4, 1942 when we lost the USS Yorktown - and we had to leave her after we had rigged to take her in tow. We did take aboard about 1550 of her crew - I'll never forget working all night to accomplish that huge task!! We transferred them on the 6th to the sub-tender Fulton. Took us from 1400 to well after dark.
I remember when we covered the Guadalcanal-Tulagi landings, protecting the transports, trying to hit "Pistol Pete" on 7, 8 and 9 August, 1942. Santa Cruz Islands on 26 August, 1942 - and the big one that started on November 12 and ended on the 15th when we were hidden at the PT base.
The PT's that tried to "fish" us in the early hours of the 14th as we made our way into the lagoon toward the PT base.
The Marine hospital in the caves behind the PT base that we shared our melting ice cream and expendable supplies with. We all also went down to 2 uniforms to give them clean, dry clothes. The most sought after were clean, dry socks!!
The many really great times that we had in Sydney are too many to list. I do remember our weatherman - Gene Alexander - who forecasted the weather "on the nose" all the way, day by day, to Sydney.
I remember some great skippers - Van Hook, DuBose, some great Executive Officers - "Wild Bill" Coleman, "Terrible Turk" Wirth, and the very able and respected gentleman, Wallace E. Guitar. Also remember Comdr. Shanklin, Johnny Fisher, Willy A. Walker, III, "Doc" Williams, A R. Johnson, J. M . Hill, J. F. Cline, LaPrade and many others.
I wish I had saved all the "Extra" liberty card pictures that passed through the Exec's office during my time aboard the Sweet Pea - what a book it would have made.
What a grand ship she was and what a great crew that served in her during her life!! We all left a bit of our heart and soul aboard as we went over the gangway for the last time!
Notes:
SS Monterey and Mastonia were fast troop carriers operated by the Maston Company for the War Shipping Agency. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Malolo and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Monterey
Leander and Achilles were cruisers built for the Royal Navy and transferred to New Zealand, serving as HMNZS Leander and HMNZS Achilles. See: http://www.nzhistory.net.nz/war/hmnzs-leander https://navymuseum.co.nz/explore/by-collections/ships/achilles/
http://www.naval-history.net/xGM-Chrono-06CL-Leander.htm
Kenneth Joy
I REMEMBER:
Reporting aboard the USS Portland at 1900 hours, January 17, 1941 with a small group of recruits. Lt. Bidell chose 5 of us for F Division. Worked in Sky Control and got my first "blackeye" as a rangefinder in turret one in February.
Commander Coleman - our new Exec - reporting aboard on February 15, 1941.
My first introduction to the PEAK TANKS.
At sea with Task Force 12 on the 7th of December when war was declared. Throwing all that loose gear over the side.
The "Life" photographers that we had on board that we transferred to DesComRon #1 for safe passage back to Pearl.
The terrible devastation we saw at Pearl as we reentered the harbor late in the afternoon of the 13th.
Lucas, Walker, Barrett and others that made up our great ball team. Master-at-Arms Paddy Mullen and Jake Shugrue. The tailor, etc.. Ken Slough - and what went on behind the curtain. The GeeDunk stand owners Bunky Schneider and Ross Zimmerling and the great coca-colas we had when we got "mix" from the paint locker!
The slow convoys we nursed from the states into Pearl. Our stay at Mare Island when we put on the 1.1's - the "Chicago Pianos." Convoying the Matsonia and Monterey loaded with troops toward Australia - turned them over to the HMS Achilles and HMS Leander - then looping back to Samoa anchored in Pago Pago. Remember the natives?
Our visit to Tongatabu when Captain R. R. Thompson took a header down a ladder and we exchanged skippers with the hospital ship Solace.
Our first big battle in the Coral Sea when we watched in horror as we lost the Lexington. We took aboard about 700 of the Lex crew, for transport back to Tonga.
Picked up a radio broadcast early in the morning of May 25, 1942 that the USS Portland had been sunk in the Coral Sea.
The battle for Midway on June 4, 1942 when we lost the USS Yorktown - and we had to leave her after we had rigged to take her in tow. We did take aboard about 1550 of her crew - I'll never forget working all night to accomplish that huge task!! We transferred them on the 6th to the sub-tender Fulton. Took us from 1400 to well after dark.
I remember when we covered the Guadalcanal-Tulagi landings, protecting the transports, trying to hit "Pistol Pete" on 7, 8 and 9 August, 1942. Santa Cruz Islands on 26 August, 1942 - and the big one that started on November 12 and ended on the 15th when we were hidden at the PT base.
The PT's that tried to "fish" us in the early hours of the 14th as we made our way into the lagoon toward the PT base.
The Marine hospital in the caves behind the PT base that we shared our melting ice cream and expendable supplies with. We all also went down to 2 uniforms to give them clean, dry clothes. The most sought after were clean, dry socks!!
The many really great times that we had in Sydney are too many to list. I do remember our weatherman - Gene Alexander - who forecasted the weather "on the nose" all the way, day by day, to Sydney.
I remember some great skippers - Van Hook, DuBose, some great Executive Officers - "Wild Bill" Coleman, "Terrible Turk" Wirth, and the very able and respected gentleman, Wallace E. Guitar. Also remember Comdr. Shanklin, Johnny Fisher, Willy A. Walker, III, "Doc" Williams, A R. Johnson, J. M . Hill, J. F. Cline, LaPrade and many others.
I wish I had saved all the "Extra" liberty card pictures that passed through the Exec's office during my time aboard the Sweet Pea - what a book it would have made.
What a grand ship she was and what a great crew that served in her during her life!! We all left a bit of our heart and soul aboard as we went over the gangway for the last time!
Notes:
SS Monterey and Mastonia were fast troop carriers operated by the Maston Company for the War Shipping Agency. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Malolo and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Monterey
Leander and Achilles were cruisers built for the Royal Navy and transferred to New Zealand, serving as HMNZS Leander and HMNZS Achilles. See: http://www.nzhistory.net.nz/war/hmnzs-leander https://navymuseum.co.nz/explore/by-collections/ships/achilles/
http://www.naval-history.net/xGM-Chrono-06CL-Leander.htm
CORAL SEA ACTIONS Vol. I, pp. 29-31
Willard "Bo" Losh
February 18, 1942. Underway with three large merchant ships. We convoyed them to a point south and east of Samoa where we were met by two British cruisers and we turned the escort duties over to them. We stopped at Samoa March 4 and 3 days later sailed for a rendezvous in the Coral Sea with the aircraft carrier Yorktown (CV-5) flagship of Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher's task force 17, stopping at Fiji on the way.
We made rendezvous March 14 and joined the offensive patrol in the Coral Sea screening the Yorktown. In late April, Captain Thompson was relieved as commanding officer by Captain B. Pertman. On May 1, at a point southwest of the New Hebrides Islands we were joined by the aircraft carrier Lexington and accompanying units of task force 11 under the command of Rear Admiral Aubrey W. Fitch.
The Japanese had a powerful task force formed to win control of the Coral Sea and isolate Australia, take Port Moresby and New Guinea with troop transports guarded by destroyers. They also planned to take Tulagi Island near Florida Island with an amphibious task group, and set up a sea plane base there.
These groups were covered by the light aircraft carrier Soho, four heavy cruisers and a destroyer, phis a fast carrier task force including the powerful carriers Shokaku and Zuikaku, screened by destroyers and cruisers.
About this time, while fueling from the tanker Neosho, some of our people, including Chief King, Flaherty and Gaylord were transferred to the Neosho for return to the United States for further assignment.
At daybreak on May 4, 1942, while we were still guarding the Yorktown, she launched attack aircraft to strike the Japanese invasion force at Tulagi. Their bombs and torpedoes sank a Japanese destroyer, three mine sweepers and four landing barges, destroyed five seaplanes and damaged other ships including the destroyer Yukuzi. This same day an Australian cruiser-destroyer task force joined our carrier task forces and on May 6 all forces merged into a single task force under the command of Admiral Fletcher.
The Australian force was then ordered to the Louisades Archipelago to intercept the Japanese move toward Port Moresby.
On May 7, our task force, with both Yorktown and Lexington, moved northward into the Coral Sea searching for enemy covering forces. On this day planes from the Japanese carriers attacked and sank the tanker Neosho and her escort destroyer Sims. We got word later that Gaylord was killed and that King and Flaherty were badly burned but survived.
While the enemy planes were thus engaged aircraft from our carriers sank the Japanese carrier Shoho.
The carrier battle of the Coral Sea began the morning of May 8, 1942, when planes from our carriers attacked the big Japanese aircraft carriers Zuikaku and Shokaku, who were screened by two heavy cruisers and several destroyers. The Shokaku was so damaged that she could not launch aircraft and had 108 men killed and 40 wounded. However her planes had already been launched and attacked our carriers shortly after 1100 hours. Portland gunners shot down one torpedo plane and saw at least nine others fall from our combined gunfire.
The Yorktown, under the command of Captain Buckmaster, dodged eight torpedoes and all but one bomb which penetrated the flight deck, killing or seriously injuring 66 men, but did not impair flight operations.
The Lexington (CV-2) received two torpedo hits and three bomb hits which gave her a 7 degree list to port, partially flooded three engineering spaces, started several fires and put her elevators out of commission. Within one hour her crew nearly had her fires under control. She was making 25 knots and her planes returned and were landed. At 1247 hours there was a heavy explosion from gasoline fumes below decks and it was apparent that the Lexington was doomed.
The crew was ordered to abandon ship and went over the side, to be picked up by cruisers and destroyers. As she continued to burn the destroyer Phelps fired two torpedoes into her hull and shortly thereafter she sank.
During this engagement the gunfire, falling and diving planes, smoke, bomb and torpedo explosions seemed like a display or 4lh of July celebration. It was rather difficult for me to realize that we were actually in a battle and that death might be imminent. Perhaps if we had been hit and I had seen the effects on ship and personnel at close range the realization would have come sooner.
I also recall hearing stories of communications between sailors preparing to abandon ship on the Lexington and shipmates trapped in compartments below decks (in one case brothers) and imagining the feeling of horror and futility felt by both.
The Portland received 345 Lexington survivors from the destroyer Morris, transferring some to the destroyer Anderson and landing others at Tongatapu, (Tongatabu as we called it) Tonga Islands, where we arrived May 14, 1942. The Portland's log recorded a total of 39 officers and 683 enlisted men were received from destroyers May 8 and 10.
About dusk the day of the battle we saw considerable commotion on the Yorktown, with flashing lights and maneuvering planes and heard that a Japanese plane or planes were attempting to land on her flight deck, mistaking her for their own carrier. They were shot down.
This is reality; this is war - the glory, honor and esteem of those who lived - the horror, pain, despair and sacrifice of those who died or were maimed, with such a thin line separating the two.
On May 16, 1942, while at Tongatapu, Captain Perlman was relieved of command of our ship by Captain L. T. DuBose and on May 19 we left Tonga with the Yorktown for Pearl Harbor where we arrived May 27.
The Yorktown was quickly repaired sufficiently to fight. We took on supplies, ammunition and fuel and sailed in the screen of tough old Yorktown, as task force 17, Admiral Fletcher in command, on May 30. On June 2 we made rendezvous with the Enterprise carrier task force 16 which included the Hornet. Admiral Spruance was in command.
The battle of Midway began June 4, 1942. Planes from our carriers attacked the Japanese force and, although most of our torpedo planes as well as many land-based planes were shot down without scoring any hits, their sacrifice was not in vain. They diverted attention while our dive bombers attacked with little fighter opposition and so damaged the enemy carriers Soryu, Akagj and Kaga that they sank later in the day.
The Hiryu, some distance from the other carriers and still untouched, launched planes to attack Yorktown before being spotted by search aircraft. In this attack our gunners shot down seven planes. Lloyd George Jackson, my partner on the searchlight platform, and I used 30-caliber machine guns, previously mounted at my request by our gunner's mates, to shoot at attacking enemy planes. We didn't know how effective we were, as there seemed to be almost a solid wall of fire from all of our guns, but we may have made hits and the participation in striking back certainly helped our morale.
During this attack six of the enemy planes scored bomb hits on the Yorktown, disabling her and Admiral Fletcher transferred his flag to the cruiser Astoria. The Portland was ordered to take the Yorktown in tow, however before we could do so her magnificent crew had corrected damage sufficiently to pick up speed to 20 knots. When an enemy torpedo attack came she was hit twice on the port side, breaching most of her fuel tanks on that side, jamming her rudder and severing power connections. Captain Buckmaster gave the order to abandon ship.
Meanwhile, aircraft she had launched prior to the attack along with aircraft from the Enterprise, attacked and damaged the Hiryu so severely that Japanese destroyers sank her to prevent capture.
Efforts were still being made to salvage the Yorktown, who was being assisted by the destroyer Hammann, when a Japanese submarine fired four torpedoes. Two of these hit the Hammann which was torn in two and sank in four minutes. The other two hit the Yorktown but she remained afloat until dawn on June 7, when she rolled over and sank. Portland received hundreds of Yorktown survivors from destroyers who were then transferred to the Fulton on June 6.
These ships and all our brave men were regrettable losses but the enemy had suffered a tremendous defeat, especially in light of comparison of our forces, since we were vastly outnumbered in every class of ship.
Notes:
For identification of the three large merchant ships and the two cruisers that escorted them referred to in this story see "The Things I Remember", by Kenneth Joy, above.
For USS Hammann, DD-412, see: http://www.history.navy.mil/danfs/h2/hammann-i.htm
Willard "Bo" Losh
February 18, 1942. Underway with three large merchant ships. We convoyed them to a point south and east of Samoa where we were met by two British cruisers and we turned the escort duties over to them. We stopped at Samoa March 4 and 3 days later sailed for a rendezvous in the Coral Sea with the aircraft carrier Yorktown (CV-5) flagship of Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher's task force 17, stopping at Fiji on the way.
We made rendezvous March 14 and joined the offensive patrol in the Coral Sea screening the Yorktown. In late April, Captain Thompson was relieved as commanding officer by Captain B. Pertman. On May 1, at a point southwest of the New Hebrides Islands we were joined by the aircraft carrier Lexington and accompanying units of task force 11 under the command of Rear Admiral Aubrey W. Fitch.
The Japanese had a powerful task force formed to win control of the Coral Sea and isolate Australia, take Port Moresby and New Guinea with troop transports guarded by destroyers. They also planned to take Tulagi Island near Florida Island with an amphibious task group, and set up a sea plane base there.
These groups were covered by the light aircraft carrier Soho, four heavy cruisers and a destroyer, phis a fast carrier task force including the powerful carriers Shokaku and Zuikaku, screened by destroyers and cruisers.
About this time, while fueling from the tanker Neosho, some of our people, including Chief King, Flaherty and Gaylord were transferred to the Neosho for return to the United States for further assignment.
At daybreak on May 4, 1942, while we were still guarding the Yorktown, she launched attack aircraft to strike the Japanese invasion force at Tulagi. Their bombs and torpedoes sank a Japanese destroyer, three mine sweepers and four landing barges, destroyed five seaplanes and damaged other ships including the destroyer Yukuzi. This same day an Australian cruiser-destroyer task force joined our carrier task forces and on May 6 all forces merged into a single task force under the command of Admiral Fletcher.
The Australian force was then ordered to the Louisades Archipelago to intercept the Japanese move toward Port Moresby.
On May 7, our task force, with both Yorktown and Lexington, moved northward into the Coral Sea searching for enemy covering forces. On this day planes from the Japanese carriers attacked and sank the tanker Neosho and her escort destroyer Sims. We got word later that Gaylord was killed and that King and Flaherty were badly burned but survived.
While the enemy planes were thus engaged aircraft from our carriers sank the Japanese carrier Shoho.
The carrier battle of the Coral Sea began the morning of May 8, 1942, when planes from our carriers attacked the big Japanese aircraft carriers Zuikaku and Shokaku, who were screened by two heavy cruisers and several destroyers. The Shokaku was so damaged that she could not launch aircraft and had 108 men killed and 40 wounded. However her planes had already been launched and attacked our carriers shortly after 1100 hours. Portland gunners shot down one torpedo plane and saw at least nine others fall from our combined gunfire.
The Yorktown, under the command of Captain Buckmaster, dodged eight torpedoes and all but one bomb which penetrated the flight deck, killing or seriously injuring 66 men, but did not impair flight operations.
The Lexington (CV-2) received two torpedo hits and three bomb hits which gave her a 7 degree list to port, partially flooded three engineering spaces, started several fires and put her elevators out of commission. Within one hour her crew nearly had her fires under control. She was making 25 knots and her planes returned and were landed. At 1247 hours there was a heavy explosion from gasoline fumes below decks and it was apparent that the Lexington was doomed.
The crew was ordered to abandon ship and went over the side, to be picked up by cruisers and destroyers. As she continued to burn the destroyer Phelps fired two torpedoes into her hull and shortly thereafter she sank.
During this engagement the gunfire, falling and diving planes, smoke, bomb and torpedo explosions seemed like a display or 4lh of July celebration. It was rather difficult for me to realize that we were actually in a battle and that death might be imminent. Perhaps if we had been hit and I had seen the effects on ship and personnel at close range the realization would have come sooner.
I also recall hearing stories of communications between sailors preparing to abandon ship on the Lexington and shipmates trapped in compartments below decks (in one case brothers) and imagining the feeling of horror and futility felt by both.
The Portland received 345 Lexington survivors from the destroyer Morris, transferring some to the destroyer Anderson and landing others at Tongatapu, (Tongatabu as we called it) Tonga Islands, where we arrived May 14, 1942. The Portland's log recorded a total of 39 officers and 683 enlisted men were received from destroyers May 8 and 10.
About dusk the day of the battle we saw considerable commotion on the Yorktown, with flashing lights and maneuvering planes and heard that a Japanese plane or planes were attempting to land on her flight deck, mistaking her for their own carrier. They were shot down.
This is reality; this is war - the glory, honor and esteem of those who lived - the horror, pain, despair and sacrifice of those who died or were maimed, with such a thin line separating the two.
On May 16, 1942, while at Tongatapu, Captain Perlman was relieved of command of our ship by Captain L. T. DuBose and on May 19 we left Tonga with the Yorktown for Pearl Harbor where we arrived May 27.
The Yorktown was quickly repaired sufficiently to fight. We took on supplies, ammunition and fuel and sailed in the screen of tough old Yorktown, as task force 17, Admiral Fletcher in command, on May 30. On June 2 we made rendezvous with the Enterprise carrier task force 16 which included the Hornet. Admiral Spruance was in command.
The battle of Midway began June 4, 1942. Planes from our carriers attacked the Japanese force and, although most of our torpedo planes as well as many land-based planes were shot down without scoring any hits, their sacrifice was not in vain. They diverted attention while our dive bombers attacked with little fighter opposition and so damaged the enemy carriers Soryu, Akagj and Kaga that they sank later in the day.
The Hiryu, some distance from the other carriers and still untouched, launched planes to attack Yorktown before being spotted by search aircraft. In this attack our gunners shot down seven planes. Lloyd George Jackson, my partner on the searchlight platform, and I used 30-caliber machine guns, previously mounted at my request by our gunner's mates, to shoot at attacking enemy planes. We didn't know how effective we were, as there seemed to be almost a solid wall of fire from all of our guns, but we may have made hits and the participation in striking back certainly helped our morale.
During this attack six of the enemy planes scored bomb hits on the Yorktown, disabling her and Admiral Fletcher transferred his flag to the cruiser Astoria. The Portland was ordered to take the Yorktown in tow, however before we could do so her magnificent crew had corrected damage sufficiently to pick up speed to 20 knots. When an enemy torpedo attack came she was hit twice on the port side, breaching most of her fuel tanks on that side, jamming her rudder and severing power connections. Captain Buckmaster gave the order to abandon ship.
Meanwhile, aircraft she had launched prior to the attack along with aircraft from the Enterprise, attacked and damaged the Hiryu so severely that Japanese destroyers sank her to prevent capture.
Efforts were still being made to salvage the Yorktown, who was being assisted by the destroyer Hammann, when a Japanese submarine fired four torpedoes. Two of these hit the Hammann which was torn in two and sank in four minutes. The other two hit the Yorktown but she remained afloat until dawn on June 7, when she rolled over and sank. Portland received hundreds of Yorktown survivors from destroyers who were then transferred to the Fulton on June 6.
These ships and all our brave men were regrettable losses but the enemy had suffered a tremendous defeat, especially in light of comparison of our forces, since we were vastly outnumbered in every class of ship.
Notes:
For identification of the three large merchant ships and the two cruisers that escorted them referred to in this story see "The Things I Remember", by Kenneth Joy, above.
For USS Hammann, DD-412, see: http://www.history.navy.mil/danfs/h2/hammann-i.htm
BIRDS AND "BOOZE" (?) Vol. I, p. 31
Harold Johnson
One peculiarity of land masses in the tropics, like Guadalcanal, was the cloud cover that almost always hung over them. On August 7, 1942, after having landed the Marines, we had retired a few miles from the beach and were stationed on the lookout for any Japs. We were on the alert for enemy aircraft and were startled by a report from one of the other ships of enemy planes approaching.
Although our radar did not confirm this, sure enough, out of the cloud cover above the island there appeared about 30 specks in the sky and coming straight for us. (In the early days of the war a lot of officers put little faith in radar.)
All hands were ready with the AA guns when Captain DuBose started to laugh. Through the long glass he realized that the "attacking" planes were just a flock of large birds.
Then, in late October, 1942, we were in Noumea, New Caledonia for supplies. Almost on a daily basis, "Charlie" a Jap reconnaissance plane, would come over the harbor causing some consternation. We were in the middle of one of our few personnel inspections when suddenly "Stand by to repel air attack" rang out. We maimed our battle stations and fired a few AA shots into the air to chase "Charlie" off, then went back to formal inspection, dirty whites and all.
In early afternoon, barges came alongside and started unloading long overdue supplies on our quarter deck. This provisioning in New Caledonia was like any other of our supply operations with one exception. There was a shipment of four cases of Clorox bleach that were handled like crates of eggs and were carried aft to the Chiefs quarters -- all by chiefs.
Since chiefs never performed such menial tasks, the purity of the "Clorox" was a topic of discussion for several days. The chiefs were in "good spirits" for several weeks.
Harold Johnson
One peculiarity of land masses in the tropics, like Guadalcanal, was the cloud cover that almost always hung over them. On August 7, 1942, after having landed the Marines, we had retired a few miles from the beach and were stationed on the lookout for any Japs. We were on the alert for enemy aircraft and were startled by a report from one of the other ships of enemy planes approaching.
Although our radar did not confirm this, sure enough, out of the cloud cover above the island there appeared about 30 specks in the sky and coming straight for us. (In the early days of the war a lot of officers put little faith in radar.)
All hands were ready with the AA guns when Captain DuBose started to laugh. Through the long glass he realized that the "attacking" planes were just a flock of large birds.
Then, in late October, 1942, we were in Noumea, New Caledonia for supplies. Almost on a daily basis, "Charlie" a Jap reconnaissance plane, would come over the harbor causing some consternation. We were in the middle of one of our few personnel inspections when suddenly "Stand by to repel air attack" rang out. We maimed our battle stations and fired a few AA shots into the air to chase "Charlie" off, then went back to formal inspection, dirty whites and all.
In early afternoon, barges came alongside and started unloading long overdue supplies on our quarter deck. This provisioning in New Caledonia was like any other of our supply operations with one exception. There was a shipment of four cases of Clorox bleach that were handled like crates of eggs and were carried aft to the Chiefs quarters -- all by chiefs.
Since chiefs never performed such menial tasks, the purity of the "Clorox" was a topic of discussion for several days. The chiefs were in "good spirits" for several weeks.
SURGERY UNDER FIRE Vol. I, pp. 31-33
Lawrence E. C. Joers, M.D.
During August of 1942, Portland was part of TU 16.1.2, helping to screen the Enterprise. At that time it was a very busy assignment in the Eastern Solomons. With frequent attacks from enemy planes, there was a lot of ack-ack and the Portland's guns were credited with many splashes as the task force drove them off.
We had no injured sailors in the sick bay at the time, but as Senior Medical Officer, the morning of August 24 found me with considerable concern. A sailor, who had been a patient in sick bay for one day, was developing signs of a very acute abdomen. I feared complications, but hesitated to operate because of frequent attacks by enemy planes. Finally, I went to the bridge to consult with the Captain. He agreed that the air attacks were unpredictable, and that one could cause serious complications in the middle of surgery. But the patient was suffering and might develop fatal complications. After consideration, he said, "Go ahead with the surgery and I'll keep you posted. I will let you know as soon as we get a warning." '
I rushed down to get surgery set up, and to locate the dentist who had administered anesthesia on a few patients for me, but it was not the thing at which he was most skillful. I explained the urgency, and asked if he would administer one of his "inimitable anesthetics" for me. Because of his lack of experience, he grinned, shrugged and agreed to do his best and soon we were in business.
The operation was difficult. The trouble was caused by an infected appendix. It was buried in adhesions behind the large bowel, and was displaced upward nearly behind the liver. It had not ruptured and I did not want to cause it to leak, so I carefully freed the adhesions, applying ties to all bleeding points. With a sigh of relief, and a thanks to God, I freed the inflamed tip of the organ. I really sweat to get that appendix out and into a bottle. I was just ready to sew up the incision, when a messenger stuck his head in the doorway to surgery and yelled "Captain said to tell you enemy planes are coming and we have to go to battle stations."
I made a quick but firm closure and we put the lad to bed.
We rushed to our battle stations, and soon saw twelve large torpedo bombers coming over the horizon. As they approached, they spread out over our fleet and one seemed headed for the Portland. It was jarring and surprising when #1 turret fired a round point blank at the approaching plane. There was an explosion that rocked the bomber, but it continued to come, and dropped its "fish", which headed for our ship. There were anxious, frightened moments while the ship maneuvered, causing the torpedo to miss its target. While some were watching the terrifying situation develop, men at their guns stayed with their responsibility and soon the bomber was splashed. What a relief for all.
Soon the battle was over, all the bombers but one had been shot down. Although numerous ships were firing at it, it seemed this one was going to escape. As it neared the horizon, a small fighter plane came boring down out of the blue, reminding one of an angry hornet. With guns blazing, it quickly overtook the bomber; there was an explosion and the enemy bomber disappeared into the ocean.
USS Portland (CA33) received credit for two splashes. Three of the ships of the task force received minor gunfire damage, but no casualties and no torpedo damage to the fleet.
Soon the excitement had time to quiet, the battle had time to be re-fought and the day again became routine. I slipped down to sick bay to find my surgical patient awake, doing well and fuming because of what he had missed.
Lawrence E. C. Joers, M.D.
During August of 1942, Portland was part of TU 16.1.2, helping to screen the Enterprise. At that time it was a very busy assignment in the Eastern Solomons. With frequent attacks from enemy planes, there was a lot of ack-ack and the Portland's guns were credited with many splashes as the task force drove them off.
We had no injured sailors in the sick bay at the time, but as Senior Medical Officer, the morning of August 24 found me with considerable concern. A sailor, who had been a patient in sick bay for one day, was developing signs of a very acute abdomen. I feared complications, but hesitated to operate because of frequent attacks by enemy planes. Finally, I went to the bridge to consult with the Captain. He agreed that the air attacks were unpredictable, and that one could cause serious complications in the middle of surgery. But the patient was suffering and might develop fatal complications. After consideration, he said, "Go ahead with the surgery and I'll keep you posted. I will let you know as soon as we get a warning." '
I rushed down to get surgery set up, and to locate the dentist who had administered anesthesia on a few patients for me, but it was not the thing at which he was most skillful. I explained the urgency, and asked if he would administer one of his "inimitable anesthetics" for me. Because of his lack of experience, he grinned, shrugged and agreed to do his best and soon we were in business.
The operation was difficult. The trouble was caused by an infected appendix. It was buried in adhesions behind the large bowel, and was displaced upward nearly behind the liver. It had not ruptured and I did not want to cause it to leak, so I carefully freed the adhesions, applying ties to all bleeding points. With a sigh of relief, and a thanks to God, I freed the inflamed tip of the organ. I really sweat to get that appendix out and into a bottle. I was just ready to sew up the incision, when a messenger stuck his head in the doorway to surgery and yelled "Captain said to tell you enemy planes are coming and we have to go to battle stations."
I made a quick but firm closure and we put the lad to bed.
We rushed to our battle stations, and soon saw twelve large torpedo bombers coming over the horizon. As they approached, they spread out over our fleet and one seemed headed for the Portland. It was jarring and surprising when #1 turret fired a round point blank at the approaching plane. There was an explosion that rocked the bomber, but it continued to come, and dropped its "fish", which headed for our ship. There were anxious, frightened moments while the ship maneuvered, causing the torpedo to miss its target. While some were watching the terrifying situation develop, men at their guns stayed with their responsibility and soon the bomber was splashed. What a relief for all.
Soon the battle was over, all the bombers but one had been shot down. Although numerous ships were firing at it, it seemed this one was going to escape. As it neared the horizon, a small fighter plane came boring down out of the blue, reminding one of an angry hornet. With guns blazing, it quickly overtook the bomber; there was an explosion and the enemy bomber disappeared into the ocean.
USS Portland (CA33) received credit for two splashes. Three of the ships of the task force received minor gunfire damage, but no casualties and no torpedo damage to the fleet.
Soon the excitement had time to quiet, the battle had time to be re-fought and the day again became routine. I slipped down to sick bay to find my surgical patient awake, doing well and fuming because of what he had missed.
Edward Smith Vol. I, p 33
I was that surgical patient. This quote is taken from the ship's log, "12 Nov. 1942 1130 Lt Cdr. (MC) L.E.C. Joers commenced appendectomy on Smith, WT2c." I went to sick bay 2300, Wednesday, 11 Nov. 1942, had surgery the following morning after spinal tap and morphine. After the ship was hit on the 13th, someone stuck his head in the door and told me not to worry - "If the ship sinks, well get you off."
I was that surgical patient. This quote is taken from the ship's log, "12 Nov. 1942 1130 Lt Cdr. (MC) L.E.C. Joers commenced appendectomy on Smith, WT2c." I went to sick bay 2300, Wednesday, 11 Nov. 1942, had surgery the following morning after spinal tap and morphine. After the ship was hit on the 13th, someone stuck his head in the door and told me not to worry - "If the ship sinks, well get you off."
'42nd STREET AND TIMES SQUARE'
Fred "Fritz" Formica Vol II., pp. 46-47
One morning sometime in October, 1942, I was at my General Quarters station. Forward Repair 1. I needed to make a head call. Forward Repair 1 was located in officer's country but, since everyone was at their General Quarters stations, hell, no problem. I went into the officer's head. While standing in the closed water closet, I realized that someone else was also relieving himself in the next stall but with the lighting being in semi-darkness, I did not recognize who it was.
I rejoined my repair unit which included Al Lucas and Frank Hunt and sat down on the deck in the passageway. Then I was confronted with a voice asking who was using the officer's head. I got up and told the officer that I was the one. He asked for my name, rate and division. I answered "Fred Formica, SF2c, 'R' Division." It was light enough to recognize the officer, Lt.Cdr. Ignatius Nicolai Trippi, Supply officer.
He left and I never gave it another thought until that afternoon when over the ship's loudspeaker came a loud and clear voice, "Formica, SF2c report to the executive officer's office immediately." Now what? Never giving a thought about the officer's head situation, I walked into the Exec's office. Present was LtCdr. Trippi and Commander Wirth, who prior to becoming the Executive Officer, had been the damage control officer and knew me on a personal basis. Well, he read me the riot act. "How dare you use the officer's head, etc. etc." and with that he gave me a warning which, I believe satisfied Lt.Cdr. Trippi, and I was excused.
An hour or two later the loud speaker again blared out "Formica, SF2c, lay up to the Exec's office on the double." Off I go and now, standing before the Exec, he again reminded me of my wrong doing, then he dropped the subject and very friendly-like asked
if I could make a painting of Capt. L, T. DuBose sitting in the chart house on his personal chair with bedlam going on. I got the hang of what the Commander was explaining to me and I suggested a 42nd Street and Times Square mob scene.
With that I departed and started on the painting as soon as possible. In the end it was a watercolor and India ink of the chart house, approximately 16" x 20" consisting of the captain sitting in his chair with a grumpy look and annoyed. I also painted a couple of men swabbing down the deck, three or four officers charting the course that lay ahead, a couple of ship fitters repairing a leaky gasket on one of the watertight doors, plus officers and sailors entering and exiting. The painting was titled "42nd Street and Times Square."
After completing the painting I showed it to Frazier, Chief Carpenters Mate and asked if he could frame it. He was glad to do it. I believe this project took me three or four days and then I took it up to the Exec's office and he was very pleased, so I left the painting with him and left for my regular duties.
A couple of days passed and then that loudspeaker blared again. This time it was "Formica, SF2c, lay up to the Captain's cabin." This was another nail-biter. Now what had I done?
As it turned out, when I reported to the Captain's cabin, Cdr. Wirth was there to greet me and in turn introduced me to the Captain as the artist had painted the picture he had just given him. Evidently the Captain liked the painting very much, grumpy look and all and he thanked me. He was very gracious. He wound up hanging the painting in his sea cabin. Every time I looked through the port hole, there was my painting. I felt very proud.
The years went by and after the war over I received shore duty in Fort Pierce, FL.
Going on leave with a shipmate, we went north and stopped at the Navy Annex building in Washington, D C . Walking down one of the passageways I noticed on one of the office doors "Rear Admiral L. T. DuBose." I knocked on the door and a Commander opened the door and looked at this sailor dressed in tailor made blues, 1st class stripes with a hash mark. I recognized him as from the Portland, Lt. V. G. Nibbs, 3rd Division. He told me to go next door to the waiting room.
I told him who I was and I saw the Admiral in his office. He got a glimpse of me and recognized me and waved me into his office. He had many high ranking officers in his waiting room but he greeted me with a handshake and asked me all sorts of questions about the USS Portland. I asked if he still had the painting and he told me it was hanging in his home in Charleston, SC.
Captain L. T. DuBose eventually retired as Vice Admiral in charge or the Eastern Sea Frontier. It was a great experience with the greatest skipper I ever served.
Fred "Fritz" Formica Vol II., pp. 46-47
One morning sometime in October, 1942, I was at my General Quarters station. Forward Repair 1. I needed to make a head call. Forward Repair 1 was located in officer's country but, since everyone was at their General Quarters stations, hell, no problem. I went into the officer's head. While standing in the closed water closet, I realized that someone else was also relieving himself in the next stall but with the lighting being in semi-darkness, I did not recognize who it was.
I rejoined my repair unit which included Al Lucas and Frank Hunt and sat down on the deck in the passageway. Then I was confronted with a voice asking who was using the officer's head. I got up and told the officer that I was the one. He asked for my name, rate and division. I answered "Fred Formica, SF2c, 'R' Division." It was light enough to recognize the officer, Lt.Cdr. Ignatius Nicolai Trippi, Supply officer.
He left and I never gave it another thought until that afternoon when over the ship's loudspeaker came a loud and clear voice, "Formica, SF2c report to the executive officer's office immediately." Now what? Never giving a thought about the officer's head situation, I walked into the Exec's office. Present was LtCdr. Trippi and Commander Wirth, who prior to becoming the Executive Officer, had been the damage control officer and knew me on a personal basis. Well, he read me the riot act. "How dare you use the officer's head, etc. etc." and with that he gave me a warning which, I believe satisfied Lt.Cdr. Trippi, and I was excused.
An hour or two later the loud speaker again blared out "Formica, SF2c, lay up to the Exec's office on the double." Off I go and now, standing before the Exec, he again reminded me of my wrong doing, then he dropped the subject and very friendly-like asked
if I could make a painting of Capt. L, T. DuBose sitting in the chart house on his personal chair with bedlam going on. I got the hang of what the Commander was explaining to me and I suggested a 42nd Street and Times Square mob scene.
With that I departed and started on the painting as soon as possible. In the end it was a watercolor and India ink of the chart house, approximately 16" x 20" consisting of the captain sitting in his chair with a grumpy look and annoyed. I also painted a couple of men swabbing down the deck, three or four officers charting the course that lay ahead, a couple of ship fitters repairing a leaky gasket on one of the watertight doors, plus officers and sailors entering and exiting. The painting was titled "42nd Street and Times Square."
After completing the painting I showed it to Frazier, Chief Carpenters Mate and asked if he could frame it. He was glad to do it. I believe this project took me three or four days and then I took it up to the Exec's office and he was very pleased, so I left the painting with him and left for my regular duties.
A couple of days passed and then that loudspeaker blared again. This time it was "Formica, SF2c, lay up to the Captain's cabin." This was another nail-biter. Now what had I done?
As it turned out, when I reported to the Captain's cabin, Cdr. Wirth was there to greet me and in turn introduced me to the Captain as the artist had painted the picture he had just given him. Evidently the Captain liked the painting very much, grumpy look and all and he thanked me. He was very gracious. He wound up hanging the painting in his sea cabin. Every time I looked through the port hole, there was my painting. I felt very proud.
The years went by and after the war over I received shore duty in Fort Pierce, FL.
Going on leave with a shipmate, we went north and stopped at the Navy Annex building in Washington, D C . Walking down one of the passageways I noticed on one of the office doors "Rear Admiral L. T. DuBose." I knocked on the door and a Commander opened the door and looked at this sailor dressed in tailor made blues, 1st class stripes with a hash mark. I recognized him as from the Portland, Lt. V. G. Nibbs, 3rd Division. He told me to go next door to the waiting room.
I told him who I was and I saw the Admiral in his office. He got a glimpse of me and recognized me and waved me into his office. He had many high ranking officers in his waiting room but he greeted me with a handshake and asked me all sorts of questions about the USS Portland. I asked if he still had the painting and he told me it was hanging in his home in Charleston, SC.
Captain L. T. DuBose eventually retired as Vice Admiral in charge or the Eastern Sea Frontier. It was a great experience with the greatest skipper I ever served.
FISHED Vol. I, p. 33
Harold "Johnny" Johnson
About noon on Oct. 24, 1942, while in the vicinity of the Santa Cruz Islands, we came under attack by enemy planes. We were screening the Enterprise. The Hornet was about 10,000 yards away. We were stationed about 4000 yards off the Enterprise's port beam. One of the attacking planes came at us about 20 feet above the water, heading directly for the middle of our starboard side. Our Marine 5 inch battery crew put several quick shells in the air, one hitting the plane tight on then nose, the Jap went down in flames about 100 yards from the ship.
The gun crew noticed a periscope come up in the debris of the downed plane, then tracks of four torpedoes streaked for us. Three of them hit the side and one glanced off the rudder. None exploded, apparently because they had not had sufficient distance to arm themselves before striking us.
Harold "Johnny" Johnson
About noon on Oct. 24, 1942, while in the vicinity of the Santa Cruz Islands, we came under attack by enemy planes. We were screening the Enterprise. The Hornet was about 10,000 yards away. We were stationed about 4000 yards off the Enterprise's port beam. One of the attacking planes came at us about 20 feet above the water, heading directly for the middle of our starboard side. Our Marine 5 inch battery crew put several quick shells in the air, one hitting the plane tight on then nose, the Jap went down in flames about 100 yards from the ship.
The gun crew noticed a periscope come up in the debris of the downed plane, then tracks of four torpedoes streaked for us. Three of them hit the side and one glanced off the rudder. None exploded, apparently because they had not had sufficient distance to arm themselves before striking us.
SICKBAY Vol. I, pp. 33-34
George Dolezal
I was in sick bay during the battle of Santa Cruz in 1942 when the three dud torpedoes hit our hull. I could hear them hit and scrape which seemed about 60 feet from where I was laying. The reason I was in sick bay was that I almost lost my leg just prior to the battle.
We were experimenting sending guard mail via position buoy when the wire got loose from the winch. I knocked some sailors clear and tried to reach down to get a turn on the winch. In the process, I got caught in the bight of the line. It wrapped around my ankle and nearly rope-burned my leg off.
Dr. R.H. Williams, Lieutenant, USN, saved my leg. He took 119 "pinch grafts" of skin from my stomach to cover the wound. "Doc" Williams was killed on Nov. 13, 1942, when we were hit with a torpedo during the 3rd Savo battle.
During that battle, my station was in turret 3. Sometime between the 14th and 20th of November, my brother, Bob Dolezal of the 5th division, and I were assigned to help with repairs. We were splicing wire, turning out one every 20 minutes while standing in waist deep water in the hold. It took nearly a whole day.
George Dolezal
I was in sick bay during the battle of Santa Cruz in 1942 when the three dud torpedoes hit our hull. I could hear them hit and scrape which seemed about 60 feet from where I was laying. The reason I was in sick bay was that I almost lost my leg just prior to the battle.
We were experimenting sending guard mail via position buoy when the wire got loose from the winch. I knocked some sailors clear and tried to reach down to get a turn on the winch. In the process, I got caught in the bight of the line. It wrapped around my ankle and nearly rope-burned my leg off.
Dr. R.H. Williams, Lieutenant, USN, saved my leg. He took 119 "pinch grafts" of skin from my stomach to cover the wound. "Doc" Williams was killed on Nov. 13, 1942, when we were hit with a torpedo during the 3rd Savo battle.
During that battle, my station was in turret 3. Sometime between the 14th and 20th of November, my brother, Bob Dolezal of the 5th division, and I were assigned to help with repairs. We were splicing wire, turning out one every 20 minutes while standing in waist deep water in the hold. It took nearly a whole day.
THIRD SAVO - A NIGHT TO REMEMBER Vol I., pp. 35-38
Harold "Johnny" Johnson
In early November, 1942, a supply convoy gathered in Noumea, New Caledonia, destined for Guadalcanal. We arrived in "Ironbottom Sound" off Henderson Field early on the morning of Nov. 12. While the ships were unloading, we came under low-level air attack by 26 twin engine "Betty" bombers with machine guns blazing at our ships at random. Each plane carried two torpedoes that were slow speed and incompatible with the high speed of the planes and they tumbled over as soon as they hit the water, reversing their course and missing all the targets.
In the melee, one of the planes crashed into the after superstructure of the USS San Francisco, causing some damage and loss of life. Several others were shot down, one by a gunner on our ship who got enraged by the sight of a Jap gunner in the after part of the bomber thumbing his nose at us. One of the Jap planes was downed in the water close to Guadalcanal, It's crew of eight scrambled out on the wing. One of our destroyers went over to take them off, only to receive small arms fire from the plane's crew. A fusillade from the 20mm guns of the destroyer soon ended this farce. These Jap bombers were a brand-new squadron just out of Japan, some not even painted. Newly arrived P-38 fighter planes downed all but one of the remaining enemy bombers as they left the area.
After things quieted down, the unloading continued with haste. Scout planes had sighted a large Jap force of battleships, cruisers and destroyers heading for Guadalcanal. Although the supply ships were not completely unloaded, they were quickly escorted out of the area. We then went back in, awaiting the Jap force. This was the same area that had seen one of the most devastating defeats suffered by the US Navy, when the Chicago was damaged and the cruisers Vincennes, Quincy, Astoria and the Australian cruiser, HMAS Canberra, were caught by surprise on Aug. 9th and sank with a loss of over 1,000 lives.
The night of the 12th started out very dark with no moon. About midnight we made radar contact with the incoming forces. The lead ships were the battlewagons Hiei and Kirishima. It was just about this time that the radar Range Indicator scope in the forward main battery director failed. I made my way up the mast to the director and instructed the operator in how to use the defective unit. I told him that even though it was not perfect, it would provide azimuth location and approximate distance and, since the forces were so close, the azimuth location was more important than range. It was on my trip down to the radar shack that the enemy battle wagons opened fire. I heard several close salvos of 18 inch shells go over us giving a "whoosh, whoosh" sound, then a distant explosion. Some fragments of closer exploding shells pierced the bulkhead of the radar shack, but were too spent to do any damage. We took several hits from small caliber weapons that caused no casualties and no damage.
The Japs had apparently been caught by surprise, because they had only "contact" exploding fragmentary ammunition for shore bombardment purposes, while we had armor piercing shells.
Note: Hiei and Kirishima possessed the largest caliber guns in the Japanese task force that night -14 inch. The IJN battleships Yamato and her sister ship Musashi carried nine 18.1 inch guns each, but neither ship took part in missions around Guadalcanal.
After returning to the radar shack, I put on a pair of phones that were connected into the main battery circuit. I heard the Director Officer say he had a large target. Portland put four 6 gun salvos from our 8 inchers into the battleship Kirishima, starting several fires. I then heard the Director Officer of the after main battery call out a target bearing 090 degrees at 300 yards on the starboard beam. The after turret trained on the target and fired off a salvo. My "at large" battle station afforded me an unobstructed view to action on both sides of the ship. I was watching as a Jap destroyer turned on his searchlights, a practice we did not use since our radar provided us with "eyes" in the dark. Just as the lights came up to full brilliance, our salvo hit him causing a huge explosion, then darkness as his searchlights went out. The Director Officer then reported that the target was disappearing from his screen and the enemy destroyer went under in minutes.
The Japs were in three columns. Our force headed down between the 1st and 2nd columns, turned about and headed up between the 2nd and 3rd columns, firing to port and starboard and making hits. Radar control of the guns put us at a distinct advantage, but our continued firing gave the Japs our location.
The USS San Francisco, the flag ship which was just ahead of us, took several hits, one on the bridge killing Admiral Callahan and most of the bridge personnel. Soon after, our main battery spotted a large target about 1,200 yards distant, and fired a salvo into it. Almost at the same instant we were struck on the after starboard quarter by a torpedo, which demolished the Chiefs’ quarters and main steering control. This caused us to turn in circles to starboard. Our 8 inch salvo had struck an enemy cruiser stopping him dead in the water and setting him afire.
The shooting stopped after 30 minutes of intensive firing. The navigable ships from both sides retired leaving the cripples behind. In the darkness I could see the flames from a dozen burning ships around us. Sounds of men splashing in the water were reported to the Captain, who identified himself and asked if they were American or Jap. "American, Captain" came the reply, "I’m bringing the ship to a stop, paddle your life raft over to us, we have no steering control." "Roger, Captain" came the reply, "We have no life raft either." Even in this desperate situation there was humor from three survivors of a destroyer.
From the time man invented war as a means of settling national arguments, boys, who should still be in the protection of their homes, looked upon war as an adventure and lied about their ages in order to get into action. We had two aboard. One was discovered soon after coming aboard and was sent back home while we were in Pearl Harbor. Another young lad managed to evade being found out and was having a good time at his 20mm gun station firing away at enemy planes in the Coral Sea and Midway actions. He was bragging about his prowess at downing a Jap and let it slip out that he was only 15. When this information reached his division officer, he was taken off duty and required to remain in a safe place when we went to GQ. During the night battle he was with a battle repair party near the stem when the torpedo hit us. He was one of the casualties. Repair parties only stood by to repair any battle damage, so it was thought to be a safe haven.
Early next morning, the 13th, we surveyed the carnage in the light of day. It was apparent that some of the ships on fire during the night had either sunk or repaired their damage and retired from the area. There was one Jap destroyer about 12.000 yards away, near Savo Island, firing on one of our destroyers close to him. The destroyer skipper told us over his emergency radio that he could not fire his guns. He asked for our assistance. Our captain passed the word that we were going to sink an enemy destroyer and said any personnel not engaged in the main battery could come topside to watch.
The first salvo was over the target. The next salvo was short. The next two straddled the Jap destroyer. The next salvo hit him amidships, putting him under within minutes.
Our next concern was safe haven. Messages about incoming Jap forces, consisting of battleships and their escorts, made it urgent for us to leave our exposed position and seek shelter. A small tug, the Bob-O-Link, had arrived from Tulagi to assist us. Very soon after a local island tramp, much like that in the movie "African Queen," offered to help. She was manned by natives from Tulagi, assisted by a U.S. Navy Lt. Commander. Both vessels were secured to our starboard side near the bow. The two vessels kept pushing on our bow to overcome the drag from our damaged stem. We thrust ahead with our propellers, paused as they straightened our heading, then thrust forward again. Meanwhile the Jap forces were drawing very close, so Captain DuBose, our skipper, told the two boats to break off and save themselves. Their answer was a resounding "Negative" so we continued.
After a long and anxious night, which included a torpedo attack by our own PT boats, (they missed) we arrived in Tulagi, and were able to tie up close-in. After more than 50 hours at GQ, most were too tired to worry about a bed and dropped where they were.
At one in the morning, the loudspeaker announced General Quarters. Since we were immobile and tied to a palm tree, we felt helpless at the thought of exposing our position by opening fire with the main battery.
Our situation was eased when the battleships USS Washington and USS South Dakota, plus their escort destroyers, intercepted the Japanese force, just north of Savo Island. In the ensuing battle the South Dakota suffered some damage but the Japs were forced to retreat with damage to their ships. One of the enemy ships damaged by the USS Washington was the Kirishima, the same battleship into which we had fired many salvos and was now in such bad shape that she was scuttled by the Japanese.
About ten in the morning, after we had completely secured from general quarters and things were quiet, one of the men from the fireroom came up on deck, ran screaming across the quarterdeck and ran right over the side. He was rescued and flown to the nearest hospital. He had become deranged, having been in such confinement below the waterline during battle. This incident made me realize the advantage of being topside during battle.
Although I was not claustrophobic, the fresh air and ready access to the sea more than overcame the fear of being exposed to shrapnel and machine gun bullets.
While in Tulagi, divers went down into our damaged area, bringing up bodies and parts of bodies. There were many sharks in the area, hampering the efforts of the divers. It was shocking to see a diver come up with an arm or a leg, realizing that this had once been one of my shipmates. One of our casualties was a well-liked and capable doctor named Williams. His loss left the ship with just two doctors. Dr. Lawrence Joers and Commander Smith, a pre-war doctor who was disliked by most of the crew. We all liked Dr. Williams. The torpedo had hit in the chiefs’ quarters, which was used as a battle casualty station, so some of our corpsmen were also lost.
The torpedo had also wiped out the B and C Division berthing compartments, as well as the laundry. Marty Omoth was able to swim into the compartment and retrieve some of his belongings amidst the twisted wreckage of bunks and lockers. I felt fortunate in having a bunk and locker in the radar shack.
Harold "Johnny" Johnson
In early November, 1942, a supply convoy gathered in Noumea, New Caledonia, destined for Guadalcanal. We arrived in "Ironbottom Sound" off Henderson Field early on the morning of Nov. 12. While the ships were unloading, we came under low-level air attack by 26 twin engine "Betty" bombers with machine guns blazing at our ships at random. Each plane carried two torpedoes that were slow speed and incompatible with the high speed of the planes and they tumbled over as soon as they hit the water, reversing their course and missing all the targets.
In the melee, one of the planes crashed into the after superstructure of the USS San Francisco, causing some damage and loss of life. Several others were shot down, one by a gunner on our ship who got enraged by the sight of a Jap gunner in the after part of the bomber thumbing his nose at us. One of the Jap planes was downed in the water close to Guadalcanal, It's crew of eight scrambled out on the wing. One of our destroyers went over to take them off, only to receive small arms fire from the plane's crew. A fusillade from the 20mm guns of the destroyer soon ended this farce. These Jap bombers were a brand-new squadron just out of Japan, some not even painted. Newly arrived P-38 fighter planes downed all but one of the remaining enemy bombers as they left the area.
After things quieted down, the unloading continued with haste. Scout planes had sighted a large Jap force of battleships, cruisers and destroyers heading for Guadalcanal. Although the supply ships were not completely unloaded, they were quickly escorted out of the area. We then went back in, awaiting the Jap force. This was the same area that had seen one of the most devastating defeats suffered by the US Navy, when the Chicago was damaged and the cruisers Vincennes, Quincy, Astoria and the Australian cruiser, HMAS Canberra, were caught by surprise on Aug. 9th and sank with a loss of over 1,000 lives.
The night of the 12th started out very dark with no moon. About midnight we made radar contact with the incoming forces. The lead ships were the battlewagons Hiei and Kirishima. It was just about this time that the radar Range Indicator scope in the forward main battery director failed. I made my way up the mast to the director and instructed the operator in how to use the defective unit. I told him that even though it was not perfect, it would provide azimuth location and approximate distance and, since the forces were so close, the azimuth location was more important than range. It was on my trip down to the radar shack that the enemy battle wagons opened fire. I heard several close salvos of 18 inch shells go over us giving a "whoosh, whoosh" sound, then a distant explosion. Some fragments of closer exploding shells pierced the bulkhead of the radar shack, but were too spent to do any damage. We took several hits from small caliber weapons that caused no casualties and no damage.
The Japs had apparently been caught by surprise, because they had only "contact" exploding fragmentary ammunition for shore bombardment purposes, while we had armor piercing shells.
Note: Hiei and Kirishima possessed the largest caliber guns in the Japanese task force that night -14 inch. The IJN battleships Yamato and her sister ship Musashi carried nine 18.1 inch guns each, but neither ship took part in missions around Guadalcanal.
After returning to the radar shack, I put on a pair of phones that were connected into the main battery circuit. I heard the Director Officer say he had a large target. Portland put four 6 gun salvos from our 8 inchers into the battleship Kirishima, starting several fires. I then heard the Director Officer of the after main battery call out a target bearing 090 degrees at 300 yards on the starboard beam. The after turret trained on the target and fired off a salvo. My "at large" battle station afforded me an unobstructed view to action on both sides of the ship. I was watching as a Jap destroyer turned on his searchlights, a practice we did not use since our radar provided us with "eyes" in the dark. Just as the lights came up to full brilliance, our salvo hit him causing a huge explosion, then darkness as his searchlights went out. The Director Officer then reported that the target was disappearing from his screen and the enemy destroyer went under in minutes.
The Japs were in three columns. Our force headed down between the 1st and 2nd columns, turned about and headed up between the 2nd and 3rd columns, firing to port and starboard and making hits. Radar control of the guns put us at a distinct advantage, but our continued firing gave the Japs our location.
The USS San Francisco, the flag ship which was just ahead of us, took several hits, one on the bridge killing Admiral Callahan and most of the bridge personnel. Soon after, our main battery spotted a large target about 1,200 yards distant, and fired a salvo into it. Almost at the same instant we were struck on the after starboard quarter by a torpedo, which demolished the Chiefs’ quarters and main steering control. This caused us to turn in circles to starboard. Our 8 inch salvo had struck an enemy cruiser stopping him dead in the water and setting him afire.
The shooting stopped after 30 minutes of intensive firing. The navigable ships from both sides retired leaving the cripples behind. In the darkness I could see the flames from a dozen burning ships around us. Sounds of men splashing in the water were reported to the Captain, who identified himself and asked if they were American or Jap. "American, Captain" came the reply, "I’m bringing the ship to a stop, paddle your life raft over to us, we have no steering control." "Roger, Captain" came the reply, "We have no life raft either." Even in this desperate situation there was humor from three survivors of a destroyer.
From the time man invented war as a means of settling national arguments, boys, who should still be in the protection of their homes, looked upon war as an adventure and lied about their ages in order to get into action. We had two aboard. One was discovered soon after coming aboard and was sent back home while we were in Pearl Harbor. Another young lad managed to evade being found out and was having a good time at his 20mm gun station firing away at enemy planes in the Coral Sea and Midway actions. He was bragging about his prowess at downing a Jap and let it slip out that he was only 15. When this information reached his division officer, he was taken off duty and required to remain in a safe place when we went to GQ. During the night battle he was with a battle repair party near the stem when the torpedo hit us. He was one of the casualties. Repair parties only stood by to repair any battle damage, so it was thought to be a safe haven.
Early next morning, the 13th, we surveyed the carnage in the light of day. It was apparent that some of the ships on fire during the night had either sunk or repaired their damage and retired from the area. There was one Jap destroyer about 12.000 yards away, near Savo Island, firing on one of our destroyers close to him. The destroyer skipper told us over his emergency radio that he could not fire his guns. He asked for our assistance. Our captain passed the word that we were going to sink an enemy destroyer and said any personnel not engaged in the main battery could come topside to watch.
The first salvo was over the target. The next salvo was short. The next two straddled the Jap destroyer. The next salvo hit him amidships, putting him under within minutes.
Our next concern was safe haven. Messages about incoming Jap forces, consisting of battleships and their escorts, made it urgent for us to leave our exposed position and seek shelter. A small tug, the Bob-O-Link, had arrived from Tulagi to assist us. Very soon after a local island tramp, much like that in the movie "African Queen," offered to help. She was manned by natives from Tulagi, assisted by a U.S. Navy Lt. Commander. Both vessels were secured to our starboard side near the bow. The two vessels kept pushing on our bow to overcome the drag from our damaged stem. We thrust ahead with our propellers, paused as they straightened our heading, then thrust forward again. Meanwhile the Jap forces were drawing very close, so Captain DuBose, our skipper, told the two boats to break off and save themselves. Their answer was a resounding "Negative" so we continued.
After a long and anxious night, which included a torpedo attack by our own PT boats, (they missed) we arrived in Tulagi, and were able to tie up close-in. After more than 50 hours at GQ, most were too tired to worry about a bed and dropped where they were.
At one in the morning, the loudspeaker announced General Quarters. Since we were immobile and tied to a palm tree, we felt helpless at the thought of exposing our position by opening fire with the main battery.
Our situation was eased when the battleships USS Washington and USS South Dakota, plus their escort destroyers, intercepted the Japanese force, just north of Savo Island. In the ensuing battle the South Dakota suffered some damage but the Japs were forced to retreat with damage to their ships. One of the enemy ships damaged by the USS Washington was the Kirishima, the same battleship into which we had fired many salvos and was now in such bad shape that she was scuttled by the Japanese.
About ten in the morning, after we had completely secured from general quarters and things were quiet, one of the men from the fireroom came up on deck, ran screaming across the quarterdeck and ran right over the side. He was rescued and flown to the nearest hospital. He had become deranged, having been in such confinement below the waterline during battle. This incident made me realize the advantage of being topside during battle.
Although I was not claustrophobic, the fresh air and ready access to the sea more than overcame the fear of being exposed to shrapnel and machine gun bullets.
While in Tulagi, divers went down into our damaged area, bringing up bodies and parts of bodies. There were many sharks in the area, hampering the efforts of the divers. It was shocking to see a diver come up with an arm or a leg, realizing that this had once been one of my shipmates. One of our casualties was a well-liked and capable doctor named Williams. His loss left the ship with just two doctors. Dr. Lawrence Joers and Commander Smith, a pre-war doctor who was disliked by most of the crew. We all liked Dr. Williams. The torpedo had hit in the chiefs’ quarters, which was used as a battle casualty station, so some of our corpsmen were also lost.
The torpedo had also wiped out the B and C Division berthing compartments, as well as the laundry. Marty Omoth was able to swim into the compartment and retrieve some of his belongings amidst the twisted wreckage of bunks and lockers. I felt fortunate in having a bunk and locker in the radar shack.
GUADALCANAL REMEMBERED Vol. II, pp. 47-55
T. R. "Turk" Wirth
I hope that by personal description of only one of USS Portland's (CA 33) activities we may gain her and her company such interest as to have her awarded the highest unit award - the Presidential. No ship has a better right, on her record, to wear the Presidential Unit Citation than the combat veteran Portland. She is now junked and many of her companies depleted, but her war record is readily available.
Portland's Captain at Guadalcanal was Captain Lawrence T. DuBose, U. S. N . (now, of course, Admiral, U.S. Navy, Ret.) I was his exec. Our ship's company was one of the finest embodiment that I have known, of that fraternity of spirit, loyalty and dedication to service that we mean in our term "good shipmate." The Captain disliked only one thing about us (continuously, at least.) We called her "Sweet Pea Maru." He always said he did not like that, but I never believed it.
Portland, Juneau and four destroyers, escorting four laden transports, sailed from Noumea for Guadalcanal on Sunday afternoon, 8 November, 1942, under command of Admiral Kelly Turner. En route we were joined by San Francisco, Helena and four destroyers out of Espiritu Santo, commanded by Admiral Dan Callaghan. Near midnight of Armistice Day we rendezvoused in Indispensable Straights with Atlanta and four destroyers. Admiral Norman Scott commanding. Admiral Scott had escorted three supply ships to our Guadalcanal beaches that morning. They had remained at the beaches discharging cargo, under the watch of destroyers.
The operation, under Admiral Turner, we all knew, was a critical one in the first stage of the American offensive in the Pacific. We knew that General Vandegrift's logistic situation was acute - that troop reinforcement, ammunition and supplies replenishment were essential to his hold on the Solomons and Henderson Field against Japanese determination to dislodge this first advance.
Portland had been at Coral Sea, Midway, Santa Cruz and the landing at Guadalcanal and other actions. We knew the plight of Astoria, Vincennes, Quincy, Canberra - "sitting ducks." With tiring labor - paint scraping, drills, and conferences - the ship's company had striven to profit by our ship's combat experience and all we could learn of the experience and fate of other ships to ready the "Sweet Pea" for our first contest in "Iron Bottom Sound." We knew that day would come, and when we left Noumea's protective harbor reefs I doubt that there was a man-jack among us to whom the thought had not occurred - "This is it!"
Jim, our fine young Chaplain, only recently lifted out of a quiet little church community in Idaho, dropped by Battle Two to chat. In time he confided "I am scared." Who wasn't? We stood silently in the dusk of Armistice Day looking out over the youngsters at the guns, on the signal bridge ahead, and around us, finally agreeing that they, too, must be scared - and more, that likely the ability of us older officers and men to conceal our inner fears and control our demeanor, was inspired by the brave bearing of "the troops" - especially the young lads.
Once formed, at about 2400, the cruisers and destroyers moved through hazardous Lengo Channel into "Iron Bottom Bay" (so dubbed because of the ships resting there) in pitch darkness illuminated only by the eerie flashes and sounds of the Marine's combat ashore on our port bow. The sight awed me. I had never seen ground battle. General Vandegrift's dispatches over some three months had made all too clear the unrelenting ferocity of action on Guadalcanal, but to see before one the spectacle, in the middle of the night, of men in fixed positions directly engaged in interminable killing struck a vivid fascination of horror in me. It seemed such personal combat, man-to-man, compared to the impersonal aura of fighting a speeding ship as a team.
We swept the bay several times and happily found no contest. We had the aquatic arena to ourselves that night. The similarity of the island-enclosed bay to a gridiron had occurred to me, because the Americans had mostly entered from the East, the Japs from the West, to fight their actions and the survivors, at end, had limped out to their respective "dressing rooms" East and West.
At dawn we found the transports landing troops at Kukum beach and Admiral Scott's supply ships discharging cargo at Lunga. The heavy cruisers formed an inner arc about the area and the light cruisers and destroyers another arc covering ours. The forenoon passed with minor incident. We exchanged light fire with a Jap battery, conducted a bit of target practice on landing craft along their beach and once faulted in firing on one of Henderson Field's planes. This, probably, was not "minor" to the plane's pilot and it certainly was not to either Admiral Callaghan or Admiral Turner.
In early afternoon Guadalcanal alerted "Condition Red" reporting approach down "the slot" of twenty five torpedo planes, fighter escorted. The auxiliaries suspended unloading,got underway, and formed two columns as planned. The combatants ringed them in screens. Just as the disposition was formed, heading northerly, the Bettys swung low around the Eastern end of Florida Island (the bay's Northern "bleachers.") The intensity of the ship's anti-aircraft fire, with a material assist from Henderson's planes, broke up the plane formation. They jettisoned their torpedoes and dispersed. Only one plane escaped to return to it's base. However one Jap plane, aflame, crashed San Francisco's main mast, killing and maiming. Possibly the first Kamikaze.
Later we heard that among the seriously wounded was San Francisco's exec, at Battle Two. He was Joe Hubbard, a classmate. When the wounded were removed to Guadal, Joe refused to leave the ship because San Francisco's new Captain, Cassin Young, had assumed command only shortly before the sortie from Espiritu. In the night action that followed Hubbard and Young were both killed.
As soon as the "matinée" concluded, the auxiliaries promptly returned to their beach stations and resumed off-loading troops and cargo. In proceeding to our screen station we passed one of Guadal's pilots, Mae West clad and treading water, awaiting pick-up by landing craft cruising about looking for "splashed" survivors much as a taxi cruises for patrons. As we passed, close aboard, the youngster, grinning widely, gave us the old "hitch hiker's" thumbed appeal for a lift.
The rest of the afternoon was relatively quiet. We relaxed to a modified Condition One. I sauntered up to the bridge and climbed to the comfort of the port side bridge chair reserved for execs, lighted a cigarette and indulged a philosophical appraisal of the day and the panorama before me. Persuaded, no doubt, by the eminent success of the afternoon shoot, I reached a conclusion that matters could be much worse.
Then there happened an experience the memory of which will never leave me. I overheard Admiral Turner give Admiral Callaghan, orally, the order that was fulfilled in the fight of that night, which official naval reports characterized as "one of the most furious sea battles ever fought."
The "squawk box" chattered from time to time playing little disturbance upon my reverie - until I heard Admiral Turner, himself, call Admiral Callaghan, himself. I do not remember the actual code names of the two admirals for the operation but it will serve to imagine that Admiral Turner's was "Tiger" and Admiral Callaghan's "Cougar."
The conversation, in my memory, went about like this:
Tiger: "Cougar, Cougar, this is Tiger."
Cougar: "Tiger, Tiger, this is Cougar."
Tiger" "This is Tiger, himself I want to talk to Cougar personally."
Cougar: "Aye aye, sir, I'll get him."
There followed a pause while a member of his staff" reached Admiral Callaghan and the Admiral came to the "squawk box." Then:
Cougar: "Tiger, Tiger, this is Cougar."
Tiger: "Is this Cougar himself?"
Cougar: "Yes, sir."
Tiger: "At dusk I am getting underway and standing out. I want you to give me five destroyers low in fuel and ammunition. Stand out with me. In Indispensable Straights I shall proceed to base. I want you, then, to come back here and meet them.
The Admiral paused a second, then added:
"They have some big fellows."
Cougar: "I know. Do you have a pilot?"
Tiger: "Yes, haven't you?"
Cougar: "No, sir, I'd like to have yours."
Tiger: "I'll send one over - but you must have publications, too."
Cougar: "Oh, we have hydrographics. I meant someone who knows these channel
waters."
Tiger: "No, we have no one like that. Good luck. Over."
Cougar: "Thank you, sir. Over and out"
All ships were underway in time to stand out to the straights before daylight failed. Without doubt the Japs witnessed the sortie and so reported to the "big fellows." In the Straights at midnight the auxiliaries parted, and Admiral Dan Callaghan formed his forces in a single column to transit Lengo channel, four destroyers led, followed by Atlanta, with Admiral Norman Scott's flag, San Francisco, Admiral Callaghan's flagship, then Portland, Helena and Juneau and four more destroyers bringing up the rear. The night was black as on Armistice Day. Night fighting, of course, was continuing ashore but back in Battle Two we were engrossed in introspection on this second entry to the amphitheater. All hands were dog tired by two days of nearly continuous Condition One and tension. I recall that I thought that our re-entry resembled elephants in a circus parade, each ship trying hard in the dark to hold the tail of the barely discernible wake of the ship next ahead.
My JA telephone talker told me that the Captain wanted me on the bridge. I groped up there, and found him in the infra-red hue of the chart house. Alan Joyce, our navigator, was bent over the chart table lousing up the space with his worst pipe. The Captain looked as tired as I felt. I sank down on the transom beside him. He handed me a dispatch to read. It filled me in, alright, on the flag conference I had overheard. Our adversary for the night, a scout plane had reported, had more cruisers and destroyers than we - AND two battleships.
That conference re-constructs about like this, years later:
Captain: "Coffee?"
Exec: "Gad, yes!"
Captain: "Alan is turning in a beautiful job of piloting."
Exec: "Good man."
Captain: "This is suicide, y'know."
Exec: "Oh, I don't know."
Captain: "You're an incorrigible optimist."
I had given my captain my opinion that an optimist is one who lives with a pessimist. That night I held my tongue. We sat silent a bit, leavening Alan's clouds with our cigarettes, which I prolonged. Battle Two was not darkened like the chart house, and I had not had a smoke since sunset.
Finally:
Captain: "But - you know the date - if we can get across midnight into tomorrow we may make it."
I knew the date - 12 November - and that the morrow would bring Friday, the 13th. I knew, too, that our Captain admitted to enough mysticism to credit the number 13 with good luck. In several ways fortune had smiled on him on a 13th, including graduating in the class of 1913, of which he is the president. My cigarette was burning my fingers. Reluctantly, I stamped it out, stood up, said that I'd better get aft, and left.
We cleared the channel - credit intuitive piloting - skirted the Marine's beach, then the Jap's, and headed North, East of Savo (dubbed "Salvo Island" for obvious reasons.) As we swung north I saw from the port side, a screened light, seemingly, in the dark, of a lighthouse's intensity, shining to the northwest.
Battle Two of World War II bore little resemblance to modem conning stations. They were bridge platforms, forward side of the mainmast, a level above the midship gun deck. They had no helms. They boasted a gyro compass repeater and, of course, a magnetic compass. Additionally they contained a battery of voice tubes and numerous telephone jack boxes. They were open and unarmored. Abaft the mast structure, on the same level were Oerlikons and Bofors. The gun deck level below, mounted five inch guns. Turret three was just abaft the secondary battery gun deck. Control and conn provisions were limited to telephone talkers. At Santa Cruz, bridge had shifted conn to Battle Two during an air attack. Maneuvering at flank speed, under air attack, with guns barking and blasting aft and with the 20 millimeters staccato-ing on our "patio" - we dodged the carrier we screened, which was dodging bombers and torpedo planes without time to indicate course changes.
For an eternity (probably five minutes) I conned course indications to the ship control talker by holding up fingers. He shouted the numbers through to the lads in the steering engine room. They were our distant helmsmen. When the bridge resumed the conn, I thought "Who was Daniel Boone?"
As I recall, my shipmates in Battle Two were a Warrant gunner, Steve, a quartermaster, Parker, and enough telephone talkers to man the command, ship control, gunnery and damage control circuits - probably a squad of us. As we stood north, Parker asked what the course out of Iron Bottom Bay would be. Good question, to which no one had an answer.
Soon the JA talker relayed word from the bridge that Cushing had changed course to port because unidentified vessels had crossed the head of the column - then that the OTC (Officer in Tactical Command) had ordered Cushing back to a northerly course.
Suddenly we were flooded in blinding search light beams from a truly huge ship to port. The pitch of night was so violently rent that our pupils seemed to vibrate to adjustment. We were dead ahead of a goliath escorted by a formidable screen, very close aboard. Normally a collision threat, but then a nightmare.
All hell broke loose. I heard more reports in the bedlam of all batteries. We were frightfully illumined in flare stabbed with our own gunfire - eight inch, five inch, forty and twenty millimeters. "Sweet Pea Maru" unloaded. The column was knuckled in a double angle, surrounded by volcanic ships. Flares dropped from the skies above even, upon an arena of all-out combat no greater than four miles in diameter - all ships shooting rapidly at point blank ranges - zero elevation.
I sashayed from wing to wing of Battle Two, shouting queries to the talkers which elicited no replies, trying to understand the situation.
On about my third "gander" to starboard, as I turned to cross back to port, I felt a severe jolt on my right shoulder throwing me off balance. I knew that no one had socked me - yet it must have been several seconds before I realized that I had been hit. A quick hand check confirmed with blood.
Believing that I was contributing nothing to my understanding of our amazing plight by rushing from side to side and thinking that it would be smarter to try to staunch bleeding and conserve strength against the possibility that conn, or even command, might devolve upon me, I lay down in the port wing next to Steve, the Gunner, also wounded. We exchanged first aid.
Shortly thereafter the ship was lifted and was shaken like a mouse in the jaws of a cat. I heard the Quartermaster exclaim "Geeze - here come three more!" Steve and I braced, however the Quartermaster had seen three tracer fuses winging over. What had hit the Portland was a Jap torpedo, undoubtedly one of the 1,000 pound TNT issue.
The torpedo entered our starboard quarter and detonated with such force that it vented not only up, reducing the interior to a rabble and tearing the main deck open and out over the port quarter like the top of a tin can, but also back out the starboard quarter with a might that turned the side of the ship against the run in sufficient area as to give the effect of right rudder. The after two inboard screws were knocked off The steering engine was demolished with the rudder near amid-ship.
These alterations in ship design committed the Captain to a night of circling to starboard. No adjustment of RPM's on the two outboard propellers could compensate the right rudder effect of the starboard quarter protuberance, within acceptable consideration of the value of way under circumstances so deleterious.
The action, markedly compact, lasted only half an hour. In the days immediately following I learned much of the universal heroism of our ship's company and of the returns received from days on end of drill.
Our after turret was near amidships in train when the stem sheets erupted. Flowering, the main deck hit the eight inch guns so hard as to bend the elevating shaft into a fish hook. Out of action, the turret office, Lieutenant Willie Walker, a blond, curly headed youngster commissioned only a couple of years, took over supervision of "buttoning up" the ship's retaining dam against the swirling maelstrom churning about in a fantastically tangled twist of debris.
The starboard quarter, from the turret’s barbette to a small island stern post, was open to the sea. The ship was gyrating to starboard. Walker contributed invaluable help to the after repair party under Lieutenant Harry Griffen in saving our ship.
There was a Coxswain - "Messgear" (I believe his name was Metsker.) The after dressing station had been in CPO quarters, which the torpedo had obliterated. One interior light defiantly survived the holocaust, suspended in the interlaced conglomerate of mangled scrap. In the "floodlights" of that donnybrook a bonfire on the bridge would have mattered little, but true to darkened ship disciplines, "Messgear" went down into the eye of that swirling flood and broke the offending globe.
The whip of the foretop, when the torpedo "whammed " the ship, threw Director One operator Johnson against the director's eyepiece so hard that his forehead was gashed and blood washed down over his eyes. Premonition had prompted him to load his shirt and trousers with handkerchiefs. With these he staunched the flow, held his station, and exercised his training and resolve with the results that are manifest in Portland's record for gunnery that night.
On another exposed secondary battery director, the control officer found it difficult to maintain footing on a very slippery metal platform. He believed the deck oily, touched it and found it wet with blood. One of his lads of about twenty years, Pagel, a director trainer, shouted through the din "It's my legs." He nearly lost them, but never slackened his skill nor left his train saddle.
These men I recall because, deservedly, they were decorated. All hands fought the ship with equal hazard, bravery and dedication.
Portland's "rodeo" gunnery was outstanding - loading on swings to eastward and firing to westward when the guns would bear - as the damaged Japs withdrew. The two forward turrets, assisted by the port secondary battery sank a destroyer and compounded the damage a battleship had suffered. Fleet Admiral Nimitz described this bit of night gunnery by a ship out of control as "one of the highlights of the action."
In the gray of dawn I left Battle Two for the Wardroom where Surge Joers had set up a dressing station on the mess table. Proceeding down ladders and across the midships gundeck and well deck I passed dead shipmates and looked out over a ghastly bay studded with wreckage, burning, smoldering and bare. I saw Atlanta dead in the water, inshore, and several Jap ships beyond Savo Island under close air attack. I felt like maybe a ghost does.
Bandaged, I rested on a wardroom transom. Jake Shagrew, CBM, topside repair, reported efforts the Captain was making to break the circling. Jake and I planned a sea anchor over the port quarter, which he developed very extensively until I received word from the Captain that he would retain the conn.
The Captain had me moved into his cabin, which he had not used since we had left Noumea. He had improvised a "do-it-yourself sea cabin in a cubicle off the bridge chart house. As he labored on the bridge with his "one way" dilemma, kindly shipmates dropped in to tell me of developments. Only Portland and Atlanta remained in the bay, the latter completely immobilized. Our Captain was SOPA (Senior Officer Present Afloat.) When Bobolink arrived to assist, the Captain dispatched her first to tow Atlanta to water off the Marines beach, where Captain Sam Jenkins had to scuttle his ship, reduced practically to a hulk. More heavy Jap forces were en-route to Guadalcanal.
When Bobolink returned to the Portland the Captain adjusted her as a vector against our starboard bow. Thus he "crabbed" us across the bay to the shelter of the nook Tulagi Island formed with Florida Island. There we anchored, near midnight, and not a bit too early! The second night's action opened immediately, featuring South Dakota and Washington.
Saturday, the 14th, the Captain somehow backed the Portland into the cranny that held the Tulagi PT base. He "lassoed" a tree with the stern line and had working parties hew and haul from the jungle such masses of foliage for our concealment as to turn Sweet Pea, topside, into a veritable arboretum. Fooled even the birds.
We remained thusly sylvan locked for ten days. There were "Conditions Red" continually, during which the "conn" fell to Chaplain Jim. Gun stations were manned, through the foliage, frightening only our aviary. The Captain's bed was my assigned station. A warm memory I carry is of the reporting of one of our mess attendants, to stand by me so long as the ship was at General Quarters. No one had ordered that.
One day Surge Joers took me ashore to a tented Marine hospital for X-ray of my shoulder. The admission fee was a sack of genuine, non-dehydrated potatoes. It was a rough but ready medical facility. They recommended daily consultations, but our spud locker, too, had been reduced the night before and we couldn't afford it.
Back aboard. Surge anesthetized me - local, two shots of medical bourbon - probed the shoulder a bit for metal and then dug out what our gunners identified as part of the base fuse ring of a major caliber shell.
One day we sadly buried our dead in the Marine's cemetery on Tulagi. We lost everyone in after dressing, the two in after steering and several, at top-side stations.
Besides the torpedo hit and topside damage we found that the ship had sustained two fourteen inch hits. Neither had penetrated the ship. One had holed the unarmored hangar side and immediately detonated, spewing fragments over top-side. (I still have mine.) The other hit the armor belt leaving a barely discernible imprint. A Japanese account I have read reports that, not expecting naval opposition, their batteries were loaded and trains filled down to the magazines with anti-personnel and incendiary ammunition to lacerate Henderson Field but that, on contacting us, they quickly shifted to armor-piercing ammunition. The latter I cannot believe. I attribute our survival to the Japs’ belief, when
they saw us leave with the auxiliaries, that we were not returning, and to their inability to shift ammunition trains in so short a time as separated "contact" from "commence firing." I hold that the devastating toll topside from fragmentation, on all ships, the fires abovedecks and the slight damage to hulls from gunfire bear out my conviction.
"Chips" Weatherford and "Boats" Stimpfel discovered some I beams the ex-tenants of Florida Island had abandoned. The Captain recruited a well-rounded and equipped team of Sea Bees among the considerable camp of survivors on Guadal. The beams were lugged aboard and, after the "chasm" had been cleared and the retaining bulkheads had been shored, our lads joined with the recruited talent in welding the beams into tie-stringers between the starboard waist and the stern-post remnant.
Thus "restored" we departed our "berth" in Tulagi's foliage, on 23 November, towed by fleet tug Navajo, aiming for Sydney. I was on the bridge as we got underway and the Captain gave me the conn.
When I was barely in the stream I was startled to hear the "squawk box" rasping at me by name. My Captain had assigned "Sweet Pea Maru" my nickname for code call during our twosome with Navajo. I count that my most heart-warming compliment.
I did not handle our remaining two engines too well in tow. The Captain graciously determined that we had to mobilize our locked rudder. We nestled back into Tulagi's shelter, freed the rudder, jury rigged it to deck tackle and sortied again, the Captain conning that time, but same code call.
General Vandegrift sent Admiral's Callaghan's task force a fine congratulatory dispatch on our battle ("doffing battle scarred helmets") but the tops in Marine regard for us was eloquent in the air coverage Henderson Field gave to our "limpout."
Clear of the combat area, the Captain cast off Navajo, who stood by as he steered by the screws and sick rudder.
At Cockatoo dockyard we found two of our cruisers ahead of us for admission to the only graving dock available. We had to wait our turn - which led to numerous "engagements" in and about Sydney over Christmas and New Years. But that's another story.
So long was our stay at Cockatoo that the Yard Superintendent was as elated as we were on our departure, though in a friendly sort of way. He seldom missed his cup in our coffee "conferences" and stood solidly against our barrages of criticism and demands. He called us "The geniuses from the North."
On the eve of our sailing for home he brought to the Captain and me each an ashtray he had fashioned from the mangled blades of our two wrecked turbines, inscribed "USS PORTLAND - COCKATOO DOCKYARD, 1942 - SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA” and our names. These we treasure.
These are the recollections that course my memory when I check in with my Captain each anniversary of the Battle of Guadalcanal.
SWEET PEA MARU deserves the Presidential Citation award. Over and out.
"I REMEMBER" Vol. II, pp. 57-58
A J. Arnold
I remember on Friday, November 13, 1942, I had the 0000 to 0400 watch in the after engine room at the boiler control station. In conversation with the smoke watch in the crow's nest, he informed me that we were heading back into the Guadalcanal "slot" after just leaving that area the evening before. When General Quarters was sounded, needless to say, I was already at my assigned battle station when all hell broke loose at around 0100 hours.
This is what came to be called the Guadalcanal (third Savo) battle of surface ships, and the Sweet Pea was right in the middle of it. We took some shell hits and a torpedo on the starboard side near the stern from a Jap destroyer.
I remember getting knocked to the deck plates and my headphones jerked off my head. That's when the two steam turbines that drove the two most aft screws began to scream due to no load on them. Both shafts and propellers just outside the after engine rooms were blown off by the torpedo hit.
The quick action of the two throttle men, one being Foster "Pete" Cole, (MMlc at that time) and the other one whose name I cannot remember, quickly shut down the steam supply to both after engine room steam turbines. This prevented a possible rupture from excessive vibration from an out-of-balance turbine caused by damage to the turbine.
I guess I can say that I owe my life to "Pete" Cole and the other throttle man for their quick action. Had a steam line ruptured with us a condition "Z", it would have immediately filled the whole engine room with high pressure steam and the entire crew in the after engine room would have suffocated.
With our stern hanging so low in the water that the ship was flooded up to the after bulkhead in the after engine room and over the "Z" hatch to the engine room entrance, we were unable to get out. Many thanks to the "Oil King" gang (CWT. J. E. Jones and WT2c Hubert C. Johnson, at that time) for doing a superb job of pumping ballast and shifting oil to get our ass end up and out of the water, consequently allowing the after engine room crew to get out.
Thank God and the Oil King gang. They deserve recognition for their expert knowledge and actions taken to correct the immediate danger that existed with the after engine room bulkhead.
Thanks again, "Pete" Cole , the Oil King gang and whoever else was responsible, for the quick action that night. Otherwise I may not have been here to write about this experience.
A J. Arnold
I remember on Friday, November 13, 1942, I had the 0000 to 0400 watch in the after engine room at the boiler control station. In conversation with the smoke watch in the crow's nest, he informed me that we were heading back into the Guadalcanal "slot" after just leaving that area the evening before. When General Quarters was sounded, needless to say, I was already at my assigned battle station when all hell broke loose at around 0100 hours.
This is what came to be called the Guadalcanal (third Savo) battle of surface ships, and the Sweet Pea was right in the middle of it. We took some shell hits and a torpedo on the starboard side near the stern from a Jap destroyer.
I remember getting knocked to the deck plates and my headphones jerked off my head. That's when the two steam turbines that drove the two most aft screws began to scream due to no load on them. Both shafts and propellers just outside the after engine rooms were blown off by the torpedo hit.
The quick action of the two throttle men, one being Foster "Pete" Cole, (MMlc at that time) and the other one whose name I cannot remember, quickly shut down the steam supply to both after engine room steam turbines. This prevented a possible rupture from excessive vibration from an out-of-balance turbine caused by damage to the turbine.
I guess I can say that I owe my life to "Pete" Cole and the other throttle man for their quick action. Had a steam line ruptured with us a condition "Z", it would have immediately filled the whole engine room with high pressure steam and the entire crew in the after engine room would have suffocated.
With our stern hanging so low in the water that the ship was flooded up to the after bulkhead in the after engine room and over the "Z" hatch to the engine room entrance, we were unable to get out. Many thanks to the "Oil King" gang (CWT. J. E. Jones and WT2c Hubert C. Johnson, at that time) for doing a superb job of pumping ballast and shifting oil to get our ass end up and out of the water, consequently allowing the after engine room crew to get out.
Thank God and the Oil King gang. They deserve recognition for their expert knowledge and actions taken to correct the immediate danger that existed with the after engine room bulkhead.
Thanks again, "Pete" Cole , the Oil King gang and whoever else was responsible, for the quick action that night. Otherwise I may not have been here to write about this experience.
"FILL'ER UP" Vol. II, pp. 58-59
Hubert C. Johnson
The USS Portland had a fuel oil capacity of approximately 900,000 gallons which was stored in 66 oil tanks. The largest tank held 35,000 gallons and the smallest 5,000 gallons. Each tank was connected, by a valve, to a fuel line which ran on the starboard and port sides of the four fire rooms and two engine rooms, with cross lines connecting the starboard and port lines. There were sectionalizing valves on the starboard and port fuel lines and in the cross-over lines. The cross-over lines ran through the fire rooms. There were two oil pumps in each fire room which fed the two boilers and one oil transfer pump in each of the four fire rooms.
Using the right combination of valves, the Oil King would feed each fire room from any oil tank on the ship. During wartime, each fire room was connected to a separate source of oil. To keep the ship from developing a list, oil was taken evenly from the starboard and port tanks.
In addition to being connected to the fuel line, each tank was equipped with a 1/2" pipe which ran to the bottom of each tank so oil could be checked for water before connecting it to a fire room.
Each tank was equipped with a steam heating coil so the heavy oil could be heated to reduce the viscosity for easier pumping when operating in cold seawater and each was connected to an overflow vent line. Prior to 1944, before the Navy Yard remodeling, any overflow would be dumped onto the armored deck. After that it was routed over the side.
Each tank was connected to the fire main so that it could be filled with seawater. During wartime, as each tank was emptied of oil, it was filled with seawater. This was done for additional resistance to projectile penetration and, should an empty tank be ruptured, it would not cause the ship to list.
The amount of oil in each tank was measured by means of a sounding rod through a tube on the armored deck. The top of each tube had a brass plate with the tank number on it, screwed into the tube.
On the day the ship was to be fueled at sea, the Oil King gang would start pumping the seawater out of the tanks at about 3 AM. As the larger tanks were emptied of seawater, they were filled with oil from the smaller tanks in preparation for fuelling destroyers. Normal procedure was for each of the larger ships to fuel two destroyers before going alongside the tanker.
The deck force would do all topside rigging of two 4" hoses to fuel destroyers. The Portland provided the 4" hoses. After the destroyers had been fueled, the deck force would un-rig the 4" hoses and then rig to receive two 6" hoses from the tanker The tanker would pump at the rate of 300,000 gallons of oil per hour and we would be alongside the tanker 2 to 2 1/2 hours since the captain normally wanted the ship fueled to 95% of it's capacity.
Each fire room would furnish helpers to the Oil King when fuelling ship. These helpers were assigned to certain fuel tanks. The amount of oil in each tank was determined with the sounding rod on the armored deck, but the shut-off valves were below deck in the engineering spaces. With the oil coming aboard at 5,000 gallons a minute, it took a lot of good judgment to close the tank valve and still fill it to 95% of capacity. Once in a while there would be an accident and there would be black, sticky, heavy oil overflowing on the armored deck. It would take hours and many bales of rags to clean it up. Some people who read this could tell horror stories of these mishaps.
When the ship was damaged at Guadalcanal, the training and effort of the Oil King gang helped to save the ship. With the battle still in progress, much oil was moved to correct the list and also to reduce the pressure on the after engine room's aft watertight bulkhead. Oil was moved and ballast was pumped to bring the stern out of the water. Since all pumps and valves controlling the oil flow were located in the four fire rooms and two engine rooms, it meant that a person had to check the oil level of each tank being pumped "in" or "out", then lift an armored hatch to the engineering space and climb down a long ladder and through two air lock doors to operate the pumps and valves used to control oil movement. This incredible effort not only kept the guns able to bear on the enemy without great difficulty but no doubt contributed to keeping us afloat.
Hubert C. Johnson
The USS Portland had a fuel oil capacity of approximately 900,000 gallons which was stored in 66 oil tanks. The largest tank held 35,000 gallons and the smallest 5,000 gallons. Each tank was connected, by a valve, to a fuel line which ran on the starboard and port sides of the four fire rooms and two engine rooms, with cross lines connecting the starboard and port lines. There were sectionalizing valves on the starboard and port fuel lines and in the cross-over lines. The cross-over lines ran through the fire rooms. There were two oil pumps in each fire room which fed the two boilers and one oil transfer pump in each of the four fire rooms.
Using the right combination of valves, the Oil King would feed each fire room from any oil tank on the ship. During wartime, each fire room was connected to a separate source of oil. To keep the ship from developing a list, oil was taken evenly from the starboard and port tanks.
In addition to being connected to the fuel line, each tank was equipped with a 1/2" pipe which ran to the bottom of each tank so oil could be checked for water before connecting it to a fire room.
Each tank was equipped with a steam heating coil so the heavy oil could be heated to reduce the viscosity for easier pumping when operating in cold seawater and each was connected to an overflow vent line. Prior to 1944, before the Navy Yard remodeling, any overflow would be dumped onto the armored deck. After that it was routed over the side.
Each tank was connected to the fire main so that it could be filled with seawater. During wartime, as each tank was emptied of oil, it was filled with seawater. This was done for additional resistance to projectile penetration and, should an empty tank be ruptured, it would not cause the ship to list.
The amount of oil in each tank was measured by means of a sounding rod through a tube on the armored deck. The top of each tube had a brass plate with the tank number on it, screwed into the tube.
On the day the ship was to be fueled at sea, the Oil King gang would start pumping the seawater out of the tanks at about 3 AM. As the larger tanks were emptied of seawater, they were filled with oil from the smaller tanks in preparation for fuelling destroyers. Normal procedure was for each of the larger ships to fuel two destroyers before going alongside the tanker.
The deck force would do all topside rigging of two 4" hoses to fuel destroyers. The Portland provided the 4" hoses. After the destroyers had been fueled, the deck force would un-rig the 4" hoses and then rig to receive two 6" hoses from the tanker The tanker would pump at the rate of 300,000 gallons of oil per hour and we would be alongside the tanker 2 to 2 1/2 hours since the captain normally wanted the ship fueled to 95% of it's capacity.
Each fire room would furnish helpers to the Oil King when fuelling ship. These helpers were assigned to certain fuel tanks. The amount of oil in each tank was determined with the sounding rod on the armored deck, but the shut-off valves were below deck in the engineering spaces. With the oil coming aboard at 5,000 gallons a minute, it took a lot of good judgment to close the tank valve and still fill it to 95% of capacity. Once in a while there would be an accident and there would be black, sticky, heavy oil overflowing on the armored deck. It would take hours and many bales of rags to clean it up. Some people who read this could tell horror stories of these mishaps.
When the ship was damaged at Guadalcanal, the training and effort of the Oil King gang helped to save the ship. With the battle still in progress, much oil was moved to correct the list and also to reduce the pressure on the after engine room's aft watertight bulkhead. Oil was moved and ballast was pumped to bring the stern out of the water. Since all pumps and valves controlling the oil flow were located in the four fire rooms and two engine rooms, it meant that a person had to check the oil level of each tank being pumped "in" or "out", then lift an armored hatch to the engineering space and climb down a long ladder and through two air lock doors to operate the pumps and valves used to control oil movement. This incredible effort not only kept the guns able to bear on the enemy without great difficulty but no doubt contributed to keeping us afloat.
THE "OLD SURVIVOR" Vol. I, p. 38
Clifford Dunn
I might as well add my memories of Nov. 13, at Guadalcanal. My battle station was in Main Battery director one. We were all dozing when there came this soft but authoritative voice of Cdr. Shanklin over the head set from control forward. The voice said "Director one - stand by." As you might guess, everyone was immediately awake just as all hell broke loose. When the torpedo hit, it seemed like the whole ship twisted. Being on top of the tripod, we were all banged around inside the director. - Seemed like an eternity.
I remember the trainer was a boatswains mate called "Ski" and he had his eyes cut badly from the eye piece. He refused help, wiping the blood away with his handkerchief, and continued training the director as the two forward turrets continued to fire. A real hero! I wish I could remember his name.
The next morning during relief, I made my way aft to assist with the collection of bodies, etc. As you know, the torpedo wiped out the Chiefs’ quarters and the F division compartment. As I viewed the wreckage, there in a whirlpool of fuel oil and salt water was my "Log album." Now this Log album had been on the top shelf of my "locked" locker, yet here it was floating around without a single page being disturbed. After fishing it out, I took it apart and dried the pages, pictures, etc. and put it back together. I have the "old Survivor" today, just as it was. Of course, the oil and salt water ruined most of the pictures, but it is still one of my most prized possessions.
TULAGI AND BEYOND Vol. I, pp. 39-40
Vince Pietrok
Just before 2 o'clock in the morning of Friday, November 13th, 1942 we opened fire, at about 2,000 yards, against two battleships, one cruiser and fourteen destroyers. The USS Portland was the 7th ship in the American column and was credited with sinking a destroyer. It sank in about three minutes with all hands. We also made many hits on the two battleships. We hit them hard, but when the battle was over, we had lost two light cruisers and four destroyers. All our ships but one destroyer were damaged. The Portland was hit with several large shells and a torpedo which took off 65 feet of the fantail all the way up to number three turret, which was off ifs track. Two screws were gone and the rudder was fouled at an angle. All the ship could do was go around in circles. When daylight came all die maneuverable ships were gone. The sea was black with oil and debris, there were a lot of sailors in the water from the ships that had gone down, most of them American sailors. We spent die day picking sailors out of die water, working on the ship and waiting for a tow.
We had picked up 38 sailors, some of them in bad shape with, open wounds and covered with heavy black oil.
Although crippled and able only to steam in circles, Portland opened fire on and sank the Japanese destroyer Yudachi.
Late in the day the tug Bob-O-Link came to take us in tow. It shoved us into die beach at Tulagi, about ten miles across the channel from Guadalcanal, about 24 hours after we were hit.
In Tulagi, I was on the work detail to clean out the torpedo-damaged part of the ship. Some of the time I would be working in water up to my waist. I also helped pump air to the divers working on die rudder. Others covered the ship with nets and cut brush on the island to cover the nets and camouflage the ship to make it appear from the air, as part of the island. There were air alerts almost every day. After about ten days working on the ship in Tulagi, we were ready to take the ship in tow to Sydney, Australia.
In Sydney, we had to take all die ammunition off the ship and go into dry dock, after which the crew worked around the clock to cut away the mangled metal to get out two bodies which we hadn’t been able to retrieve in Tulagi. We buried them in a cemetery in Sydney.
By the middle of February, 1943, we had the hull of the ship, the rudder and two new screws fixed well enough to get back to Mare Island in San Francisco.
Enroute we made one a stop in Pago Pago and the natives came on board to put on a show for the crew. They performed a bamboo dance with music and other native entertainment .We also celebrated "Sweetpea's" 10th birthday with a special dinner, and the captain commended the crew.
Back in the States, I had a 17 day leave to go home. My brother, Norbert, had just come to Alameda and I decided to try to see him before going home, but I had gangway watch that night. I got another sailor to stand my watch while I went to Alameda.
When I arrived there, some sailors told me that Norbert had "gone to see his brother" at Mare Island. Meanwhile Norbert had told my relief on the gangway watch that he wanted to see me and was told that I had gone to Alameda to look for him. After missing me, he went to a bar and drank until the bar closed, then returned to Alameda.
Meanwhile, I had been waiting at his base until "lights out" at 9 o'clock. The guys told me to wait in his bunk, so I did, and soon fell asleep. Norbert came in and crawled into the empty bunk next to me, thinking he was in his own "sack." After laying there and thinking about how he had missed me, he realized he was in the wrong bunk and that someone was in his. He shook me awake and asked my name. Thinking I was being awakened for a watch, I just said "Pietrok." Both of us were surprised and we went into the "head" to talk for the rest of the night. We spent the next day together in Oakland seeing friends of our mother's, Dennis and Lizzie Kearney.
Vince Pietrok
Just before 2 o'clock in the morning of Friday, November 13th, 1942 we opened fire, at about 2,000 yards, against two battleships, one cruiser and fourteen destroyers. The USS Portland was the 7th ship in the American column and was credited with sinking a destroyer. It sank in about three minutes with all hands. We also made many hits on the two battleships. We hit them hard, but when the battle was over, we had lost two light cruisers and four destroyers. All our ships but one destroyer were damaged. The Portland was hit with several large shells and a torpedo which took off 65 feet of the fantail all the way up to number three turret, which was off ifs track. Two screws were gone and the rudder was fouled at an angle. All the ship could do was go around in circles. When daylight came all die maneuverable ships were gone. The sea was black with oil and debris, there were a lot of sailors in the water from the ships that had gone down, most of them American sailors. We spent die day picking sailors out of die water, working on the ship and waiting for a tow.
We had picked up 38 sailors, some of them in bad shape with, open wounds and covered with heavy black oil.
Although crippled and able only to steam in circles, Portland opened fire on and sank the Japanese destroyer Yudachi.
Late in the day the tug Bob-O-Link came to take us in tow. It shoved us into die beach at Tulagi, about ten miles across the channel from Guadalcanal, about 24 hours after we were hit.
In Tulagi, I was on the work detail to clean out the torpedo-damaged part of the ship. Some of the time I would be working in water up to my waist. I also helped pump air to the divers working on die rudder. Others covered the ship with nets and cut brush on the island to cover the nets and camouflage the ship to make it appear from the air, as part of the island. There were air alerts almost every day. After about ten days working on the ship in Tulagi, we were ready to take the ship in tow to Sydney, Australia.
In Sydney, we had to take all die ammunition off the ship and go into dry dock, after which the crew worked around the clock to cut away the mangled metal to get out two bodies which we hadn’t been able to retrieve in Tulagi. We buried them in a cemetery in Sydney.
By the middle of February, 1943, we had the hull of the ship, the rudder and two new screws fixed well enough to get back to Mare Island in San Francisco.
Enroute we made one a stop in Pago Pago and the natives came on board to put on a show for the crew. They performed a bamboo dance with music and other native entertainment .We also celebrated "Sweetpea's" 10th birthday with a special dinner, and the captain commended the crew.
Back in the States, I had a 17 day leave to go home. My brother, Norbert, had just come to Alameda and I decided to try to see him before going home, but I had gangway watch that night. I got another sailor to stand my watch while I went to Alameda.
When I arrived there, some sailors told me that Norbert had "gone to see his brother" at Mare Island. Meanwhile Norbert had told my relief on the gangway watch that he wanted to see me and was told that I had gone to Alameda to look for him. After missing me, he went to a bar and drank until the bar closed, then returned to Alameda.
Meanwhile, I had been waiting at his base until "lights out" at 9 o'clock. The guys told me to wait in his bunk, so I did, and soon fell asleep. Norbert came in and crawled into the empty bunk next to me, thinking he was in his own "sack." After laying there and thinking about how he had missed me, he realized he was in the wrong bunk and that someone was in his. He shook me awake and asked my name. Thinking I was being awakened for a watch, I just said "Pietrok." Both of us were surprised and we went into the "head" to talk for the rest of the night. We spent the next day together in Oakland seeing friends of our mother's, Dennis and Lizzie Kearney.
"WE HAVE SHOT CHARLIE NOBLE" Vol. II, pp. 55-57
Eldon Peterson
Does anyone remember when the whole task force sailed without showing any colors? We were escorting some transports to Guadalcanal in Nov., 1942 for the Army soldiers to relieve the Marines. I thought at the time "This is one SOPA that knows what he is doing. No point in bragging to Japanese submarines that you are American." I understand that they did have men standing by to hoist the Stars and Stripes in case of engagement.
And then, after the soldiers and marines had somewhat traded places, we were about to shove off" for Tonga Tabu or Espiritu Santos with the transports when 5 or so of the biggest airplanes I had ever seen showed up on the horizon. They landed on the ocean near us and were untouched even though every gun from the beach and ships were setting up a barrage. They were American Mars planes, the first ones I had ever seen.
I think someone upstairs must have been looking out for them and us. Can you imagine shooting down our own planes? I have thought many times that there had to have been Divine intervention or we would have dropped them all.
We were able to escort the transports back to Espiritu or Tonga safely and return for the big surface engagement off Savo Island on Friday the 13th that has been written about so much already.
I do want to mention the tug Bobolink and the great job they did helping us get into Tulagi harbor where we were able to camouflage the ship and hide out while they corrected the rudder so that we didn't have to go in a circle all the time.
I sometimes think about listening to the PT boat captains talking to each other and wonder now if one of them could have been a future President, Jack Kennedy. Anyway, whoever it was, I'm glad they missed when they mistook us for the enemy.
I remember the Bobolink's stack belching sparks that we were afraid would give our location away and of sending messages to them by semaphore and flashing lights to keep it down. Finally they ran up a bunch of flags that, when interpreted said, "We have shot Charlie Noble and his helper."
I can still remember “Camera Mike” flying over every day and the “Tokyo Express” every night on their way to work over their targets on Guadalcanal. I am glad that we weren't one of their targets. We can take credit for doing a good job of camouflaging a 10,000 ton ship.
Our time in Sydney getting minor overhaul in order to get back to the States and Mare Island for major overhaul was enjoyable. I still have a plaque given to me by a family in Australia showing a little dog and addressed to My Pal. It goes:
"Does anyone know, does anyone care.
Where you go or how you fare.
Whether you smile or whether you sigh.
Whether you laugh or whether you cry.
Glad when you're happy, sad when you're blue?
Does anyone care what becomes of you?
I do. Pal, I'll say I do."
(ed. note: For the uninitiated pollywog, "Charlie Noble" is a name given to the galley smoke pipe. At times it was also a favorite alias for a sailor on liberty.)
Eldon Peterson
Does anyone remember when the whole task force sailed without showing any colors? We were escorting some transports to Guadalcanal in Nov., 1942 for the Army soldiers to relieve the Marines. I thought at the time "This is one SOPA that knows what he is doing. No point in bragging to Japanese submarines that you are American." I understand that they did have men standing by to hoist the Stars and Stripes in case of engagement.
And then, after the soldiers and marines had somewhat traded places, we were about to shove off" for Tonga Tabu or Espiritu Santos with the transports when 5 or so of the biggest airplanes I had ever seen showed up on the horizon. They landed on the ocean near us and were untouched even though every gun from the beach and ships were setting up a barrage. They were American Mars planes, the first ones I had ever seen.
I think someone upstairs must have been looking out for them and us. Can you imagine shooting down our own planes? I have thought many times that there had to have been Divine intervention or we would have dropped them all.
We were able to escort the transports back to Espiritu or Tonga safely and return for the big surface engagement off Savo Island on Friday the 13th that has been written about so much already.
I do want to mention the tug Bobolink and the great job they did helping us get into Tulagi harbor where we were able to camouflage the ship and hide out while they corrected the rudder so that we didn't have to go in a circle all the time.
I sometimes think about listening to the PT boat captains talking to each other and wonder now if one of them could have been a future President, Jack Kennedy. Anyway, whoever it was, I'm glad they missed when they mistook us for the enemy.
I remember the Bobolink's stack belching sparks that we were afraid would give our location away and of sending messages to them by semaphore and flashing lights to keep it down. Finally they ran up a bunch of flags that, when interpreted said, "We have shot Charlie Noble and his helper."
I can still remember “Camera Mike” flying over every day and the “Tokyo Express” every night on their way to work over their targets on Guadalcanal. I am glad that we weren't one of their targets. We can take credit for doing a good job of camouflaging a 10,000 ton ship.
Our time in Sydney getting minor overhaul in order to get back to the States and Mare Island for major overhaul was enjoyable. I still have a plaque given to me by a family in Australia showing a little dog and addressed to My Pal. It goes:
"Does anyone know, does anyone care.
Where you go or how you fare.
Whether you smile or whether you sigh.
Whether you laugh or whether you cry.
Glad when you're happy, sad when you're blue?
Does anyone care what becomes of you?
I do. Pal, I'll say I do."
(ed. note: For the uninitiated pollywog, "Charlie Noble" is a name given to the galley smoke pipe. At times it was also a favorite alias for a sailor on liberty.)
BOBOLINK Vol. I, pp. 40, 44
Frank Teague (USMC)
Remember Nov. 14, 1942 and the USS Bobolink and how long it took to get her secured in the correct position so that we could make headway straight ahead? Then we got an alert or air attack and Capt. DuBose called with a megaphone to the skipper of the Bobolink, "I guess you know we have an air attack coming in and I would not blame you if you cut loose." Then the Bobolink skipper said "Hell no. It took all day to hook up and I'm not about to cut loose." Remember how we all cheered?
The Marine orderly on the bridge at that time told us that when the Bobolink skipper refused to cast off when told about the possible air attack, Captain Dubose made the statement "There is a brave man on a brave ship."
After we were tied up next to the P.T. Boat squadron area in Tulagi, I was the orderly on duty with Capt. DuBose when he finally had time to go aft and inspect the damage. As I remember, he said that he had no idea that the damage was so extensive. If he had known, he would have considered that we abandon ship. He was very impressed with the work of the damage control crew and said that they had done an impossible job. I remember that there was water as far forward as the mess hall. Those guys set and shored watertight doors, then proceeded to pump all that water out forward. AH this during the battle going on topside. What a crew!!
When the torpedo hit, I was on the aft 5" 25cal. gun on the hangar deck. You will remember how the sky was lit up pretty well from burning ships, etc. I saw a piece of the after deck flying overhead. I watched as it passed over thinking that if it came down toward me, I could move out of the way. - Ha!
Soon after, the word came over the intercom that there were 3 or 4 casualties on die gun just across the splinter shield from us. Our gun had been put out of operating condition by the straddle we had taken earlier. (All air and control wiring, etc. was out.)
After daylight, both gun crews were needed to jettison that piece of deck plate over the side. It turned out to be a much larger piece than it appeared to be as it passed over earlier - so it must have been pretty high when I first saw it. It had appeared to me to be about a foot or so square but it turned out to be about half the size of the gun mount area.
Frank Teague (USMC)
Remember Nov. 14, 1942 and the USS Bobolink and how long it took to get her secured in the correct position so that we could make headway straight ahead? Then we got an alert or air attack and Capt. DuBose called with a megaphone to the skipper of the Bobolink, "I guess you know we have an air attack coming in and I would not blame you if you cut loose." Then the Bobolink skipper said "Hell no. It took all day to hook up and I'm not about to cut loose." Remember how we all cheered?
The Marine orderly on the bridge at that time told us that when the Bobolink skipper refused to cast off when told about the possible air attack, Captain Dubose made the statement "There is a brave man on a brave ship."
After we were tied up next to the P.T. Boat squadron area in Tulagi, I was the orderly on duty with Capt. DuBose when he finally had time to go aft and inspect the damage. As I remember, he said that he had no idea that the damage was so extensive. If he had known, he would have considered that we abandon ship. He was very impressed with the work of the damage control crew and said that they had done an impossible job. I remember that there was water as far forward as the mess hall. Those guys set and shored watertight doors, then proceeded to pump all that water out forward. AH this during the battle going on topside. What a crew!!
When the torpedo hit, I was on the aft 5" 25cal. gun on the hangar deck. You will remember how the sky was lit up pretty well from burning ships, etc. I saw a piece of the after deck flying overhead. I watched as it passed over thinking that if it came down toward me, I could move out of the way. - Ha!
Soon after, the word came over the intercom that there were 3 or 4 casualties on die gun just across the splinter shield from us. Our gun had been put out of operating condition by the straddle we had taken earlier. (All air and control wiring, etc. was out.)
After daylight, both gun crews were needed to jettison that piece of deck plate over the side. It turned out to be a much larger piece than it appeared to be as it passed over earlier - so it must have been pretty high when I first saw it. It had appeared to me to be about a foot or so square but it turned out to be about half the size of the gun mount area.
SALVAGE EFFORTS AT TULAGI Vol. I, p. 44
Al Lucas
While in Tulagi, Nov. 14-22, 1942, there was a dire need to cut the ship's rudder activating arms in steering aft so the rudder could be moved to a predetermined angle for our attempted trip to Australia. Needless to say that the torpedo hit had jammed the rudder and steering aft was flooded. Some shipfitter-divers were brought in from Espiritu Santo. All of us fitters worked with them in cutting the rudder arms (about S" or so in diameter in 10' or more in length) that operated die rudder.
The job was done using electric welding machines with special underwater cutting torches that could be fitted with carbon rods in 1/8" pipe pieces about 12" long. I can remember, toward the end, cutting and threading pipe as we ran out of them. Seems like we used hundreds of them.
We needed a lot of oxygen, as it flowed around inside of the 1/8" pipe to keep the electric arc operating so die divers could literally blast die rudder arm. The steel arms were finally melted through- We used at least 60 (maybe more) bottles of oxygen and we may have gotten some from the shore – I’m not sure.
At least I can recall that our ship's divers did some cutting, too.
Once the arms were cut, the deck force could rig wire cables to the rudder from the main deck area and, with the use of chain falls, we could reposition the rudder. This offset the rudder effect from the torpedo damage that caused us to steer in circles.
As I recall, John Gilmore (by then a Warrant Carpenter or Ensign) took charge of cutting away bent and torn metal in the damaged area. A large "I" beam was welded in place to put more strength back into the torpedo hole, but when we did get underway, the moving seas played havoc with it and most of it gave way...But - we made it to Sydney.
A follow-up on John Gilmore: When the war ended in August, 1945, 1 went from Saipan to Yokosuka, Japan. Ashore one evening, a navy Commander tapped me on the shoulder and it was John Gilmore. He was a damage control officer on a carrier.
Al Lucas
While in Tulagi, Nov. 14-22, 1942, there was a dire need to cut the ship's rudder activating arms in steering aft so the rudder could be moved to a predetermined angle for our attempted trip to Australia. Needless to say that the torpedo hit had jammed the rudder and steering aft was flooded. Some shipfitter-divers were brought in from Espiritu Santo. All of us fitters worked with them in cutting the rudder arms (about S" or so in diameter in 10' or more in length) that operated die rudder.
The job was done using electric welding machines with special underwater cutting torches that could be fitted with carbon rods in 1/8" pipe pieces about 12" long. I can remember, toward the end, cutting and threading pipe as we ran out of them. Seems like we used hundreds of them.
We needed a lot of oxygen, as it flowed around inside of the 1/8" pipe to keep the electric arc operating so die divers could literally blast die rudder arm. The steel arms were finally melted through- We used at least 60 (maybe more) bottles of oxygen and we may have gotten some from the shore – I’m not sure.
At least I can recall that our ship's divers did some cutting, too.
Once the arms were cut, the deck force could rig wire cables to the rudder from the main deck area and, with the use of chain falls, we could reposition the rudder. This offset the rudder effect from the torpedo damage that caused us to steer in circles.
As I recall, John Gilmore (by then a Warrant Carpenter or Ensign) took charge of cutting away bent and torn metal in the damaged area. A large "I" beam was welded in place to put more strength back into the torpedo hole, but when we did get underway, the moving seas played havoc with it and most of it gave way...But - we made it to Sydney.
A follow-up on John Gilmore: When the war ended in August, 1945, 1 went from Saipan to Yokosuka, Japan. Ashore one evening, a navy Commander tapped me on the shoulder and it was John Gilmore. He was a damage control officer on a carrier.
SALVAGE DIVING AT TULAGI Vol. I, p. 45
Frank Haskell
Two other divers and I were working to clear away all loose gear (clothing and anything that would float) so we would not leave a trail on our way to Sydney. This was all under water work as the living compartments were flooded. We were working from the "side cleaners " punt with our gasoline driven air compressor up on deck attended by one of our divers and the other diver in the punt tending my lines.
I discovered a body that was wedged between two sprung plates of the hull and was only visible from the waist up. The head and left arm were missing which contributed to difficulty of identification.
The Chaplain was notified and came around in one of our motor-whale boats with a working party of two men. I returned to the body and by standing on the edge of one of the plates was able to secure a one around the body, pull it free and guide it to the surface where those in the boat put it in a body-bag. It was then taken out into Tulagi harbor where the burial at sea was performed.
The problem of centering the rudder was another very difficult and demanding job that took the better part of three hours to complete. Again it was under water work. The two men from the repair ship assigned to supervise the work were Navy salvage divers. It involved cutting the shaft that connected the hydraulic piston of the starboard steering engine to the yoke of the rudder, a shaft about 12" in diameter.
The men from the repair ship showed me how under water cutting was done and the three of us worked 15 minute shifts to cut this one shaft. The port steering engine was not jammed like the starboard was and it could be moved back and forth. However it could not be controlled, since the pressure lines had been blown away. That is why the rudder flopped from side-to-side. When we tried to leave Tulagi the first time, the faster we went the worse it got, so we had to return to calm water near Tulagi and make another dive to secure the rudder.
Our ship's divers went down to the rudder and placed a shackle through the "pad eye" at the upper aft comer of the rudder and connected the eye splices in the end of lines to the fantail. The deck hands in chaise of the fantail rigged the block and tackle and did the securing. We were then able to proceed to Sydney for dry dock repair. (Plus liberty, fun, etc.)
Frank Haskell
Two other divers and I were working to clear away all loose gear (clothing and anything that would float) so we would not leave a trail on our way to Sydney. This was all under water work as the living compartments were flooded. We were working from the "side cleaners " punt with our gasoline driven air compressor up on deck attended by one of our divers and the other diver in the punt tending my lines.
I discovered a body that was wedged between two sprung plates of the hull and was only visible from the waist up. The head and left arm were missing which contributed to difficulty of identification.
The Chaplain was notified and came around in one of our motor-whale boats with a working party of two men. I returned to the body and by standing on the edge of one of the plates was able to secure a one around the body, pull it free and guide it to the surface where those in the boat put it in a body-bag. It was then taken out into Tulagi harbor where the burial at sea was performed.
The problem of centering the rudder was another very difficult and demanding job that took the better part of three hours to complete. Again it was under water work. The two men from the repair ship assigned to supervise the work were Navy salvage divers. It involved cutting the shaft that connected the hydraulic piston of the starboard steering engine to the yoke of the rudder, a shaft about 12" in diameter.
The men from the repair ship showed me how under water cutting was done and the three of us worked 15 minute shifts to cut this one shaft. The port steering engine was not jammed like the starboard was and it could be moved back and forth. However it could not be controlled, since the pressure lines had been blown away. That is why the rudder flopped from side-to-side. When we tried to leave Tulagi the first time, the faster we went the worse it got, so we had to return to calm water near Tulagi and make another dive to secure the rudder.
Our ship's divers went down to the rudder and placed a shackle through the "pad eye" at the upper aft comer of the rudder and connected the eye splices in the end of lines to the fantail. The deck hands in chaise of the fantail rigged the block and tackle and did the securing. We were then able to proceed to Sydney for dry dock repair. (Plus liberty, fun, etc.)
WARTIME SYDNEY Vol. I, pp. 45-48
Harold "Johnny" Johnson
After ten days at our palm tree mooring at Tulagi, a large Navy ocean tug arrived to take us under tow, bound for Sydney, Australia. Reflecting what had happened to the cruiser Juneau we realized that we were not out of danger yet, but we felt better being at sea and headed away from the hot spot. Luck seemed to be on our side as we continued an uneventful, slow trip to Sydney, where we arrived on 10 December, 1942.
Sydney Harbor was one of the cleanest in the world. After passing an opening in the headland, the harbor spread out in a large circle with the city of Sydney on the left and the famous Harbor Bridge straight ahead. Homes on both sides of the harbor had manicured lawns right down to the water, with no debris visible. We were towed to a commercial pier and enjoyed the peace and quiet of silent engines in an environment that offered promise of recreation unlike anything we had experienced for months.
We docked near the main street of downtown Sydney, close to transportation that would take us to the heart of town. On my first venture ashore I was surprised to find that the Aussies would not let us pay fares on the trams. My second surprise came when I turned around to look at a pretty blond girl I had just passed and found she had turned around also.
She stopped and we talked. Betty was a desk clerk in the newest hotel in Sydney, the King Georges just up the street, where she was headed for work. We struck up a platonic friendship and any time I needed a room at the hotel she made sure my name was on the reservation list. When I needed any information about the night life of Sydney, she not only provided the information, but sometimes accompanied me.
Betty used to invite me to her home in the suburbs. We took the train from Central Station in downtown Sydney, and rode about half an hour southward. One night, while returning from the suburbs, I fell asleep on the train and wound up in the train yard on the north side of the Harbor Bridge. I was awakened by the train conductor who insisted on driving me back across the bridge to my hotel. As with other Aussies I had met, he would not accept any payment. He claimed it was just part of his job, but I knew better.
Two weeks after our arrival, the Portland was towed to a military drydock on Cockatoo Island, two miles upstream and accessible by ferries that plied the waters of the harbor. While using the ferries I learned that there was a five pound fine for tossing trash into the water. This was the main reason the harbor was so clean. Five pounds was a week's pay for many Aussies.
We waited for a week at Cockatoo docks for the USS New Orleans to have her temporary bow completed so the Portland could get into drydock. A few days before Christmas the New Orleans was refloated and we entered the drydock, which was then pumped out sufficiently to have us rest on the keel blocks, then the yard workmen took four days off for the holidays. While in drydock we lived aboard but had to use restroom and shower facilities on the dock. This meant a long trip to the "John" in the wee hours of the night.
The drydock and machine shops on Cockatoo Island were hewn out of solid rock. A rock wall rose 80 feet straight up above drydock level. The machine shops were in "Corregidor" like tunnels that ran perpendicular to the dock. Aussie military guards were garrisoned atop the rocky island as security for the shipyard.
On Christmas day 1 struck up a conversation with some of the Aussie guards. They were being served a meager fare of mutton and tinned fruit for their Christmas meal while we would be having a complete turkey dinner with all the trimmings. I got permission from the Executive Officer to invite three of them aboard for dinner. The Aussies enjoyed our generosity and invited me and some of my shipmates to a beer and wine party, which was to be held later in the guard shack off our stem.
We were in drydock for several weeks with yard workmen swarming all over the ship. From the ship's plans that we carried aboard, the yard's machine shops were fashioning the steel plates to repair our damage. The estimated time to repair the stem and provide steering control was two months. While in the payline one day, I stuck up a conversation with one of the yard workmen about our salaries. My Second Class Petty Officer's pay equaled his salary. This highlighted the difference in the cost of living, even though Australia's standard of living was on a par with the United States.
After two and a half months, the repairs on the ship were at an end. I feel that had we stayed longer in Sydney, I might have been a timber magnate at a lumber mill hallway between Sydney and Brisbane.
Harold "Johnny" Johnson
After ten days at our palm tree mooring at Tulagi, a large Navy ocean tug arrived to take us under tow, bound for Sydney, Australia. Reflecting what had happened to the cruiser Juneau we realized that we were not out of danger yet, but we felt better being at sea and headed away from the hot spot. Luck seemed to be on our side as we continued an uneventful, slow trip to Sydney, where we arrived on 10 December, 1942.
Sydney Harbor was one of the cleanest in the world. After passing an opening in the headland, the harbor spread out in a large circle with the city of Sydney on the left and the famous Harbor Bridge straight ahead. Homes on both sides of the harbor had manicured lawns right down to the water, with no debris visible. We were towed to a commercial pier and enjoyed the peace and quiet of silent engines in an environment that offered promise of recreation unlike anything we had experienced for months.
We docked near the main street of downtown Sydney, close to transportation that would take us to the heart of town. On my first venture ashore I was surprised to find that the Aussies would not let us pay fares on the trams. My second surprise came when I turned around to look at a pretty blond girl I had just passed and found she had turned around also.
She stopped and we talked. Betty was a desk clerk in the newest hotel in Sydney, the King Georges just up the street, where she was headed for work. We struck up a platonic friendship and any time I needed a room at the hotel she made sure my name was on the reservation list. When I needed any information about the night life of Sydney, she not only provided the information, but sometimes accompanied me.
Betty used to invite me to her home in the suburbs. We took the train from Central Station in downtown Sydney, and rode about half an hour southward. One night, while returning from the suburbs, I fell asleep on the train and wound up in the train yard on the north side of the Harbor Bridge. I was awakened by the train conductor who insisted on driving me back across the bridge to my hotel. As with other Aussies I had met, he would not accept any payment. He claimed it was just part of his job, but I knew better.
Two weeks after our arrival, the Portland was towed to a military drydock on Cockatoo Island, two miles upstream and accessible by ferries that plied the waters of the harbor. While using the ferries I learned that there was a five pound fine for tossing trash into the water. This was the main reason the harbor was so clean. Five pounds was a week's pay for many Aussies.
We waited for a week at Cockatoo docks for the USS New Orleans to have her temporary bow completed so the Portland could get into drydock. A few days before Christmas the New Orleans was refloated and we entered the drydock, which was then pumped out sufficiently to have us rest on the keel blocks, then the yard workmen took four days off for the holidays. While in drydock we lived aboard but had to use restroom and shower facilities on the dock. This meant a long trip to the "John" in the wee hours of the night.
The drydock and machine shops on Cockatoo Island were hewn out of solid rock. A rock wall rose 80 feet straight up above drydock level. The machine shops were in "Corregidor" like tunnels that ran perpendicular to the dock. Aussie military guards were garrisoned atop the rocky island as security for the shipyard.
On Christmas day 1 struck up a conversation with some of the Aussie guards. They were being served a meager fare of mutton and tinned fruit for their Christmas meal while we would be having a complete turkey dinner with all the trimmings. I got permission from the Executive Officer to invite three of them aboard for dinner. The Aussies enjoyed our generosity and invited me and some of my shipmates to a beer and wine party, which was to be held later in the guard shack off our stem.
We were in drydock for several weeks with yard workmen swarming all over the ship. From the ship's plans that we carried aboard, the yard's machine shops were fashioning the steel plates to repair our damage. The estimated time to repair the stem and provide steering control was two months. While in the payline one day, I stuck up a conversation with one of the yard workmen about our salaries. My Second Class Petty Officer's pay equaled his salary. This highlighted the difference in the cost of living, even though Australia's standard of living was on a par with the United States.
After two and a half months, the repairs on the ship were at an end. I feel that had we stayed longer in Sydney, I might have been a timber magnate at a lumber mill hallway between Sydney and Brisbane.
SAGA OF A COFFEE POT
Bill Speer Vol. II, p. 68
In the early part of 1943 the coffee pot in turret 3 was beyond the point of repair. The turret electrician said to junk the pot and get a new one. The only problem being there was a war going on and no pots were on the market.
A letter was sent to the First Methodist Church in Fremont, Texas, requesting any kind of coffee pot that we turret crew could use. In about 2 weeks we received a small electric urn that made 6 cups. It was a beautiful pot that was probably a wedding gift to a non-coffee drinker and was sent by a Mrs. Mahaffie of Fremont, Texas.
I composed a letter of thanks to this generous benefactor and had the turret crew sign their names.
Many years passed. One day a young man appeared at my door and introduced himself as a son of Mrs. Mahaffie. He returned the letter to me explaining that his mother had worn the letter thin from showing it to friends and some total strangers. After her passing he had found the letter in a large envelope marked "Precious to me."
Bill Speer Vol. II, p. 68
In the early part of 1943 the coffee pot in turret 3 was beyond the point of repair. The turret electrician said to junk the pot and get a new one. The only problem being there was a war going on and no pots were on the market.
A letter was sent to the First Methodist Church in Fremont, Texas, requesting any kind of coffee pot that we turret crew could use. In about 2 weeks we received a small electric urn that made 6 cups. It was a beautiful pot that was probably a wedding gift to a non-coffee drinker and was sent by a Mrs. Mahaffie of Fremont, Texas.
I composed a letter of thanks to this generous benefactor and had the turret crew sign their names.
Many years passed. One day a young man appeared at my door and introduced himself as a son of Mrs. Mahaffie. He returned the letter to me explaining that his mother had worn the letter thin from showing it to friends and some total strangers. After her passing he had found the letter in a large envelope marked "Precious to me."
"LONG-GLASS" LIBERTY Vol. I, pp. 48-49
Harold Johnson
As a result of the torpedo hit on our stem, the after turret had locked at 30 degrees off dead astern, with an elevation of 30 degrees. The yard in Sydney did not have the expertise to repair it. The peculiar position did not cause any problem until we were approaching Samoa. The USS Mississippi was heading out from Pago Pago and, noting our after guns were trained out, challenged us. Our signalman sent a message giving our identification, our destination, and the reason for our after turret's position. The Mississippi acknowledged and wished us good luck.
Pago Pago is a small, crystal clear harbor nestled between two volcanic mountain peaks. It was strange seeing colorful tropical fish swimming around the ship. The town consisted of a few commercial buildings clustered near the entrance to the harbor. The rest of the area that bounded the harbor was tropical. The Polynesian natives lived in open grass dwellings built on timbers to keep them off the ground.
As evening drew near, I was enjoying a "long glass" liberty on the signal bridge. A girl walking from town to one of the outlying villages caught my eye. She stopped at an open outdoor shower, disrobed and proceeded to take a shower while nonchalantly waving to friends passing by. This made it quite clear why we were required to return to the ship before dark, after but a few hours ashore.
The closeness of the surrounding mountains brought darkness on rapidly. It was almost as if a giant shade had descended. After dark there was a splashing in the water. Some of the island girls, in canoes, came alongside the ship enticing us to come ashore.
Our Executive Officer, Cdr. "Turk" Wirth, had previously been stationed in Samoa for several years. He knew a tribe living near Pago Pago and he persuaded the tribal chief to put on a show for us. The whole tribe came aboard, with the young men performing knife and fire dances and the young maidens performing exotic dances which only uninhibited natives can do.
After leaving Samoa and with a brief stop in Pearl Harbor, the Portland arrived in San Francisco on March 3, 1943. She was scheduled for a complete overhaul, which would take two and a half months.
We made plans for home leave. The USS Minneapolis had arrived at Mare Island about a week before us. She was to be in the yard for about the same time as the Portland and her crew was granted 30 days leave, with additional travel time depending on how far they had to go.
We expected similar treatment, but our executive officer, Cdr. "Turk" Wirth (who lived in the area) limited us to two weeks, with no allowance for travel. Since it took at least four days to travel to the east coast, the home stay for many of the crew would be drastically reduced. This created a feeling of animosity towards Cdr. Wirth, which would surface some months later.
The Captain's yeoman was instructed to arrange travel accommodations for those going to Chicago and beyond. We would be traveling by train on Union Pacific's "Challenger." He collected fares and went to purchase the tickets. The yeoman returned and reported to the Captain that he was unable to purchase the tickets because the train was a reserved-seat train and we had no reservations. Captain DuBose registered a protest with the Commandant of the Twelfth Naval District. Within hours the Commandant called Captain DuBose, stated that he had personally talked with the President of the railroad and had informed him that either we were sold tickets, or the train would not depart. Since he had the authority to do this under wartime regulations, we got our tickets.
Harold Johnson
As a result of the torpedo hit on our stem, the after turret had locked at 30 degrees off dead astern, with an elevation of 30 degrees. The yard in Sydney did not have the expertise to repair it. The peculiar position did not cause any problem until we were approaching Samoa. The USS Mississippi was heading out from Pago Pago and, noting our after guns were trained out, challenged us. Our signalman sent a message giving our identification, our destination, and the reason for our after turret's position. The Mississippi acknowledged and wished us good luck.
Pago Pago is a small, crystal clear harbor nestled between two volcanic mountain peaks. It was strange seeing colorful tropical fish swimming around the ship. The town consisted of a few commercial buildings clustered near the entrance to the harbor. The rest of the area that bounded the harbor was tropical. The Polynesian natives lived in open grass dwellings built on timbers to keep them off the ground.
As evening drew near, I was enjoying a "long glass" liberty on the signal bridge. A girl walking from town to one of the outlying villages caught my eye. She stopped at an open outdoor shower, disrobed and proceeded to take a shower while nonchalantly waving to friends passing by. This made it quite clear why we were required to return to the ship before dark, after but a few hours ashore.
The closeness of the surrounding mountains brought darkness on rapidly. It was almost as if a giant shade had descended. After dark there was a splashing in the water. Some of the island girls, in canoes, came alongside the ship enticing us to come ashore.
Our Executive Officer, Cdr. "Turk" Wirth, had previously been stationed in Samoa for several years. He knew a tribe living near Pago Pago and he persuaded the tribal chief to put on a show for us. The whole tribe came aboard, with the young men performing knife and fire dances and the young maidens performing exotic dances which only uninhibited natives can do.
After leaving Samoa and with a brief stop in Pearl Harbor, the Portland arrived in San Francisco on March 3, 1943. She was scheduled for a complete overhaul, which would take two and a half months.
We made plans for home leave. The USS Minneapolis had arrived at Mare Island about a week before us. She was to be in the yard for about the same time as the Portland and her crew was granted 30 days leave, with additional travel time depending on how far they had to go.
We expected similar treatment, but our executive officer, Cdr. "Turk" Wirth (who lived in the area) limited us to two weeks, with no allowance for travel. Since it took at least four days to travel to the east coast, the home stay for many of the crew would be drastically reduced. This created a feeling of animosity towards Cdr. Wirth, which would surface some months later.
The Captain's yeoman was instructed to arrange travel accommodations for those going to Chicago and beyond. We would be traveling by train on Union Pacific's "Challenger." He collected fares and went to purchase the tickets. The yeoman returned and reported to the Captain that he was unable to purchase the tickets because the train was a reserved-seat train and we had no reservations. Captain DuBose registered a protest with the Commandant of the Twelfth Naval District. Within hours the Commandant called Captain DuBose, stated that he had personally talked with the President of the railroad and had informed him that either we were sold tickets, or the train would not depart. Since he had the authority to do this under wartime regulations, we got our tickets.
MCDANNOLD AND O'REAR
Bob "Mac" McDannold Vol. II, pp. 64-66
I've told this tale many times, but I've never put it down on paper before. Now is the time to share it with my shipmates. What you are about to read is a true story, that should probably be in Ripley's "Believe it or Not."
I was just 16 years and 3 months old when I finished my Navy "boot" training in San Diego. ( I had lied about my age so that I could get on a ship and go fight the Japs.) My wishes were about to come true. It was March, 1943 and I, along with 45 other "boots" were on our way to Mare Island. We had all had the good fortune to have been assigned duty aboard the USS Portland (CA 33) the "fightingest ship in the navy."
The Portland was in the Mare Island Navy Yard at that time, undergoing repairs caused by a Jap torpedo she took in the historical battle of Guadalcanal in November of 1942.
My name is Robert H. McDannold - "Mac." I wanted to get into the C Division radio gang but I was assigned to the 5th Division, and my first assignment was mess-cook duty.
This duty was a kind of initiation to new "boots" aboard ship. I kept trying to get into the C-Div., and I guess I p-—d someone off, and they transferred me to the 1st Division. Guess what? They sent me down for another tour of mess-cook duty. I still kept trying to get into the radio gang. I even passed my written exam for 3rd class radioman.
One day I was given the news that there was an opening in the radio gang, and I had been selected. I was overjoyed with the transfer. My first assignment was ... you guessed it, mess-cooking. The C-Div. had to furnish a man at this time and since I had the experience...well!
I was aboard the Portland for almost 3 years. When I got settled in the radio gang I copied messages, ran messages and had a GQ station in CIC forward talking to friendly aircraft whenever we were with carriers. I was happy with my job and with all the swell guys I got to work with. I also took over the job as Editor and chief of the ship's paper, The Port Beam.
When the war ended and we came around to the East Coast, I left Philadelphia for San Pedro to be discharged. Before I left the ship I went down to the "Lucky Bag" (lost and found) to see if anyone had turned in my P-coat that had been missing, the Master-at Arms said "If you can't find yours, just grab any one." The P-coat that I grabbed was stenciled "J. R. O'Rear."
I took it with me back home to Arizona. I wore it hunting and fishing in cold weather I wore it when I did any work around the car, or the yard in cold weather And every time I put it on I saw the stenciled name of "O'Rear." It finally wore out after years of good service and was given to a clothing drive.
So far in this story we have not had any hard-to-believe "Believe it or Not" stuff'. It begins now...
After my discharge and returning to Phoenix I started finishing the education that I had given up when I went into the Navy at age 16. After several years of hard work I graduated from Arizona State University with a degree in education. While teaching and doing some work on my Masters degree, I ran into the nicest little freshman girl (half my age) and we got married. We discussed our future plans. We wanted to do something different and exciting and decided to move to Alaska where I could take a teaching job out in the "bush" and do all the hunting and fishing that I wanted to. We both love the out of doors, and this adventure would be a real joy.
I chose to go to a bush school in Aniak, Alaska, a random choice, as it had good hunting and fishing. It had a 4-teacher school, 1st grade through 8th. We four teachers taught multiple grades, with the teacher who had been teaching in the Alaska State School system the longest designated as Head Teacher.
The Head Teacher, Ray, was a burly, red-headed Texan that had been at different schools in the bush for seven years. He and his wife, Mary, were both teachers. We all lived in the school house which had apartments built into it. We were such close neighbors we spent a lot of time together. Ray loved to fish, too, and we were out every day, either fishing or bird hunting.
One afternoon Ray and I were playing gin rummy in my apartment and somehow got onto the subject of "crabs" (not the kind you eat.). In passing I happened to mention that we had them aboard my ship. Ray then said that they were aboard his ship too, and they couldn't seem to get rid of them. Ray then asked me what ship I had been on. I replied "the USS Portland." He gave a slight chuckle and said "Mary told you to say that." When I told him she hadn't, he asked me, unbelievingly, "O.K., what was her number?" When I said "CA 33" Ray almost fell out of his chair. Believe it or not, Ray had been on that train from boot camp and we had been on the Portland as shipmates for almost 3 years. He was down below in engineering, and I was topside. The only time we ever saw each other was when I was mess-cooking and he was going through the chow line, or maybe at movies or on Mog Mog or something.
We got out our old pictures, and yes, we did remember each other. We were much younger then. This happened in the year of 1963 and we hadn't seen each other since possibly Jan. of 1946. Can you imagine this? What are the odds of the two of us meeting some 18 years later - in a small Alaska bush village some 400+ miles from Anchorage. (Almost that close to Russia.) We were overwhelmed. Ray and I just jumped up and hugged each other like the long-lost brothers we were. As shipmates we were almost brothers. We were all brothers aboard the Portland.
Now here comes a trillion-to-one shot (or more.) Believe it or not, Ray's full name was Jewel Ray O'Rear; the JR O'Rear P-coat I wore for all those years belonged to this man. When I told Ray about the P-coat, he looked at me strangely and said "I always wondered what happened to it!"
Five years later, in 1968, Ray O'Rear came to Anchorage to have some dental work done. He was principal of the high school in Dillingham. I was teaching "special ed" in Anchorage. He flew in over the Thanksgiving holiday so that we could have this special time together. Mary couldn't come with him. My wife Carolyn, Ray and I had a great Thanksgiving get-together. Turkey with all the trimmings, wine, puddings, etc. Gin rummy, of course.
On Dec. 2nd, my birthday, I took Ray out to the airport for his return flight to Dillingham. But Consolidated Airlines flight 55 from Anchorage to Dillingham, with enroute stops at Iliamna, Big Mountain and King Salmon never arrived. At 0936 Alaska Standard Time the plane went down near Pedro Bay and all 36 passengers and 3 crew members died and the aircraft destroyed. They said that wind shear had caused portions of both wings to separate from the Fairchild F-27B while in flight.
It was my birthday when I heard the news on my car radio, a terrible birthday. There's something strange that Ray O'Rear should die on that day. It hit me hard. I have never forgotten him. I lost a great friend. The men of the Portland lost a great shipmate. The Dillingham schools lost a great educator. Mary and the three children they had adopted lost a wonderful family man.
There is a city park in Dillingham now, the J. R. O'Rear Park.
(Ed. Note: I believe the reader should share in Mac's preamble to this story.) "I promised this story some time ago. I kept putting it off. When I tell this story, I always get a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I knew it would be hard to write. It was. But now it's done."
Bob "Mac" McDannold Vol. II, pp. 64-66
I've told this tale many times, but I've never put it down on paper before. Now is the time to share it with my shipmates. What you are about to read is a true story, that should probably be in Ripley's "Believe it or Not."
I was just 16 years and 3 months old when I finished my Navy "boot" training in San Diego. ( I had lied about my age so that I could get on a ship and go fight the Japs.) My wishes were about to come true. It was March, 1943 and I, along with 45 other "boots" were on our way to Mare Island. We had all had the good fortune to have been assigned duty aboard the USS Portland (CA 33) the "fightingest ship in the navy."
The Portland was in the Mare Island Navy Yard at that time, undergoing repairs caused by a Jap torpedo she took in the historical battle of Guadalcanal in November of 1942.
My name is Robert H. McDannold - "Mac." I wanted to get into the C Division radio gang but I was assigned to the 5th Division, and my first assignment was mess-cook duty.
This duty was a kind of initiation to new "boots" aboard ship. I kept trying to get into the C-Div., and I guess I p-—d someone off, and they transferred me to the 1st Division. Guess what? They sent me down for another tour of mess-cook duty. I still kept trying to get into the radio gang. I even passed my written exam for 3rd class radioman.
One day I was given the news that there was an opening in the radio gang, and I had been selected. I was overjoyed with the transfer. My first assignment was ... you guessed it, mess-cooking. The C-Div. had to furnish a man at this time and since I had the experience...well!
I was aboard the Portland for almost 3 years. When I got settled in the radio gang I copied messages, ran messages and had a GQ station in CIC forward talking to friendly aircraft whenever we were with carriers. I was happy with my job and with all the swell guys I got to work with. I also took over the job as Editor and chief of the ship's paper, The Port Beam.
When the war ended and we came around to the East Coast, I left Philadelphia for San Pedro to be discharged. Before I left the ship I went down to the "Lucky Bag" (lost and found) to see if anyone had turned in my P-coat that had been missing, the Master-at Arms said "If you can't find yours, just grab any one." The P-coat that I grabbed was stenciled "J. R. O'Rear."
I took it with me back home to Arizona. I wore it hunting and fishing in cold weather I wore it when I did any work around the car, or the yard in cold weather And every time I put it on I saw the stenciled name of "O'Rear." It finally wore out after years of good service and was given to a clothing drive.
So far in this story we have not had any hard-to-believe "Believe it or Not" stuff'. It begins now...
After my discharge and returning to Phoenix I started finishing the education that I had given up when I went into the Navy at age 16. After several years of hard work I graduated from Arizona State University with a degree in education. While teaching and doing some work on my Masters degree, I ran into the nicest little freshman girl (half my age) and we got married. We discussed our future plans. We wanted to do something different and exciting and decided to move to Alaska where I could take a teaching job out in the "bush" and do all the hunting and fishing that I wanted to. We both love the out of doors, and this adventure would be a real joy.
I chose to go to a bush school in Aniak, Alaska, a random choice, as it had good hunting and fishing. It had a 4-teacher school, 1st grade through 8th. We four teachers taught multiple grades, with the teacher who had been teaching in the Alaska State School system the longest designated as Head Teacher.
The Head Teacher, Ray, was a burly, red-headed Texan that had been at different schools in the bush for seven years. He and his wife, Mary, were both teachers. We all lived in the school house which had apartments built into it. We were such close neighbors we spent a lot of time together. Ray loved to fish, too, and we were out every day, either fishing or bird hunting.
One afternoon Ray and I were playing gin rummy in my apartment and somehow got onto the subject of "crabs" (not the kind you eat.). In passing I happened to mention that we had them aboard my ship. Ray then said that they were aboard his ship too, and they couldn't seem to get rid of them. Ray then asked me what ship I had been on. I replied "the USS Portland." He gave a slight chuckle and said "Mary told you to say that." When I told him she hadn't, he asked me, unbelievingly, "O.K., what was her number?" When I said "CA 33" Ray almost fell out of his chair. Believe it or not, Ray had been on that train from boot camp and we had been on the Portland as shipmates for almost 3 years. He was down below in engineering, and I was topside. The only time we ever saw each other was when I was mess-cooking and he was going through the chow line, or maybe at movies or on Mog Mog or something.
We got out our old pictures, and yes, we did remember each other. We were much younger then. This happened in the year of 1963 and we hadn't seen each other since possibly Jan. of 1946. Can you imagine this? What are the odds of the two of us meeting some 18 years later - in a small Alaska bush village some 400+ miles from Anchorage. (Almost that close to Russia.) We were overwhelmed. Ray and I just jumped up and hugged each other like the long-lost brothers we were. As shipmates we were almost brothers. We were all brothers aboard the Portland.
Now here comes a trillion-to-one shot (or more.) Believe it or not, Ray's full name was Jewel Ray O'Rear; the JR O'Rear P-coat I wore for all those years belonged to this man. When I told Ray about the P-coat, he looked at me strangely and said "I always wondered what happened to it!"
Five years later, in 1968, Ray O'Rear came to Anchorage to have some dental work done. He was principal of the high school in Dillingham. I was teaching "special ed" in Anchorage. He flew in over the Thanksgiving holiday so that we could have this special time together. Mary couldn't come with him. My wife Carolyn, Ray and I had a great Thanksgiving get-together. Turkey with all the trimmings, wine, puddings, etc. Gin rummy, of course.
On Dec. 2nd, my birthday, I took Ray out to the airport for his return flight to Dillingham. But Consolidated Airlines flight 55 from Anchorage to Dillingham, with enroute stops at Iliamna, Big Mountain and King Salmon never arrived. At 0936 Alaska Standard Time the plane went down near Pedro Bay and all 36 passengers and 3 crew members died and the aircraft destroyed. They said that wind shear had caused portions of both wings to separate from the Fairchild F-27B while in flight.
It was my birthday when I heard the news on my car radio, a terrible birthday. There's something strange that Ray O'Rear should die on that day. It hit me hard. I have never forgotten him. I lost a great friend. The men of the Portland lost a great shipmate. The Dillingham schools lost a great educator. Mary and the three children they had adopted lost a wonderful family man.
There is a city park in Dillingham now, the J. R. O'Rear Park.
(Ed. Note: I believe the reader should share in Mac's preamble to this story.) "I promised this story some time ago. I kept putting it off. When I tell this story, I always get a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I knew it would be hard to write. It was. But now it's done."
YO HO HO AND A BOTTLE OF SCOTCH Vol. I, p. 50
Harold Johnson
On completion of battle damage repairs and overhaul at Mare Island, we left port on May 18, 1943 to conduct sea trials off the lower California coast. We put in to San Diego on May 22 for a few days of recreation and to replenish our supplies. New remote indicator units for the search and navigation radars had been installed. I needed spare 7” scope tubes and other parts for the rest of our radar equipment, so I went to the supply depot with a working party of men from the radar maintenance gang to pick them up. Each scope tube was packaged in a rather bulky carton, with a wooden frame to support the tube and it's long, thin neck. I ordered seven of these tubes.
We decided to smuggle some scotch aboard by carefully taping a bottle in each of the four corners of the scope container. Since the neck of the tube was very thin, there was ample room. Besides, the face of the tube almost concealed the contents of the box.
We had invested in 28 fifths of scotch and wanted to exercise care in getting them aboard.
With some apprehension, I led the working party aboard. Lt Fisher was the OOD and wanted to inspect the packages, so I opened one of them. The face of the tube occupied almost the entire area of the box. When Mr. Fisher leaned over to inspect the box more closely, I warned him of the danger of an implosion of the tube should anything strike the face of it and told him there would be sufficient force to severely injure or even kill him. Lt. Fisher stepped back and told me to get the boxes out of there. Mission(s) accomplished.
Harold Johnson
On completion of battle damage repairs and overhaul at Mare Island, we left port on May 18, 1943 to conduct sea trials off the lower California coast. We put in to San Diego on May 22 for a few days of recreation and to replenish our supplies. New remote indicator units for the search and navigation radars had been installed. I needed spare 7” scope tubes and other parts for the rest of our radar equipment, so I went to the supply depot with a working party of men from the radar maintenance gang to pick them up. Each scope tube was packaged in a rather bulky carton, with a wooden frame to support the tube and it's long, thin neck. I ordered seven of these tubes.
We decided to smuggle some scotch aboard by carefully taping a bottle in each of the four corners of the scope container. Since the neck of the tube was very thin, there was ample room. Besides, the face of the tube almost concealed the contents of the box.
We had invested in 28 fifths of scotch and wanted to exercise care in getting them aboard.
With some apprehension, I led the working party aboard. Lt Fisher was the OOD and wanted to inspect the packages, so I opened one of them. The face of the tube occupied almost the entire area of the box. When Mr. Fisher leaned over to inspect the box more closely, I warned him of the danger of an implosion of the tube should anything strike the face of it and told him there would be sufficient force to severely injure or even kill him. Lt. Fisher stepped back and told me to get the boxes out of there. Mission(s) accomplished.
REVENGE Vol. I, pp. 50-52
Harold"Johnny" Johnson
A good many members of die crew felt the Exec, had short-changed them on leave while we were undergoing extensive battle-damage repairs at Mare Island. The USS Minneapolis' crew, in for about the same repair time as we needed, had been given 30 days leave with appropriate travel time, while we were limited to two weeks and no travel time.
After completing sea trials off the California coast, on June 22, 1943, we sailed northward to the Aleutian Islands. On our trip north, someone in one of the deck divisions had secured a line with a 10 pound lead weight in such a way that with every roll of the ship, it would bang on the hull just outside the Executive Officer's stateroom.
It was humorous to hear the tales from the night deck watch about "Turk" crawling around in his night clothes trying to free the lead weight. This had to have been the work of one of the guys who had been denied enough leave while we were in port.
In mid-July we sailed for Kiska from Adak with other cruisers and the USS New Mexico, a refurbished victim of the Pearl Harbor attack. We arrived off Kiska on 26 July, gave the island a fierce pounding, then withdrew to Adak.
30,000 troops, which included 5,000 Canadians, had been practicing amphibious landings on Adak in preparation for retaking Kiska from the Japs. In the first week of August, we returned to Kiska, with these troops in transports close behind.
As we approached our destination one of the ships in the task force reported radar contact. All ships opened fire. I was looking at the "echoes" on my monitor scope and noted they were rather fuzzy, not the normal solid echoes of ships. After watching the blips for a few minutes, I asked the AA director to see if he could find the "targets." The AA director found the targets and agreed they looked fishy, then noticed they had elevated by 15 degrees and had increased speed. I reported to the Captain that we were firing on ionized clouds. With the lack of any return fire, he agreed and ordered a cease fire. The other ships continued firing. I think we demolished a stray orange crate. I called this the "Battle of the Kiska Pips."
After our encounter with the "phantom" targets we bombarded Kiska again, to support the troops that were to land. There was a pea-soup fog surrounding us. Radar was a blessing in this kind of weather. The troops went ashore expecting a large Jap force, but found only the remains of a hastily abandoned encampment and three hungry dogs. We entered the harbor in the fog and dropped anchor.
I went up to do some work on the "SG" radar antenna, the highest point on the ship. The repairs required the unit to be energized. Arriving on the antenna platform, I looked around in a clear sky at the island and the masts of other ships in our force. They protruded through the fog like submarine periscopes at sea.
While working close to the antenna, I noticed my hands were getting warm. This was due to the high powered radiation from the radar transmitter. I had my own microwave to keep me warm.
The ships in the attack force left the area of Kiska, some heading for Pearl while we sailed alone heading for Adak at 20 knots, still in heavy fog.
Many times when we were sailing long distances towards a specific destination, I would occupy myself by trying my hand at celestial navigation. One of the radar operators, Haskell, would join me. We would use the Combat Information Center (CIC) which had navigation charts and a ship's plotting table and was only used during general quarters. While sailing in the south Pacific, we would ask the quartermaster on the bridge for the ship's position, then plotted the ship's course using our derived figures. The ship changed heading every 200 miles traveled in order to maintain its course on the arc of a great circle.
I had been promoted to RMlc while in San Francisco and some new men were assigned to the radar gang. One, a second class radioman named Rutz, was a welcome addition to the gang because of his expertise in electronics. Because we were sailing in heavy fog, I wanted to make sure the navigation radar was at its peak, so Rutz and I spent the evening in CIC working on the transmitter/receiver. After "peaking" the equipment to top performance, we were anxious to check our work. We selected a chart of the area and asked the quartermaster for our location, course and speed.
We marked the position given us by the quartermaster on the chart of the area. The chart showed several islands in our vicinity. Control of the SG radar system, including positioning of the antenna and readout of the range and bearing of any targets, was only available at the main console on the bridge, so we asked the operator to do a 360 degree search and give us a range and bearing on any targets. He provided range and bearing on two islands about 100 miles north of our dead-reckoning position, according to the chart, yet these islands were but 50 miles away. When we asked the operator to confirm his reading, he provided identical range and bearings.
If this information was correct it would place us 50 miles north of our dead-reckoning position. We then asked the operator to give us radar information on specific islands to verify our findings. This information still showed that we were 50 miles north of our supposed position. We made additional readings every 15 minutes, getting the same results. We had plotted two parallel lines on the navigation chart, one made by radar location and the other by dead-reckoning readings. The radar readings placed the ship in relatively shallow waters of the continental shelf instead of over the deep Aleutian Trench to the south, where we should have been. We were on a collision course with the island of Semispochnoi, an uninhabited island surrounded by rocky shoals.
When we asked the quartermaster for another reading of ship's course, speed and position, there was a commanding voice on the other end of the intercom. "This is the Captain. Who is asking for this information and why?" I identified myself, telling him what we had been doing and our findings. "I’ll be right down" was his reply.
The Captain looked at our chart and told his marine orderly "Get Chief Haskell up here on the double. Tell him not to take time to dress." (Haskell was the chief radar operator who operated the control console on the bridge during general quarters.) Haskell was briefed by the Captain and told to verify our findings. His readings, done three times, confirmed that we were off course.
The Captain then instructed his orderly to get Cdr. Smith (Navigator) and Cdr. Gunston
(Gunnery Officer) to the CIC on the double, with the same admonition for them not to take time to dress. When these two appeared, the Captain said "Cdr. Gunston, you are now the Navigator. Cdr. Smith, you are now the Gunnery Officer." He then dismissed Cdr. Smith and briefed Cdr. Gunston on our problem, telling him our present course would pile us on barren rocks in about two and a half hours, and to get us out of danger. I, for one, was thankful for the Captain's reliance on radar.
Note: For Semispochnoi Island see: http://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/IOTD/view.php?id=48154
Harold"Johnny" Johnson
A good many members of die crew felt the Exec, had short-changed them on leave while we were undergoing extensive battle-damage repairs at Mare Island. The USS Minneapolis' crew, in for about the same repair time as we needed, had been given 30 days leave with appropriate travel time, while we were limited to two weeks and no travel time.
After completing sea trials off the California coast, on June 22, 1943, we sailed northward to the Aleutian Islands. On our trip north, someone in one of the deck divisions had secured a line with a 10 pound lead weight in such a way that with every roll of the ship, it would bang on the hull just outside the Executive Officer's stateroom.
It was humorous to hear the tales from the night deck watch about "Turk" crawling around in his night clothes trying to free the lead weight. This had to have been the work of one of the guys who had been denied enough leave while we were in port.
In mid-July we sailed for Kiska from Adak with other cruisers and the USS New Mexico, a refurbished victim of the Pearl Harbor attack. We arrived off Kiska on 26 July, gave the island a fierce pounding, then withdrew to Adak.
30,000 troops, which included 5,000 Canadians, had been practicing amphibious landings on Adak in preparation for retaking Kiska from the Japs. In the first week of August, we returned to Kiska, with these troops in transports close behind.
As we approached our destination one of the ships in the task force reported radar contact. All ships opened fire. I was looking at the "echoes" on my monitor scope and noted they were rather fuzzy, not the normal solid echoes of ships. After watching the blips for a few minutes, I asked the AA director to see if he could find the "targets." The AA director found the targets and agreed they looked fishy, then noticed they had elevated by 15 degrees and had increased speed. I reported to the Captain that we were firing on ionized clouds. With the lack of any return fire, he agreed and ordered a cease fire. The other ships continued firing. I think we demolished a stray orange crate. I called this the "Battle of the Kiska Pips."
After our encounter with the "phantom" targets we bombarded Kiska again, to support the troops that were to land. There was a pea-soup fog surrounding us. Radar was a blessing in this kind of weather. The troops went ashore expecting a large Jap force, but found only the remains of a hastily abandoned encampment and three hungry dogs. We entered the harbor in the fog and dropped anchor.
I went up to do some work on the "SG" radar antenna, the highest point on the ship. The repairs required the unit to be energized. Arriving on the antenna platform, I looked around in a clear sky at the island and the masts of other ships in our force. They protruded through the fog like submarine periscopes at sea.
While working close to the antenna, I noticed my hands were getting warm. This was due to the high powered radiation from the radar transmitter. I had my own microwave to keep me warm.
The ships in the attack force left the area of Kiska, some heading for Pearl while we sailed alone heading for Adak at 20 knots, still in heavy fog.
Many times when we were sailing long distances towards a specific destination, I would occupy myself by trying my hand at celestial navigation. One of the radar operators, Haskell, would join me. We would use the Combat Information Center (CIC) which had navigation charts and a ship's plotting table and was only used during general quarters. While sailing in the south Pacific, we would ask the quartermaster on the bridge for the ship's position, then plotted the ship's course using our derived figures. The ship changed heading every 200 miles traveled in order to maintain its course on the arc of a great circle.
I had been promoted to RMlc while in San Francisco and some new men were assigned to the radar gang. One, a second class radioman named Rutz, was a welcome addition to the gang because of his expertise in electronics. Because we were sailing in heavy fog, I wanted to make sure the navigation radar was at its peak, so Rutz and I spent the evening in CIC working on the transmitter/receiver. After "peaking" the equipment to top performance, we were anxious to check our work. We selected a chart of the area and asked the quartermaster for our location, course and speed.
We marked the position given us by the quartermaster on the chart of the area. The chart showed several islands in our vicinity. Control of the SG radar system, including positioning of the antenna and readout of the range and bearing of any targets, was only available at the main console on the bridge, so we asked the operator to do a 360 degree search and give us a range and bearing on any targets. He provided range and bearing on two islands about 100 miles north of our dead-reckoning position, according to the chart, yet these islands were but 50 miles away. When we asked the operator to confirm his reading, he provided identical range and bearings.
If this information was correct it would place us 50 miles north of our dead-reckoning position. We then asked the operator to give us radar information on specific islands to verify our findings. This information still showed that we were 50 miles north of our supposed position. We made additional readings every 15 minutes, getting the same results. We had plotted two parallel lines on the navigation chart, one made by radar location and the other by dead-reckoning readings. The radar readings placed the ship in relatively shallow waters of the continental shelf instead of over the deep Aleutian Trench to the south, where we should have been. We were on a collision course with the island of Semispochnoi, an uninhabited island surrounded by rocky shoals.
When we asked the quartermaster for another reading of ship's course, speed and position, there was a commanding voice on the other end of the intercom. "This is the Captain. Who is asking for this information and why?" I identified myself, telling him what we had been doing and our findings. "I’ll be right down" was his reply.
The Captain looked at our chart and told his marine orderly "Get Chief Haskell up here on the double. Tell him not to take time to dress." (Haskell was the chief radar operator who operated the control console on the bridge during general quarters.) Haskell was briefed by the Captain and told to verify our findings. His readings, done three times, confirmed that we were off course.
The Captain then instructed his orderly to get Cdr. Smith (Navigator) and Cdr. Gunston
(Gunnery Officer) to the CIC on the double, with the same admonition for them not to take time to dress. When these two appeared, the Captain said "Cdr. Gunston, you are now the Navigator. Cdr. Smith, you are now the Gunnery Officer." He then dismissed Cdr. Smith and briefed Cdr. Gunston on our problem, telling him our present course would pile us on barren rocks in about two and a half hours, and to get us out of danger. I, for one, was thankful for the Captain's reliance on radar.
Note: For Semispochnoi Island see: http://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/IOTD/view.php?id=48154
CLOUT Vol. I, pp. 52-53
Art Lindholm
In mid-1943, I was one of Dr. Joer's patients. He operated on me in the middle of the night while we were underway to the Battle of Kiska in the Aleutians. The sea was not smooth that night and the doctor asked the captain if he could get permission to turn the ship and go with the seas so that he could operate in calmer waters. Anyway, the Captain could not get permission to break ranks. A few minutes later the Captain came down to sick bay to see me and to see who had so much clout with the Admiral in charge to try to get the ship turned around. The Admiral turned the whole fleet and steamed with the wind until the operation was completed. Anyone who was on watch on the bridge that night will probably remember the incident.
Art Lindholm
In mid-1943, I was one of Dr. Joer's patients. He operated on me in the middle of the night while we were underway to the Battle of Kiska in the Aleutians. The sea was not smooth that night and the doctor asked the captain if he could get permission to turn the ship and go with the seas so that he could operate in calmer waters. Anyway, the Captain could not get permission to break ranks. A few minutes later the Captain came down to sick bay to see me and to see who had so much clout with the Admiral in charge to try to get the ship turned around. The Admiral turned the whole fleet and steamed with the wind until the operation was completed. Anyone who was on watch on the bridge that night will probably remember the incident.
RADAR HEROES? Vol. I, p. 53
Pete Cole
Do you remember the "Radar Heroes" that cold, dark night off Kiska the summer of 1943, when 5 or 6 targets were reported by radar? We opened fire and in no time the targets disappeared. As I recall the Portland was the only ship to open fire and the other ships started to call us the "radar heroes."
I have always believed that our actions that night were vindicated a few days later when troops landed on Kiska and, instead of encountering resistance, found only a few dead Japanese soldiers. There was much conjecture that the that the "ghost targets" we had fired on a few nights earlier were troop-carrying submarines and had just finished evacuating the several thousand troops that intelligence had reported being on the island. Remember, we were one of the few ships in that force that had newer radar that had just been installed at Mare Island while we were having the torpedo damage repaired.
(Ed. note: Adm. S. E. Morrison, in his History of Naval Operations in WWII reports thus: "When the Admiral (Giffen) ordered Cease Firing, because the radar screens were clear of targets, the battleships had expended 518 rounds of 14 inch and the three cruisers 487 rounds of 8 inch." He also indicates that the Mississippi made first radar reports.)
Pete Cole
Do you remember the "Radar Heroes" that cold, dark night off Kiska the summer of 1943, when 5 or 6 targets were reported by radar? We opened fire and in no time the targets disappeared. As I recall the Portland was the only ship to open fire and the other ships started to call us the "radar heroes."
I have always believed that our actions that night were vindicated a few days later when troops landed on Kiska and, instead of encountering resistance, found only a few dead Japanese soldiers. There was much conjecture that the that the "ghost targets" we had fired on a few nights earlier were troop-carrying submarines and had just finished evacuating the several thousand troops that intelligence had reported being on the island. Remember, we were one of the few ships in that force that had newer radar that had just been installed at Mare Island while we were having the torpedo damage repaired.
(Ed. note: Adm. S. E. Morrison, in his History of Naval Operations in WWII reports thus: "When the Admiral (Giffen) ordered Cease Firing, because the radar screens were clear of targets, the battleships had expended 518 rounds of 14 inch and the three cruisers 487 rounds of 8 inch." He also indicates that the Mississippi made first radar reports.)
RED LETTER DAY Vol. I, pp. 53-54
Joe Stables
It was probably sometime in July, 1943. We were anchored in Adak in the Aleutians and late one day we got mail aboard. When I got off watch at midnight and went below, I found a letter on my bunk from my sister. With mail being a somewhat scarce commodity in those days, I hurried over to one of the red night lights near the bottom of the ladder and sat down on the deck to read it.
When I opened the envelope, I took out three pages of blank paper. I was upset and angry and couldn't understand why she would pull such a trick. I nearly threw it away, but I stuck it in my pocket and hit the sack. I didn't get a lot of sleep the rest of the night.
Next morning, after General Quarters, I was standing in the chow line for breakfast and complaining loudly to anyone who would listen about my thoughtless sister. I took the letter out of my pocket to show someone and found, much to my chagrin, that it wasn't blank at all. She had used a red pencil and under the red light it was invisible.
I still chide my sister about her red pencil.
Joe Stables
It was probably sometime in July, 1943. We were anchored in Adak in the Aleutians and late one day we got mail aboard. When I got off watch at midnight and went below, I found a letter on my bunk from my sister. With mail being a somewhat scarce commodity in those days, I hurried over to one of the red night lights near the bottom of the ladder and sat down on the deck to read it.
When I opened the envelope, I took out three pages of blank paper. I was upset and angry and couldn't understand why she would pull such a trick. I nearly threw it away, but I stuck it in my pocket and hit the sack. I didn't get a lot of sleep the rest of the night.
Next morning, after General Quarters, I was standing in the chow line for breakfast and complaining loudly to anyone who would listen about my thoughtless sister. I took the letter out of my pocket to show someone and found, much to my chagrin, that it wasn't blank at all. She had used a red pencil and under the red light it was invisible.
I still chide my sister about her red pencil.
THE YOUNG PIRATES
Bob "Mac" McDannold Vol. II, pp. 68-69
While the Portland was at anchor in Adak, Alaska, a small work party was sent over to a merchant marine refrigerator ship to pick up some fresh supplies. I was one of the chosen "volunteers" from the 5th division. (You know, "you, you and you volunteered”.) A storekeeper was with us and in charge. I don't remember any of the names, perhaps a reader might remember this trip.
After a few hours of locating and hoisting our supplies on deck, we had to wait for the Higgins boat to return and pick us up, so we spent our time just looking around the reefer ship.
We came across a refrigerator locker that was topside and looked special, so we looked in it. Lo and behold, there was a beautiful green watermelon. Thinking this would be a good reward for our hard labor, this watermelon somehow got wrapped up in a P-coat and removed from this locker.
We took it aft to a 40mm gun mount where there was no one around. We divided it up and dug in. Boy, what a treat!
As we were finishing up, a crew of navy gunners came into the mount to do some work. (The merchant ships had real naval personnel for the gun crews in some cases.) These guys saw what we were doing and went ballistic!
"WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING HERE WITH THAT WATERMELON?? MY GOD, THAT'S THE ADMIRAL'S MELON THAT WAS BROUGHT UP HERE AT HIS SPECIAL REQUEST."
They made us clean up every seed, every little trace of evidence that might lead to them being involved in the watermelon heist. They said they could be hoisted from the yardarm, fed to the sharks, or whatever, if anyone thought they were involved.
So, we returned to the Portland feeling like we had really done something great, laughing all the way, and quite full of the Admiral's treat. Any shipmate out there remember this work party?
Bob "Mac" McDannold Vol. II, pp. 68-69
While the Portland was at anchor in Adak, Alaska, a small work party was sent over to a merchant marine refrigerator ship to pick up some fresh supplies. I was one of the chosen "volunteers" from the 5th division. (You know, "you, you and you volunteered”.) A storekeeper was with us and in charge. I don't remember any of the names, perhaps a reader might remember this trip.
After a few hours of locating and hoisting our supplies on deck, we had to wait for the Higgins boat to return and pick us up, so we spent our time just looking around the reefer ship.
We came across a refrigerator locker that was topside and looked special, so we looked in it. Lo and behold, there was a beautiful green watermelon. Thinking this would be a good reward for our hard labor, this watermelon somehow got wrapped up in a P-coat and removed from this locker.
We took it aft to a 40mm gun mount where there was no one around. We divided it up and dug in. Boy, what a treat!
As we were finishing up, a crew of navy gunners came into the mount to do some work. (The merchant ships had real naval personnel for the gun crews in some cases.) These guys saw what we were doing and went ballistic!
"WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING HERE WITH THAT WATERMELON?? MY GOD, THAT'S THE ADMIRAL'S MELON THAT WAS BROUGHT UP HERE AT HIS SPECIAL REQUEST."
They made us clean up every seed, every little trace of evidence that might lead to them being involved in the watermelon heist. They said they could be hoisted from the yardarm, fed to the sharks, or whatever, if anyone thought they were involved.
So, we returned to the Portland feeling like we had really done something great, laughing all the way, and quite full of the Admiral's treat. Any shipmate out there remember this work party?
INCIDENT AT TARAWA Vol. I, pp. 56-57
Bob Werner
It was while we were supporting the Marine's landing on Tarawa. The Portland was being used for call support firing on the beach. We had a war correspondent on board at the time and he needed to return to the command ship which was about 2,000 yards off our starboard beam. I was ordered to take him there in the motor whaleboat, accompanied by an excellent machinist mate and boat hook. I can't remember their names, but I can remember how efficient they were.
After lowering the motor whaleboat, we proceeded to the command ship and dropped off the correspondent. I then called up to the Officer of the Deck and asked permission to return to Portland. His reply was "Permission denied. Your orders are to stand by on the starboard bow at 200 yards and await further orders." This we did, but the unfortunate part was we could not see our ship as it was blocked out by the position of the Command ship.
After lying at this position for about 2 hours, a TBF that had been taking pictures of Tarawa flew over very low and dropped a bag that I was sure contained film. They also dropped dye markers to help us maintain sight of the packet. It was about fifty yards from our boat.
The machinist mate promptly started the engine, but I told him to kill it as our orders were to stand by and await orders. About l or 2 minutes later, the Officer of the Deck picked up a bull-horn and ordered us to pick up the packet and bring it alongside. He was very irate, as he assumed we would pick it up without any orders.
After dropping off the packet, I asked for permission to return to the Portland at once. Permission was granted, however when we went around the bow to return, the Portland was not there and nowhere to be seen. I returned at once to the Command ship and asked if they could tell me where the Portland was and what to do.
The O.D. advised that Portland had received orders to go around to the other side of the island to answer call fire from that sector, so we had to go around the island to get back to our ship. I asked him if he would notify the "P" that we were on our way and the direction from which we were coming.
In order to get to the Portland we had to go around the small end of the island and we figured we had two things to worry about. One was small arms fire coming from the beach and the other was the possibility of hitting a mine. Neither was a pleasant thought.
It took us a long time to get around the island. When we finally spotted our ship there was not a lot of daylight left and we hoped we could make it in time. We were sure they had sighted us and knew about how long it would take us to make the ship. It was just twilight when we got within hailing distance. When we got about 100 yards from the ship, the O.D., using a bull-horn, told us that we had only one chance to come along side and get hooked up. There would be NO second chance, as the ship was to leave immediately for another spot. If we missed, we were on our own.
NEVER was a motor whaleboat brought alongside a ship with more care. We no sooner got the hooks secured to the davits, with the boat still in the water, when the ship picked up speed. We were dragged in the water a short distance before the boat was raised and brought aboard ship.
I will never be able to thank the crew enough. I would certainly like to hear from that great bow-hook and machinist mate that were with me.
Bob Werner
It was while we were supporting the Marine's landing on Tarawa. The Portland was being used for call support firing on the beach. We had a war correspondent on board at the time and he needed to return to the command ship which was about 2,000 yards off our starboard beam. I was ordered to take him there in the motor whaleboat, accompanied by an excellent machinist mate and boat hook. I can't remember their names, but I can remember how efficient they were.
After lowering the motor whaleboat, we proceeded to the command ship and dropped off the correspondent. I then called up to the Officer of the Deck and asked permission to return to Portland. His reply was "Permission denied. Your orders are to stand by on the starboard bow at 200 yards and await further orders." This we did, but the unfortunate part was we could not see our ship as it was blocked out by the position of the Command ship.
After lying at this position for about 2 hours, a TBF that had been taking pictures of Tarawa flew over very low and dropped a bag that I was sure contained film. They also dropped dye markers to help us maintain sight of the packet. It was about fifty yards from our boat.
The machinist mate promptly started the engine, but I told him to kill it as our orders were to stand by and await orders. About l or 2 minutes later, the Officer of the Deck picked up a bull-horn and ordered us to pick up the packet and bring it alongside. He was very irate, as he assumed we would pick it up without any orders.
After dropping off the packet, I asked for permission to return to the Portland at once. Permission was granted, however when we went around the bow to return, the Portland was not there and nowhere to be seen. I returned at once to the Command ship and asked if they could tell me where the Portland was and what to do.
The O.D. advised that Portland had received orders to go around to the other side of the island to answer call fire from that sector, so we had to go around the island to get back to our ship. I asked him if he would notify the "P" that we were on our way and the direction from which we were coming.
In order to get to the Portland we had to go around the small end of the island and we figured we had two things to worry about. One was small arms fire coming from the beach and the other was the possibility of hitting a mine. Neither was a pleasant thought.
It took us a long time to get around the island. When we finally spotted our ship there was not a lot of daylight left and we hoped we could make it in time. We were sure they had sighted us and knew about how long it would take us to make the ship. It was just twilight when we got within hailing distance. When we got about 100 yards from the ship, the O.D., using a bull-horn, told us that we had only one chance to come along side and get hooked up. There would be NO second chance, as the ship was to leave immediately for another spot. If we missed, we were on our own.
NEVER was a motor whaleboat brought alongside a ship with more care. We no sooner got the hooks secured to the davits, with the boat still in the water, when the ship picked up speed. We were dragged in the water a short distance before the boat was raised and brought aboard ship.
I will never be able to thank the crew enough. I would certainly like to hear from that great bow-hook and machinist mate that were with me.
ONE ROUGH OL' SAILOR
Dean Merryman Vol. II, pp. 70-71
When I came aboard the Portland, she was in dry dock being repaired after Guadalcanal. For a kid from Oklahoma that had never seen a major ship up close - she was b-i-g, I remember my first thought, how something that big and made of steel could float.
We bunked on a converted ferry - the Calistoga. Remember?
I was assigned to the x-ray division. That was short for "rent-a-slave." You were assigned to some working party that nobody else wanted.
One day I got a good assignment - paint under turret #2. I was under the turret goofing off when boatswains mate stuck his head under and told me "If you don't get that done, you're not going on liberty." I waited until he left, poured out the paint in a puddle and spread it out quickly.
I was later assigned to 40 mm Mount #1 for a General Quarters station. I watched that paint, thinking that it would peel. It lasted forever.
Tarawa was my first real battle. It was such a pretty South Sea island when we first saw it. Three days later, after we bombarded it, it looked like a sand dune. My bad memory of Tarawa was the bodies floating in the water, ours and theirs. I was 18 years old by then.
We made a hit and run on the Marshalls. One of the carriers got hit and we had to stay with them in case of a tow.
The land based planes came out looking for us, dropping flares. We ducked into every rain cloud we could find.
Nobody ever says anything about old "Washing Machine Charlie" when we would have a one plane raid and he was so high he was out of range of fire. 4:00 every day. We never fired at those planes, but one day there was a destroyer off our starboard side that fired straight up. 2 shots of 5 inch. They got a direct hit on Charlie. He came down one wing short.
In the Philippines, when we had the surface battle, when the Jap task force came into the gulf, when they were about to commence firing, the AA battery was told to seek cover I went around on the other side of the ship. I got to thinking "This quarter inch steel is not going to stop a sixteen inch shell, so I went back to my gun station and watched all the action. When the battle was over, the Portland and the Minneapolis were detached from the battle wagons and went at high speed down the gulf. We came upon a Jap battle wagon. It had lost all its superstructure and was burning. We were close. They spotted a destroyer alongside. We and the "Minnie" made a 90 degree turn and fired down at the destroyer with the after turret. There was a big fireball and when everything cleared the destroyer was gone.
In Lingayen Gulf, when we were in line with the old battle ships and two cruisers, 28 suicide planes came in on us. All the ships were being hit but us. The Tennessee got hit in front of us. When we got up to where they were, there were two guys on a piece of life raft thumbing a ride like they were hitchhiking.
When the war ended, they took the Marines off. One man from each division was assigned as the Captain's Orderly. It was a good assignment. You stood your watch and that was all.
When we got in the hurricane two things happened; I was in the sea cabin following the Captain around like I was supposed to. The Captain and a lot of officers were frantically going about the business of keeping the ship afloat. He turned to me and said "Go over there and sit" in his chair. It was a chair like I had never sat in before. It had air in the cushion. When you sat in it, the air went out until your weight equalized. You felt like you were floating. Well -I promptly went to sleep. When I woke up, there was not one person on the bridge. I jumped up and went over to the little cubbyhole where his bunk was. He was there - asleep.
Another memory: I went on watch and the Captain asked if it was pretty rough to get down to this cabin. I said "Yes, sir, it's rough." He promptly said "I'm a rough ol' sailor. Let’s go." On the way down, you had to go outside and go down a ladder. The steel ladder was standing straight out from the wind blowing so hard. We walked out on it until it went down, with a line over to the hatch. I was scared to death and was a relieved young man when we got inside.
Dean Merryman Vol. II, pp. 70-71
When I came aboard the Portland, she was in dry dock being repaired after Guadalcanal. For a kid from Oklahoma that had never seen a major ship up close - she was b-i-g, I remember my first thought, how something that big and made of steel could float.
We bunked on a converted ferry - the Calistoga. Remember?
I was assigned to the x-ray division. That was short for "rent-a-slave." You were assigned to some working party that nobody else wanted.
One day I got a good assignment - paint under turret #2. I was under the turret goofing off when boatswains mate stuck his head under and told me "If you don't get that done, you're not going on liberty." I waited until he left, poured out the paint in a puddle and spread it out quickly.
I was later assigned to 40 mm Mount #1 for a General Quarters station. I watched that paint, thinking that it would peel. It lasted forever.
Tarawa was my first real battle. It was such a pretty South Sea island when we first saw it. Three days later, after we bombarded it, it looked like a sand dune. My bad memory of Tarawa was the bodies floating in the water, ours and theirs. I was 18 years old by then.
We made a hit and run on the Marshalls. One of the carriers got hit and we had to stay with them in case of a tow.
The land based planes came out looking for us, dropping flares. We ducked into every rain cloud we could find.
Nobody ever says anything about old "Washing Machine Charlie" when we would have a one plane raid and he was so high he was out of range of fire. 4:00 every day. We never fired at those planes, but one day there was a destroyer off our starboard side that fired straight up. 2 shots of 5 inch. They got a direct hit on Charlie. He came down one wing short.
In the Philippines, when we had the surface battle, when the Jap task force came into the gulf, when they were about to commence firing, the AA battery was told to seek cover I went around on the other side of the ship. I got to thinking "This quarter inch steel is not going to stop a sixteen inch shell, so I went back to my gun station and watched all the action. When the battle was over, the Portland and the Minneapolis were detached from the battle wagons and went at high speed down the gulf. We came upon a Jap battle wagon. It had lost all its superstructure and was burning. We were close. They spotted a destroyer alongside. We and the "Minnie" made a 90 degree turn and fired down at the destroyer with the after turret. There was a big fireball and when everything cleared the destroyer was gone.
In Lingayen Gulf, when we were in line with the old battle ships and two cruisers, 28 suicide planes came in on us. All the ships were being hit but us. The Tennessee got hit in front of us. When we got up to where they were, there were two guys on a piece of life raft thumbing a ride like they were hitchhiking.
When the war ended, they took the Marines off. One man from each division was assigned as the Captain's Orderly. It was a good assignment. You stood your watch and that was all.
When we got in the hurricane two things happened; I was in the sea cabin following the Captain around like I was supposed to. The Captain and a lot of officers were frantically going about the business of keeping the ship afloat. He turned to me and said "Go over there and sit" in his chair. It was a chair like I had never sat in before. It had air in the cushion. When you sat in it, the air went out until your weight equalized. You felt like you were floating. Well -I promptly went to sleep. When I woke up, there was not one person on the bridge. I jumped up and went over to the little cubbyhole where his bunk was. He was there - asleep.
Another memory: I went on watch and the Captain asked if it was pretty rough to get down to this cabin. I said "Yes, sir, it's rough." He promptly said "I'm a rough ol' sailor. Let’s go." On the way down, you had to go outside and go down a ladder. The steel ladder was standing straight out from the wind blowing so hard. We walked out on it until it went down, with a line over to the hatch. I was scared to death and was a relieved young man when we got inside.
THE VIEW FROM THE RADAR SHACK
Milton Poulos Vol. II, pp. 71-79
Following radar school at Point Loma, San Diego, I reported aboard late in March, 1943. Since the ship was in drydock, the crew was berthed on the Calistoga, an old converted San Francisco Bay ferry boat. I quickly found out that sailors were not the only inhabitants of the Calistoga. During my first night watch, I noticed some activity at the ladder leading down to a small galley, and was told that there was a large pan of cake on the table. After things quieted down, I went down the ladder to see about these "night rations." About halfway down the ladder, my flashlight lit the table and a pan of cake. As I approached, what at first appeared to be a dark, nutty looking frosting covering the cake suddenly began to move. The closer I got, the faster it moved. This was my introduction to cockroaches, and it was a long time before I could eat cake before carefully examining it.
Shortly after reporting aboard, I was assigned to “F” division, and told that their temporary space was in one of the hangars. One day while waiting for a work assignment, I was shining my shoes when in walked a senior petty officer who told me to get out of his chair. After carefully looking the chair over and finding no name on it, I must have said some unkind things, for the next thing I knew I was mess-cooking.
Duty mess cooks prepared food and served at the steam tables as opposed to working in the scullery. The ideal serving station would be a vegetable that no one wanted, but for some reason I would always get stuck on the butter sheer. Butter was a popular item and, although each man was supposed to get only one slice on top of his bread, the majority would lift the bread and indicate by various looks and gestures that I was to crank two or three pats of butter onto the tray which they would cover with the bread. In most cases they would insist on an additional pat on top of the bread. Apparently this procedure, which was common practice, was raising hell with the butter inventory, for one noon, in the midst of pacifying the troops by vigorously cranking the dispenser, I became aware of the Chief Commissary Steward standing behind me cursing in Greek. I suddenly found myself in a no-win situation - Chief Soulis muttering behind me and the troops glowering at me from the other side of the table. During the remainder of my time as a mess cook, I became so popular that I was rewarded with a few weeks of messenger duty.
Getting one's self, a full coffee pot and an armload of cups up to the bridge intact during foul weather in the Aleutians was a challenge. One had to wait until the ship rolled to port, run up a slippery ladder, wait out the next roll to starboard and then up the next slippery ladder. My black and blue shins finally got a break when I was assigned to radar operating.
I stood watches for a while in one of the anti-aircraft directors and I am sure that everyone appreciated, as I did, the opportunity provided by Lt. Haynie to be drilled on every well-known phrase that Lawrence, Farragut, John Paul Jones, et al, ever uttered. I have always been a little disappointed that those of us who stood watches with Lt. Haynie never received any college credit for attending his courses in Naval Traditions 101 A.
Following duty in the director, I was assigned to CIC (Combat Information Center) and shortly after as the general quarters SG operator along with Louck. The big fear in CIC was never about the outcome of the war, but that some "boot" ensign could not resist the temptation to reach over your shoulder and twiddle with the knobs on the radar gear after it had been carefully calibrated.
I think we did rather well for a small CIC. On a few occasions we were allowed to control and direct some of the planes from the Enterprise when they were in our sector. One night we successfully directed one of our night fighters on an intercept with an enemy aircraft. It may not sound like much, but in this case it was done from many miles away, the trick being to bring our fighter in from above and behind the enemy target.
We had a visit one day from Admiral Oldendorf who came into CIC to see how we operated. No complaints that I know of As they say, "All's well that ends well" When I recall what happened to other ships, I can appreciate having had Captain Settle as our boss.
I guess I should feel guilty about the stunt we pulled when captain Settle announced that the ship would have a war bond drive with prizes for the man who bought the most bonds and for the division that bought the most bonds per capita. There didn't seem to be much enthusiasm around the ship following his announcement, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that money on the books gathers no interest. It became obvious that the next course would be not only to buy bonds, but to win the contest. The plan, requiring secrecy, was executed in three stages as follows:
1) Draw all of the money we had on the books and draw our pay as late as possible, in the straggler's line, so no one would suspect what we were up to.
2) Run around a borrow every dollar we could from men in other divisions, which would not only take it out of circulation, but allow us to buy more bonds.
3) Buy bonds.
Of course "I" Division won the contest with everyone getting some goodies, and since I had purchased the largest amount, I received a large stack of stuff from the Ship's Store from Captain Settle. It was a little disappointing that no one from any of the other divisions congratulated us on our patriotism.
One man, transferred into "I" division, spent a lot of time complaining, not only about the division, but about not being given his choice of duty, which he insisted should have been the Chaplain's Yeoman. This attitude, with all due respect to the resident Padre, did not endear him to the troops.
To teach him a lesson, some of the men came up with what proved to be a first class practical joke. Since watertight integrity was being maintained below decks, we were only allowed into the compartments occasionally to get clothes or other necessities. During one of these times, someone managed to remove one of this guy's inspection shoes from its protective stocking and substitute another shoe so it's absence would not be noticed. For several weeks the shoe was kept in Combat Aft, passed around among the men and spit shined until it looked like it had been spray lacquered. As anticipated, eventually we were scheduled for Captain's inspection and the compartments opened so we could get ready. As soon as this guy left his locker open and unattended, the shined shoe was put back into its stocking. According to plan, the arrangement was that no matter where he stood in ranks, at least two men with good shoe shines were to stand on either side of him. All the work was worth it, for when he got to this guy, Captain Settle stared at him with a look of disbelief for what seemed like three minutes, with everyone managing (with some difficulty) to keep a straight face.
On one occasion several of the radar men, including Al Gallup, were put on report and severely reprimanded by the Executive Officer for taking short-cuts through "officers country" when going on watch in CIC. He lectured them ad infinitum on rules of the road, traffic, ship's etiquette, etc., etc., etc.
A couple of weeks later when, general quarters was sounded, some of the men on watch in CIC had to get to their condition 1 station in Combat Aft in a hurry, which meant out to the veranda deck and down the port ladder to the quarter deck. Normally, going down the ladder was a good two jumps while sliding down the handrails.
During this particular incident the man in the lead was Al Gallup, with several men on his heels. It just so happened that, when General Quarters was sounded, the Commander was at the bottom of this ladder and since his station was in CIC he thought he would just go on up to the veranda deck. It appears that just as he got half way up the ladder, Al and the thundering herd started down.
When I asked Al about it later, he said he had no choice but to run right over the Commander. I don't know whether this would be categorized as "revenge" or "just retribution."
I ran into Al in Seattle in the mid 1950's. After I greeted him, his reply wasn't "Hi, how have you been" or "What are you doing now" but "How in the hell did you pick up them ships at 52,000 yards." He was referring to the action in Surigao Strait. I have since realized that if it had not been for men like Jesse Ruiz, Serge Markelof and the other RM's and RT's maintaining the radar gear, we might not have picked them up at 5,200 yards, much less 52,000. The Portland was blessed with a captain and crew that knew what they were doing.
I don't recall the reason I was sent to the Australian cruiser Shropshire, but I do recall getting in line with everyone else for the daily ration of beer. The brand was Tooth's Lager and very tasty. I carried one of the labels in my wallet until it finally disintegrated.
There was an American sailor stationed on board, rated as a Motor Machinist 1c, whose job was maintaining the decoding equipment. Besides his Navy pay he was getting per diem while in port, plus an allowance from the Australian government. Apparently this was providing the means for a lot of socializing while on the beach, for he admitted that he was glad to be at sea resting up, as he was getting so much action while in port that it was wearing him out. It was then and there that I realized the mistake I had made in choosing radar school. Live and learn.
In "I" division we had one officer who was a very nervous, jumpy type and, to me, much like today's Don Knotts. He even got nervous during 20mm practice. During times of stress he would have to take his glasses off to wipe his eyes, which had a tendency to water. During one air attack he was standing near the air plot table around which three or four men were busy plotting friendly planes with zeros and enemy planes with "x's." He put his glasses on the table while he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. Without slowing down, one of the men reached over and with his grease pencil drew an "x" on each of the lenses so that no matter where he looked he would see "bogies." After he got his glasses back on, everyone was busy and innocent looking, doing a good job of not breaking up.
One interesting thing about plotting is that no matter where one was stationed around the plotting table, all writing had to be done so that whoever was in charge could read it. As a result, on more than one occasion I have seen someone unconsciously address an envelope backwards and upside down.
I used to wonder who was getting all the strawberry jello, the Bob Hope show and good movies. We saw the "Flying Tigers" so many times that I think everyone had memorized all of the moves of the fighter planes. One old movie we watched was one in which Wallace Beery played the part of a navy chief who was always bragging about all of the famous people he had served with. During the course of the film, he bragged about going up with Lt. Commander T. G. W. Settle on his record-setting balloon flight in 1933. The Captain was also watching this film and joined the rest of us in a good laugh.
We never saw Bob Hope but I wonder how many remember the troupe of magicians that entertained us on the quarterdeck when things had simmered down in the Philippines. Even with their dilapidated, pre-war props and equipment, they put on a good show.
Occasionally we were entertained by listening to Tokyo Rose on the radio in CIC.
An unfortunate event took place while I was on watch on the SG radar. On hearing the words "Man overboard" I jumped up and turned on the DRT (Dead Reckoning Tracer.) Someone had slipped on the port catapult and had gone over the side. This allowed us to backtrack to where it was estimated that the man had gone into the water. Since it happened during the day, a whaleboat was lowered and a search made, without success. Because of the threat of submarines in the area, the search had to be called off and we got underway.
While operating around the Philippines, we made radio contact one night with an Army Air Force pilot who was lost and knew only that he was over water. We did our best for quite a while, trying to locate him and guide him to a landing strip. He finally ran out of fuel and told us that he was going to have to ditch. His last words were "If you guys don't have anything else to do tomorrow, how about looking around for me?"
Incidents such as these made me wonder for a long time what we could have done differently, faster or better to have changed the outcome.
During one trip into Pearl, all of the radarmen were sent to radar school at Camp Catlin. I don't think it was as much the need for instruction as it was a chance to spend some time ashore.
At this time we were nearly all fairly experienced operators and even though the instructors were fresh out of school in the States, we accepted the situation good naturedly.
The school had erected a wooden simulated fire-control director on a hillside overlooking the harbor. A few of us would get inside and take turns operating the radar gear while the instructor sat in a chair in the upper section where he could visually observe what we were picking up, while lecturing us on targets, etc. One of the men discovered a small crack in the structure which allowed him to see what we were trained on. Over several days we amazed our instructor with our improvements as students, since by the end of our stay we were not only identifying types of vessels, but the number of people on deck and what they were doing. He is probably wondering to this day how we were able to do this.
Later, we were heading out of Pearl in a southerly direction with one destroyer accompanying us. She was supposed to be observing the same zig-zag pattern that we were following. Night had fallen and we were tracking the DD in CIC when it became apparent that he was not keeping station and was beginning to wander. In fact, the wandering got so bad that we lost them on the SG radar, which meant that he was over the horizon. Eventually they reappeared and began to close the distance separating us. Suddenly a panic-stricken voice came over the TBS (Talk Between Ships) calling us by our code name "Horseneck, Horseneck, big bogey bearing down on us. Horseneck, Horseneck, big bogey."
The direction he had given from which this "bogey" was attacking him indicated that he had us picked up on his radar. Someone on our bridge then broke radio silence with words to the effect that "It's us, you idiot."
During one air attack in Leyte Gulf, as we were doing circles at about 28 knots, a kamikaze missed us due to Captain Settle's skillful maneuvering and hit the water alongside the quarterdeck. I was operating the SG radar and as usual had the sound-powered phones on, with which I could listen in on a lot of what was going on in various parts of the ship by means of a selector switch.
When the plane hit the water the wheels broke loose and were floating free. Almost immediately the consensus around the ship was that we were going to pick up the wheels on the next go-round and hang one up in each mess hall. As we continued on our circular course, a small craft, probably a Higgins boat, that had been alongside a nearby transport, took off in the direction of "our" wheels I don't know whether it was a 40mm mount or a 5 inch gun, or both, that quit shooting at planes and took a bead on the Higgins boat. At least one mount's action caused someone, probably in one of the A A directors to yell "Elevate them guns, you &*%$@$'s"
The Higgins boat picked up the wheels and returned to the transport. So much for "our" souvenirs.
While operating in and around the Philippines with the usual high humidity and temperatures, the noon meal at times became a challenge. Since we had a monopoly on lime jello, it was served often for dessert. The challenge was to take the tray, which was usually fresh from the scullery and almost too hot to handle, get your ration and get it eaten before the lime jello melted and ran all over everything. One of the nice things about living in a free country is that I haven't had to eat lime jello for 50 years.
It was at Tarawa that we first made the acquaintance of what we figured was a Marine officer who was spotting and calling for support fire from under or near a pier during the fighting for the atoll. We recognized his voice during operations in other parts of the Pacific later on. The last time I heard his voice was at Hollandia when he called for fire to bail out some infantry that was in danger of being cut off and overrun.
When he found out by our code name that we would be supporting him, he sounded pretty cheerful, as though he was confident that his spotting would be effective with us doing the shooting.
As I remember, due to our ability to plot our offshore position, the fire was accurate and his people got out. He was one individual that was right in the middle of it on a number of occasions. I have often wondered if he survived the war.
Once while we were in the Admiralties, I had guard mail duty which required a trip to Manus. Having some time to kill before returning to the ship, I wandered around and made the acquaintance of the Archbishop of Melanesia, with whom I had tea. He gave me a pretty good rundown on the people, customs, geography and the hunting and fishing. An interesting day.
Another guard mail trip in the Philippines, requiring a trip to Tacloban, didn't turn out as interesting. After delivering the mail, I returned to the beach to await the whaleboat for the trip back to the ship. I waited until evening and no boat. I concluded that my best bet would be to work my way back by hitch-hiking rides on anything going in the direction of the Portland.
The only thing available was a ride to the South Dakota, which I took. Upon arriving, I climbed up to the quarterdeck and approached what I took to be the Jr.O.O.D to explain the situation. I was told to remove myself from the quarterdeck until they could get to me.
Being used to one O.D. and one Jr.O.D. and an orderly ship with clear objectives, I found it hard to believe that the milling herd of everything from Captains down to Ensigns was not mistaking motion for action.
I finally gave up and went hunting for the radar gang. After locating them, they got me into the evening chow line and fixed me up with a bunk. I decided that I was not going to spend another day on this bureaucratic scow, so early the next morning I got up to the signal bridge and convinced a signalman to notify the Portland that I needed rescuing. It wasn't long before the whaleboat pulled alongside. I don't recall asking anyone's permission to leave the ship, I just saluted everything in sight, ran down the ladder and into the whaleboat, an orphan no longer.
After the night battle in Surigao Strait, we were pretty much in need of ammunition so we ended up alongside an ammunition ship. While we were preparing to take on some goodies, the word got around that they weren't going to load us because their Purser would not authorize the overtime pay. At this our crew began to get a little testy.
The upshot was that our Marines went aboard the ship to make sure that their crew remained out of sight, with no contact with any of our crew. The Portland's crew operated the winches and we did all of the loading. The "I" division was among those who got to go down into the hold to handle ammunition.
To be alongside an ammunition ship during wartime with shells and powder stacked all over the quarterdeck until it can be taken below was not my idea of an ideal way to spend a day. As I recall, we all worked out butts off until we got the job done. So much for unions and patriotism.
At the end of the war we pulled into Pearl and tied up alongside a battleship, the Washington, I believe, who had wasted no time decorating their superstructure with a large number of assorted trophy silhouettes Apparently this didn't set to well with one of our signalmen, who ran a roll of toilet paper up one of the signal halyards. After waiting a bit he called over to the battleship and asked them why they didn't answer up. This precipitated a skirmish which was short-lived due to both sides running out of potatoes.
If there ever was any question about what kind of a captain we had, the following episode says it all.
We were part of a small task group escorting three new baby flat tops, each with a high percentage of green crews The Flag was on one of the carriers. One day we picked up a large group of aircraft coming from the general direction of Kyushu.
When it became obvious that we were shortly to come under enemy attack, Captain Settle had us pull out of formation and away from the rest of the group. I was operating the SG radar in CIC and, with the TBS speaker over my right ear, was subjected to the Flag screaming for us to get back in formation. During this tirade from the Admiral, the air attack changed direction away from the task group and toward us. As I recall, in the first seven minutes we shot down six of their aircraft whereupon the attack broke off. We turned and headed back to our normal position in the group.
The TBS was now silent, with not a sound from the Flag.
Many times as I looked up toward the bridge I would see the Captain resting his head on his arms on the shield. I think he must hold some kind of record for doing without sleep. He was always on the bridge when we needed him.
Milton Poulos Vol. II, pp. 71-79
Following radar school at Point Loma, San Diego, I reported aboard late in March, 1943. Since the ship was in drydock, the crew was berthed on the Calistoga, an old converted San Francisco Bay ferry boat. I quickly found out that sailors were not the only inhabitants of the Calistoga. During my first night watch, I noticed some activity at the ladder leading down to a small galley, and was told that there was a large pan of cake on the table. After things quieted down, I went down the ladder to see about these "night rations." About halfway down the ladder, my flashlight lit the table and a pan of cake. As I approached, what at first appeared to be a dark, nutty looking frosting covering the cake suddenly began to move. The closer I got, the faster it moved. This was my introduction to cockroaches, and it was a long time before I could eat cake before carefully examining it.
Shortly after reporting aboard, I was assigned to “F” division, and told that their temporary space was in one of the hangars. One day while waiting for a work assignment, I was shining my shoes when in walked a senior petty officer who told me to get out of his chair. After carefully looking the chair over and finding no name on it, I must have said some unkind things, for the next thing I knew I was mess-cooking.
Duty mess cooks prepared food and served at the steam tables as opposed to working in the scullery. The ideal serving station would be a vegetable that no one wanted, but for some reason I would always get stuck on the butter sheer. Butter was a popular item and, although each man was supposed to get only one slice on top of his bread, the majority would lift the bread and indicate by various looks and gestures that I was to crank two or three pats of butter onto the tray which they would cover with the bread. In most cases they would insist on an additional pat on top of the bread. Apparently this procedure, which was common practice, was raising hell with the butter inventory, for one noon, in the midst of pacifying the troops by vigorously cranking the dispenser, I became aware of the Chief Commissary Steward standing behind me cursing in Greek. I suddenly found myself in a no-win situation - Chief Soulis muttering behind me and the troops glowering at me from the other side of the table. During the remainder of my time as a mess cook, I became so popular that I was rewarded with a few weeks of messenger duty.
Getting one's self, a full coffee pot and an armload of cups up to the bridge intact during foul weather in the Aleutians was a challenge. One had to wait until the ship rolled to port, run up a slippery ladder, wait out the next roll to starboard and then up the next slippery ladder. My black and blue shins finally got a break when I was assigned to radar operating.
I stood watches for a while in one of the anti-aircraft directors and I am sure that everyone appreciated, as I did, the opportunity provided by Lt. Haynie to be drilled on every well-known phrase that Lawrence, Farragut, John Paul Jones, et al, ever uttered. I have always been a little disappointed that those of us who stood watches with Lt. Haynie never received any college credit for attending his courses in Naval Traditions 101 A.
Following duty in the director, I was assigned to CIC (Combat Information Center) and shortly after as the general quarters SG operator along with Louck. The big fear in CIC was never about the outcome of the war, but that some "boot" ensign could not resist the temptation to reach over your shoulder and twiddle with the knobs on the radar gear after it had been carefully calibrated.
I think we did rather well for a small CIC. On a few occasions we were allowed to control and direct some of the planes from the Enterprise when they were in our sector. One night we successfully directed one of our night fighters on an intercept with an enemy aircraft. It may not sound like much, but in this case it was done from many miles away, the trick being to bring our fighter in from above and behind the enemy target.
We had a visit one day from Admiral Oldendorf who came into CIC to see how we operated. No complaints that I know of As they say, "All's well that ends well" When I recall what happened to other ships, I can appreciate having had Captain Settle as our boss.
I guess I should feel guilty about the stunt we pulled when captain Settle announced that the ship would have a war bond drive with prizes for the man who bought the most bonds and for the division that bought the most bonds per capita. There didn't seem to be much enthusiasm around the ship following his announcement, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that money on the books gathers no interest. It became obvious that the next course would be not only to buy bonds, but to win the contest. The plan, requiring secrecy, was executed in three stages as follows:
1) Draw all of the money we had on the books and draw our pay as late as possible, in the straggler's line, so no one would suspect what we were up to.
2) Run around a borrow every dollar we could from men in other divisions, which would not only take it out of circulation, but allow us to buy more bonds.
3) Buy bonds.
Of course "I" Division won the contest with everyone getting some goodies, and since I had purchased the largest amount, I received a large stack of stuff from the Ship's Store from Captain Settle. It was a little disappointing that no one from any of the other divisions congratulated us on our patriotism.
One man, transferred into "I" division, spent a lot of time complaining, not only about the division, but about not being given his choice of duty, which he insisted should have been the Chaplain's Yeoman. This attitude, with all due respect to the resident Padre, did not endear him to the troops.
To teach him a lesson, some of the men came up with what proved to be a first class practical joke. Since watertight integrity was being maintained below decks, we were only allowed into the compartments occasionally to get clothes or other necessities. During one of these times, someone managed to remove one of this guy's inspection shoes from its protective stocking and substitute another shoe so it's absence would not be noticed. For several weeks the shoe was kept in Combat Aft, passed around among the men and spit shined until it looked like it had been spray lacquered. As anticipated, eventually we were scheduled for Captain's inspection and the compartments opened so we could get ready. As soon as this guy left his locker open and unattended, the shined shoe was put back into its stocking. According to plan, the arrangement was that no matter where he stood in ranks, at least two men with good shoe shines were to stand on either side of him. All the work was worth it, for when he got to this guy, Captain Settle stared at him with a look of disbelief for what seemed like three minutes, with everyone managing (with some difficulty) to keep a straight face.
On one occasion several of the radar men, including Al Gallup, were put on report and severely reprimanded by the Executive Officer for taking short-cuts through "officers country" when going on watch in CIC. He lectured them ad infinitum on rules of the road, traffic, ship's etiquette, etc., etc., etc.
A couple of weeks later when, general quarters was sounded, some of the men on watch in CIC had to get to their condition 1 station in Combat Aft in a hurry, which meant out to the veranda deck and down the port ladder to the quarter deck. Normally, going down the ladder was a good two jumps while sliding down the handrails.
During this particular incident the man in the lead was Al Gallup, with several men on his heels. It just so happened that, when General Quarters was sounded, the Commander was at the bottom of this ladder and since his station was in CIC he thought he would just go on up to the veranda deck. It appears that just as he got half way up the ladder, Al and the thundering herd started down.
When I asked Al about it later, he said he had no choice but to run right over the Commander. I don't know whether this would be categorized as "revenge" or "just retribution."
I ran into Al in Seattle in the mid 1950's. After I greeted him, his reply wasn't "Hi, how have you been" or "What are you doing now" but "How in the hell did you pick up them ships at 52,000 yards." He was referring to the action in Surigao Strait. I have since realized that if it had not been for men like Jesse Ruiz, Serge Markelof and the other RM's and RT's maintaining the radar gear, we might not have picked them up at 5,200 yards, much less 52,000. The Portland was blessed with a captain and crew that knew what they were doing.
I don't recall the reason I was sent to the Australian cruiser Shropshire, but I do recall getting in line with everyone else for the daily ration of beer. The brand was Tooth's Lager and very tasty. I carried one of the labels in my wallet until it finally disintegrated.
There was an American sailor stationed on board, rated as a Motor Machinist 1c, whose job was maintaining the decoding equipment. Besides his Navy pay he was getting per diem while in port, plus an allowance from the Australian government. Apparently this was providing the means for a lot of socializing while on the beach, for he admitted that he was glad to be at sea resting up, as he was getting so much action while in port that it was wearing him out. It was then and there that I realized the mistake I had made in choosing radar school. Live and learn.
In "I" division we had one officer who was a very nervous, jumpy type and, to me, much like today's Don Knotts. He even got nervous during 20mm practice. During times of stress he would have to take his glasses off to wipe his eyes, which had a tendency to water. During one air attack he was standing near the air plot table around which three or four men were busy plotting friendly planes with zeros and enemy planes with "x's." He put his glasses on the table while he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. Without slowing down, one of the men reached over and with his grease pencil drew an "x" on each of the lenses so that no matter where he looked he would see "bogies." After he got his glasses back on, everyone was busy and innocent looking, doing a good job of not breaking up.
One interesting thing about plotting is that no matter where one was stationed around the plotting table, all writing had to be done so that whoever was in charge could read it. As a result, on more than one occasion I have seen someone unconsciously address an envelope backwards and upside down.
I used to wonder who was getting all the strawberry jello, the Bob Hope show and good movies. We saw the "Flying Tigers" so many times that I think everyone had memorized all of the moves of the fighter planes. One old movie we watched was one in which Wallace Beery played the part of a navy chief who was always bragging about all of the famous people he had served with. During the course of the film, he bragged about going up with Lt. Commander T. G. W. Settle on his record-setting balloon flight in 1933. The Captain was also watching this film and joined the rest of us in a good laugh.
We never saw Bob Hope but I wonder how many remember the troupe of magicians that entertained us on the quarterdeck when things had simmered down in the Philippines. Even with their dilapidated, pre-war props and equipment, they put on a good show.
Occasionally we were entertained by listening to Tokyo Rose on the radio in CIC.
An unfortunate event took place while I was on watch on the SG radar. On hearing the words "Man overboard" I jumped up and turned on the DRT (Dead Reckoning Tracer.) Someone had slipped on the port catapult and had gone over the side. This allowed us to backtrack to where it was estimated that the man had gone into the water. Since it happened during the day, a whaleboat was lowered and a search made, without success. Because of the threat of submarines in the area, the search had to be called off and we got underway.
While operating around the Philippines, we made radio contact one night with an Army Air Force pilot who was lost and knew only that he was over water. We did our best for quite a while, trying to locate him and guide him to a landing strip. He finally ran out of fuel and told us that he was going to have to ditch. His last words were "If you guys don't have anything else to do tomorrow, how about looking around for me?"
Incidents such as these made me wonder for a long time what we could have done differently, faster or better to have changed the outcome.
During one trip into Pearl, all of the radarmen were sent to radar school at Camp Catlin. I don't think it was as much the need for instruction as it was a chance to spend some time ashore.
At this time we were nearly all fairly experienced operators and even though the instructors were fresh out of school in the States, we accepted the situation good naturedly.
The school had erected a wooden simulated fire-control director on a hillside overlooking the harbor. A few of us would get inside and take turns operating the radar gear while the instructor sat in a chair in the upper section where he could visually observe what we were picking up, while lecturing us on targets, etc. One of the men discovered a small crack in the structure which allowed him to see what we were trained on. Over several days we amazed our instructor with our improvements as students, since by the end of our stay we were not only identifying types of vessels, but the number of people on deck and what they were doing. He is probably wondering to this day how we were able to do this.
Later, we were heading out of Pearl in a southerly direction with one destroyer accompanying us. She was supposed to be observing the same zig-zag pattern that we were following. Night had fallen and we were tracking the DD in CIC when it became apparent that he was not keeping station and was beginning to wander. In fact, the wandering got so bad that we lost them on the SG radar, which meant that he was over the horizon. Eventually they reappeared and began to close the distance separating us. Suddenly a panic-stricken voice came over the TBS (Talk Between Ships) calling us by our code name "Horseneck, Horseneck, big bogey bearing down on us. Horseneck, Horseneck, big bogey."
The direction he had given from which this "bogey" was attacking him indicated that he had us picked up on his radar. Someone on our bridge then broke radio silence with words to the effect that "It's us, you idiot."
During one air attack in Leyte Gulf, as we were doing circles at about 28 knots, a kamikaze missed us due to Captain Settle's skillful maneuvering and hit the water alongside the quarterdeck. I was operating the SG radar and as usual had the sound-powered phones on, with which I could listen in on a lot of what was going on in various parts of the ship by means of a selector switch.
When the plane hit the water the wheels broke loose and were floating free. Almost immediately the consensus around the ship was that we were going to pick up the wheels on the next go-round and hang one up in each mess hall. As we continued on our circular course, a small craft, probably a Higgins boat, that had been alongside a nearby transport, took off in the direction of "our" wheels I don't know whether it was a 40mm mount or a 5 inch gun, or both, that quit shooting at planes and took a bead on the Higgins boat. At least one mount's action caused someone, probably in one of the A A directors to yell "Elevate them guns, you &*%$@$'s"
The Higgins boat picked up the wheels and returned to the transport. So much for "our" souvenirs.
While operating in and around the Philippines with the usual high humidity and temperatures, the noon meal at times became a challenge. Since we had a monopoly on lime jello, it was served often for dessert. The challenge was to take the tray, which was usually fresh from the scullery and almost too hot to handle, get your ration and get it eaten before the lime jello melted and ran all over everything. One of the nice things about living in a free country is that I haven't had to eat lime jello for 50 years.
It was at Tarawa that we first made the acquaintance of what we figured was a Marine officer who was spotting and calling for support fire from under or near a pier during the fighting for the atoll. We recognized his voice during operations in other parts of the Pacific later on. The last time I heard his voice was at Hollandia when he called for fire to bail out some infantry that was in danger of being cut off and overrun.
When he found out by our code name that we would be supporting him, he sounded pretty cheerful, as though he was confident that his spotting would be effective with us doing the shooting.
As I remember, due to our ability to plot our offshore position, the fire was accurate and his people got out. He was one individual that was right in the middle of it on a number of occasions. I have often wondered if he survived the war.
Once while we were in the Admiralties, I had guard mail duty which required a trip to Manus. Having some time to kill before returning to the ship, I wandered around and made the acquaintance of the Archbishop of Melanesia, with whom I had tea. He gave me a pretty good rundown on the people, customs, geography and the hunting and fishing. An interesting day.
Another guard mail trip in the Philippines, requiring a trip to Tacloban, didn't turn out as interesting. After delivering the mail, I returned to the beach to await the whaleboat for the trip back to the ship. I waited until evening and no boat. I concluded that my best bet would be to work my way back by hitch-hiking rides on anything going in the direction of the Portland.
The only thing available was a ride to the South Dakota, which I took. Upon arriving, I climbed up to the quarterdeck and approached what I took to be the Jr.O.O.D to explain the situation. I was told to remove myself from the quarterdeck until they could get to me.
Being used to one O.D. and one Jr.O.D. and an orderly ship with clear objectives, I found it hard to believe that the milling herd of everything from Captains down to Ensigns was not mistaking motion for action.
I finally gave up and went hunting for the radar gang. After locating them, they got me into the evening chow line and fixed me up with a bunk. I decided that I was not going to spend another day on this bureaucratic scow, so early the next morning I got up to the signal bridge and convinced a signalman to notify the Portland that I needed rescuing. It wasn't long before the whaleboat pulled alongside. I don't recall asking anyone's permission to leave the ship, I just saluted everything in sight, ran down the ladder and into the whaleboat, an orphan no longer.
After the night battle in Surigao Strait, we were pretty much in need of ammunition so we ended up alongside an ammunition ship. While we were preparing to take on some goodies, the word got around that they weren't going to load us because their Purser would not authorize the overtime pay. At this our crew began to get a little testy.
The upshot was that our Marines went aboard the ship to make sure that their crew remained out of sight, with no contact with any of our crew. The Portland's crew operated the winches and we did all of the loading. The "I" division was among those who got to go down into the hold to handle ammunition.
To be alongside an ammunition ship during wartime with shells and powder stacked all over the quarterdeck until it can be taken below was not my idea of an ideal way to spend a day. As I recall, we all worked out butts off until we got the job done. So much for unions and patriotism.
At the end of the war we pulled into Pearl and tied up alongside a battleship, the Washington, I believe, who had wasted no time decorating their superstructure with a large number of assorted trophy silhouettes Apparently this didn't set to well with one of our signalmen, who ran a roll of toilet paper up one of the signal halyards. After waiting a bit he called over to the battleship and asked them why they didn't answer up. This precipitated a skirmish which was short-lived due to both sides running out of potatoes.
If there ever was any question about what kind of a captain we had, the following episode says it all.
We were part of a small task group escorting three new baby flat tops, each with a high percentage of green crews The Flag was on one of the carriers. One day we picked up a large group of aircraft coming from the general direction of Kyushu.
When it became obvious that we were shortly to come under enemy attack, Captain Settle had us pull out of formation and away from the rest of the group. I was operating the SG radar in CIC and, with the TBS speaker over my right ear, was subjected to the Flag screaming for us to get back in formation. During this tirade from the Admiral, the air attack changed direction away from the task group and toward us. As I recall, in the first seven minutes we shot down six of their aircraft whereupon the attack broke off. We turned and headed back to our normal position in the group.
The TBS was now silent, with not a sound from the Flag.
Many times as I looked up toward the bridge I would see the Captain resting his head on his arms on the shield. I think he must hold some kind of record for doing without sleep. He was always on the bridge when we needed him.
I REMEMBER
Foster “Pete” Cole Vol. II, pp. 63-64
I remember - Paying $2.00 to a yeoman on the USS Henderson, a transport. The assignment lists were posted and I was assigned to the USS Blackhawk. I didn't want to go to the China Station and the $2.00 - all I had - was to change my orders. I was assigned to the Portland. I always thought that was the best buy I ever got for $2.00.
I remember - When the 3 month stint at mess cooking was a good deal because of the tips we would get each payday. Of course, this was when we ate home-style, not cafeteria style.
I remember - How poor the food was after our refrigeration room was flooded after being torpedoed at Guadalcanal. I sure got tired of those canned Vienna sausages. As I recall, we emptied our cold storage boxes and gave all of our perishable food to the marines on Guadalcanal.
I remember - Paul Lynch, CWT. He got through that mess at Guadalcanal safely. Then, dressed in his newly-earned CPO uniform, fell to his death when the wind blew his hat off while he was strolling on those windy Sydney heads. Chasing his hat, he went over the edge of the steep cliff. Paul was a happy man, happy in his marriage and a new baby that he was very proud of.
I remember - When I went home on leave after we got back to the states in '43. I met a young marine at my home. He was a friend of my brother and was in the 1st Marine Division on the Canal. He told me about being lined up back from the beach, waiting for the Japs to land and how surprised and how happy they were when all hell broke loose out in the bay. He said he had a ringside seat and that he counted eleven ships burning at one time. I always said that I didn't want to be a marine, but he said that after witnessing the naval battle that night, he didn't want to be a sailor.
I remember - Going down to relieve the Chief of the Watch in the after engine room on Thanksgiving day, 1943. The Officer of the Watch asked me what we had for dinner. I listed them: turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, candied sweet potatoes, stuffed celery, pumpkin pie, etc. etc. Lieutenant Shanley sighed and asked "Do you know what we had in the wardroom? We had boiled potatoes, wieners and sauerkraut." No wonder some of the officers were always trying to wrangle an invitation for dinner in the Chiefs’ Mess.
I remember - When Dean Shattuck, Tommy Allen, Jack Flynn, Gus Petke and I stood in that landing barge at Majuro and watched the Sweet Pea leave without us on her way to the first raid on Truk. I can't describe the feeling, watching seven years of my life sail out of the harbor. It was like standing and watching your home burn down. We were on our way to the States, leave and new assignments and should have been elated, but I don't believe any of us feel like jumping with joy.
Bill Barrett and I sure had a relationship going. When I received my Commission in February, 1944, Bill, then YN1c did all the paperwork. Thirteen years later, in June 1957, Lieutenant William Barrett, now Personnel Officer, Naval Station, Key West, Fla. did all the paperwork to process my retirement from the U. S. Naval Service.
I usually wear one of my Portland caps when I go somewhere. So far, I have met three old hands from the Portland that came to me with a big grin on their face when they saw the cap. Juber, a shipfitter from Spokane, Washington, George Rooney, a gunners mate and a third who spent six or seven years on the Sweet Pea before the war and whose name I cannot recall. Plus all the other old salts who speak to me when they see the cap.
Foster “Pete” Cole Vol. II, pp. 63-64
I remember - Paying $2.00 to a yeoman on the USS Henderson, a transport. The assignment lists were posted and I was assigned to the USS Blackhawk. I didn't want to go to the China Station and the $2.00 - all I had - was to change my orders. I was assigned to the Portland. I always thought that was the best buy I ever got for $2.00.
I remember - When the 3 month stint at mess cooking was a good deal because of the tips we would get each payday. Of course, this was when we ate home-style, not cafeteria style.
I remember - How poor the food was after our refrigeration room was flooded after being torpedoed at Guadalcanal. I sure got tired of those canned Vienna sausages. As I recall, we emptied our cold storage boxes and gave all of our perishable food to the marines on Guadalcanal.
I remember - Paul Lynch, CWT. He got through that mess at Guadalcanal safely. Then, dressed in his newly-earned CPO uniform, fell to his death when the wind blew his hat off while he was strolling on those windy Sydney heads. Chasing his hat, he went over the edge of the steep cliff. Paul was a happy man, happy in his marriage and a new baby that he was very proud of.
I remember - When I went home on leave after we got back to the states in '43. I met a young marine at my home. He was a friend of my brother and was in the 1st Marine Division on the Canal. He told me about being lined up back from the beach, waiting for the Japs to land and how surprised and how happy they were when all hell broke loose out in the bay. He said he had a ringside seat and that he counted eleven ships burning at one time. I always said that I didn't want to be a marine, but he said that after witnessing the naval battle that night, he didn't want to be a sailor.
I remember - Going down to relieve the Chief of the Watch in the after engine room on Thanksgiving day, 1943. The Officer of the Watch asked me what we had for dinner. I listed them: turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, candied sweet potatoes, stuffed celery, pumpkin pie, etc. etc. Lieutenant Shanley sighed and asked "Do you know what we had in the wardroom? We had boiled potatoes, wieners and sauerkraut." No wonder some of the officers were always trying to wrangle an invitation for dinner in the Chiefs’ Mess.
I remember - When Dean Shattuck, Tommy Allen, Jack Flynn, Gus Petke and I stood in that landing barge at Majuro and watched the Sweet Pea leave without us on her way to the first raid on Truk. I can't describe the feeling, watching seven years of my life sail out of the harbor. It was like standing and watching your home burn down. We were on our way to the States, leave and new assignments and should have been elated, but I don't believe any of us feel like jumping with joy.
Bill Barrett and I sure had a relationship going. When I received my Commission in February, 1944, Bill, then YN1c did all the paperwork. Thirteen years later, in June 1957, Lieutenant William Barrett, now Personnel Officer, Naval Station, Key West, Fla. did all the paperwork to process my retirement from the U. S. Naval Service.
I usually wear one of my Portland caps when I go somewhere. So far, I have met three old hands from the Portland that came to me with a big grin on their face when they saw the cap. Juber, a shipfitter from Spokane, Washington, George Rooney, a gunners mate and a third who spent six or seven years on the Sweet Pea before the war and whose name I cannot recall. Plus all the other old salts who speak to me when they see the cap.
MARSHALL ISLANDS Vol. I, pp. 57, 59
Vince McNamara
Personal Diary - February, 1944
The Marshalls - and grass shacks, white houses with red and green roofs. Looks like houses and garages at home. A Jap sign says "This is the Main Street in the village on the island of Paradise."
Feb. 4. Japs took natives from 14 to 40 and carried them off. All the people left were the very young and old. Swimming party held and everyone went in. The beach was lined with Marines swimming.
Kwajalein. Saw the first Jap ship my eyes had ever seen. It was grounded and shot full of holes. I was surprised at the color - - slate grey. Guess I had expected cherry blossom pink. Jap souvenirs from Kwajalein included tennis shoes with split-toe effect and buckles up the rear. Better for climbing trees, they say.
At Eniwetok the Japs run around the beach and wait to be killed. The whole thing is very businesslike and methodical. All our sailors not participating get bored and read magazines and detective stories or play cribbage. At night we tune in on our tanks and listen to the conversation. Some of them were abandoned and we listened and talkers told what was happening. By the tone of the voices you could tell what was going on. Some swore, some were businesslike and efficient right through it all. In the Jr. Officer's Mess they kept score.
Great sport!
Feb. 23. Looks like we have lost our pilot, Corbett, and his radioman. They have given up searching for them. He was a swell kid, pleasant and ambitious. That and the deal on the LCI has unnerved several. Six were killed on LCI 442 and six on another. All very unnecessary. But that is the price of war.
Today was the ship's birthday, eleven years old. We had a birthday dinner and a little post party in Laird's room. There was a big birthday cake in the wardroom. Wonder who ate it.
Feb. 24. Marines from the Kane came on board to get supplies. As I had the deck, didn't get much time to talk to them too long, but they say there are still Japs hiding in holes over on the beach. Our Marines didn’t take any prisoners -- didn’t care to. The Japs were dug in to stay a long time, but the Marines dug them out. The Marines really showed up the Army. They took one island in a day. It took the army four days to take the neighboring island.
Feb. 25. Went swimming over the side and dove off the boat booms. Very high!! And the water is really salty. Showed the movie "Men of the Navy" this morning and one scene showed some Jap sailors. The man next to me muttered through his teeth "The sons of bitches."
Feb. 27. Party went on the beach at Heartstring and reported they had three parties burying dead Japs. One party burying, one party heaving and one recovering. The stench was terrific. We had Catholic and Protestant services both and at least five ships sent church parties for each service. It was like a city terminal on deck. Some men came dressed in whites. All our men were in dungarees.
March 20. Went on the beach at Majuro and we swam in a beautiful little pass between two islands where the bottom was white with coral and the water was as clear as any I have ever seen. Coconuts were to be had for the picking. Some ex telephone line workers rigged up spurs made of hunting knives and climbed the trees. There was a rumor of pigs and chickens on the island, but they weren't to be seen. What a sunburn I got. But anyway I was on the islands where Count Von Luckner probably spent some time in World War I and the Japs had been there before us.
Note: Felix Graf (Count) von Luckner was commander of the German merchant raider Seeadler (Sea Eagle) that operated in both the Atlantic and the Pacific during World War I, sinking fourteen allied ships in a seven month period in 1917. Dubbed the Seeteufel (Sea Devil) because of his daring exploits, Luckner was eventually captured in Fiji and became a prisoner of war in New Zeeland.
Vince McNamara
Personal Diary - February, 1944
The Marshalls - and grass shacks, white houses with red and green roofs. Looks like houses and garages at home. A Jap sign says "This is the Main Street in the village on the island of Paradise."
Feb. 4. Japs took natives from 14 to 40 and carried them off. All the people left were the very young and old. Swimming party held and everyone went in. The beach was lined with Marines swimming.
Kwajalein. Saw the first Jap ship my eyes had ever seen. It was grounded and shot full of holes. I was surprised at the color - - slate grey. Guess I had expected cherry blossom pink. Jap souvenirs from Kwajalein included tennis shoes with split-toe effect and buckles up the rear. Better for climbing trees, they say.
At Eniwetok the Japs run around the beach and wait to be killed. The whole thing is very businesslike and methodical. All our sailors not participating get bored and read magazines and detective stories or play cribbage. At night we tune in on our tanks and listen to the conversation. Some of them were abandoned and we listened and talkers told what was happening. By the tone of the voices you could tell what was going on. Some swore, some were businesslike and efficient right through it all. In the Jr. Officer's Mess they kept score.
Great sport!
Feb. 23. Looks like we have lost our pilot, Corbett, and his radioman. They have given up searching for them. He was a swell kid, pleasant and ambitious. That and the deal on the LCI has unnerved several. Six were killed on LCI 442 and six on another. All very unnecessary. But that is the price of war.
Today was the ship's birthday, eleven years old. We had a birthday dinner and a little post party in Laird's room. There was a big birthday cake in the wardroom. Wonder who ate it.
Feb. 24. Marines from the Kane came on board to get supplies. As I had the deck, didn't get much time to talk to them too long, but they say there are still Japs hiding in holes over on the beach. Our Marines didn’t take any prisoners -- didn’t care to. The Japs were dug in to stay a long time, but the Marines dug them out. The Marines really showed up the Army. They took one island in a day. It took the army four days to take the neighboring island.
Feb. 25. Went swimming over the side and dove off the boat booms. Very high!! And the water is really salty. Showed the movie "Men of the Navy" this morning and one scene showed some Jap sailors. The man next to me muttered through his teeth "The sons of bitches."
Feb. 27. Party went on the beach at Heartstring and reported they had three parties burying dead Japs. One party burying, one party heaving and one recovering. The stench was terrific. We had Catholic and Protestant services both and at least five ships sent church parties for each service. It was like a city terminal on deck. Some men came dressed in whites. All our men were in dungarees.
March 20. Went on the beach at Majuro and we swam in a beautiful little pass between two islands where the bottom was white with coral and the water was as clear as any I have ever seen. Coconuts were to be had for the picking. Some ex telephone line workers rigged up spurs made of hunting knives and climbed the trees. There was a rumor of pigs and chickens on the island, but they weren't to be seen. What a sunburn I got. But anyway I was on the islands where Count Von Luckner probably spent some time in World War I and the Japs had been there before us.
Note: Felix Graf (Count) von Luckner was commander of the German merchant raider Seeadler (Sea Eagle) that operated in both the Atlantic and the Pacific during World War I, sinking fourteen allied ships in a seven month period in 1917. Dubbed the Seeteufel (Sea Devil) because of his daring exploits, Luckner was eventually captured in Fiji and became a prisoner of war in New Zeeland.
WHALEBOAT WOES Vol. I, pp. 59-60
F. G. "Zed" Zedler
Some things really stand out in my mind about being Coxswain of No. 2 motor whaleboat. Exact dates and places are another thing.
Item #1. I believe it was at Kwajalein. I was called away to deliver passengers to the beach. Kwajalein was a BIG lagoon and the water was very rough going in with spray blowing over the bow. Soon, like magic, the water became very calm as we got into the lee of the island. Along with this calm came swarms of big green flies - the kind that you find around dead animals. Very soon we found out why there were flies! We landed at a small pier. Just feet from the pier lay some dead Jap bodies. The flies and the smell with remain with me always.
Item #2. I was sent to the beach to pick up some officers and return them to the ship. They had gone to the beach for an afternoon of R&R. When I arrived at the pier and announced "Portland boat" they swarmed aboard and soon I had a boatload and a half on board. My protests "Too many on board" went unnoticed. "Shove off, Cox'n" came from someone. What was I to do? With perhaps three or four inches of freeboard, we moved out as ordered. To this day I wonder what would have happened to me if we had swamped, with no life jackets and overloaded with all those officers.
Item #3. We were at Majuro. Both whaleboats were tied up to the starboard quarter boom. My boat was on call, so I went down to dean the inside of the boat. We were the inboard boat and as I was bent over cleaning thwarts, etc. in the after cockpit - POW - next thing I knew I was flat on my face on the bottom of the boat. One of the ship's bakers had thrown about 25 pounds of "stuff in a bag overboard. That sack of "stuff” landed on my back. That landed me in sick bay for the rest of the day. Needless to say there was one very apologetic baker when he saw what he had done. For a long time now, at several reunions, I have kidded Ed Armstrong for being the guilty party.
Item #4. The ship was at Pearl I was called away, soon to realize that I was to go here, there, everywhere, with one passenger who had a .45 on his hip and a tightly-held package in his hand. Guard Mail. "Shove off, Cox'n, carry out your orders" came from the Quarterdeck.
When we arrived back at the pier, the ship was GONE! "Hey, where's the Portland?" I was told that she was under way. She was not in sight. "Hey, motorman, full speed ahead."
After what seemed like hours, we caught up with the ship. The davits were swung out, lines trailing, ship moving several knots, Jacob's ladder over the side. I pulled up alongside and the guard Mail Petty Officer went up the ladder, us moving all this time. I signaled the motor man to pick up speed to the davits. "Cox'n, I did not order you ahead!" I signal motor mac to drop back to the ladder. Orders from the quarterdeck "Cox'n, move ahead. Prepare to come aboard. Report to me when you come aboard." "Aye Aye, sir."
I learned that day that even though there is a 10,000 ton ship under way, waiting for this lowly 26 foot motor whaleboat that this lowly Cox'n should have known - don't do ANYTHING until ordered to do so. That was made VERY clear by the OOD when I reported aboard.
F. G. "Zed" Zedler
Some things really stand out in my mind about being Coxswain of No. 2 motor whaleboat. Exact dates and places are another thing.
Item #1. I believe it was at Kwajalein. I was called away to deliver passengers to the beach. Kwajalein was a BIG lagoon and the water was very rough going in with spray blowing over the bow. Soon, like magic, the water became very calm as we got into the lee of the island. Along with this calm came swarms of big green flies - the kind that you find around dead animals. Very soon we found out why there were flies! We landed at a small pier. Just feet from the pier lay some dead Jap bodies. The flies and the smell with remain with me always.
Item #2. I was sent to the beach to pick up some officers and return them to the ship. They had gone to the beach for an afternoon of R&R. When I arrived at the pier and announced "Portland boat" they swarmed aboard and soon I had a boatload and a half on board. My protests "Too many on board" went unnoticed. "Shove off, Cox'n" came from someone. What was I to do? With perhaps three or four inches of freeboard, we moved out as ordered. To this day I wonder what would have happened to me if we had swamped, with no life jackets and overloaded with all those officers.
Item #3. We were at Majuro. Both whaleboats were tied up to the starboard quarter boom. My boat was on call, so I went down to dean the inside of the boat. We were the inboard boat and as I was bent over cleaning thwarts, etc. in the after cockpit - POW - next thing I knew I was flat on my face on the bottom of the boat. One of the ship's bakers had thrown about 25 pounds of "stuff in a bag overboard. That sack of "stuff” landed on my back. That landed me in sick bay for the rest of the day. Needless to say there was one very apologetic baker when he saw what he had done. For a long time now, at several reunions, I have kidded Ed Armstrong for being the guilty party.
Item #4. The ship was at Pearl I was called away, soon to realize that I was to go here, there, everywhere, with one passenger who had a .45 on his hip and a tightly-held package in his hand. Guard Mail. "Shove off, Cox'n, carry out your orders" came from the Quarterdeck.
When we arrived back at the pier, the ship was GONE! "Hey, where's the Portland?" I was told that she was under way. She was not in sight. "Hey, motorman, full speed ahead."
After what seemed like hours, we caught up with the ship. The davits were swung out, lines trailing, ship moving several knots, Jacob's ladder over the side. I pulled up alongside and the guard Mail Petty Officer went up the ladder, us moving all this time. I signaled the motor man to pick up speed to the davits. "Cox'n, I did not order you ahead!" I signal motor mac to drop back to the ladder. Orders from the quarterdeck "Cox'n, move ahead. Prepare to come aboard. Report to me when you come aboard." "Aye Aye, sir."
I learned that day that even though there is a 10,000 ton ship under way, waiting for this lowly 26 foot motor whaleboat that this lowly Cox'n should have known - don't do ANYTHING until ordered to do so. That was made VERY clear by the OOD when I reported aboard.
THE NIGHT MY STAR WENT OUT Vol. I, pp. 60-63
Joe Stables
Friday 11 February, 1944
0 to 4 Anchored in berth 'KT-11', Kwajalein Lagoon,Kwajalein Atoll, Marshall Islands, in 23 fathoms of water with 75 fathoms of chain to the starboard anchor...
4 to 8 Anchored as before...
8 to 12 Anchored as before..
12 to 16 Anchored as before...
1350 The Captain left the ship for conference with Rear Admiral Hill on CAMBRIA...
1540 The Captain returned aboard.
16 to 18 Anchored as before...
1710 YMS 383 anchored on the starboard beam...
18 to 20 Anchored as before
20 to 24 Anchored as before...
Saturday 12 February. 1944
0 to 4 Anchored in berth KT - 11, ...
0215 Hoisted in No. 2M.W.B. to port..."
Excerpted from log, USS Portland CA 33
It has been said that the Lord looks after fools and children. He most certainly was looking after this foolish child during the hours represented in the above log excerpts. The story that is not told in the above entries is one that I (and surely those who were with me) will long remember.
I was the coxswain of No. 2 motor whale boat. After returning with the captain at 1540 we were detailed to deliver a work party to YMS 383 and to stand by for them. A quite routine assignment, it would seem.
The work party consisted of a CMoMM and MoMM2c and, to the best of my recollection, they were to work on the refrigeration plant of the minesweeper.
We delivered them, tied off the boat and found a comfortable place on deck, trying to keep out of the way of the crew, who proved to be very friendly and generous with their coffee. They no doubt grew tired of the many questions we had, but did their best to satisfy our curiosity.
Time passed. It grew full dark and "darken ship" was sounded with no sign that the work party was near the end of their job. "Lights out" and "Taps" followed and still no work party so we found a soft spot on the deck and "crapped out."
I have no idea what time it was when we were rudely awakened by "General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations" blaring over the PA system. We were at a loss, in complete darkness on unfamiliar decks, a long way from our ship and not sure just what was expected of us.
It wasn't long, however, until the Boatswains Mate of the Watch appeared with our work party and informed us that the Captain had decided that we should leave the ship and return to the Portland. I asked for a bearing on her and was told "Hell, we don't know where she is." Not very reassuring.
Back in the boat we cast off and I checked the compass. I had noted a bearing during our trip over and decided that a reciprocal course should bring us somewhere close, but since the tide had changed and all ships had swung on their anchors, we could be some distance off. We were hardly out of sight of the minesweeper when the compass binnacle light went out and could not be coaxed back on. A flashlight was deemed too risky and ruled out.
I picked the brightest star I could see on the course I had been following and was using it to steer by when suddenly every ship in the anchorage opened up with their smoke generators and my star went out.
My next best option was to keep a straight wake, so I turned around to watch it and told the others to keep watching for the ship.
Time passed - and passed - and passed. By now I was getting worried. No, not worried, scared. Very scared. We hoped that no gun crew nearby would mistake us for something other than what we were and open up on us.
Finally I told the others to keep a sharp watch and the first ship we came to, no matter which one, we would stop and ask for "asylum." In a matter of minutes the bow hook reported a ship ahead. We made for it and as we came up under the stem were elated to see that it was the "Sweet Pea.'
That wasn’t the end of the saga, though. Being hoisted aboard in total darkness by a midships repair party - carpenters, shipfitters and whoever else was handy, none of them knowing much if anything about handling boat falls, was another real thrill. But we made it.
All this was precipitated by a Japanese bombing attack on the islands of Roi and Namur at the other end of Kwajalein Lagoon, some 40 -50 miles from our anchorage.
Monday 21 February, 1944 Eniwetok Atoll, Marshall Islands...
1635 Underway to shift position for firing in accordance with bombardment orders. ...
1734 On station in firing position,
1735 Commenced firing 8" battery at Perry Island. Various courses and speeds to maintain firing position.
1920 Darkened ship...
1937 Let go Port anchor in 29 fathoms of water with 75 fathoms of chain...
1945 Lowered away #2MWB to port."
Log excerpt - USS Portland CA 33
It began again. Once more we were to be out on our own. We were dispatched with Guard Mail for the Admiral on the Indianapolis. When I asked for a bearing on her, the response was "We haven’t one. The last time we saw her she was still underway. You have to run in widening circles until you find her."
We were given a recognition code, but since all ships were darkened, it was unlikely we'd see any challenge. Not very comforting, but we began circling. After several false contacts and nearly blundering up on a beach, we finally found our "target" and delivered our package. The Indianapolis' signal gang were better prepared and gave us a good bearing on Portland. Our return trip was far less hectic.
Early the next morning we were dispatched on a more traumatic trip. We delivered four Ensigns, newly assigned to the Portland, to LCI 442, one of several LCIs participating in the landings on Parry Island. It was one of those who came under "friendly fire" with many casualties. None of our officers were among the casualties, however, and they were much relieved when we returned for them some time later in the day.
I would very much like to meet again with those who accompanied me on these excursions but time has taken away the names.
Note: YMS 383 was an Auxiliary Minesweeper. See: www.navsource.org/archives/11/19idx.htm www.navsource.org/archive s/11/19383.htm
Joe Stables
Friday 11 February, 1944
0 to 4 Anchored in berth 'KT-11', Kwajalein Lagoon,Kwajalein Atoll, Marshall Islands, in 23 fathoms of water with 75 fathoms of chain to the starboard anchor...
4 to 8 Anchored as before...
8 to 12 Anchored as before..
12 to 16 Anchored as before...
1350 The Captain left the ship for conference with Rear Admiral Hill on CAMBRIA...
1540 The Captain returned aboard.
16 to 18 Anchored as before...
1710 YMS 383 anchored on the starboard beam...
18 to 20 Anchored as before
20 to 24 Anchored as before...
Saturday 12 February. 1944
0 to 4 Anchored in berth KT - 11, ...
0215 Hoisted in No. 2M.W.B. to port..."
Excerpted from log, USS Portland CA 33
It has been said that the Lord looks after fools and children. He most certainly was looking after this foolish child during the hours represented in the above log excerpts. The story that is not told in the above entries is one that I (and surely those who were with me) will long remember.
I was the coxswain of No. 2 motor whale boat. After returning with the captain at 1540 we were detailed to deliver a work party to YMS 383 and to stand by for them. A quite routine assignment, it would seem.
The work party consisted of a CMoMM and MoMM2c and, to the best of my recollection, they were to work on the refrigeration plant of the minesweeper.
We delivered them, tied off the boat and found a comfortable place on deck, trying to keep out of the way of the crew, who proved to be very friendly and generous with their coffee. They no doubt grew tired of the many questions we had, but did their best to satisfy our curiosity.
Time passed. It grew full dark and "darken ship" was sounded with no sign that the work party was near the end of their job. "Lights out" and "Taps" followed and still no work party so we found a soft spot on the deck and "crapped out."
I have no idea what time it was when we were rudely awakened by "General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations" blaring over the PA system. We were at a loss, in complete darkness on unfamiliar decks, a long way from our ship and not sure just what was expected of us.
It wasn't long, however, until the Boatswains Mate of the Watch appeared with our work party and informed us that the Captain had decided that we should leave the ship and return to the Portland. I asked for a bearing on her and was told "Hell, we don't know where she is." Not very reassuring.
Back in the boat we cast off and I checked the compass. I had noted a bearing during our trip over and decided that a reciprocal course should bring us somewhere close, but since the tide had changed and all ships had swung on their anchors, we could be some distance off. We were hardly out of sight of the minesweeper when the compass binnacle light went out and could not be coaxed back on. A flashlight was deemed too risky and ruled out.
I picked the brightest star I could see on the course I had been following and was using it to steer by when suddenly every ship in the anchorage opened up with their smoke generators and my star went out.
My next best option was to keep a straight wake, so I turned around to watch it and told the others to keep watching for the ship.
Time passed - and passed - and passed. By now I was getting worried. No, not worried, scared. Very scared. We hoped that no gun crew nearby would mistake us for something other than what we were and open up on us.
Finally I told the others to keep a sharp watch and the first ship we came to, no matter which one, we would stop and ask for "asylum." In a matter of minutes the bow hook reported a ship ahead. We made for it and as we came up under the stem were elated to see that it was the "Sweet Pea.'
That wasn’t the end of the saga, though. Being hoisted aboard in total darkness by a midships repair party - carpenters, shipfitters and whoever else was handy, none of them knowing much if anything about handling boat falls, was another real thrill. But we made it.
All this was precipitated by a Japanese bombing attack on the islands of Roi and Namur at the other end of Kwajalein Lagoon, some 40 -50 miles from our anchorage.
Monday 21 February, 1944 Eniwetok Atoll, Marshall Islands...
1635 Underway to shift position for firing in accordance with bombardment orders. ...
1734 On station in firing position,
1735 Commenced firing 8" battery at Perry Island. Various courses and speeds to maintain firing position.
1920 Darkened ship...
1937 Let go Port anchor in 29 fathoms of water with 75 fathoms of chain...
1945 Lowered away #2MWB to port."
Log excerpt - USS Portland CA 33
It began again. Once more we were to be out on our own. We were dispatched with Guard Mail for the Admiral on the Indianapolis. When I asked for a bearing on her, the response was "We haven’t one. The last time we saw her she was still underway. You have to run in widening circles until you find her."
We were given a recognition code, but since all ships were darkened, it was unlikely we'd see any challenge. Not very comforting, but we began circling. After several false contacts and nearly blundering up on a beach, we finally found our "target" and delivered our package. The Indianapolis' signal gang were better prepared and gave us a good bearing on Portland. Our return trip was far less hectic.
Early the next morning we were dispatched on a more traumatic trip. We delivered four Ensigns, newly assigned to the Portland, to LCI 442, one of several LCIs participating in the landings on Parry Island. It was one of those who came under "friendly fire" with many casualties. None of our officers were among the casualties, however, and they were much relieved when we returned for them some time later in the day.
I would very much like to meet again with those who accompanied me on these excursions but time has taken away the names.
Note: YMS 383 was an Auxiliary Minesweeper. See: www.navsource.org/archives/11/19idx.htm www.navsource.org/archive s/11/19383.htm
"HOT" SHOWER
Pete Balog Vol II. pp. 92-93
It happened during the invasion of Eniwetok Atoll in Feb. 1944. After finishing our firing assignment we would anchor off some other small island and, at night, we had sentries posted around the ship to guard against small boats or boarding parties. These sentries were armed with the old bolt action Springfields.
One night I had the Bo'suns Mate mid to 0400 watch. About half an hour into the watch a shot was fired at the bow. After a mad dash to the bow, we found an officer with his head and shoulder sticking out of the escape hatch cussing and swearing at a very confused sentry. It turned out that the sentry had not checked his rifle when he came on watch to see if it was empty. When he did check, he made two mistakes. First he pointed the rifle towards the deck, then he did not press the shells in the magazine down when he shoved the bolt home. Of course the gun fired when he pulled the trigger.
The bullet went through the teakwood deck, went through the steel deck and into the officer's head. There it ricocheted off a few bulkheads, much to the dismay of an officer taking a shower at the time. (Thank God no blood was shed.)
It was my turn to be embarrassed when I found the sentry was one of my men and I had to get another man to replace him. ,
Pete Balog Vol II. pp. 92-93
It happened during the invasion of Eniwetok Atoll in Feb. 1944. After finishing our firing assignment we would anchor off some other small island and, at night, we had sentries posted around the ship to guard against small boats or boarding parties. These sentries were armed with the old bolt action Springfields.
One night I had the Bo'suns Mate mid to 0400 watch. About half an hour into the watch a shot was fired at the bow. After a mad dash to the bow, we found an officer with his head and shoulder sticking out of the escape hatch cussing and swearing at a very confused sentry. It turned out that the sentry had not checked his rifle when he came on watch to see if it was empty. When he did check, he made two mistakes. First he pointed the rifle towards the deck, then he did not press the shells in the magazine down when he shoved the bolt home. Of course the gun fired when he pulled the trigger.
The bullet went through the teakwood deck, went through the steel deck and into the officer's head. There it ricocheted off a few bulkheads, much to the dismay of an officer taking a shower at the time. (Thank God no blood was shed.)
It was my turn to be embarrassed when I found the sentry was one of my men and I had to get another man to replace him. ,
"GAS MASK" DIVING
Ted Waller Vol II., pp. 93-94
We were anchored in the harbor of Majuro in the Marshall Islands several times during April and May, 1944. This gave our "Diving Team" the opportunity to practice shallow water dives using a face mask that was made from a gas mask. These were made by removing the canister and inserting a "T" fitting (made for us by the ship-fitting gang) where we could insert the hoses on each side of the gas mask to a 1/4" air hose that ran to the compressor tank. We used ammunition belts loaded with lead weights to help keep us down. Naturally we were limited as to how far from the ship we could go or how deep we could go by the length of the air hose. (This was the forerunner of what we now know of as scuba diving.) In those days, we were under strict orders not to go below 30' deep as that is about where the greatest change in water pressure takes place and they thought that we could injure our lungs by coming up too fast if we went below that mark.
During one of these diving sessions, doctor Hope, who was one of our medical officers, asked if he could try a few dives. Dick O'Brien was our diving officer and said it was O.K. and no doubt told him about the depth limit. After a few dives. Dr. Hope questioned this depth limitation and asked us to lower a weight on the end of a line and tie a red ribbon to it at a depth of about 50 feet. He would go down and retrieve the red ribbon.
Everything was going along fine until the executive officer came by and asked what we were doing. When he was told about the experiment and that a diver was down to retrieve the ribbon he hit the ceiling. He then said: "Whoever that sailor is he will be put on report and get a court martial as soon as I find out who he is." Imagine his surprise when the diver came up and he discovered it was "Doc" Hope. He stormed away and nothing else was ever mentioned about the incident.
The ship's diving crew consisted of two divers (Jack Wiard and I) plus three line handlers and Lt. Dick O'Brien. One of the other stories that I remember as one of the divers is that we got extra pay (by the hour) if we made dives in hazardous waters. So, every time we anchored in an area where there was any sign of an explosion, even from the beach or at a far distance at sea, we would try to convince Dick O'Brien that we should make a hull inspection and that it should be considered as a dive in hazardous water. One time a cook was fishing off the fantail and caught a barracuda. Once again we immediately ran to O'Brien with our request to make a dive in hazardous water. This did not work very often, however, all involved must now admit that on a few occasions, Dick did make a decision to let us dive under these questionable conditions and we were always grateful to see that little extra in our pay at the end of the month.
Ted Waller Vol II., pp. 93-94
We were anchored in the harbor of Majuro in the Marshall Islands several times during April and May, 1944. This gave our "Diving Team" the opportunity to practice shallow water dives using a face mask that was made from a gas mask. These were made by removing the canister and inserting a "T" fitting (made for us by the ship-fitting gang) where we could insert the hoses on each side of the gas mask to a 1/4" air hose that ran to the compressor tank. We used ammunition belts loaded with lead weights to help keep us down. Naturally we were limited as to how far from the ship we could go or how deep we could go by the length of the air hose. (This was the forerunner of what we now know of as scuba diving.) In those days, we were under strict orders not to go below 30' deep as that is about where the greatest change in water pressure takes place and they thought that we could injure our lungs by coming up too fast if we went below that mark.
During one of these diving sessions, doctor Hope, who was one of our medical officers, asked if he could try a few dives. Dick O'Brien was our diving officer and said it was O.K. and no doubt told him about the depth limit. After a few dives. Dr. Hope questioned this depth limitation and asked us to lower a weight on the end of a line and tie a red ribbon to it at a depth of about 50 feet. He would go down and retrieve the red ribbon.
Everything was going along fine until the executive officer came by and asked what we were doing. When he was told about the experiment and that a diver was down to retrieve the ribbon he hit the ceiling. He then said: "Whoever that sailor is he will be put on report and get a court martial as soon as I find out who he is." Imagine his surprise when the diver came up and he discovered it was "Doc" Hope. He stormed away and nothing else was ever mentioned about the incident.
The ship's diving crew consisted of two divers (Jack Wiard and I) plus three line handlers and Lt. Dick O'Brien. One of the other stories that I remember as one of the divers is that we got extra pay (by the hour) if we made dives in hazardous waters. So, every time we anchored in an area where there was any sign of an explosion, even from the beach or at a far distance at sea, we would try to convince Dick O'Brien that we should make a hull inspection and that it should be considered as a dive in hazardous water. One time a cook was fishing off the fantail and caught a barracuda. Once again we immediately ran to O'Brien with our request to make a dive in hazardous water. This did not work very often, however, all involved must now admit that on a few occasions, Dick did make a decision to let us dive under these questionable conditions and we were always grateful to see that little extra in our pay at the end of the month.
THE "CAPTAIN'S TALKER" TALKS
Ray Bertrand Vol II., pp. 94-95
There have been so many nice stories about Captain T. G. W. Settle that I thought I'd write about one of my own encounters with him. It was shortly after he came aboard in the spring of 1944. We were operating with Task Force 52.8 during the Hollandia operation. We were refueling at sea and I was the "Captain's Talker" on the sound-powered telephones with the tanker.
The U.S.S. Neshanic - A071 came alongside. As soon as the lines were fired over, the talker on the Neshanic said "Portland - can you get in touch with Ray Bertrand? He is a buddy of mine." As soon as I heard his voice I knew who it was. It was a pal of mine from childhood. We grew up together, went to school together and, yes, joined the navy together.
We started having quite a gab-fest. The OOD came over to me and said to keep the lines clear as it was the Captain's personal line. I spoke to Capt. Settle and asked his permission to talk to my friend. He tapped me on the shoulder and said "Enjoy your visit with your friend, sailor."
Boy was I happy. You only read about something like this happening in books. My friend,Harvey Ameault, was aboard the Neshanic and knew they were refueling the Portland and that I was aboard but I had no way of knowing it was his ship.
The only reason that I was the Captain's Talker was because I was in the I.C. gang and worked on the sound-powered phones.
This was my third meeting with Harvey. After boot-camp at Great Lakes, he went to Machinist Mate school there and I was sent to Electrical School at Purdue. One weekend he came to visit me at Purdue. That was in late 1942 and it was good seeing my buddy again. Then after I was assigned to the Portland (the best break I got, being assigned to the "Sweet Pea,") we had our shakedown and headed for the Aleutians in 1943. We docked someplace, it may have been Adak, and who should come aboard but my friend Harvey. His ship docked alongside of ours.
Our meeting at sea, however, and talking to each other was something we'll never forget. He moved to Ohio after the war and we still see each other occasionally and still talk - on our own phones, now.
Ray Bertrand Vol II., pp. 94-95
There have been so many nice stories about Captain T. G. W. Settle that I thought I'd write about one of my own encounters with him. It was shortly after he came aboard in the spring of 1944. We were operating with Task Force 52.8 during the Hollandia operation. We were refueling at sea and I was the "Captain's Talker" on the sound-powered telephones with the tanker.
The U.S.S. Neshanic - A071 came alongside. As soon as the lines were fired over, the talker on the Neshanic said "Portland - can you get in touch with Ray Bertrand? He is a buddy of mine." As soon as I heard his voice I knew who it was. It was a pal of mine from childhood. We grew up together, went to school together and, yes, joined the navy together.
We started having quite a gab-fest. The OOD came over to me and said to keep the lines clear as it was the Captain's personal line. I spoke to Capt. Settle and asked his permission to talk to my friend. He tapped me on the shoulder and said "Enjoy your visit with your friend, sailor."
Boy was I happy. You only read about something like this happening in books. My friend,Harvey Ameault, was aboard the Neshanic and knew they were refueling the Portland and that I was aboard but I had no way of knowing it was his ship.
The only reason that I was the Captain's Talker was because I was in the I.C. gang and worked on the sound-powered phones.
This was my third meeting with Harvey. After boot-camp at Great Lakes, he went to Machinist Mate school there and I was sent to Electrical School at Purdue. One weekend he came to visit me at Purdue. That was in late 1942 and it was good seeing my buddy again. Then after I was assigned to the Portland (the best break I got, being assigned to the "Sweet Pea,") we had our shakedown and headed for the Aleutians in 1943. We docked someplace, it may have been Adak, and who should come aboard but my friend Harvey. His ship docked alongside of ours.
Our meeting at sea, however, and talking to each other was something we'll never forget. He moved to Ohio after the war and we still see each other occasionally and still talk - on our own phones, now.
RETALIATION
Paul Hupf-USMC Vol II., pp. 91-92
There was a newly commissioned Ensign in the naval reserve who joined the Portland about the time or just before we visited Mare Island for refitting in 1944. In many respects he was naive but he had a misguided sense of humor which caused him at times brashly to play practical jokes at the expense of other officers. Such conduct was acceptable, somewhat grudgingly, by others of his rank but it rankled those who had achieved the rank of Ltjg or Lt., particularly those men who had been aboard the Portland.
We had about two months in Mare Island with port and starboard thirty days leave. For the period during which we were still on duty, there were few diversions: a trip to San Francisco by Greyhound bus or resort to the Mare Island officers club. There was some sort of hospital activity at Mare Island because there were Navy nurses either on duty or in training and in the course of normal events there were many dates between Portland officers (unmarried, of course) and the nurses.
It so happened that our Ensign did meet and date one of the Navy nurses. It also happened that the nurse he dated was acquainted with one of the officers who was the victim of our Ensign's practical jokes. He conceived a diabolical plan which took several months to play out and was eminently successful. The nurse, for reasons best known to herself, cooperated in the scheme.
Shortly after our return to the Pacific our Ensign received a letter from his date expressing her pleasure at having made his acquaintance with the hope that they would meet again. The letter concluded with the note that her period was late that month but that she was not concerned because that circumstance was not uncommon for her.
No one would have known of this letter but for the fact that it's recipient expressed outrage and indignation to one and all who would listen, insisting that it was impossible because he had not involved himself with the nurse in any such way. He unwittingly let the whole wardroom in on the joke which became common knowledge among all the junior officers.
Mail calls were irregular, as you know, and when there was mail you often received several letters from the same person. Then there would be a gap during which there would be no mail for days, if not weeks.
Our Ensign received, all recounted by him, letters of increasing urgency. From uncertainty to certainty, from warmth and confidence that our man would do the right thing, to impatience and dissatisfaction and finally to hostility stating that the lady would be compelled to report her condition to her commanding officer so as to obtain just treatment.
Our Ensign was observed by all at every mail call. It was apparent from his expression and conduct that the letters were effective, causing worry and concern in spite of his insistence in his innocence. The interval between mail calls was the occasion for anguished expressions of dismay by the victim, accompanied by insistence of innocence.
After about three or possibly four months, after the letter stating that the matter would be taken up by the lady's commanding officer, our Ensign grew so agitated that he announced to all who would listen that he was going to see Captain Settle to protest his innocence.
At this point the hoax had to be exposed and it's author conceded that it was time to do so to avoid any embarrassment for the nurse. We were then in the early stages of the Philippine operation. To insure that the Ensign did not have the opportunity to unburden himself before Captain Settle, I was asked if the Marine sentry assigned to the Captain could be persuaded to forestall such a visit. My answer was that it would be possible only if immediate contact was made with the Ensign and the joke explained, or else I and the sentry would have some explaining to do. I informed the sentry on duty that, if the Ensign appeared, to ask him to see me first.
And so the joke was revealed. Instead of indignation, our Ensign expressed only relief that he had been spared the burden of defending himself. He never doubted for a moment, until the joke was revealed, that the lady was pregnant.
Our Ensign was, thereafter, the soul of gentility, never again even thinking of, let alone conducting, any practical jokes on his fellow officers.
Paul Hupf-USMC Vol II., pp. 91-92
There was a newly commissioned Ensign in the naval reserve who joined the Portland about the time or just before we visited Mare Island for refitting in 1944. In many respects he was naive but he had a misguided sense of humor which caused him at times brashly to play practical jokes at the expense of other officers. Such conduct was acceptable, somewhat grudgingly, by others of his rank but it rankled those who had achieved the rank of Ltjg or Lt., particularly those men who had been aboard the Portland.
We had about two months in Mare Island with port and starboard thirty days leave. For the period during which we were still on duty, there were few diversions: a trip to San Francisco by Greyhound bus or resort to the Mare Island officers club. There was some sort of hospital activity at Mare Island because there were Navy nurses either on duty or in training and in the course of normal events there were many dates between Portland officers (unmarried, of course) and the nurses.
It so happened that our Ensign did meet and date one of the Navy nurses. It also happened that the nurse he dated was acquainted with one of the officers who was the victim of our Ensign's practical jokes. He conceived a diabolical plan which took several months to play out and was eminently successful. The nurse, for reasons best known to herself, cooperated in the scheme.
Shortly after our return to the Pacific our Ensign received a letter from his date expressing her pleasure at having made his acquaintance with the hope that they would meet again. The letter concluded with the note that her period was late that month but that she was not concerned because that circumstance was not uncommon for her.
No one would have known of this letter but for the fact that it's recipient expressed outrage and indignation to one and all who would listen, insisting that it was impossible because he had not involved himself with the nurse in any such way. He unwittingly let the whole wardroom in on the joke which became common knowledge among all the junior officers.
Mail calls were irregular, as you know, and when there was mail you often received several letters from the same person. Then there would be a gap during which there would be no mail for days, if not weeks.
Our Ensign received, all recounted by him, letters of increasing urgency. From uncertainty to certainty, from warmth and confidence that our man would do the right thing, to impatience and dissatisfaction and finally to hostility stating that the lady would be compelled to report her condition to her commanding officer so as to obtain just treatment.
Our Ensign was observed by all at every mail call. It was apparent from his expression and conduct that the letters were effective, causing worry and concern in spite of his insistence in his innocence. The interval between mail calls was the occasion for anguished expressions of dismay by the victim, accompanied by insistence of innocence.
After about three or possibly four months, after the letter stating that the matter would be taken up by the lady's commanding officer, our Ensign grew so agitated that he announced to all who would listen that he was going to see Captain Settle to protest his innocence.
At this point the hoax had to be exposed and it's author conceded that it was time to do so to avoid any embarrassment for the nurse. We were then in the early stages of the Philippine operation. To insure that the Ensign did not have the opportunity to unburden himself before Captain Settle, I was asked if the Marine sentry assigned to the Captain could be persuaded to forestall such a visit. My answer was that it would be possible only if immediate contact was made with the Ensign and the joke explained, or else I and the sentry would have some explaining to do. I informed the sentry on duty that, if the Ensign appeared, to ask him to see me first.
And so the joke was revealed. Instead of indignation, our Ensign expressed only relief that he had been spared the burden of defending himself. He never doubted for a moment, until the joke was revealed, that the lady was pregnant.
Our Ensign was, thereafter, the soul of gentility, never again even thinking of, let alone conducting, any practical jokes on his fellow officers.
WAR CORRESPONDENTS Vol. I, pp.64-67
In August, 1944, there were several war correspondents aboard the Portland and while aboard, several of them wrote articles for the ships paper, the Port Beam. These are copies of those that appeared in the August 30 edition.
John Brennan, "Sydney Bulletin"
The visit of the U.S.S. Portland to Sydney in the early days of the Japanese war will, I am told, be long remembered. Members of her company still aboard the cruiser speak of the visit with an obvious regret for vanquished days offender memory. Few of them know that their stay was celebrated in song.
At the time there was a small Australian force, some two hundred men, hidden out in the hills on the island of Timor. For some months after the arrival of the Japanese, they were presumed lost and nothing was heard of them until they were able to capture an enemy radio, patch it up, and establish communication with Darwin. Then they were told to remain there as guerrillas.
A little mail was sent in, a few newspapers, a couple of long expected packing cases from the Comfort funds containing (among the few cigarettes) boot polish and shaving soap. They lived 14 months on a diet of which the staples were rice, sweet potato and water buffalo — three times a day, seven days a week. In a song they told of their joys and hopes and fears.
They sang of the High Command which kept them there, of the food, of the climate, of the lives of the "bloody heroes." One verse sung feelingly and - quote f om "I Married An Angel" - with a twinkle in the eye, recorded their interest in the cementing of international relationships brought about by the Portland's visit to Sydney:
"And since the Portland's come to town
My girlfriend's name is Mrs. Brown.
I hope the rotten bastards drown.
The bloody, rotten bastards."
John Hennessy Walker, "Time Magazine"
MANHATTAN REPORT
Since I was in New York as recently as August 17, here is some purely local news:
New York has just had the worst hot spell in the city's history - 17 out of 19 days with the temperature over 90, humidity from 60 to 98%.
All three ball clubs are low grade this season; Yankees are the biggest disappointment,
Dodgers worst club, Giants a little better than anyone expected.
All the fights are dull; all the good fighters are in the service.
The liquor shortage is over; plenty of lye and gin, though good bourbon and scotch will be short until after the war.
Apartments are almost impossible to find.
The Idlewild airport will have six runways, two of them 10,000 feet.
The dames in the new Copacabana show are the loveliest yet. Luna Park at Coney Island burned down.
The city is war-crowded, like everyplace else, but N.Y. still has more room, food, liquor, fun and everything else for man and beast than any other place I know.
I hope the Portland will be on hand for a Victory Squadron to drop anchor in the Hudson and send the liberty parties ashore.
Webley Edwards, "Columbia Broadcasting System"
THINGS I NEVER KNEW ABOUT THE NAVY UNTIL SOMEBODY TOLD ME:
Long collars in the back of seamen's blouses are a holdover from the early days when sailors tarred their queues. The collars kept the tar off their blouses.
Wardrooms got their names from the days of sailing ship prize taking, when captured booty and wardrobes were kept in a large space amidships…
Saluting the quarterdeck is a custom far earlier than ours or the British Navy. The earliest warships of the Phoenicians, Greeks and Romans had shrines and images which received proper signs when boarding or leaving the ship. It came to us from the British Navy from which many of our customs come, including, it is said, the seaman's black tie originally worn by the British in mourning for Lord Nelson.
Barrett McGum & Mason Pawlak, "Yank" Correspondents
Even Chief Boatswain's Mate Joe Dieter who has been on the Sweet P 5 years admits that he learns something new every day (like some links in the anchor chain weigh as much as 100 pounds.) So we are not ashamed to confess this trip has taught us a lot we did not know - like what a "gedunk" is; and also where the fresh water is shut off when the evaporators run low.
We have also enjoyed meeting such personalities as Plankowner Rutland and Chief Hughes, a 27 year man who in another couple of years will have to salute his own daughter who will be an ensign (Navy Nurse.)
We thank Yeoman 3c Al Beudoin for data on the ship's stars - 9 with 4 coming - and wish you all good hunting, making it lucky 14 soon.
Note: "Gedunk" is navy slag for ice cream
In August, 1944, there were several war correspondents aboard the Portland and while aboard, several of them wrote articles for the ships paper, the Port Beam. These are copies of those that appeared in the August 30 edition.
John Brennan, "Sydney Bulletin"
The visit of the U.S.S. Portland to Sydney in the early days of the Japanese war will, I am told, be long remembered. Members of her company still aboard the cruiser speak of the visit with an obvious regret for vanquished days offender memory. Few of them know that their stay was celebrated in song.
At the time there was a small Australian force, some two hundred men, hidden out in the hills on the island of Timor. For some months after the arrival of the Japanese, they were presumed lost and nothing was heard of them until they were able to capture an enemy radio, patch it up, and establish communication with Darwin. Then they were told to remain there as guerrillas.
A little mail was sent in, a few newspapers, a couple of long expected packing cases from the Comfort funds containing (among the few cigarettes) boot polish and shaving soap. They lived 14 months on a diet of which the staples were rice, sweet potato and water buffalo — three times a day, seven days a week. In a song they told of their joys and hopes and fears.
They sang of the High Command which kept them there, of the food, of the climate, of the lives of the "bloody heroes." One verse sung feelingly and - quote f om "I Married An Angel" - with a twinkle in the eye, recorded their interest in the cementing of international relationships brought about by the Portland's visit to Sydney:
"And since the Portland's come to town
My girlfriend's name is Mrs. Brown.
I hope the rotten bastards drown.
The bloody, rotten bastards."
John Hennessy Walker, "Time Magazine"
MANHATTAN REPORT
Since I was in New York as recently as August 17, here is some purely local news:
New York has just had the worst hot spell in the city's history - 17 out of 19 days with the temperature over 90, humidity from 60 to 98%.
All three ball clubs are low grade this season; Yankees are the biggest disappointment,
Dodgers worst club, Giants a little better than anyone expected.
All the fights are dull; all the good fighters are in the service.
The liquor shortage is over; plenty of lye and gin, though good bourbon and scotch will be short until after the war.
Apartments are almost impossible to find.
The Idlewild airport will have six runways, two of them 10,000 feet.
The dames in the new Copacabana show are the loveliest yet. Luna Park at Coney Island burned down.
The city is war-crowded, like everyplace else, but N.Y. still has more room, food, liquor, fun and everything else for man and beast than any other place I know.
I hope the Portland will be on hand for a Victory Squadron to drop anchor in the Hudson and send the liberty parties ashore.
Webley Edwards, "Columbia Broadcasting System"
THINGS I NEVER KNEW ABOUT THE NAVY UNTIL SOMEBODY TOLD ME:
Long collars in the back of seamen's blouses are a holdover from the early days when sailors tarred their queues. The collars kept the tar off their blouses.
Wardrooms got their names from the days of sailing ship prize taking, when captured booty and wardrobes were kept in a large space amidships…
Saluting the quarterdeck is a custom far earlier than ours or the British Navy. The earliest warships of the Phoenicians, Greeks and Romans had shrines and images which received proper signs when boarding or leaving the ship. It came to us from the British Navy from which many of our customs come, including, it is said, the seaman's black tie originally worn by the British in mourning for Lord Nelson.
Barrett McGum & Mason Pawlak, "Yank" Correspondents
Even Chief Boatswain's Mate Joe Dieter who has been on the Sweet P 5 years admits that he learns something new every day (like some links in the anchor chain weigh as much as 100 pounds.) So we are not ashamed to confess this trip has taught us a lot we did not know - like what a "gedunk" is; and also where the fresh water is shut off when the evaporators run low.
We have also enjoyed meeting such personalities as Plankowner Rutland and Chief Hughes, a 27 year man who in another couple of years will have to salute his own daughter who will be an ensign (Navy Nurse.)
We thank Yeoman 3c Al Beudoin for data on the ship's stars - 9 with 4 coming - and wish you all good hunting, making it lucky 14 soon.
Note: "Gedunk" is navy slag for ice cream
CLOSE CALL
Floyd Marcy Vol II. p. 98
On 19 September, 1944, we pulled alongside an ammunition ship at Kossol roads, which one I don't remember, on our starboard side. The destroyer USS Heywood L. Edwards was on her other side. We had the cable and stakes down on that side to start taking on ammunition when a bogey (unidentified aircraft) came on our radar. I was on the quarter-deck.
I think general quarters was sounded and things happened so quick I didn't get to my station when two bombs blew up just off our fantail. The plane passed forward up our port side and I could see big, blue flames coming from the underside of the plane. Some said it was a seaplane but I didn't see the pontoons on it.
Just a few minutes later a big ball of fire showed up off our port side. We thought it was a Kamikaze pilot that took his life over on the island.
We soon cast off our lines to get away from the ammunition ship. We did not take on one round of ammunition that time. The moon was out some that night and I think that the pilot thought he could get his job done.
There is one thing for sure, if the bombs had hit our ship or the ammunition ship I don't think any of us would be here to tell the story. I was sure scared at the time.
Floyd Marcy Vol II. p. 98
On 19 September, 1944, we pulled alongside an ammunition ship at Kossol roads, which one I don't remember, on our starboard side. The destroyer USS Heywood L. Edwards was on her other side. We had the cable and stakes down on that side to start taking on ammunition when a bogey (unidentified aircraft) came on our radar. I was on the quarter-deck.
I think general quarters was sounded and things happened so quick I didn't get to my station when two bombs blew up just off our fantail. The plane passed forward up our port side and I could see big, blue flames coming from the underside of the plane. Some said it was a seaplane but I didn't see the pontoons on it.
Just a few minutes later a big ball of fire showed up off our port side. We thought it was a Kamikaze pilot that took his life over on the island.
We soon cast off our lines to get away from the ammunition ship. We did not take on one round of ammunition that time. The moon was out some that night and I think that the pilot thought he could get his job done.
There is one thing for sure, if the bombs had hit our ship or the ammunition ship I don't think any of us would be here to tell the story. I was sure scared at the time.
A SURPRISE MAIL CALL
Willie "Ace" Larmeu Vol II., pp. 98-99
We pulled into Leyte after a bombardment mission and I remember the Bo'suns Mate piped down "Make all preparations to receive mailboat to starboard." I was off duty that day and I went down to the quarterdeck to see the mail boat, which was an LCM landing craft.
Well, when I looked down into the boat, I saw three sailors and one was my first cousin. Buddy Gurvich, He ran the LCM and was with the Sea Bees on Leyte. What a big surprise.
He came aboard and I took him to the Shipfitters shop where we had coffee and talked Then I went down to see the Officer-of-the-Deck and asked permission to go over to the island. He gave me permission for two hours only.
We went to the island and my cousin got a jeep and we rode around the village where he introduce me to his washer woman. He gave her cigars for doing his laundry .
After about an hour on the island, I took Buddy's field glasses and looked into the bay at the Portland. I saw the anchor detail washing off the anchor chain. I told Buddy "We got to get back to the ship now. The Portland is getting underway."
Well, he got me back just in time and I was so happy. I almost got left behind. I ran up to the bow, because Roy Lee and I were on the anchor detail and ran the winches to pull up the anchor chain.
As we headed out to sea, I remember seeing a lot of PT boats heading out to sea at 25 or 30 knots.
Well, the next morning was the Battle of Surigao Straits. I'll never forget it. In the morning we sank a crippled Japanese cruiser.
Willie "Ace" Larmeu Vol II., pp. 98-99
We pulled into Leyte after a bombardment mission and I remember the Bo'suns Mate piped down "Make all preparations to receive mailboat to starboard." I was off duty that day and I went down to the quarterdeck to see the mail boat, which was an LCM landing craft.
Well, when I looked down into the boat, I saw three sailors and one was my first cousin. Buddy Gurvich, He ran the LCM and was with the Sea Bees on Leyte. What a big surprise.
He came aboard and I took him to the Shipfitters shop where we had coffee and talked Then I went down to see the Officer-of-the-Deck and asked permission to go over to the island. He gave me permission for two hours only.
We went to the island and my cousin got a jeep and we rode around the village where he introduce me to his washer woman. He gave her cigars for doing his laundry .
After about an hour on the island, I took Buddy's field glasses and looked into the bay at the Portland. I saw the anchor detail washing off the anchor chain. I told Buddy "We got to get back to the ship now. The Portland is getting underway."
Well, he got me back just in time and I was so happy. I almost got left behind. I ran up to the bow, because Roy Lee and I were on the anchor detail and ran the winches to pull up the anchor chain.
As we headed out to sea, I remember seeing a lot of PT boats heading out to sea at 25 or 30 knots.
Well, the next morning was the Battle of Surigao Straits. I'll never forget it. In the morning we sank a crippled Japanese cruiser.
SCRATCH ONE SHIP
Floyd Marcy Vol II., pp. 97-98
The morning after the battle of Surigao Straits, just before daylight, the Portland and the USS Pensacola (CA 24) were assigned to chase down and sink a Jap ship that was running away. We ran at full speed for an hour or two to get close enough for the kill.
We turned broadside to it and then the 8" started doing their work. About the second salvo we hit the ship. It seems to me it only lasted about a half an hour and the ship went down, bow first.
We were all so happy and I was jumping up and down with joy I was glad to be top-side to see it all.
Floyd Marcy Vol II., pp. 97-98
The morning after the battle of Surigao Straits, just before daylight, the Portland and the USS Pensacola (CA 24) were assigned to chase down and sink a Jap ship that was running away. We ran at full speed for an hour or two to get close enough for the kill.
We turned broadside to it and then the 8" started doing their work. About the second salvo we hit the ship. It seems to me it only lasted about a half an hour and the ship went down, bow first.
We were all so happy and I was jumping up and down with joy I was glad to be top-side to see it all.
CLOSE CALL AT LINGAYEN GULF
Lawrence "Larry" Barkle Vol II., p. 105
This occurred on January 6, 1945, at Lingayen Gulf during heavy kamikaze air attacks. My General Quarters Station was Radio One. This particular day, I took the message board to get signatures and deliver messages to the Captain, Executive Officer, Gunnery Officer, etc. Normally this duty was carried out by Radio Strikers but, being a Radioman 3c, I would take the messages just to see what was going on rather than listen to the action. On this day, I proceeded up 2 decks to the main bridge, gave the message board to the marine on duty and returned to the signal bridge, one deck below, where I stopped to talk to the sailor on duty at his battle station. We proceeded to talk in the doorway on the starboard side, while observing many kamikaze planes coming in from the west and circling to get into the sun before proceeding to attack the ships.
In a three plane formation, one Jap kamikaze broke away and came down directly for the Portland, aiming at the bridge. The sailor and myself grabbed each other around the shoulders and bent down, anticipating the certain crash of the kamikaze on the bridge.
As the planes were getting into position for the attack. Captain Settle broke from the formation and did a hard port turn, breaking from the column line. After what seemed an eternity, but only a matter of a few minutes, I looked to see where the Jap plane was and to my surprise, the plane was in a steep bank and pulling into a loop off our starboard bow. I clearly saw the rising sun insignia on the planes wings as it was making it's turn to crash into the fantail of the light cruiser USS Columbia. The plane was on a direct dive for the Portland, but due to the efforts of Capt. Settle breaking formation he could not reach us and selected the Columbia as his second target.
I have wondered for many years, who the sailor was on the signal bridge that day. Also I know that the men manning the 20 MM guns on the bow and the 40 MM quad gun mount that was just outside Radio One's door on the starboard side must have seen the Jap plane. It was so close you could almost touch it.
I would like to hear from anyone who can remember this one of many incidents while serving aboard the USS Portland.
Lawrence "Larry" Barkle Vol II., p. 105
This occurred on January 6, 1945, at Lingayen Gulf during heavy kamikaze air attacks. My General Quarters Station was Radio One. This particular day, I took the message board to get signatures and deliver messages to the Captain, Executive Officer, Gunnery Officer, etc. Normally this duty was carried out by Radio Strikers but, being a Radioman 3c, I would take the messages just to see what was going on rather than listen to the action. On this day, I proceeded up 2 decks to the main bridge, gave the message board to the marine on duty and returned to the signal bridge, one deck below, where I stopped to talk to the sailor on duty at his battle station. We proceeded to talk in the doorway on the starboard side, while observing many kamikaze planes coming in from the west and circling to get into the sun before proceeding to attack the ships.
In a three plane formation, one Jap kamikaze broke away and came down directly for the Portland, aiming at the bridge. The sailor and myself grabbed each other around the shoulders and bent down, anticipating the certain crash of the kamikaze on the bridge.
As the planes were getting into position for the attack. Captain Settle broke from the formation and did a hard port turn, breaking from the column line. After what seemed an eternity, but only a matter of a few minutes, I looked to see where the Jap plane was and to my surprise, the plane was in a steep bank and pulling into a loop off our starboard bow. I clearly saw the rising sun insignia on the planes wings as it was making it's turn to crash into the fantail of the light cruiser USS Columbia. The plane was on a direct dive for the Portland, but due to the efforts of Capt. Settle breaking formation he could not reach us and selected the Columbia as his second target.
I have wondered for many years, who the sailor was on the signal bridge that day. Also I know that the men manning the 20 MM guns on the bow and the 40 MM quad gun mount that was just outside Radio One's door on the starboard side must have seen the Jap plane. It was so close you could almost touch it.
I would like to hear from anyone who can remember this one of many incidents while serving aboard the USS Portland.
KAMIKAZE ATTACKS Vol. I, p. 67
Don Martin
There is no question that the battle of Guadalcanal and the damage inflicted upon the Portland and the deaths of 19 wonderful men. Nov. 13, 1942 will always stand out as the ultimate sacrifice a gallant crew and ship could offer. The Portland almost encountered another disaster on January 6, 1945. Had it not been for Capt. Settle, who knows how many of us would not be attending our reunions. The following events leading up to 1/6/45: We left Leyte 12/23/44 and arrived at Palau on Christmas day. Departed Palau l2/26 and arrived Ulithi 12/27. There we took aboard good chow (first we had in several months.)
At Palau, Adm. Oldendorf came aboard and presented Capt. Settle the Navy Cross for the Portland's distinguished action against the enemy during the surface battle of Surigao Straight on Oct. 25, 1944. We left Palau and arrived back at Leyte 12/31 where we distributed supplies and mail to other ships. Midnight, Jan.2, 1945 we set our course for Lingayen Gulf in Northern Luzon to open the Lingayen campaign.
On the way a suicide plane crashed on the small carrier Ommaney Bay - she was sunk. We were under almost constant air attacks. Cruisers Louisville and HMAS Australia, the small carrier Manila Bay and a destroyer all caught suicide planes in one day. We pulled into Lingayen Gulf on Jan. 6, 1945 - bombarded beach installations for several hours when all hell broke loose. Japanese Kamikaze planes swooped over the mountains. Louisville hit again. Cruiser Columbia hit; cruiser HMAS Shropshire hit again; battleship Mississippi hit; HMAS Australia hit again; battleships New Mexico and Tennessee and several destroyers also hit. Every man-of-war was hit with the exception of the Portland (thanks to Capt. Settle,) the cruiser Minneapolis and battleship West Virginia. That was a rugged day. God was with us for sure. I was sick from seeing everyone getting hit and burning. We finally retreated to the open China Sea
Note: for USS Ommaney Bay, CVE-79, see: http://www.navsource.org/archives/03/079.htm
Don Martin
There is no question that the battle of Guadalcanal and the damage inflicted upon the Portland and the deaths of 19 wonderful men. Nov. 13, 1942 will always stand out as the ultimate sacrifice a gallant crew and ship could offer. The Portland almost encountered another disaster on January 6, 1945. Had it not been for Capt. Settle, who knows how many of us would not be attending our reunions. The following events leading up to 1/6/45: We left Leyte 12/23/44 and arrived at Palau on Christmas day. Departed Palau l2/26 and arrived Ulithi 12/27. There we took aboard good chow (first we had in several months.)
At Palau, Adm. Oldendorf came aboard and presented Capt. Settle the Navy Cross for the Portland's distinguished action against the enemy during the surface battle of Surigao Straight on Oct. 25, 1944. We left Palau and arrived back at Leyte 12/31 where we distributed supplies and mail to other ships. Midnight, Jan.2, 1945 we set our course for Lingayen Gulf in Northern Luzon to open the Lingayen campaign.
On the way a suicide plane crashed on the small carrier Ommaney Bay - she was sunk. We were under almost constant air attacks. Cruisers Louisville and HMAS Australia, the small carrier Manila Bay and a destroyer all caught suicide planes in one day. We pulled into Lingayen Gulf on Jan. 6, 1945 - bombarded beach installations for several hours when all hell broke loose. Japanese Kamikaze planes swooped over the mountains. Louisville hit again. Cruiser Columbia hit; cruiser HMAS Shropshire hit again; battleship Mississippi hit; HMAS Australia hit again; battleships New Mexico and Tennessee and several destroyers also hit. Every man-of-war was hit with the exception of the Portland (thanks to Capt. Settle,) the cruiser Minneapolis and battleship West Virginia. That was a rugged day. God was with us for sure. I was sick from seeing everyone getting hit and burning. We finally retreated to the open China Sea
Note: for USS Ommaney Bay, CVE-79, see: http://www.navsource.org/archives/03/079.htm
"NO BLOOD, NO PURPLE HEART"
Edward Loftin Vol II., p. 100
The video of the Truk surrender is great and really brings back memories. I was standing on the starboard catapult when that event took place almost 50 years ago.
I came aboard in Manus in Sept. of 1944 in time to witness the Leyte invasion and the battle of Surigao Strait. I was the assistant navigator for about 6 months and then became the 6th division assistant. During General Quarters, I was on the bridge with Captain Settle who I admired tremendously. When we got attacked by suicide planes he would take the conn, go into emergency speed and fiall rudder. When the attack was over he would carefully drop the ship back into formation and give the conn back to me. Once after an attack in Lingayen Gulf I got hit in the shoulder by a piece of falling shrapnel. The captain ripped open my shirt to see the wound. "No blood, no purple heart" he said. The shrapnel was about the size of a half dollar It hit me flat instead of edge-wise, and bounced onto the deck. I saved it for years, but don't know where it is now.
I left the ship in Boston before the operation to return the troops. I went to flight training and had a career in naval aviation as a fighter pilot, retiring in 1966.
HOT CRATES
Lawrence Kotula Vol II., pp. 99-100
I remember when we were bombarding the island of Corregidor. We were in a long line of ships shelling the island. Paratroops were raining down on the island Where ever you looked you could see parachutes coming down.
On the Portland our 8 inch turrets and 5 inch guns were shelling and the 40mm were shelling the landing area. I was by the head, port side aft by 40mm mount 6 and, as turret three fired at the island to port, it started a fire in a pile of crates that were stacked against the gun shield aft of the 40mm mount. The shield was loaded with live ammunition. I ran over and just threw all the burning crates overboard. Got rid of the fire.
Well, in just a few minutes over the loud speaker came the word "Kotula, CBM , report to the bridge on the double." Boy! I was thinking "What in the heck do they want me for?"
I ran forward, up all the ladders out of the wind and there was captain Settle waiting for me. Did he chew me out! Finally, I had a chance to tell him why I'd thrown the crates overboard.
Everyone was at their battle station and all the crates from supplying the ship the day before were stacked aft of mount 6, waiting to be burned The ball of fire from turret 3 caught them on fire. The gun shields were full of live ammunition. If that blew up it would surely kill some of the gun crew and burn a lot of them - about 20 men. The captain didn't say anything - just told me to get back to my station.
In about an hour my name was called again to report to the bridge - the captain wanted to see me. So up the ladders to the bridge and I reported.
This time he was more settled and apologized for chewing me out and said "You did the right thing."
The reason he raised all the hell was the admiral in charge of our ships had given an order to keep the harbor clear of all debris as planes would be landing in the harbor.
Things were back to normal. Old Huta burned his crates and stacked the surplus he couldn't burn in the incinerator.
About five days later the yeoman from the exec's office looked me up. He had a clip-board in his hand and wanted me to sign a form that I would be promoted to Warrant Gunner. (I guess that was to be my reward for doing the right thing with the fire) but I refused the offer and told him I was getting out as soon as the war ended.
Well, it didn't end there. We were shelling Okinawa. After having suicide planes coming at us every day, our 40mm guns needed lapping out. I had all the gunner's mates doing that when the exec's yeoman came out with his famous clip-board and told me "They are going to give you an award." I can't remember what it was but I signed and said I would accept.
Before I ever received it, the war ended. I never heard any more. Now I keep wondering after 50 years what it was. If the yeoman is still around, I sure would appreciate it if he would write me a note and test his memory.
Note: Portland took up station to bombard Corregidor on 15 February, 1945. The paratroop drop described was made by the 503rd Parachute Regimental Combat Team on 16 February, 1945: http://www.ww2-airborne.us/18corps/503_overview.html http://corregidor.org/BEA503/Calendar/Week_at_a_Glance/4502w3.html
SURIGAO TO OKINAWA Vol. I, pp. 68-76
Vince McNamara
Personal Diary October 25-26,1944.
I want to write down all I can about this night before I forget it. It may be the opening of the last act in World War II. The Japanese evidently gave their military the same type of bum dope they handed out over Radio Tokyo.
A task force of a battleship, several cruisers and destroyers approached Leyte Gulf where we were waiting for them. And how we were waiting! Everyone knew about the expected surface engagement, although scuttlebutt had doubled or tripled the size of the Japanese force.
As night came on we had the routine "Washing Machine Charlie" attacks. Then we settled down to waiting. I slept on a cot on the searchlight platform where it was cool and breezy. The moon shone down the way it used to shine down on Lake Minnetonka back home in Minnesota. About ten o'clock it started to rain and I moved to the wardroom where everyone there seemed to be sleeping. The heat was terrific, but since I hadn't slept the night before I had no trouble sleeping, first in a chair and then on the leather bench when my room-mate, Charlie Thomas, went on watch.
It was about 0210 when G. Q. sounded and we went to our battle stations. The enemy was approaching and we let them close in to a very close range. Then our PT boats went to work. We were a line of cruisers and behind us the line of old BBs waiting to avenge Pearl Harbor. It was wonderful to think that the BBs were to get that chance. The Sweet Pea and the cruiser Minneapolis also had a few old scores to settle.
We finally opened up after our PTs and DDs had done their work. We really poured it on. After a few minutes of this there were strange whistling sounds all around us and we knew they were firing back.
Then we turned, except for the BB California where things were SNAFU. The Minneapolis decided to turn only one way. We got out of that mess by some fast work on Capt. Settle's part.
We saw their ships burning and headed for them. And what fires! There were eight units and we sank five. Our losses were one destroyer damaged and one PT sunk. One Jap DD stayed afloat for some time and we really poured fire into it. It sank suddenly and completely. Another Jap DD got a hit, evidently in the magazines, and sank almost immediately. Their BB burned for a long time, really flaming like a burning barn full of hay.
Our DDs saw many Japs in the water and offered them lines, but they refused our help. Later some of them accepted help, but there were about four hundred in the water at one spot and we couldn't pick them all up. And why should we? The night before they had violated the last rule of decency and attacked our hospital ship, the USS Comfort.
The three hours from two to five seemed to last about three minutes and a lot had happened in those three hours.
Then came our routine morning air raids. Several of their planes were shot down over our transport area. Again at 11:30 AM we had another air attack and a Betty was shot down. Now at 1300 we are headed for another battle with a Jap force reputed to contain four BBs, eight cruisers. May God be with us as He was last night. These two days will be long remembered.
Oct. 26. Last night was quiet. We expected to meet up with another Jap task force, but nothing showed up. Then the scores began to come in. We had sunk eight ships including three BBs. Other Jap forces are still in the area. Even now in the afternoon of October 26 there are several Jap ships north of Cebu. These were reported by Philippine guerrillas.
The ship is rife with rumors. We are to get the Presidential Unit Citation. (Chaplain) We are credited with sinking a Jap BB. (LeRoy Johnson.) No one will ever know which of our ships sank those BBs. With shells pouring in from about twelve to fifteen ships plus torpedoes from our destroyers, who can say?
Nov. 1, 1944. Today we arrived at Ulithi and it looks as though we are joining the fast carrier task group again. We went through 63 air raids and 89 GQ's at Leyte. I am told some enterprising soul counted them, why I will never know. The one I won’t forget is about the night battle with 14 inch shells whistling overhead and splashing in the water around us.
Nov. 2. Today we left Ulithi and in a hurry. Guess we are going places fast as we are with the Wasp, Hornet, Monterrey and one other CVL, also the South Dakota and we are traveling at 25 knots. Halsey is with us so things may happen.
Nov. 28. After our duty with the fast carrier group which involved several strikes on Luzon, we spent a few days in Kossol Roads in the northern Palau area. The beaches here are still held by the Japs and a large light house and building top the highest hill. The Japs didn’t bother us, however. We had movies on the quarterdeck, swimming, etc. in the afternoon. It was the same place that a bomb narrowly missed us back in September. We are now off to Leyte and Torpedo Gulf. If the name has been changed, I won’t feel bad. That place was too hot for comfort during our last visit.
Nov. 29. Morning Orders this morning report Jap planes have dived into two of our ships in the past few days and caution us to be alert and to report and shoot down any Japs trying this tactic on us.
They weren’t fooling. At 7 PM we have already had 5 GQ's. One Zeke tried to crash on our ship but our AA fire got him and he hit just off the starboard side. Then at dinner we again had an air raid and a Val dropped a bomb off our starboard bow and then crash dove into the Maryland. They report no appreciable damage, but the AA fire that our ships put out was really dangerous.
Splashes on the port side were much too close. The Captain really threw the ship around and did some beautiful maneuvering. What gives tonight? There is a bright full moon and I’m not looking forward to the evening. This second attack was made right in the middle of a rain squall but that didn’t stop him. Guess I’d better put on some dry clothes before we go to GQ again.
Dec. 5. Ashore in San Pedro Bay, Leyte Island. As I was writing a letter I heard chattering and looked out the port hole to discover a little native boat with two boys and a girl in it. They were grinning and were trying to trade Jap money for clothes. The bay was full of such boats and those of us who had traded were sorting out our loot. The girl was very pretty - nice white teeth and a pleasant smile. They seemed to know only one word in English - "money" but they also wanted shirts or other clothes or cigarettes.
The airfield over on the beach makes one gasp there are so many of our planes there – of all types. Further on there is the nicest looking town we have seen here, Tacloban. There is one large two or three story building which has a round, turret-type affair on the corner with a tower. It might be a church. There are numerous other modem buildings. It looks good after not seeing anything like that for so long.
I finally got a native hat for which I traded an old shirt I was going to throw away. These people seem most anxious to get clothing of any kind. They don’t seem to want money.
The "bum boats" have become a daily occurrence. Many have whole families; mother, father and children. One elderly woman and her daughter (or granddaughter) appeared and the older woman wore a long white dress, braids in her hair. They paddled alongside and smiled very nicely. The children paddle, too. One little boy had reddish hair and light skin. He probably was partly white. He had a little shirt on and that was all, no pants, and his little behind was sticking out but he didn’t seem to mind. The people look healthy, if thin, and are very dirty. Some of the girls are quite pretty.
Dec. 12. We left Tacloban for Mindoro, going through the Surigao Straits and the Mindanao Sea and up through the Sulu Sea to Mindoro. A suicide bomber crashed on the Nashville killing the Admiral, Chief of Staff and many others, about 14 all told. I had the deck and was next to Captain Settle. There were tears in his eyes. Some of those killed were close friends of his. A rare show of emotion for him.
We arrived at Mindoro the morning of Dec. 15 and our troops have landed without opposition. Last night our Marine patrol plane bombed a 6,000 ton AP and two destroyers polished it off. It is still burning.
Dec. 20. Before the movie in the wardroom we went to GQ and shot down what I called a Betty. Some of the lookouts said a Helen and a DD said it was a Nell. Everyone thought the movie was more exciting than shooting down that plane. The plane came in and absorbed tremendous AA fire before it was shot down. Very exciting for a while.
Dec. 25. Christmas. Underway from somewhere to somewhere else. Christmas Eve, Al Beaudoin said he was going to have a Christmas tree, no matter what, so he drilled holes in a broom handle, stuck wires in the holes and fastened green paper to the wires and voila - a
Christmas tree.
Jan. 2, 1945. We left Tacloban at midnight for Lingayen gulf and the landings which are scheduled to take place Jan. 9.
Jan. 6. In Lingayen Gulf. Jap planes began crashing into our ships. The Louisville was hit.
Jan. 17. Seventeen ships hit in 24 hours.
Jan. 8. Received news that the admiral on the Louisville had died of burns. This morning one Jap plane was shot down near an Australian cruiser and then our F4Fs crossed the formation with almost all our ships firing at them in spite of the fact that they were easy to see and recognize. One of those planes was shot down. Fortunately the pilot bailed out. The Portland did not fire. These last three days have been most hectic. We all feel that we are living on borrowed time and wonder whose turn is next. One plane came directly for the Portland and we all hit the deck as a crash seemed inevitable, but at last it veered off and hit the Columbia. Many men from Columbia jumped into the water. It finally appears that we have them stopped. LET US HOPE SO.
We have been shelling the beach and can see the town of Lingayen very distinctly. It is much more typically American than Tacloban, with many large, beautiful buildings. One large gray building with a columned portico and two main wings is a university building. There is a large Catholic church with the sides blown in and a large yellow building which looks something like the Long Beach Auditorium. Many other small buildings.
This morning one of our spotting planes reported a procession of about one hundred people carrying an American flag and also the Philippine flag. The town of Lingayen appears to be deserted with white and American flags flying and only an occasional horse wandering around. No other signs of life there. From our aerial photos you can see many neat farms and comfortable looking homes. It seems a shame to bomb such a nice place whose people are our friends, but likely there are very many Japs there so it can't be helped.
Jan. 10. We had a Jap on board. A dead one. They were reported swimming out to our ships under boxes and carrying dynamite to blow our ships up with. We were given permission to fire on them from the foc'sle with 45s, but so far have seen no such boxes. Then along came this body and we hauled it aboard. He evidently was a flyer, very small and young. He had split toed shoes and buck teeth.
Rigor mortis was just setting in and the arms were up at an angle and would not go down. He had a Jap flag, diary, wrist watch, pistol and a wallet with some money. All of this is being sent to the admiral to be investigated. We tied the body to a weight and threw it overboard. Somehow it didn't look human and no one minded looking at the body.
Before he was thrown back in we had a GQ and all of us ran to our battle stations. There is still much danger and no one wants to be like that Jap. Every time we go to GQ there is the unexpressed thought, "This time it may be my turn." But we don't talk about that. If it happens, we are ready and please God, it won't. We have too much to live for.
Feb. 16, 1945. For a week we patrolled outside Lingayen and now we have been sitting in the gulf every day. Charlie Thomas got his orders and tried to get them cancelled but no luck, so he left feeling very bad about it as did we all. Bill Mesloh moved in with me and life goes on as usual.
Feb. 15. We were ordered to go down to Corregidor to help out with naval gunfire.
Actually they didn't need us and we only fired a few times. But the same day our paratroopers landed on the rock and we saw it all. They wore different colored chutes indicating different duties and seemed to land without much opposition. It was a tough place to land on. Sheer cliffs on the seaward side. The buildings on top looked like a huge group of apartment houses or a big English manor-house. They had been blasted full of holes, but still stood.
The landing seemed quite successful and we came back to Lingayen early in the afternoon. The first carrier air strike on Tokyo was carried out the same day. Our troops landed on the tip of Bataan the day before.
Feb. 20. I went over to the HMAS Shropshire for visual fighter-director drill. It was a new experience, being on an Australian ship. They had a very homey-type wardroom with carpets, wooden tables of mahogany and two small artificial fireplaces with gas logs. Off the wardroom was a small bar called the "Wreckinn." We had two chilled beers which were delicious; just the right temperature. All of their officers wore shorts as did the enlisted men.
(On our ships most of the wooden things that could bum had been replaced with metal and the doors to the staterooms had been removed and replaced with fireproof curtains.)
We had our drill on the bridge. The ship is old but very clean. At four in the afternoon we went down and had tea and brown bread with marmalade. The next day the same thing except we had scones with the tea and they were very tasty.
Feb. 23. Twelfth birthday for the Portland. We had a special dinner and invited quite a few Aussies from the Shropshire. Afterwards we had a show on the quarterdeck which they helped to put on. Our band played ~ all the Portland Buckaroos, and they had several fine singers and a clever master-of-ceremonies. Dick Lowe played the little spinet piano from our wardroom and it was a big hit. Then the movie, "Charlie's Aunt". All in all an enjoyable evening.
Feb, 28. We shelled Corregidor in preparations for the landings there. The rock had rows of barracks two stories high which were now nothing but shells. It was good to know that we helped to take back a place where so many fought so valiantly three years ago.
March 11. We went to the beach at Mog Mog Island in Ulithi and drank beer and other things at the officer's club. The island is tiny and hot. The club is next to a native cemetery. The graves are covered with huge slabs of stones of all shapes and sizes and are mossy and well aged. This place looks like what I imagine Stonehenge in England looks like.
March 5 - March 23. At Okinawa for bombardment. Not as much opposition as we had expected. The countryside is very pretty with little farms and shacks for houses. The hillsides are terraced and there are many small cribs (horseshoe-shaped stadium-type deals on a small scale) where they bury their dead. The hillsides are dotted with them.
We were firing on a big bam and a horse ran out and down to the beach, then back up the road. A five inch shell lit where he was and no more horse. Beaudoin, on the bridge as a talker, said "My God, Captain, we killed a horse."
On one of these days "our sub" showed up, popping out from almost under the ship. Everyone topside saw it and the captain tried to ram it, but it got away. It was a baby sub and had fired two torpedoes, but fortunately both of them missed us. Each day we shot down a few planes, but some managed to get through.
Easter Sunday, April 1. Landing day on Okinawa and we had several early morning air attacks. Our 20mm gunners started firing at a Betty and pointed it out so another ship could take it under fire. It blew up very satisfactorily. It burned a long time and must have been full of gasoline. The captain called the gun crew to the bridge and commended them personally. It couldn't have been a greater honor if President Roosevelt himself had done it. Our captain is the world's best.
Our troops hit the beach and are making good progress inland. And the morning news says the Japs are putting out peace feelers. If we don't pulverize them thoroughly before we whip them into shape and go home, all this will have been for nothing and they will start another war within a few years. I hope we have sense enough to pound them until they are really finished for keeps. The European war is going wonderfully well, with our troops racing across Germany towards Berlin. Now for a decent peace.
April 5. We fuelled (or re-fuelled) at Kerama Retto today. Quite a place. Very few people live there and the islands are very mountainous. A few little gardens on the terraced hills. A little hut with a straw roof could be seen about halfway up one mountain. The whole place is full of caves and is very beautiful. Ernie Pyle, the war correspondent, was killed on one of the islands. They are treacherous, too. Several men from an LST were on one of the beaches having a little picnic and a bunch of Japs came out of the hills and killed three of them before they could get away. The hills offer many hiding places for the Japs.
May ??? V-E day didn't mean much here. The Japs don't know they are licked and say they don't need the Germans. They will need more than the Germans could ever give them.
Notes:
For USS Comfort, AH-6, see:
http://www.navsource.org/archives/09/12/1206.htm
USS Comfort evacuated wounded from Leyte in October-November 1944. She was struck by a kamikaze on 28 April 1945, which killed 28 persons (including six nurses), and wounded 48 others, and caused considerable damage. After temporary repairs at Guam Comfort sailed for Los Angeles, Calif., arriving 28 May, 1945.
http://www.hazegray.org/danfs/auxil/ah6.htm
http://talkingproud.us/Military/USSComfort/USSComfortAttack.html
USS Nashville, CL-43, was hit by a suicide plane on 13 December, 1944, losing more than 130 of her crew and suffering serious fire damage amidships. Repairs at the Puget Sound Navy Yard were made during January-March 1945:
http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/sh-usn/usnsh-n/cl43.htm
http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/images/k06000/k06886.jpg
On 5-6 January 1945, USS Louisville, CA-28, was hit by two Japanese suicide planes but remained on station to support the invasion of Leyte at Lingayen Gulf. The admiral referred to was Rear Admiral Theodore Chandler, commander of Cruiser Division 4.
http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/sh-usn/usnsh-l/ca28.htm
http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/images/g360000/g363217.jpg
http://www.history.navy.mil/danfs/t4/theodore_e_chandler-i.htm
HOMECOMING Vol. I, pp. 63-64
Al Stauffer
This is an event in my life which I wonder if anyone else could have experienced. I put four years in the Navy from 1936 - 1940, all aboard the USS Portland. About six months later I am drafted into the army. Legislation allowed my discharge after 4 months. In April, 1942, with the army once again lapping at my heels, I rush back and join the navy (reserve, this time.)
After sub-chaser duty in the Atlantic, I finally end up in Chicago to board a P.C.E.R. (Patrol Craft Escort Rescue.) We bring her down the Mississippi, put her in commission in New Orleans and off to the Pacific on the way to Brisbane.
Somewhere along the line, I entertained the wildest thought of the possibility that a small scow like ours would ever cross the path of the Portland. Yes, in June, 1944 (Leyte Gulf) our signal man informed me that the Portland was not far away.
Keeping in mind that in 1940, I left a spic and span, beautiful, spotless ship – teakwood decks - no rust on anything - port holes with polished brass rims, etc. Wow! Coming back aboard was truly a shocker - a bare, painted deck, portholes welded shut and rust spots all over. I was just not ready, mentally, for this. I searched for someone I might recognize and finally ended up visiting with Mr. Guhl in his room.
Note: The date given in the story, June, 1944, cannot be correct and is more likely to have occurred in March, 1945 At the summer of 1944 Portland was undergoing a refit at Mare Island, which was not completed until August, 1944. She returned to action in the Pacific and participated in the bombardment of Peleliu in mid-September and did not arrive at Leyte until October 17. Portland participated in the Battle of Surigao Strait, fought between 23-26 October, and between 5 January to 1 March, 1945, participated in operations at Lingayen Gulf and Corregidor. On the latter date Portland returned to Leyte for repairs and resupply after having operating continuously in a combat zone for five months - at the time setting a record. The condition of the described therefore, was not the result of neglect or ill-discipline.
See Don Martin's story above, "Kamikaze Attacks", where it is noted that the first delivery of 'good chow' to the ship in 'several months' took place at Ulithi just after Christmas, 1944. The portholes had been covered and welded shut shortly after the war had begun for obvious reasons, and portions of the teak-wood deck had been replace with metal decking to prevent splinters that could result from strafing or shell hits.
Al Stauffer
This is an event in my life which I wonder if anyone else could have experienced. I put four years in the Navy from 1936 - 1940, all aboard the USS Portland. About six months later I am drafted into the army. Legislation allowed my discharge after 4 months. In April, 1942, with the army once again lapping at my heels, I rush back and join the navy (reserve, this time.)
After sub-chaser duty in the Atlantic, I finally end up in Chicago to board a P.C.E.R. (Patrol Craft Escort Rescue.) We bring her down the Mississippi, put her in commission in New Orleans and off to the Pacific on the way to Brisbane.
Somewhere along the line, I entertained the wildest thought of the possibility that a small scow like ours would ever cross the path of the Portland. Yes, in June, 1944 (Leyte Gulf) our signal man informed me that the Portland was not far away.
Keeping in mind that in 1940, I left a spic and span, beautiful, spotless ship – teakwood decks - no rust on anything - port holes with polished brass rims, etc. Wow! Coming back aboard was truly a shocker - a bare, painted deck, portholes welded shut and rust spots all over. I was just not ready, mentally, for this. I searched for someone I might recognize and finally ended up visiting with Mr. Guhl in his room.
Note: The date given in the story, June, 1944, cannot be correct and is more likely to have occurred in March, 1945 At the summer of 1944 Portland was undergoing a refit at Mare Island, which was not completed until August, 1944. She returned to action in the Pacific and participated in the bombardment of Peleliu in mid-September and did not arrive at Leyte until October 17. Portland participated in the Battle of Surigao Strait, fought between 23-26 October, and between 5 January to 1 March, 1945, participated in operations at Lingayen Gulf and Corregidor. On the latter date Portland returned to Leyte for repairs and resupply after having operating continuously in a combat zone for five months - at the time setting a record. The condition of the described therefore, was not the result of neglect or ill-discipline.
See Don Martin's story above, "Kamikaze Attacks", where it is noted that the first delivery of 'good chow' to the ship in 'several months' took place at Ulithi just after Christmas, 1944. The portholes had been covered and welded shut shortly after the war had begun for obvious reasons, and portions of the teak-wood deck had been replace with metal decking to prevent splinters that could result from strafing or shell hits.
SEPTEMBER, 1944 - AUGUST, 1945 Vol. I, pp. 76-81
Willie Partridge
On September 4th, I was with a recreation party that went ashore on Florida Island, (This was the site of a very bloody Marine landing.) We were told not to stray from the fenced recreation area because the natives were not very friendly. Four or five of us decided to take a stroll in the jungle anyway. We had walked about a mile looking for bananas when we came upon a native village which looked deserted. We later learned that the natives would hide when strangers approached. Shortly after we entered the village, a huge native (Tarzan type) showed up with a small boy. The man had a bow and arrow and the boy carried a bolo knife. Since we had no side arms with us and the man refused to listen to our attempts to make friends, we decided the best course of action was a rapid retreat. When he began to fit an arrow into his
bow, we really turned on the speed. Needless to say, that ended our strolls into the jungle.
On September 6th, we left the Guadalcanal area for more raids. On September 12, 13 and 14 we bombarded the Palau Islands and on the 15th we landed Marines on Peleliu Island of the Palau chain. The task force formed a horseshoe near the beach where the Marines
would go in and the 40mm guns fired a crossfire over the landing force, strafing the beach as they went in. This was my first time firing on the enemy as a 40mm gunner. I fired over a thousand rounds that day. We were fired on by shore batteries and mortars but were not hit.
I saw several of the landing craft get blown up as they approached the beach. The first wave was shot up rather badly. One of the shot up landing craft with a lot of wounded Marines (one dying) stopped alongside of our ship, on his way to the hospital ship, asking for blood plasma. Landing craft were not supposed to come alongside a man o'war but the corpsman in the boat explained that, on landing, a shell had blown off part of his pack and he had lost all of his plasma. The dying Marine had lost a lot of blood and needed immediate help. I was at my battle station, looking down. The inside of the craft was covered with blood and the craft handler was very nervous. Our commander ran to the side of the ship and ordered the craft away but the craft handler insisted that he needed help for the dying Marine. The commander refused to listen and again ordered the craft to leave. The craft handler then grabbed a thirty caliber machine gun, pointed it at the commander, and told him the Marine was to be taken aboard immediately. The gun overruled the commander. Unfortunately, the Marine died as he was being lifted off the landing craft. He had four bullet holes through the lungs.
October 18th we raided and bombarded Leyte Island in the Philippines and on the 20th we landed troops there. We had several air raids. From the 20th through the 24th we continued shelling as the troops on shore would call for it. We also continued repelling air attacks.
For three nights, beginning October 25th, our task force, consisting of 6 battleships, 12 cruisers and 24 destroyers, had been pulling into the Surigao Straights waiting for a Japanese task force which was supposedly coming in to try to sink our ships in the Leyte Gulf. On this, the third morning, at approximately 4:30 AM, I called the control tower from my battle station and asked the control officer if we were expecting anything tonight. He said yes, the Japanese task force was coming down the Surigao Straights single file. They were then around 30,000 yards away and we were supposed to open up at 20,000.
We were told that the Japanese force consisted of approximately two battle wagons, two cruisers and four destroyers. When the ships were in range, a PT squadron made a run on them but missed. A destroyer squadron was ordered in to torpedo. The cans did not miss. The Japanese turned on a searchlight, but a fast 20mm gunner on a can shot it out right away. The cruiser ahead of us fired one round, then the Portland fired a full nine gun salvo, straddling one of the battleships. Following this, all of our ships fired full gun salvos.
It seemed as if all the stars in the sky fell in one place as the Japanese wagon went down. Our whole task force continued firing until daylight. All of the enemy ships were sunk except two light cruisers, and they were dead in the water. One of our ships pulled over and sank both with a few rounds. One ship had left, crippled, but was sunk later. We lost some small craft and had a couple of destroyers hit.
Our skipper later received the Navy Cross for our first salvo which straddled the Japanese wagon.
On November 21st we returned to Palau, and on the 27th left there for Leyte Gulf again. While at sea, all gunners and gun captains were called to a meeting in the wardroom and told to expect suicide planes to attack us when we reached Leyte. We were also instructed to wait until planes got within range before firing. There had been trouble at Guadalcanal with guys shooting up all their ready ammunition before planes were close enough. I thought to myself I’ll have to watch that. I surely don’t want to be caught without ammo with a kamikaze headed toward me."
On November 29th, as we were entering Leyte Gulf, the bugler sounded Torpedo Defense over the intercom. We had a large raid coming in. In a few moments I spotted a plane headed inbound in my section (from midships port side to bow) and trained my sight on him. Evans, BM2c, from Louisiana, was setting range for me, and he was very good. I held my fire until the plane was well into his dive before I opened up. Evans was right on and we immediately started getting hits. I thought he would blow up any second, but he kept coming even though the tracers were going through the hub of the plane. When I started tracking, I could see the whole plane in the little round circle in my sight box, but soon I couldn't see the ends of his wings. I kept firing and in a few heartbeats I could only see the hub of the Zeke in my sight glass which, was approximately 5" square. About that time he pulled up and I could see a big fat bomb between the fixed landing gear. All I could think of was "This is it." I stiffened up waiting for the impact. When no explosion sounded, I sighed in relief and looked around. The ship's bugler was standing behind me with a cigar in his outstretched hand. I asked him what it was for and he said "For shooting that Zero down." I said "For shooting him down? I thought he was gonna drop that bomb in my lap" but the bugler said I had shot his right wing off, making him flip and just clearing the mast just above our heads.
In a few moments another plane was diving in the same position on the starboard side. My pal, Skibo, was shooting number one 40mm mount but wasn't having much luck. I glanced over to the forward part of the bridge and noticed that the skipper. Captain Settle, had taken the wheel and was watching the plane approach. Suddenly the captain gave a full left rudder that seemed to pick up the bow and shove it over to port just as the plane dropped his bomb. It hit where we had been just seconds before. That was when I really came to understand what a great naval officer we had in control of our ship.
When the plane dropped his bomb, he shot across the ship doing a half-roll. I tried to get on him but couldn't until he was about 2,000 yards out. He banked and seemed to go straight up. I fired a few rounds but missed. He went into a small cloud overhead and I tried to follow him but he shot out the other side, went back over to our starboard side and crashed into a battlewagon. Two or three more planes were shot down with little damage to our task force. This little country boy from Georgia was beginning to see some real action, and I wasn’t sure it was all fun.
January 6th, 1945, Luzon, Lingayen Gulf. We had a large air raid of approximately 75 planes. Our fighter planes intercepted and shot down about fifty, but the others came on in for the attack. Four of our ships took suicide hits and we shot down about 20 of the planes.
When the raid ended we started back out to sea. The word was passed to cut power on all guns. When we did this, and the motors cooled down, it would take about a minute and a half to warm them up enough for the remote controls to work the guns properly. My gun captain, Cab Marshall (BM1c from Michigan, a real pal and much of a man) and I had secretly decided some time earlier that I would keep my current on so that if a sneaker came in we would be ready. This time it paid off. Cab screamed over my head set "Bill, look off the port bow." I was on the plane and firing by the time Cab got the words out. The plane was diving on a British cruiser just ahead of us. I fired about a dozen rounds and made a direct hit. The wings came off and the plane flew into three or four pieces. Lt. Eager said "Nobody else can claim that kill, you were the only one who fired." He didn't know our power secret. I think my mount might have gotten one of the earlier ones also.
On January 7th and 8th, we had air raids by suicide planes. We shot down several and two or three of our ships got hit each day. The Portland seemed to have a lucky charm. We got by without a plane crashing into us, although we had several near-misses and were strafed several time as they dived in. I know that the good Lord was watching over us, and we had such a wonderful and outstanding skipper. He would take the wheel and put the ship in a tight figure eight at full speed, and we always seemed to make it through. Sometimes the planes would crash so close to the ship that it would splash water and oil on the gun crews.
On January 10th we came back into Lingayen Gulf to support the troops ashore. We had two big raids by suicide planes which hit two or three ships near us. We shot down several of the planes. At one time it looked like every ship in the force (approximately 28) had caught suicide hits and were burning except us. Several planes dived at us but were either shot down or missed. Thanks to the good Lord and the smart maneuvering by Capt. Settle, we survived another day. The action was plenty rugged that day and believe me we were happy to pull out of there alive that night.
On January 17th, we were again in the Lingayen Gulf to furnish "call fire" for the troops on the beach. Since my battle station was on the edge of the bridge, near the radio shack, I could hear most of the calls come in. I especially tried to listen for our ship's code name, "Blue Bird." Our scout planes were out spotting for our main battery. The pilots, who were real dare devils, always flew low and did good spotting for us. They came in many times with small caliber rifle bullet holes through the wings, etc. as the Japanese troops would try to get them with small arms. I often heard other ships talking to their pilots, telling them to "get down low, like the Blue Bird pilots."
Our gunnery officer, Commander West, was very good and also loved a challenge. He had the ship pull out away from the rest of the force and a good long way from the beach. He elevated the main battery almost straight up and lobbed the shells just over the mountains. Because of this clever strategy and the fine spotting of our pilots, we were credited with destroying several thousand enemy troops.
February 16, 1945. This morning we bombarded Corregidor and then stood by and watched the Army land low-jumping paratroopers. Heavy and medium bombers worked the beach over before the troops started jumping. They put on quite a show. Those guys really knew what they were doing.
It's March 17 and I am 22 years old today. We're in Ulithi and a long way from home. At times I wonder if I’ll ever see it again.
March 24. Okinawa. A strange looking island. I kept wondering what the horseshoe shaped objects were on the hillsides. Someone said they were burial tombs. On the 25th we started six days of bombarding Okinawa and fighting off dive bombers, strafers and suicide planes. We landed both Marine and Army troops. During this time I was too busy to make notes. Several of the suicide planes crashed into some of our ships, but again the Portland was spared, thanks to the good Lord and our captain. He continued to out-maneuver the suicide planes.
I heard Commander West ask the skipper "Captain, how do you expect my men to hit those planes when you keep rolling the ship so?" The captain answered, "Just do the best you can, I’m going to take care of my boys."
We shot down quite a few planes with our AA guns and the fighter patrol also took a large number. The task force has also been under attack by midget submarines. One day one popped out of the water just in front of our ship. After he fired his fish at the ship ahead of us, the skipper tried to ram him but our bow just missed. He came along our starboard side, too close for the big guns to bear on him. One of our 20mm gunners gave him a working over and a destroyer came over and finished him off with depth charges after he had gone under.
April 2nd. After being up all night under continuous air attack, we had another big raid at dawn by dive bombers and suicide planes. Several of the planes were shot down and only a few of our ships have taken hits so far.
April 5th. The heaviest raid we have experienced here to date. Planes came in continually from 1500 hours until late at night. Our task force shot down 417 enemy planes with carrier patrol planes and AA fire. Four or five neighboring ships took hits.
April 12th. We had an early morning raid by a small number of planes. All were shot down. One made a suicide attempt on the Portland, a very near miss. In the middle of the afternoon we had another very heavy air raid. Eighty three planes were destroyed by our ships and planes. Eleven of our ships were hit, one sank. During the raid, four enemy planes made suicide attempts on the Portland, but all missed. Those were the ones we didn’t shoot down. They were like bees swarming around us for a while.
After the action slowed down a little, ships were burning all around us and AA smoke was everywhere. Suddenly Cab Marshall shouted "Port beam, Bill!" A plane was banking about 300 yards out, just over the water, getting ready to come in on us. Matthew (my partner in the sight at that time) and I fired and shattered the cockpit. The plane did a flip and hit the water, the skipper had come around to the back of the bridge and was standing behind us while we were firing. As I looked back over my shoulder he said "Good shootin' son! Damn good shootin!" Such high praise coming from the skipper made me feel very good.
On the same night, just at dusk, we had tight air raids. Several of our ships had taken hits by bombs, torpedoes or suicide planes and everyone was still "shook up." After dark, a Japanese plane came over and dropped about a dozen flares. You could read a newspaper by them. Sky control shouted "Watch out for dive bombers." I felt like my legs had turned to jelly and I could hardly speak. I knew we were in the spotlight and we couldn't see a thing outside the lighted circle. About that time something hit the bow of the ship. We could feel the vibration of it all over. Later we learned that it was a torpedo which failed to explode. Three or four others just missed us at the same time. The good Lord was
watching over us again. I guess I’ve never been so scared in my life. I surely thought my number was up that day.
On April 15th we bombarded le Shima (Ernie Pyle was killed here) and the next day furnished cover fire for troops landing. We had air raids all day. Eighty nine planes were downed by our carrier fighter planes and AA fire. Seven of our ships were hit with one sinking.
We left Okinawa on April 20th for Ulithi, then returned on May 8th for more coveringfire and patrolling, then left again on June 17th.
June 20th. Back in Leyte Gulf. Had a recreation party on the beach, received some mail and got to watch a few movies and a few days’ rest.
August 6th. Back at Okinawa getting ready for the invasion of Japan. On August 10th while at Buckner Bay, Okinawa, we had the first news of peace treaty talks with Japan. On the 11th another air raid. A battleship anchored just ahead of us was torpedoed and on the night of August 12th, two troop ships were hit by suicide planes.
August 15th while anchored in Buckner Bay we received word of the Japanese surrender at approximately 0800 hours. HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN.
OKINAWA OPERATIONS Vol. I, pp. 81-82
Vincent McNamara
During the Okinawa campaign in the spring of 1945 we had a two-man Jap submarine come up so close to the ship we couldn't depress our guns enough to bear on it. Needless to say, the Japs must have been surprised and they submerged immediately. We were all pretty keyed up and overly cautious. Shortly after, we were at General Quarters and an object that looked like a periscope was heading right for our ship. I was in sky control right above the bridge and the Recognition Officer in charge of lookouts. They reported what they thought was a periscope and I saw it too and shouted to Capt. Settle, "Captain, look." The Captain ordered a drastic turn and rang signals to the engine room. Yeoman Al Beaudoin was on the bride phones and said to Will Inkman down in the engine room "There's a torpedo coming right at us and we are going to be killed!" but he added "Don't worry, I’ll call your mother and tell her what happened." Poor Inkman, down below, fell off his stool and hit his head.
What the approaching thing turned out to be was a paravane locator but the flag had fallen off, so the thing passed right by. The Captain was embarrassed, I think, and hollered at me "That was no periscope your lookouts reported." He did not mention that I also yelled the message to him. Then he gave me a big smile that could wither you.
Another story - We spent a long time in the Philippines in the summer of 1945. Finally we were ordered to return to Okinawa and Captain Settle was promoted to Admiral and was transferred.
We received orders to get underway and leave the harbor at Leyte Gulf. I was OOD and told the captain, who was just new on the ship, that we had orders to get underway. Always before, Captain Settle had taken us out, but the new skipper said, "Well, go ahead." I nervously ordered the anchor pulled up and the engines ahead one-third.
I thought I had handled it rather well but the harbor was full of "bum boats" and it looked like we were going to run over quite a few of them, so I told the captain "Captain, we are going to hit a lot of those little boats." He was more mixed up that I was. He said "Well, do something!"
There was big steam whistle that had never been used, to my knowledge, all the time I was aboard. I grabbed the handle and pulled down real hard. There was a loud blast that would wake the dead and the "bum boats" scattered like leaves in a storm.
Somehow we made it to Okinawa and I received orders to go back for a change of duty. They were doubtful about releasing me as they said that I was the most experienced OOD on board at the time. They were truly in a desperate way, but let me leave when we left Okinawa. No more blasts from the steam whistle.
Vincent McNamara
During the Okinawa campaign in the spring of 1945 we had a two-man Jap submarine come up so close to the ship we couldn't depress our guns enough to bear on it. Needless to say, the Japs must have been surprised and they submerged immediately. We were all pretty keyed up and overly cautious. Shortly after, we were at General Quarters and an object that looked like a periscope was heading right for our ship. I was in sky control right above the bridge and the Recognition Officer in charge of lookouts. They reported what they thought was a periscope and I saw it too and shouted to Capt. Settle, "Captain, look." The Captain ordered a drastic turn and rang signals to the engine room. Yeoman Al Beaudoin was on the bride phones and said to Will Inkman down in the engine room "There's a torpedo coming right at us and we are going to be killed!" but he added "Don't worry, I’ll call your mother and tell her what happened." Poor Inkman, down below, fell off his stool and hit his head.
What the approaching thing turned out to be was a paravane locator but the flag had fallen off, so the thing passed right by. The Captain was embarrassed, I think, and hollered at me "That was no periscope your lookouts reported." He did not mention that I also yelled the message to him. Then he gave me a big smile that could wither you.
Another story - We spent a long time in the Philippines in the summer of 1945. Finally we were ordered to return to Okinawa and Captain Settle was promoted to Admiral and was transferred.
We received orders to get underway and leave the harbor at Leyte Gulf. I was OOD and told the captain, who was just new on the ship, that we had orders to get underway. Always before, Captain Settle had taken us out, but the new skipper said, "Well, go ahead." I nervously ordered the anchor pulled up and the engines ahead one-third.
I thought I had handled it rather well but the harbor was full of "bum boats" and it looked like we were going to run over quite a few of them, so I told the captain "Captain, we are going to hit a lot of those little boats." He was more mixed up that I was. He said "Well, do something!"
There was big steam whistle that had never been used, to my knowledge, all the time I was aboard. I grabbed the handle and pulled down real hard. There was a loud blast that would wake the dead and the "bum boats" scattered like leaves in a storm.
Somehow we made it to Okinawa and I received orders to go back for a change of duty. They were doubtful about releasing me as they said that I was the most experienced OOD on board at the time. They were truly in a desperate way, but let me leave when we left Okinawa. No more blasts from the steam whistle.
GOURMET BABY FOOD
Vince McNamara Vol II. p. 108
At Okinawa a Navy officer stationed on the beach came aboard for a few hours and I got to talking with him while we were eating. He was in charge of a bunch that were fighting in foxholes or whatever they used over there. He wanted to buy some candy bars, soap and other things like that, but the man in charge of the ship store said that he could not sell things to him. A bunch of us decided that that was Navy "BS" from the word go, so we bought boxes of candy bars and the other things that those poor guys wanted so desperately. They were living on K-rations and, while not starving, were very unhappy about no other food.
Al Beaudoin had been writing to his mother telling her that he was starving because our food was so bad. His mother evidently had visions of Al looking like the survivors of a prison camp and being a walking skeleton. She bought a large quantity of jars of baby food and sent them to him. While Al might not have had the kind of food he wanted, he certainly was not starving and the baby food was about ready to be thrown overboard, so we put it all in a pillowcase and this fellow, Loren Holder, took it back to the beach for his men.
After the war, I again met Loren back in Minneapolis and we had many parties together. I wondered what had happened to our baby food and he told me that it was like prime ribs to the men in his outfit. They gobbled up every bit plus the candy bars and other things we managed to get for them. Al's baby food was a life saver, although not to him.
Vince McNamara Vol II. p. 108
At Okinawa a Navy officer stationed on the beach came aboard for a few hours and I got to talking with him while we were eating. He was in charge of a bunch that were fighting in foxholes or whatever they used over there. He wanted to buy some candy bars, soap and other things like that, but the man in charge of the ship store said that he could not sell things to him. A bunch of us decided that that was Navy "BS" from the word go, so we bought boxes of candy bars and the other things that those poor guys wanted so desperately. They were living on K-rations and, while not starving, were very unhappy about no other food.
Al Beaudoin had been writing to his mother telling her that he was starving because our food was so bad. His mother evidently had visions of Al looking like the survivors of a prison camp and being a walking skeleton. She bought a large quantity of jars of baby food and sent them to him. While Al might not have had the kind of food he wanted, he certainly was not starving and the baby food was about ready to be thrown overboard, so we put it all in a pillowcase and this fellow, Loren Holder, took it back to the beach for his men.
After the war, I again met Loren back in Minneapolis and we had many parties together. I wondered what had happened to our baby food and he told me that it was like prime ribs to the men in his outfit. They gobbled up every bit plus the candy bars and other things we managed to get for them. Al's baby food was a life saver, although not to him.
SCRATCH ONE TARGET Vol. I, pp. 82-84
George Reif
I am reminded of a small incident off Okinawa in early 1945. We were underway offshore after being called off daily bombardment assignment after the landings at about 0200 hours. The night was pitch black due to a high overcast. I was at my Condition 3 station in the forward anti-aircraft director. My job was range finder operator and, because of the extreme darkness, was dozing at my station.
Over my sound-power phones came the message that a "bogey" had been picked up on the bed-spring radar at about 50,000 yards, coming in on the aft starboard side. A few minutes passed by, then another report that it was still approaching at about 40,000 yards and about 5,000 feet high. Further readings were given at about 35,000 down to 24,000 yards. At this point the director officer ordered the ranging radar to see what it could pick up and the director crew was alerted to point in the direction of the incoming bogey.
After a few minutes, it was apparent that the ranging radar was not picking up the target. At about 14,000 yards the director officer asked me to see what I could find in my range finder, which had both a 12 power and 24 power field. At the 12 power setting, I was able to see a tiny star like blue light in the area and told the trainer and elevation operators to put their cross-hairs on the light. Cranking the range finder to its 24 field, I shot a range on the target and sent it to the range keeper. He replied that it was a target moving as an airplane and that the range was closing from the starboard side.
The Director officer informed the Gun Boss that we had a target and a solution. We opened fire with the four 5 inch 25 caliber guns on the starboard side and sent out about 12 or 13 shells and in the darkness observed a large yellow explosion as the seventh shell blew it out of the sky. It was taken as an enemy aircraft since no proper IFF was indicated at the time and another "Rising Sun" was painted on the bridge. The Captain came on the phones and expressed "Well Done" to the people involved. A tribute to the well executed drill results of our 5 inch gun crews.
George Reif
I am reminded of a small incident off Okinawa in early 1945. We were underway offshore after being called off daily bombardment assignment after the landings at about 0200 hours. The night was pitch black due to a high overcast. I was at my Condition 3 station in the forward anti-aircraft director. My job was range finder operator and, because of the extreme darkness, was dozing at my station.
Over my sound-power phones came the message that a "bogey" had been picked up on the bed-spring radar at about 50,000 yards, coming in on the aft starboard side. A few minutes passed by, then another report that it was still approaching at about 40,000 yards and about 5,000 feet high. Further readings were given at about 35,000 down to 24,000 yards. At this point the director officer ordered the ranging radar to see what it could pick up and the director crew was alerted to point in the direction of the incoming bogey.
After a few minutes, it was apparent that the ranging radar was not picking up the target. At about 14,000 yards the director officer asked me to see what I could find in my range finder, which had both a 12 power and 24 power field. At the 12 power setting, I was able to see a tiny star like blue light in the area and told the trainer and elevation operators to put their cross-hairs on the light. Cranking the range finder to its 24 field, I shot a range on the target and sent it to the range keeper. He replied that it was a target moving as an airplane and that the range was closing from the starboard side.
The Director officer informed the Gun Boss that we had a target and a solution. We opened fire with the four 5 inch 25 caliber guns on the starboard side and sent out about 12 or 13 shells and in the darkness observed a large yellow explosion as the seventh shell blew it out of the sky. It was taken as an enemy aircraft since no proper IFF was indicated at the time and another "Rising Sun" was painted on the bridge. The Captain came on the phones and expressed "Well Done" to the people involved. A tribute to the well executed drill results of our 5 inch gun crews.
APRIL 12,1945 Vol. I, pp. 84-85
Paul Hupf, USMC
Barney Kliks has reminded me of the wild few minutes we lived through on April 12, 1945. One man deserves a great deal of credit for our success that day in downing several enemy aircraft for which Portland received a "well done" from the admiral. My general quarters station was in sky aft. John Haynie was the officer in command. As I recall, we were at sea in a huge circular formation because of the large number of aircraft which had left Kyushu that day for Okinawa. My recollection is somewhat hazy as to the time of day but I believe it to have been early afternoon. The sky was filled with cumulus clouds which were low but which permitted some sunlight to shine through. I believe the Tennessee was on our port bow. As all of the gun crew and director stations were required to do, the skies were constantly scanned. I recall sky aft being trained to port. The initial set up at general quarters was for sky aft to control the boat deck guns and sky forward to control the
hangar deck guns.
Suddenly I observed what I recall to have been eight aircraft at perhaps 10,000 yards. John Haynie, who had glasses, identified them as enemy aircraft almost as soon as they dropped below the cloud cover. The trainer in sky aft was a 4th division man whose name I believe
was Maclin. (ed. note: S. T. Macklin, BM2/c. Died 11.14.76)
I no longer remember the name of the pointer or any of the others in the director. John Haynie observed "there they are." I recall Macklin saying "I have them" and the pointer saying the same, all occurring very quickly after the sighting. We also had a quick solution. John Haynie, as he was authorized to do without advising the bridge, gave the command to commence firing. I was on the phone circuit with sky control. If I recall correctly, the hangar deck guns were shifted to sky aft because we were firing. The 40's and 20's followed almost immediately. At some point, one or more of the of the planes that chose the Portland as a target closed inside the effective range of the 5" guns and Haynie gave the order to cease fire. The 20's and 40's were still firing. I opened the hatch on my side of the director and saw what I took to be a Zeke closer than I ever wished to see a Kamikaze aircraft. All I could see was the circular cowling with the underslung wing coming at the Portland on the port quarter. That plane had to have been splashed by the 20's or the 40's. If I recall, the Tennessee took two or three hits from the aircraft that chose her as a target.
John Haynie, in my opinion, deserves a great deal of credit for having acted promptly and correctly in a situation which permitted no room for error. As the years have passed since that day it occurred to me that perhaps very few people know, or even knew at the time, how alert the sky aft crew was, particularly John Haynie. As I also reflected, the men in the gun crews in open mounts displayed extraordinary courage to remain on station, particularly when confronted with a strong possibility that the plane might have achieved its objective.
There are pictures in Admiral Morrison's volume "Victory in the Pacific" of the Tennessee taking hits which it suffered that day. They appear to have been taken from its starboard side and aft of the Tennessee midship. I have often wondered where the photographer was who took those pictures.
MANICURE OR?
Barney Kliks Vol II., pp. 105-106
During one of the heavy raids in April, 1945 we were in the company of a rather new, white Australian heavy cruiser. I do not remember whether she was the Australia or the Canberra. Anyway, she came in without camouflage, guns all pointed dead ahead, etc. as if she were on parade. Then we had a "flash red, control green" and all hell broke loose. She took one, possibly two hits and her stack was clipped off. She suffered a number of casualties and we offered to help them. Her gallant captain said in a message "Sorry, Yank, we were unable to be of much help but we kept a couple of the bastards off your back." He then added "How do you like our manicure?" I remember Captain Settle called me to have the following message sent "Your 'manicure' looks more like a circumcision to us."
That night I was way up in "Spot 1" connected by sound-powered phones to riflemen looking for suicide swimmers or floating mines when I heard the tragic wail of the bagpipes and the "plop, plop, plop" as they buried their dead. That tune haunted me so badly that when I heard it again in a restaurant in England tears came to my eyes and I did not know why. The piper told me that I must have served with the British forces and that it was "Amazing Grace" and is usually played when they bury their dead. The mind works strangely at times, doesn't it?
I have since learned that the ship was HMAS Shropshire.
Barney Kliks Vol II., pp. 105-106
During one of the heavy raids in April, 1945 we were in the company of a rather new, white Australian heavy cruiser. I do not remember whether she was the Australia or the Canberra. Anyway, she came in without camouflage, guns all pointed dead ahead, etc. as if she were on parade. Then we had a "flash red, control green" and all hell broke loose. She took one, possibly two hits and her stack was clipped off. She suffered a number of casualties and we offered to help them. Her gallant captain said in a message "Sorry, Yank, we were unable to be of much help but we kept a couple of the bastards off your back." He then added "How do you like our manicure?" I remember Captain Settle called me to have the following message sent "Your 'manicure' looks more like a circumcision to us."
That night I was way up in "Spot 1" connected by sound-powered phones to riflemen looking for suicide swimmers or floating mines when I heard the tragic wail of the bagpipes and the "plop, plop, plop" as they buried their dead. That tune haunted me so badly that when I heard it again in a restaurant in England tears came to my eyes and I did not know why. The piper told me that I must have served with the British forces and that it was "Amazing Grace" and is usually played when they bury their dead. The mind works strangely at times, doesn't it?
I have since learned that the ship was HMAS Shropshire.
NEAR TRAGEDY Vol. I, pp. 85-86
Willie Partridge
It was in April. 1945, after the landings on Okinawa. Around noon one day, we were cruising along just off shore so our main battery could finish bombardment fire if and when called for. The anti-aircraft guns were at what was called condition one easy. This meant that we could relax, but must remain at battle stations and be ready to fire on short notice, since we were subject to attack by Japanese suicide planes at any time.
During this time Lt. Jim Engibous was in his plane on the port catapult, warming up and getting ready for launch for patrol duty or spotting for the main battery. The catapult was slightly aft and on the same level as the #2 40mm AA gun. Referred to as a "quad 40", this gun had four barrels and fired 480 rounds per minute (all tracers.) C. Matthews, from Oklahoma, and I were in Sight #2 doing the firing of the mount.
During our invasion of Okinawa, the Japanese had come up with a new wrinkle in their suicide missions. They would load one of their men with high explosives and put him in a steel drum and place the drum in the water trusting the tide to carry the drum out close to a ship. When close enough, the man would exit the drum near a ship and dive down to the screw or rudder and set off the charge hoping to cripple a ship as he went to meet his maker. We had orders to sink any drums that were spotted.
We were sitting on the gun taking it easy and listening to the gunfire on the beach, hoping our boys were winning. We had also noticed that the port catapult had trained out and the plane was revving up, but this would happen sometimes for practice, or the plane would not take off for some reason, so we didn't really know just what they were doing. About this time I spotted a drum approximately 2,000 yards off our port bow. I called my control officer on the phones and asked if he wanted us to sink the drum. He answered "Yes" so we turned the power on to the sight.
It took a couple of minutes to warm up so the gun would track correctly by remote control. When ready, I reported back to control and told him we were ready to fire. He said to go ahead. I set the range at 2,000 yards and told Matthews to fire. Just as he pulled the trigger, I happened to see the catapult officer launch the plane and it was headed straight in front of the gun barrels. I snatched Matthew's hand off the trigger and we only fired one round (or four, one from each barrel.) Jim saw the guns as they recoiled and he pulled back on the stick so hard that I believe the plane ripped loose from the carriage about half way to the butt plate.
The tracers went between the wings and just over Jim's head. He lost air speed so badly by going into such a quick climb that it took about two miles of wave clipping before he really got airborne. He made only one circle of the ship and came back in, landed, and came straight up to the gun mount and asked "What do you fellows have against me?"
We were, of course, very glad that nobody was hurt. Just another case of the good Lord watching over us. It was a mix-up in communications, neither of us knew the other was firing.
Willie Partridge
It was in April. 1945, after the landings on Okinawa. Around noon one day, we were cruising along just off shore so our main battery could finish bombardment fire if and when called for. The anti-aircraft guns were at what was called condition one easy. This meant that we could relax, but must remain at battle stations and be ready to fire on short notice, since we were subject to attack by Japanese suicide planes at any time.
During this time Lt. Jim Engibous was in his plane on the port catapult, warming up and getting ready for launch for patrol duty or spotting for the main battery. The catapult was slightly aft and on the same level as the #2 40mm AA gun. Referred to as a "quad 40", this gun had four barrels and fired 480 rounds per minute (all tracers.) C. Matthews, from Oklahoma, and I were in Sight #2 doing the firing of the mount.
During our invasion of Okinawa, the Japanese had come up with a new wrinkle in their suicide missions. They would load one of their men with high explosives and put him in a steel drum and place the drum in the water trusting the tide to carry the drum out close to a ship. When close enough, the man would exit the drum near a ship and dive down to the screw or rudder and set off the charge hoping to cripple a ship as he went to meet his maker. We had orders to sink any drums that were spotted.
We were sitting on the gun taking it easy and listening to the gunfire on the beach, hoping our boys were winning. We had also noticed that the port catapult had trained out and the plane was revving up, but this would happen sometimes for practice, or the plane would not take off for some reason, so we didn't really know just what they were doing. About this time I spotted a drum approximately 2,000 yards off our port bow. I called my control officer on the phones and asked if he wanted us to sink the drum. He answered "Yes" so we turned the power on to the sight.
It took a couple of minutes to warm up so the gun would track correctly by remote control. When ready, I reported back to control and told him we were ready to fire. He said to go ahead. I set the range at 2,000 yards and told Matthews to fire. Just as he pulled the trigger, I happened to see the catapult officer launch the plane and it was headed straight in front of the gun barrels. I snatched Matthew's hand off the trigger and we only fired one round (or four, one from each barrel.) Jim saw the guns as they recoiled and he pulled back on the stick so hard that I believe the plane ripped loose from the carriage about half way to the butt plate.
The tracers went between the wings and just over Jim's head. He lost air speed so badly by going into such a quick climb that it took about two miles of wave clipping before he really got airborne. He made only one circle of the ship and came back in, landed, and came straight up to the gun mount and asked "What do you fellows have against me?"
We were, of course, very glad that nobody was hurt. Just another case of the good Lord watching over us. It was a mix-up in communications, neither of us knew the other was firing.
ONE FULL LIEUTENANT Vol. I, p. 92
George Loock
The war was over. We had been designated as the flagship for Admiral Murray and ordered to proceed from Guam to Truk to accept the surrender of that Japanese base simultaneously with the big doings in Tokyo Bay.
As was the custom among engineering officers standing watch underway, it was my duty to temporarily relieve the engineering watch officer after I had eaten so that he could go topside to the wardroom for his meal.
On this particular occasion, Lt. Nuttall was standing watch in the number 1 engine room. After an especially delicious meal, I hastened to the engine room to relieve him. As I approached Lt. Nuttall, I smiled and, patting my stomach, said 'Tm a full lieutenant." (I was a "jg" at the time.) He said, "Gee, George, that's swell!" and took off for the wardroom.
Next day when I saw him in the Log Room, he expressed concern about his billet on the Portland because he knew that the Engineering Department officer rank had been met long ago. Naturally, when I said that I was a "full lieutenant" he assumed it was a promotion and not to my rank. He was visibly relieved because he had wrestled with the situation overnight and was wondering who would be transferred.
ON TO TRUK
Jim Young Vol II. pp. 112-113
During the latter part of August, 1945, we were swinging around the hook at anchor in Buckner Bay on the east side of Okinawa. Most of our work had been done and the Army and Marines were mopping up. It was an uneasy lull because the Kamikazes still came drifting in during the early morning or at dusk.
The reason for the lull was that we were waiting for orders to join another task force for an anti-shipping sweep off" the China coast prior to a proposed invasion of Japan - sometime.
About mid-morning one day, the boatswain's mate sounded the call for the Captain's gig (boat.) The Captain came rushing to the quarterdeck and departed in a big hurry. Later he returned to the ship and headed to his cabin. Shortly thereafter he came on the PA . system with the breathtaking announcement that a cease fire had been declared. He also stated that the ship was getting underway immediately. Our orders were to proceed to Guam, pick up Admiral Murray (ed. note: Vice Admiral George D. Murray) and proceed to Truk. There we were to accept the surrender of all Japanese forces in the southwestern Pacific area, on the same day and at the same time that the surrender ceremonies were to be held on the Missouri in Tokyo Bay. Wow! Were we elated!!
The morning we arrived at Truk, I had the anti-sub patrol flight duty. My main concern was that I wondered if all those forces on Truk had gotten the word that a cease fire was in effect and that we were not to be fired upon.
So, there we were, approaching an island that had been home to the Japanese fleet for decades and there had been no other foreign ships in the harbor for forty years!
We launched at dawn and proceeded to look for any subs and also eyed the terrain ashore for any movement or gunfire. It was the largest harbor I had ever seen. Surrounding the harbor was a low-lying ring of hills and a huge harbor entrance.
The flight was uneventful. We were recovered before the ship reached it's anchorage in the center of the harbor to await the arrival of the surrender party by boat. With one lone destroyer as our escort, it was a pretty bleak scene.
The ceremonies were held on the well-deck and dress whites was the uniform of the day. The Japanese officers who came aboard were also dressed in their best uniforms and were very grim faced. The visitors were directed to the table where the documents were in place and the signings were done in a terse manner with no smiles in evidence. It didn't take long for the exchange of signatures and they left unceremoniously with only the minimum of military courtesies.
After the documents were signed and the surrender party had left the ship we got underway for Guam to take the Admiral back. While there, we had a couple of days of R & R and got our orders back home.
WHITE SHOES?
Jim Young Vol II. p. 113
A day or two before we reached Truk for the surrender ceremonies, word was passed that in order to attend the ceremony on deck all hands must be in dress whites. This created a problem.
When packing to go aboard the "P" in Mare Island, I had decided that where we were going we sure as heck wouldn't need dress whites or dress blues. Besides, I had a full set of winter leather flight gear, fleece-lined, that consumed a great deal of packing space. So, I opted out of dress uniforms.
Well, now, that created another problem. I did not want to miss the ceremony on deck at any cost. My roommate, Dick Low, was about my size and he had an extra set of whites. One of the other guys had an extra cap cover. So far, so good. However I still lacked a pair of white shoes. Nobody had an extra pair in my size.
A sudden brainstorm occurred when I remembered that ship's stores had tennis shoes. Ah! That's the answer! however, upon getting the shoes they had about a one-inch black stripe circling the sole of the shoes.
Not to be deterred, I got some white paint from the paint locker and painted them knowing that overnight they should be dry.
The next morning the shoes looked great! Feeling rather smug about my transformation I got dressed and went up on deck to view the signing of the documents. It was a hot and muggy day...
Everything went swimmingly except that shortly after the ceremony began, I started feeling a strange sensation at my feet. Looking down, the paint was cracking off the shoes and leaving the outlines of my feet on the deck. Needless to say it was tough to stifle the guffaws until the ceremony concluded.
Jim Young Vol II. p. 113
A day or two before we reached Truk for the surrender ceremonies, word was passed that in order to attend the ceremony on deck all hands must be in dress whites. This created a problem.
When packing to go aboard the "P" in Mare Island, I had decided that where we were going we sure as heck wouldn't need dress whites or dress blues. Besides, I had a full set of winter leather flight gear, fleece-lined, that consumed a great deal of packing space. So, I opted out of dress uniforms.
Well, now, that created another problem. I did not want to miss the ceremony on deck at any cost. My roommate, Dick Low, was about my size and he had an extra set of whites. One of the other guys had an extra cap cover. So far, so good. However I still lacked a pair of white shoes. Nobody had an extra pair in my size.
A sudden brainstorm occurred when I remembered that ship's stores had tennis shoes. Ah! That's the answer! however, upon getting the shoes they had about a one-inch black stripe circling the sole of the shoes.
Not to be deterred, I got some white paint from the paint locker and painted them knowing that overnight they should be dry.
The next morning the shoes looked great! Feeling rather smug about my transformation I got dressed and went up on deck to view the signing of the documents. It was a hot and muggy day...
Everything went swimmingly except that shortly after the ceremony began, I started feeling a strange sensation at my feet. Looking down, the paint was cracking off the shoes and leaving the outlines of my feet on the deck. Needless to say it was tough to stifle the guffaws until the ceremony concluded.
USS PORTLAND Vol. I, p. 88
SURRENDER OF CAROLINES ACCEPTED AT TRUK
On September 2,1945 with the heavy cruiser USS Portland under the command of Captain Lyman A. Thackrey, U.S.N., as his flagship. Vice-Admiral George D. Murray, U.S.N. Commander Marianas, at 10:21 Tokyo Time (the same morning the surrender of Japan was being signed aboard the battleship USS Missouri) accepted the surrender of all Japanese held islands under the command of the Senior Japanese Imperial Forces based at Truk Atoll, Caroline Islands in behalf of Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, U.S.N., Commander in Chief of the U.S. Pacific fleet.
The Japanese signatories, Lt. General Shunzaburo Magikura, Commander of the 31st Imperial Japanese Army, and Vice-Admiral Chuichi Hara, Officer in Charge of the Imperial Japanese 4th fleet boarded the USS PORTLAND from their motor launch that sailed out of a cove from the bypassed, mysterious, once powerful, Truk. The launch was flying a white surrender flag.
The Japanese boarded the Portland without weapons, even Samurai swords were noticeably absent. They were escorted by a Marine guard to Admiral Murray's cabin where they received the official instructions and were given an opportunity to read the surrender terms. After agreeing to abide by all terms set forth in the surrender document the Japanese signatories, with their respective aides, were escorted to the quarter-deck for official signing of the surrender terms. Both military authorities had requested to sign individually since each had jurisdiction over several islands and neither had authority to sign for the other branch of the Japanese military organization.
At the signing table were Vice-Admiral George D. Murray, Captain N Cone; U.S.N., representing Commander Marshall-Gilbert Islands, Captain Oliver F. Naquin, U.S.N., Acting Chief of Staff for Commander Marianas, and Captain Lyman A. Thackrey. The two Japanese officers and their chiefs of staff and aides stood facing the surrender table. Then Lt. General Shunzaburo Magikura, Vice-Admiral Chuichi Hara and Mr. Alhara, Japanese civilian South Seas government representative, signed their names to the surrender document.
While the ceremony ending the reign of the Japanese in the central Pacific area was proceeding, the ship's company drawn up at general muster, dressed in neat white uniforms, looked on. The sober faces and immobility of the personnel witnessing the event, indicated that these men had not forgotten the deeds of the Japs or the fighting of the Kamikaze planes which were but a few hours back in their memories. These same Truk waters had been visited by the Portland early in 1942 when she escorted a carrier strike and then again in April of 1944 again screening carriers in a major bombing attack.
The color film below shows the Portland's crew being told the war is over and the surrender ceremonies that took place aboard ship a few days later.
Note: The historical background to the surrender of Truk is detailed in an article written shortly after the end of the war: Charles Stuart Blackton, "The Surrender of the Fortress Truk", Pacific Historical Review, Vol. 15, No. 4 (Dec., 1946), pp. 400-408.
A TRIBUTE TO "BUNKY"
Cdr. W. N. "Bunky" Schneider
Died June 23, 1989
There are but a very few who ever served aboard our proud ship that did not know "Bunky." He will always be remembered as the "Gedunk Man." Sam Perdue remembers: "We were pretty close when I had the machine shop just aft of the Gedunk stand. He always had problems with his mixers, freezers, etc. and of course I was always up there to help him out and getting a share of the goodies. I never had it so good. Bunky Schneider - first class guy – God Bless."
And Arthur Bently: "It was sad news to me to hear of Cdr. "Bunkie" Schneider passing away. He climbed the old "Jacobs Ladder" about as high as an enlisted man could and we should all be very proud to have known him. I became the ship's service electrician in 1942 and was paid an extra $10 a month to maintain the electrical machinery in the Gedunk stand (plus all the ice cream and coke that I wanted.) In the 3rd battle of Savo Island a 5 inch shell went through the Gedunk stand area and caused a lot of gray hairs but little damage to the stand.
Our biggest problem was getting the main ice machines back so all the food in cold storage would not spoil. It took us 3 days working around the clock while tied up in Tulagi to get them back in commission. That was the spirit of the "Sweet Pea" and her crew.
T.G.W."Tex" SETTLE, VADM USN (Ret.)
Joe Stables
In compiling the material for this book, I have found many references to Capt. Settle, the Portland's skipper during some of the ship's most trying days late in World War II. They have led me to conclude that dedicating a few pages to him is very much in order.
Capt. Settle came aboard while we were in Eniwetok, Marshall Islands, March 2, 1944. Heber Holbrook, in his "The History and Times of the U.S.S. Portland" says:
"On March 2, one of Portland's planes flew over to the cruiser flagship to pick up a passenger. Then it returned, landed and taxied up alongside Sweetpea and was brought aboard by crane.
Commander Guitar and the OOD, Lieutenant C. Bayliss, were there to greet the arriving passenger, 'Captain T.G.W. Settle, USN', who 'reported on board this vessel to assume command.'"
I remember very vividly the personnel and materiel inspections that followed in the next two or three days. It was very apparent that we had a skipper who was determined to know exactly what (and who) he was commanding. He was seen in areas rarely visited by the Captain. I also had the privilege of being his gig coxswain occasionally and remember his pleasant and relaxed manner with the boat crew.
Paul Hupf (USMC 1944-45) wrote: "Your reference to Capt. Settle causes me to comment that I believe him to be the finest commanding officer whom I was privileged to serve under. The alertness of the Portland and it's combat readiness at all times in connection with Kamikaze attacks is due in no small measure to the fact that he was captain of the Portland during the last year of the war. Visual identification of all aircraft in the air by gun crews and director personnel was a requirement imposed by him. It, in great measure was responsible for bringing us through unscathed on April 6, 1945 when 8 Kamikazes dropped down in the middle of the formation and were taken under fire by our 5" battery at maximum effective range. Some of those aircraft took the Tennessee (on our port bow) as a target and as I recall 4 chose the Portland. The entire anti-aircraft battery of the ship shared in splashing all 4. The Tennessee, not as vigilant, I think, took 3 hits. There were many unsung heroes that day. The state of readiness of the ship's personnel that day was due in great measure to our excellent captain."
And Chaplain Charles Iley remembers: "After one Kamikaze attack, I was in Captain Settle's cabin for a visit. He showed me a message fi-om the SOPA (Senior Officer Present Afloat): 'Hereafter Portland will remain in formation even while under attack.' Then he showed me his answer: '/ am responsible for this ship and her crew and when under attack I will operate it as I feel fit.' (emphasis added) Remember how he would scoot out of formation, get us up to 30 knots and when a Jap picked us out, he gave a hard rudder port or starboard? We never got hit like a lot of others in formation."
These are the things we saw and knew. Few of us, I think, were (and are) aware of his outstanding contributions in Lighter than Air. He made over 100 balloon flights including a 1929 world record for distance and time aloft, and a world's altitude record flight in November, 1933, in which he pioneered the use of sealed cabins and closed life-support systems as used in today's manned aircraft and space modules.
It was the first exposure of living organisms to conditions at the top of the atmosphere and the first serious study of high altitude radiation. He was, along with his assistant, Marine Maj. Chester L. Fordney, the first American in a space-equivalent environment. Their barograph indicated an altitude of 61,237 feet.
Following this flight he received a communication from Maxim Litvinoff, the Soviet Commissar for Aviation:
"Hearty congratulations on your great achievement. I am sure that your colleagues in the Soviet Union have watched with greatest interest, your flight. May both our countries continue to contest the heights in every sphere of science and technique."
Thus began the "Space Race," for a subsequent Soviet flight, soon after, reached 72,182 feet. However the crew perished when they crashed on landing. It was theorized that their flight was ordered by Stalin in spite of severe adverse weather, and that either misuse of their ballast or ice collecting on their gondola caused the crash.
In 1934, Settle was transferred to China where he took command of the river gunboat Palos, effectively ending his efforts at record setting. He continued his interest, however, ultimately serving as Training Officer and then Executive Officer at Lakehurst. His papers and studies were used at the Naval War College.
If those of us who served under him were admirers, it was mutual as evidenced by letters to some of our shipmates in later years. In one written to Barney Kliks he stated "I like (prefer) to be called Captain rather than Admiral by my old shipmates. While later flag billets were broader in scope, my skippership of Portland was the peak of my naval career.
To command in wartime, that splendid ship and her finest-of-all ship's companies was the best break an officer could have aspired to." And in another to Bart Babcock, 29 May, 1960, he wrote "Dear Babcock, Your letter is most heartwarming. You give me far too much credit, but I appreciate it. The Portland's fine crew and previous captains were responsible for her splendid performance throughout the war. I was fortunate in 'inheriting' a ship and ship's company second to none. It is my deepest satisfaction to believe that we 'kept her that way' during my command. There was never a finer or more gallant a man-of-war's fighting team than the Portland's."
I must agree.
Inside, back cover of We Remember
Back cover, We Remember