Name: Bob Seybold
email: seyboldr@yahoo.com
Story:
I was serving as MPA and was sitting in my office just an
hour and a half prior to an underway period. As all
of you prior crew already know, She normally steams in and
out of port using only four of Her eight boilers.
So into the office blasts my Boilers Officer and out of
his mouth came the following . . . "Sir, you're not going
to like this . . . . " I cut him off in mid sentence with
the following: "Then get the hell out of here and
don't come back until I will." He stopped dead, looked
at me with that deer in the headlights stare for a minute,
turned around and left. A few minutes later he came
back in and told me that number 5 boiler was hard down.
We discussed the issue and the time involved for the fix
and then I told him to accompany me to the bridge to tell
the Captain (Capt Katz). On the way I explained to
him that it wasn't the message so much as it was in the
delivery. We got to the bridge, I walked over to Capt.
Katz and said "Sir, I have some very good! news."
He asked what it was and I responded "We can safely get
under way with only seven boilers operational." He
looked at me a minute and then asked what the problem was
with the eighth boiler. To wit I sounded off "Funny
you should ask. . . ."
Name: William M. (Bill) Hathorn
email: mhathorn@ix.netcom.com
STORY:
The atom bomb was dropped in August of 1945 during my boot
training in San Diego. On completion of boot camp I went
to the amphibious base on Coronado for training in LCM and
LCVP landing craft. Since there was now no need to invade
Japan and the navy was moving toward a peacetime status
a group of us were loaded onto an APA as replacements for
the fifth fleet then on station in Tokyo Bay Japan.
The New Jersey had arrived a couple of weeks earlier to
relieve the Iowa as Flagship of the Fifth Fleet. As the
APA dropped anchor I came up on deck and for the first time
viewed both the New Jersey and the Iowa floating majestically
off Yokosuka, Japan with snow-capped Mt. Fugi rising in
the distance. What a sight! World War II had been over just
two months and seeing these great American battleships in
Japanese waters gave me a since of pride which is hard to
express. I never dreamed I would serve on one of them.
The next day I found myself standing on the teak deck of
the New Jersey, waiting for my billet assignment. Immediately
I detected a bit more “spit and polish” than I had encountered
on the APA or at the amphibious base. The officers and enlisted
men had their separate gangways. The officer’s starboard
forward and the enlisted men starboard aft. We mustered
on deck and a salty old chief with a clipboard and hash
marks all the way down his sleeve yelled out “Hathorn, William
report to the post office.” The post office? I had been
at sea three weeks and I already had mail on the New Jersey.
Impossible, and also where in hell was the post office?
I finally found the post office and then discovered that
this was my billet. I was pleased. Duty in the post office
was not bad duty for an 18-year-old S1C. I quickly settled
into the post office routine, casing incoming mail by division,
franking and bundling outgoing mail, making mail runs to
the beach, and “working the window”. The post office window
was a special challenge. The only adding machine was in
the supply office. During window transactions the only means
of computation was a pad and pencil or in your head. This
got pretty hairy with guys taking out money orders, buying
airmail stamps, shipping home Japanese rifles and Lord knows
whatever else they scrounged in Tokyo and Yokohama. It got
damned exciting at the end of the day to see if the money
taken in matched the stamps and money-orders given out.
I could see myself doing hard time in a navy brig somewhere.
With the thousands of dollars I handled each week I came
up short only once. The shortage was for twenty dollars,
which was a lot of money then. The officer and chief’s mail
was delivered to the wardroom and chief’s quarters. We also
took good care of the cook’s mail. I had mentioned the separate
gangways for officers and enlisted men. As enlisted men
we made our mail runs to the beach using the rear gangway.
On one occasion I needed transportation back to the ship
from the fleet post office in Yokosuka and the only boat
available was the Captain’s Gig. Of course, the Captain’s
Gig was covered so the occupants were not visible. Since
I was an enlisted man the coxswain attempted to deposit
me on the stern ladder, but since this was the Captain’s
Gig the O.D. kept waving him off and pointing to the forward
gangway. We finally docked at the platform of the forward
ladder. I doubt
that many seamen have boarded the New Jersey with “sideboys”on
the quarterdeck.
On the fantail of the WWII vintage New Jersey were catapults
holding two Seahawk spotter aircraft (seaplanes) with a
retrieval crane in between. The pilots who manned these
aircraft had a haunted look, very thin with sunken eyes.
I had a close look at them when they came for service at
the mail window. After watching a couple of the launching
exercises I understood why. At takeoff the pilots would
rev the engines to full throttle and at the proper moment
the planes would be catapulted off the stern. They would
sink momentarily as if going into the drink then, hopefully,
maintain enough lift to remain airborne. Those pilot’s lives
must have flashed before their eyes at every takeoff.
The retrieval process was about as exciting. These planes
would have to land at sea with waves often 6 to 10 feet.
The NJ would head into the wind making a sharp turn to starboard
or port thus leaving a giant slick in its wake. The planes
could then make a landing on this calmer water. The aircraft
would be winched aboard by the hoist on the stern. My GQ
battle station was in the flag-plot room. My duty was to
keep in radio contact with these pilots. On one occasion
I received a message from one of the pilots stating that
he was experiencing engine trouble and would have to attempt
an open sea landing. He gave me his location relative to
the ship and was able to land in a wave trough. We came
about, found him and brought the plane safely aboard.
I had a buddy from my hometown who was a quartermaster aboard
the New Jersey. When we were at sea and he was standing
a late night watch I would go to the bridge and he would
allow me to take the wheel. I would steer a little to starboard
and watch the compass react a degree or so and then I would
return to the original course.
What a thrill to feel that mighty ship in your hands,
if only for a minute or two. Any veteran who had a son has
been asked that famous question “what did you do in the
war daddy”? It’s a little hard to explain to an eight year
old you “fought the war” in the post office. He wanted to
hear that I manned one of those 16-inch guns. When my son
was a little older and we would see a picture of the New
Jersey I would tell him proudly “ when we were underway
I was once at the helm of that great ship” and wasn’t lying.
That impressed him.
I’m no war hero and never aspired to be one. During my naval
career I never heard a shot fired in anger. I have often
wondered about the men 2 to 10 years my senior who manned
these great ships during the height of WWII. They never
aspired to be heroes either, but many of them were. Unfortunately,
many of them are no longer with us. My hope has always been
that if their duty had been thrust upon me I would have
behaved as gallantly as they. I had the great privilege
to serve with many of those officers and men aboard the
USS New Jersey BB62.
Name: John (Jack) McDonald
E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net
Story: In April of 1944 Task Force 58.1 was
carrying out strikes against the Marshall Islands and the
Mariana Islands. I was Captain's Talker connected to 16
look - out stations throughout the ship on the JA phone
circuit. They'd report to me then I'd relay the messages
on a circuit to the entire bridge. This one particular morning
in early April the strike was against Kwajalein Atoll. We
were at General Quarters, it was still dark but just before
dawn. The lookout - aft yelled in the phone " Torpedo
wake dead astern " In a couple seconds I'd given the report
and at that very same time the whole starboard side of the
ship lit up. A Gunner on a 20 mm. opened up and scored a
direct hit. I believe the description of the plane was a
Japanese " Betty ".( Torpedo Bomber ) Captain Holden couldn't
say enough about the gunner's quick actions. The plane exploding
took our attention away from the torpedo but we were lucky
because it missed.
Jack Mc Donald N - Div.
Name: DON CARROLL
email: dcarroll@heartland.net
STORY:
In 1946 the Captain decided
that if you had a Star on you sleeve, you are a line
Officer, and thus should be able to "Con" the ship.
Now Aviators were
never much at sea going stuff, but we were called upon
to take our turn. My turn came as we were about
to enter Long Beach Harbor through an opening in the
breakwater. You have never seen such a scared
Naval Aviator in your life. I got us through,
but then the Captain said "OK lets see you go through
an "anchor procedure"
His Idea of dropping anchor
was to run parallel to the break water at 15 knots Drop
the stern hook order all stop and drop the bow anchor.
Then full astern to set forward anchor Very impressive
but sure as hell scary.
Don
Name: John (Jack) McDonald
E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net
Story: Philadelphia Navy Yard - - 1943
May / June." On our first " Sea Trial " after
commissioning ' 43 with a group of yard personnel and a
Pilot we backed out from the dock to Starboard into the
Delaware River.
The pilot did not order enough rudder angle so we dug into
the bank on the other side of the river. It was decided
that only minor or no damage was done to the propellers
so we continued with the exercise.
Later when we returned to port we went into drydock for
an overall inspection. A week or two later on our second
" Sea Trial " we had the same pilot. On our Starboard beam
was another dock, a utility type, narrow and on pilings
unoccupied. Backing out, the pilot remembering how he hit
the bank the first time gave the order " Right Full Rudder
." With too much rudder the Jersey hit that dock and caused
it to tilt at a very sharp angle. There was a " Head " at
the end of this dock and out ran a yard worker with his
pants at " Half Mast " It was a very serious incident
but sure caused quite a laugh on the bridge.
Jack Mc Donald QM 2/c
Jack E Mac
name: Robert F. Randall
email: rrandall@worldnet.att.net
story:
In late 1953 or early 1954 we were out on maneuvers with
the USS Missouri after serving in Korea. (We were on the
battleline when the announcement came over the sound system,
"Get a hundred miles away from the Korean coast." The truce
had been signed.) A member of the first division,
I was assigned to relieve the helm of the New Jersey. It
was my first time steering the battlewagon. I relieved the
helm somewhat apprehensively and settled down making minute
changes to stay on course. Unfortunately, steering aft requested
a shift to the starboard steering unit. I gave the word
"shift," putting the rudder amidships and flipped the switch
on the helm indicating the starboard steering unit. When
steering aft returned power to me the rudder indicators
were off five degrees. Instead of returning the power to
steering aft to align the rudder, I tried to overcompensate
and as a result the ship veered off course. The OOD sent
down to wake up another helmsman and I, thoroughly humiliated,
was relieved.
I had to endure the jibes of my shipmates
that I was "ol' - thirty - degrees - off - course - and
- a - half - mile - out - of - formation." Subsequently,
the Navy put me back on the wheel and I steered while the
ship entered harbors and refueled.
Name: John (Jack) McDonald
E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net
Story: I was assigned to the Jersey "43. In
April before her first commissioning. I requested and got
into "N" Div. During General Quarters I was Captains
Talker on the bridge -- Underway Station was Steering
Aft and my Fire Station was Upper Con. A memory I'll
have forever is that one time during a fire drill.
The Jersey was part of Task Force 58.3 and we were
starting the campaign against Saipan, Tinian, and
Guam. About 140 warships took part. The nine first line
battleships formed abreast of one another and the Jersey
was on the flank. Seas were running pretty good and from
Upper Con I looked on our port beam over the bows on all
nine ships with the waves breaking over their bows. I have
to think that never was there a sight like that or would
there ever be again.
Jack Mc Donald QM 2/c
Jack E Mac
Name: John (Jack) McDonald
E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net
Story: Truk Atoll, in the Caroline Islands was a Japanese
base much like Pearl Harbor. Task Force 58.3 mission was
to search for and destroy the Japanese Fleet. Trouble was
we couldn't locate them. At the end of April '44 we received
a report that their fleet had assembled at Truk Atoll.
We steamed at full speed for Truk to get in range for a
strike using our aircraft. We were detached from Task Force
58.3 -- Adm. Spruance, with his Flag on the Indianapolis,
Battleships Washington, So. Dakota, Iowa and the New Jersey.
Along with the first line Carriers. About 1500 hours we
were about 300 miles from Truk which would mean our planes,
with the fuel they carried, could get there and back with
about 15 minutes over targets. Even though it was late in
the day the decision was made to launch, knowing it would
be dark when the planes returned. At dusk our Destroyers
reported contacts with enemy Submarines. The order was given
NOT to light the Carriers for the returning planes to land
because of the contacts. It was decided for the planes to
ditch then a couple of destroyers would stay in the area
to pick up pilots the next morning.
We'd hear messages form the pilots just before they'd ditch
like " Tell my wife my last thoughts were of her " or "Get
a letter to my Wife and Kids, etc. etc. " After some of
these reports Adm. Spruance said "Light those Carriers".
I've often wondered if he was putting his head in a "Noose"
by over riding a General Order. The Japanese Fleet had left
Truk Atoll and the only targets were some merchant ships
and a few small naval auxiliaries, which were destroyed.
Seeing the Carriers lit for night landings was a beautiful
sight. Jack Mc Donald QM 2/c
Jack E Mac
Name: Ed Campbell
E-Mail: edcampbell@prodigy.net
Story: In late January or early February of 1969,
we were in Yokosuka, Japan. Port calls represent a
lot of things to a sailor; liberty, relaxation, rest (of
a kind only a sailor can appreciate, after spending the
previous six weeks working twenty hour days seven days a
week). They also represented a time to do those SLJ's
we really couldn't do underway. I was standing in
the ET shop with ET1 Rubin Thornton and ETN2 Barry Capelli.
At the time, I was a lowly ETN3 and worked for these two
gentlemen - and gentlemen they were albeit each with his
own wicked sense of humor. They were bantering back
and forth about what could be done when one of them came
up with the bright idea of checking for corrosion on the
antenna couplers. The ship was sporting the Communications
"E" on the stack and we took particular pride in the fact
we were the ones who maintained the equipment. For
the most part, checking for corrosion was "busy work" and
not an overwhelming challenge. It simply meant visiting
every radio antenna on the ship and visually inspecting
the connections. Most of the antennae were easily
accessible.....except one. That one was at the very
tip top of the Main Mast....some 200 feet above the Main
Deck.
Well, you might imagine, there was some discussion about
that; should we, could we, who's we..... It was finally
decided (and I don't really recall by whom but, Rubin was
the boss) that we'd all participate in this exciting opportunity.
The question was, how? Well, most of the way up was
a normal climb up through the various deck levels until
the very last deck and, from there it was a straight climb
up a rickety aluminum ladder. Oh, sure it was strong
enough but, it was somewhat flexible too and tended to sway
(ever so slightly) when you got about half way up the sixty
foot length. I could only imagine the thrill.
My knees were getting weak, just thinking about it.
Thankfully, Barry volunteered for that experience.
Rubin noted that we were alongside a pier that had a huge
crane. With a little discussion he managed to secure
us a ride in, what I thought was, a bucket. I carefully
noted it was steel and had solid sides, about waist high
as I thought, "I can do this". Rubin and I climbed
into this "bucket" and he gave the signal to begin taking
us up. The crane operator was very good and it didn't
feel any different than an average elevator ride.
My attention was focused on Barry, who was about half way
up the final ladder as the crane operator deftly brought
us up to the antenna. Barry was exuding bravado but,
I noticed he had his safety harness hooked to the ladder
and I felt better. "Campbell, look down!" "Thank
you, no. How does that coupler look?"
Rubin, on the other hand, in his own inimitable laconic
manner said, "Campbell, is your shoe untied?" If you've
ever had anyone say that to you, you know it's a reflex
to look at your shoes. I did....and nearly lost my
lunch. We were not in a "bucket". We were in
a "basket", with a grated steel floor. As I looked
at my shoes, I could see straight down, through the floor,
to the deck and pier two hundred feet below.
name: Leon Tucker Jr. QM, BB-62 9/87
- 11/90
email: ltucker5329@home.com
story: CLOSING THE BOOK ON THE BATTLESHIP NAVY
By JO2 Jonathan Annis
My last watches aboard USS New Jersey (BB-62) were on roving
patrol. It was late 1990 in Long Beach, California.
The Battleship was in drydock preparing for decommissioning
in a few months. The crew lived in barges nearby.
The only life left inside "Big J"s armored shell was in
memory. My watches were more than thorough.
For once, I took myself on a tour of just about every space
aboard, seeing them all for the last time; saying goodbye.
"Haunting" is probably the best word to
describe the experience. Systems that once hummed,
hissed and sweated lay still. Shrouded like a ghost
in plastic bags and brown paper. I couldn't be quiet.
The cold, metallic screech of every turn of a dog on a watertight
door was awesome. The hollow echoes of footfalls reverberated
down and back along the narrow, winding passageways.
For years, thousands of shouting men had
coursed through these same passageways like cells in a bloodstream.
The blare of the 1MC, the perpetual rumble of massive steam
engines, the signature thunder of the 16-inc guns all had
impressed upon me that this was a living, breathing thing.
The idea made it easier to give tours.
I would say the ship fired salvos in World War II, Korea,
Viet Nam and Beirut; the ship did this....the ship did that....I
was aboard when "this" happened. Catchy headlines
and colorful accounts by the press reinforced the idea,
personifying New Jersey with "Battleship Pride" or "Firing
in Anger." Lately we were hearing that the "Battleship
was dying".
That gave me something to think about in
the hushed bell of the Battleship. There, I sensed
a pervading feeling of sadness, not spooky at all.
This isn't going to make much sense to anyone who hasn't
been aboard a dying ship, but there I also realized the
sadness could only be my own.
When the Battleship "died" in February 1991,
the crew collectively mourned. As could be expected,
the press photographed long faces, tears et al. It
was all in the next days paper and, I would suppose, promptly
forgotten the day after by a majority of the public.
But what couldn't be photographed was that piece of New
Jersey that every sailor kept alive in their hearts and
minds. We knew each of us was part of something special
- we were the "BATTLESHIP NEW JERSEY (BB-62)".
Aboard USS Missouri (BB-63), that "other"
battleship we shared a pier and friendly rivalry with, I'm
sure some sailors had experiences much like my own.
Aboard 75 ships scheduled for decommissioning this year
you'll find even more. There will probably be quite
a few more of us in the next five years. Our ships
can be decommissioned, but we won't easily forget where
we invested a portion of the best years of our lives.
I know I won't.
(Ed Note: "Amen" to that.)
name: William M.(Bill) Hathorn
email: mhathorn@ix.netcom.com
story:
Christmas holidays were always a special time for my family
and me. I’ll have to admit, as an 18 year old kid attempting
to act like a man in the navy, I had some problems with
homesickness, especially at this time of year. I’m sure
these thoughts of home were shared be a large number of
the USS New Jersey crew.
It was December 1945 and World war II had been over just
three months. This was the first Christmas in 5 years that
the phrase “ peace on earth and goodwill toward men” would
not have a hollow ring to it. Christmas was just a few days
away and the USS New Jersey, on station in Tokyo bay as
flagship of the fifth fleet, had received very few packages
from home. We in the post office felt personally responsible
for their timely arrival . There was concern about where
all the ship’s packages were and if they would make it for
Christmas.
The New Jersey had received a large shipment of ditty bags*
made by the good ladies from the state of New Jersey. They
were filled with stationery, toilet articles, needles and
thread and etc. I thought it was nice that a lady in New
Jersey would give some stranger from Louisiana a gift because
he was stationed aboard a ship with her state’s name on
it. That’s the way this country operated during World
War II. This was truly a thoughtful gesture, but the crew
was still, hopefully, waiting for their packages from home.
To help the Christmas season along a large marine lieutenant.
with a large handle-bar mustache organized a caroling group
which I joined. The group was made up of 10 to 12 sailors
and marines with varying degrees of vocal and musical talent.
We rehearsed in one of the 5 inch gun turrets developing
a repertoire of carols and standard Christmas songs. We
started out pretty ragged but after a few rehearsals felt
we were ready to “hit the road” or to be more explicit the
passageways to develop a little “Christmas spirit” aboard
ship. We wandered around singing down one passageway and
up another and through officer’s country. Then the
marine lieutenant had a wild idea and said “ Let’s go “serenade”
admiral Tower”, the commander of the 5th fleet. Most of
us had never been in the rarefied atmosphere of an admiral’s
quarters with a marine orderly standing outside the
door. We stood at the entrance to the admiral’s quarters
singing and giving it all we had . In a few moments his
door opened and the admiral appeared. He let us finish the
carol then to our great surprise invited us in. There in
his pantry was his smiling Philippine chief steward dishing
up bowls of ice-cream with strawberries. A young S1c having
ice-cream and strawberries with the admiral? ONLY IN AMERICA!
Christmas was a couple of days away and no packages were
in sight. Morale aboard ship was sinking fast; and then,
Christmas eve morning we received a message from the fleet
P.O. in Yokosuka to come get a shipment of mail for the
NJ and come in something bigger than a whale boat. (we made
our normal mail runs in whale boats). That morning we headed
to the beach in a LCM with a cargo net and a 10 man working
party. You would not have believed the mountain of mail
sacks unless you had seen them. We finally got the sacks
loaded into the boat onto the cargo net. We then brought
the LCM to the stern of the NJ and using the crane on the
fantail lifted the cargo net filled with mail sacks
onto the deck. When we got all those sacks down to our work
area around the post office they extended from the deck
to the overhead. The passageway by the post office
was impassable. We had been congratulating ourselves on
how smart we were to use the cargo net and crane to get
all those mail sacks aboard but. as the sacks were opened
some of the packages were smashed with the contents rolling
about loose. Maybe they were torn apart during the long
trip from home, but we would never know.
It was Christmas eve afternoon and we were just beginning
to sort the packages by division. To get the job done by
Christmas morning we would have to work all night. The smashed
packages presented another problem. We gathered all the
loose items and package wrappers with names on them. These
loose items, canned goods, shaving lotion, candy, etc. were
distributed to those men who had wrappers addressed to them
but nothing left in the parcel. They didn’t receive what
their families sent but they did receive something. I’ll
have to say this made us feel pretty good.
At 0800 we began our mail call and by the time Christmas
chow was being served we had all the packages to the ship’s
company.
Oh, by the way, during the previous morning while we were
picking up the mail some Japanese beer and sake “mysteriously”
found its way into a couple of the mail sacks. On Christmas
eve, while we were sorting all those packages, “Santa’s
helpers” felt obliged to drink several toasts to “peace
on earth and goodwill toward men”.
The End
name: Christina Gorchinski
email: ciws_sweetie@hotmail.com
story:
In tribute to a man that I remember as a giant, but who
was, in the end, just a man. My father, ETC (SW) Gorchinski,
is remembered by his shipmates as a man who was there for
everyone, and would bend over backwards to help a sailor
in need. I just remember someone who let me stay up
past bedtime to watch "Star Wars". There are so many
who could tell stories I never knew about him, but they
hadn't, so I thought it important that his name be remembered
here. Now, as active duty Navy myself, having those
memories seems so much more important. People ask
me why I work so hard sometimes, where my drive comes from.
I know someone is watching with very high expectations.
Thanks Dad.
Name: John (Jack) McDonald
E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net
Story: Preparing for the main engagement of Saipan,
Tinian and Guam, The New Jersey, the Iowa and destroyers
were assigned to shell the main island - Saipan. Tinian
was only an airstrip and Guam was scheduled for a few days
later. Our orders were to fire star shells into the corn
fields on the western side of Saipan to confuse the Japanese
about which beaches our troops would land.
For two days we dumped star shells plus regular 5 in. and
16's. The Japanese main forces were on the Eastern side
and this caused them to split them. There was no resistance
from the Japanese Fleet so we went in close, destroyed the
airstrip and
hit other targets.
The morning of the third day 140 warships came over the
horizon. Our landing forces did great securing the island
having only light casualties. The Japanese told the Islanders
that if they were captured by the Americans they'd be tortured.
Whole families would hold hands and jump off high cliffs.
We set up loud speakers trying to stop the suicides. In
mopping up they stacked all the bodies on the beach and
doused them with acid. The New Jersey had just come to anchor
and the wind
was in our direction so we had to lift anchor and shift
our anchorage.
Three days later we were shelling Guam but it was a tougher
campaign
than Saipan.
Jack E Mac
name: LCDR Richard H. Kerr, USN, RET
email: usn4373@yahoo.com
story:
I was privileged to serve in the USS NEW JERSEY from pre-commissioning
1967 until it was again decommissioned in December 1969.
During my 30 years in the Navy I served in the Amphibs (an
LCT), a PC, a seaplane tender (Kenneth Whiting AV 14) and
two heavy cruisers, the Rochester and the St. Paul.
But of all my sea tours, the New Jersey was the most memorable.
I remember one humorous incident that happened during our
time on the gun line off Vietnam. My battle station
assignment was as a member of the Fast Action Recording
Team (FART), made up of myself, Lt Keith Wilcox, and CWO
Hyder, Ship's Secretary. We had access to radio contact
with the gun fire spotters on the beach and had to record
what the 16" inch shells hit and what damage was done.
One evening while I was at my station, we had a call from
the spotter, giving the coordinates, and asking the ship
to fire a spotting round for effect. We did.
We then asked him for damage assessment and his response
was "pretty good, you killed 10 water buffalo". We
got a large chuckle out of that.
I look forward to seeing many old shipmates in the up coming
reunion in 2002.
Reflections of a Blackshoe
by
VAdm Harold Koenig,USN (Ret)
I like the Navy.
I like standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with
salt
spray in my face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four
quarters of the globe - the ship beneath me feeling like a
living thing as her engines drive her through the sea.
I like the sounds of the Navy - the piercing trill
of the
boatswains pipe, the syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on
the quarterdeck, the harsh squawk of the 1MC and the strong
language and laughter of sailors at work.
I like the vessels of the Navy - nervous darting
destroyers,
plodding fleet auxiliaries, sleek submarines and steady solid
carriers.
I like the proud sonorous names of Navy capital ships:
Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, Coral Sea - memorials of great
battles won.
I like the lean angular names of Navy 'tin-cans':
Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy - mementos of
heroes who went before us.
I like the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside
speakers as we pull away from the oiler after refueling at sea.
I like liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port.
I even like all hands working parties as my ship fills herself
with the multitude of supplies both mundane and exotic which she
needs to cut her ties to the land and carry out her mission
anywhere on the globe where there is water to float her.
I like sailors, men from all parts of the land, farms of
the
Midwest, small towns of New England, from the cities, the
mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life.
I trust and depend on them as they trust and depend on me
- for professional
competence, for comradeship, for courage. In a word, they are
"shipmates."
I like the surge of adventure in my heart when the word
is passed "Now station the special sea and anchor detail
- all hands to quarters for leaving port", and I like the
infectious thrill of sighting home again, with the waving
hands of welcome
from family and friends waiting pierside.
The work is hard and dangerous, the going rough at times,
the parting
from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust
Navy
laughter, the 'all for one and one for all' philosophy of
the sea is
ever present.
I like the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's
work, as flying fish flit across the wave tops and
sunset gives way to night.
I like the feel of the Navy in darkness - the
masthead lights, the red and green navigation
lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of
radar
repeaters - they cut through the dusk and join with the
mirror of
stars overhead.
And I like drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises
large and small that tell me that my ship is alive
and well, and that my shipmates on watch will keep me safe.
I like quiet midwatches with the aroma of strong coffee
-
the lifeblood of the Navy - permeating everywhere.
And I like hectic watches when the exacting minuet of
haze-gray shapes racing at flank speed keeps all hands on
a razor
edge of alertness.
I like the sudden electricity of "General quarters,
general quarters, all hands man your battle stations", followed
by the hurried clamor of running feet on ladders and the
resounding thump of watertight doors as the ship transforms
herself in a few brief seconds from a peaceful workplace to a
weapon of war - ready for anything.
And I like the sight of space-age equipment manned by youngsters
clad in
dungarees and sound-powered phones that their grandfathers
would
still recognize.
I like the traditions of the Navy and the men and women
who
made them. I like the proud names of Navy heroes:
Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, John Paul Jones.
A sailor can find much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms, pride
in self and
country, mastery of the seaman's trade. An adolescent can
find adulthood.
In years to come, when sailors are home from the sea, they
will still remember with fondness and respect the ocean in all
its moods - the impossible shimmering mirror calm and the
storm-tossed green water surging over the bow. And then there
will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a faint echo of
engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright bunting of
signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty
laughter in the wardroom and chief's quarters and messdecks.
Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their
Navy
days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was
ever over the horizon.
Remembering this, they will stand taller and
say,
"I WAS A SAILOR ONCE. I WAS PART OF THE NAVY &
THE NAVY WILL
ALWAYS BE PART OF ME."
name: Robert F. Randall
email: rrandall@worldnet.att.net
story:
It was 1953 off the Korean coast and I was assigned to the
powder magazine five decks down under Turret 1. The message
came over the PA system: "Load all nine guns." We scrambled
to pull powder bags out of the cans, put them on a tray,
and push them to a scuttle. Through the scuttle the bags
then went up an elevator to be loaded into the breech of
one of the 16-inch cannon. The scuttlebutt was that the
New Jersey was waiting for a train to come through a tunnel
and then would unleash a barrage from all three 16-inch
turrets, a nine-gun salvo sending about nine tons of explosives
into the target. Excited, we all waited for the sound and
the shudder of the ship as three turrets of 16-inch guns
fired simultaneously. We waited and waited and then fell
asleep on the floor of the powder magazine thanks to the
fumes from the cans. Waking up with a headache the next
morning we heard the train never appeared!
name: gmg3 david j croft
email: stellar@saber.net
story:
I was the gun captain of the center gun of turret two when we had a loading
misshap. After having fired several rounds we were loading
another when the rammerman, anticipating my command a little
too early tried to ram the projectile before the cradle
was down completely causing the rear of the projectile to
hit the breach opening and slightly distorting the screws
. By orders of the turret captain I tried to close the breach
plug but the distortion wouldn't allow the plug to close.
Since we had fired several rounds against an enemy concentration
the gun was hot. We had to pull the powder bags out of the
bore before they cooked off. Being the gun captain I volunteered
to climb into the bore and pull them out, which I did one
by one until they were all out, and safely thrown into the
sea. As I was getting sick on deck from the residual gasses
the turret chief managed to file the breach screws back
down, where upon we tried the breach plug again and fortunately
this time the !
breach plug closed. We loaded another six bags, C.I.C. had another target
and off we went. Oddly enough years later, I heard news
of the Iowa's turret explosion on national news from the
turret chief of turret three; my 1969 rammerman.
name: Brent Myers
email: brent.myers@mchsi.com
story:
TROUBLED WATERS: Moonlit Reflections of a Beirut Nightwatch
by Brent R. Myers
© Copyright 1992
Ghost-gray, silent and calm.
For the first time since I had come up on watch I have a
chance to relax and take in the surreal atmosphere around
me. Strangely, the air seems almost unearthly somehow
despite the ever-present, pervading sea-scent. I take
in another luxurious breath of Mediterranean air, savoring
the ever-so-slight tingle of salt in my nostrils as the
pleasure smoker might thrill to the flavor of his first
deep drag on a long-awaited cigarette.
"Bridge, Combat: phone check." The familiar voice
rouses me abruptly from my reverie. I smile despite
myself. "Smitty, they got you on that radar again?"
"Hey, guess they figure why ruin a good thing! How's
it look up there, anyway?"
Ghost-gray, silent and calm.
How else can one describe it? The ship is almost aglow
in bright, chalky grey as if dusted in luminescent powder;
the full moon overhead announcing its presence as its softly
diffused brilliance engulfs rather than reflects off the
light-grey of our vessel. About us, only the occasional
lap of water or slap of a crest against the slow-moving
bow belie the presence of the brooding depths beneath.
The night envelops me, wrapping me in its comforting omnipresence.
Soothing and light as gossamer, it reveals itself infinite
and inconceptual as Time while palpable as the jewel sparkles
of the ghost-gray, watery medium on which we softly, gingerly
glide. A warm peace overwhelms me as the serenity
and quiet beauty enfold me. I feel strangely whole
and reborn, becoming one with the ethereal night and glinting
water.
I almost feel my fingers reach out to touch the shimmering pin-points
of bright moon-lit water as they play delicately, tenuously
across the near-smooth surface.
"It's quite a night up here," I whisper reverently, mesmerized
by the dancing, beckoning glints of moon luster. Strangely,
I find myself unable to avert my eyes as the sea continues
to flash its vibrant, silent speech in quiet exultation
of life as only it knows.
"Yeah, I don't doubt it," Smitty remarks. "I
heard the starboard lookout reported RPG fire again north
of Beirut International Airport."
A new voice breaks in. "Bridge, Starboard. That's
affirmative. Still going on, too. Man, but it's
somethin' to see!"
"Bridge, Aft-lookout. New contact bearing 193 degrees
relative, hull down on the horizon. Looks like an
LPH."
Tearing myself away from the wide, open portal I quickly
examine the dimly-lit tote board, squeezing my eyes shut
a couple times to dispel the early-morning weariness.
"Aft, Bridge--roger. Smitty, that should be the Guam."
"Roger that. Aft, what's her drift?"
"Oh," --and then a bit sheepishly, "uh, right bearing drift.
Sorry 'bout that."
"Hey, no problem."
"Yeah, that's her," Port-lookout suddenly confirms.
"I can just make out the '9' on her superstructure.
Best I can tell she's got a target angle of about 060."
"Don't worry 'bout that one, Port," Smitty warns.
"Best keep your eyes on that Russian AGI off about 210.
She's at left full rudder.
"Okay Myers, you ready for another mark?"
I chuckle. "Think you can read 'em off right this
time?"
"How you gonna know if you can't keep up?"
I stifle a chuckle, almost. The Officer of the Deck
glances my way in disapproval. "Stand-by," I answer
as I grab the grease pencil and shoot a glance at the Bridge
clock. As soon as the second hand finishes its sweep
we'll begin updating the bearings and ranges to the nearest
of the 40-plus warships in the area.
Without warning, the OOD orders, "Indicate revolutions and
come to new speed of 18 knots."
"Aye, aye sir. Indicating revolutions. Coming
to new speed of 18 knots," the Aft-helmsman briskly replies
in perfunctory staccato as he rings in the order.
The clear chimes of the aft-helm ring through the Bridge
as I relay the speed change to Smitty down in the giant
ship's Combat Engagement Center. The scope info will
have to wait. As anticipated, the next order is quick
in coming. "Right full rudder. Come to new course,
188."
As I relay the course change to Smitty, the huge bow of
the magnificent battleship with its twin turrets of 16-inch
guns begins to slowly swing to starboard. For the
first time this watch I see the shoreline of the dark, menacing
Lebanese coast come into view as the world around our ship
languorously continues to pivot. The sensation is
one of eerie motionlessness within a slowly rotating universe
of sheening water, starry sky and black silhouette coast.
And then, slowly unveiling, the lights of the night's fire-fight
flash and flicker before me.
There ashore, but five miles away, the land-bound battle rages on.
Vibrant pulses of light and fire animate the night in stark
beauty and drama, contrasting sharply with the reverent
peace of moments before. A sudden, intoxicating ecstasy
overwhelms me as I watch, mesmerized.
Though I know combatants and civilians are dying with each
explosion and muzzle-flash, not a sound of this reaches
us out here in the ghost-gray, ethereal realms of peaceful,
moon-bathed water. No cries of grief or pain, no yells
of rage or exultation, nothing to taint the battle's splendor
as it violently disrupts the night in awe-inspiring, soundless
flashes of bright, resplendent color.
"There," the bow-lookout exclaims, speaking for the first
time. "There it is! RPG fire!"
Quickly I scan the coastline in excited anticipation, as
are all within the sound of the lookout's voice. And
then, further north, I see them.
The beads of neon-red launch in rapid succession, rising
from the ground to slowly, almost lazily arc through space.
The rocket-propelled grenades--soundless and invisible save
for their brilliant, crimson exhausts--continue on, almost
appearing suspended in their doomed orbits against the impenetrable,
black backdrop of night. The launching ceases and
now thirty or more RPGs arc slowly through the sky like
a great string of ruby-red Christmas-tree lights flung heavenward.
The near semi-circle of brilliantly shimmering beads almost
too slowly approach--then pass their apogee and begin to
fall, never deviating from the suicidal trajectory of their
perfect arc.
Finally the first hits, instantly transforming into a blinding,
white flash of still-soundless destruction as the rest inexorably
follow in brilliant, explosive succession. The powerful
flashes blind me as they light up the surrounding hillside
in stark, white strobe. Then, their energies spent,
the night plunges again into black as complete as the silence
is eternal.
And it was beautiful, breathtaking.
As the next string of ruby beads rises into the ebony ether
above, I almost feel my fingers reach out to touch the shimmering
pin-points of bright light, troubled in the realization
that I have lost my longing for --
Ghost-gray, silent and calm.
name: George J. Stavros, RM1 67-69
email: georgepdx@juno.com
story:
When the Big J was recommissioned in 1968, it was a big
deal. We were the only active battleship in the world
and the first since the Korean War. So it was natural
we got a LOT of media attention everywhere we went.
When we got to the gun line off Vietnam in 1968, we soon
discovered that there was some understandable resentment
and jealousy among the crews of other ships. We heard
complaints when we were in Subic or Yokosuka from other
ship's crew about how they had been out there longer than
us and serving on small, uncomfortable tin cans and other
kinds of ships and WE were the ones who got all the ink
and broadcast time.
That was a legitimate gripe but of course we had nothing
to do with it. The media went after the unique or
big story and of course the Navy was pushing it for a lot
of obvious reasons. Some of the resentment and jealousy
took the form of good-natured ribbing, which leads to my
story.
Lt. Albi was the signal officer and the coolest junior officer
on the ship. Very down to earth, not full of himself,
respected the enlisted men. He also had a razor wit
and equally sharp and quick mind. This was proven
one night on the gunline when we were doing a modified steaming
watch while we occassionaly did harassment and interdiction
bombardment at free-fire zones. The USS Oklahoma City,
an 8-inch gun cruiser we often served with, was doing the
same thing several miles away from us.
During the midwatch, when junior officers like Lt. Albi
were the OOD, ships frequently break the tedium by sending
unofficial "OOD to OOD" flashing light messages which get
pretty informal because of the circumstances and no record
being kept. One night, Lt. Albi had the watch and
got such a message from the Oklahoma City OOD. It
read, "GDA (gun damage assessment or estimate of damage
caused by a Naval bombardment) last firing mission 10 NVA
trucks destroyed, 12 NVA KIA, 2 ammo bunkers destroyed.
Five-inch popguns."
Lt. Albi recognized the satirical intent of the other OOD
in adding the addendum, "Five-inch popguns" as a slap at
our 16-inch main battery and a subtle dig at our supposed
ego and self-importance. Lt. Albi calmly dictated
this reply to his signal bridge: "Last time cruiser
gave battleship any lip, GDA read, 'one cruiser sunk.'"
name: George J. Stavros RM1 67-69
email: georgepdx@juno.com
story:
The Big J was big news when she arrived at the gunline off
Vietnam in 1968 until she departed in 1969. Every
high-ranking officer with the pull to have or get his own
chopper managed to come calling, which is what led Captain
Snyder to have "Welcome to New Jersey International Airport"
painted across the helo deck on the fantail.
If you were of high enough rank, you got a personal tour
of the ship from Captain Snyder and if you happened to be
present during a fire mission, you were allowed the privilege
of firing a round of 16-inch gunfire.
Although the guns can be fired electrically from several
places in the ship, the most common location was the fire
control center deep below the main deck of the ship.
When such missions are being conducted, they are controlled
from "Triple-C", the Command and Control Center high above
the main deck.
One day, a 4-star Air Force general named Davis, the CINC
of all Pacific Air Forces, came aboard for the VIP tour.
Since we were doing a fire mission, Captain Snyder escorted
him to the fire control center below decks where he observed
the process of firing the 16-inch guns.
For those of you who have never seen it, there is a large
rectangular console that stands about waist-high in the
room. There are two handles very much like bycycle
handles but with triggers underneath them. The left-hand
trigger sounds the loud klaxon horn that blasts away all
over the outside of the ship warning anyone too close that
the main battery is about to fire. This is because
the noise from the guns being fired can damage ears and
anyone too close can be knocked down and injured by the
enormous concussion generated when the guns fire.
The right-hand trigger actually fires the guns. It
was explained to General Davis that the normal firing procedure
after receiving clearance to fire from Triple C and the
firing officer in fire control is to pull the left klaxon
horn trigger twice in one-second tugs and then to pull both
triggers simultaneously on the count of three. So
the process goes, "Whomp, Whomp, BAM!" General Davis
observed the procedure several times and then was invited
by Captain Snyder to fire the next round, which he happily
accepted.
General Davis gripped the trigger handles as instructed
and carefully placed the finger of his left and right hand
inside the trigger guard of each handle. Now I also
had the privilige one day of firing the guns thanks to a
friendly FTG on duty so I know what goes through your mind
as you stand there. You suddenly realize you are going
to pull a trigger, ignite up to 550 pounds of gunpowder
for each of up to 9 16-inch rifles that may be firing and
by that action launch up to 9 projectiles weighing as much
as 2,700 pounds each, which will then soar upwards of 30,000
feet and slam on target up to 23 miles away and blast open
huge craters hundreds of feet wide or penetrate up to 37
feet of reinforced concrete.
And you start getting a little nervous.
So after several minutes, the firing officer got the word
over the sound-powered phones from Triple-C to fire, pointed
at the General and said, "Shoot!" and General Davis pulled
the klaxton horn trigger ONCE and then the firing trigger,
so what was heard above decks was "Whomp, BAM"!
Now everyone knows when a firing mission is going on and
nobody is in a vulnerable position when the guns fire so
there was never any real possibility of anyone getting injured.
But the klaxton-firing sequence was not proper procedure.
It was not really a big deal so afterwards people were congratulating
the General on his unique feat when suddenly the intercom
came on and the voice of LCDR Allbee, the officer in charge
in Triple C, filled the room. "Fire Control, Triple
C: Who the hell fired that last shot?" The dead
silence, punctuated by nervous tittering, was broken by
Captain Snyder, who smiled and told the firing officer,
"Tell him."
"General Davis did, sir," said the firing officer.
Now there was dead silence from Triple C. After what
seemed like an eternity, the hum of the intercom filled
the room as the talk button was depressed and once again
LCDR Allbee's voice was heard: "Nice shot, General!"
name: shipserviceman 1st class Mark Shimko
email: gianttiregod@verizon.net
story:
It was the first time I saw the ship from the air it was
impressive but the real freeky feeling was when I stepped
off of the Helo after flying in off the coast of Beriut.
As I stepped off of the Helo I felt a weird feeling of being
one of an elite breed of sailor. (A BATTLESHIP SAILOR.)
If there is anyone who remembers me please contact
me at above e mail adress. Just remember always a BATTLESHIP
SAILOR. BLACKSHOE FOREVER
name: RM1 George J. Stavros Vietnam 67-69
email: georgepdx@juno.com
story:
Those of you who served aboard the Big J during Vietnam
know as well as I do what a magnificent CO Captain Snyder
is. With all his awesome responsibility, he always
took time and made an effort to show his appreciation to
his crew, especially the enlisted men. And his loyalty
to his ship and crew were legend.
In the famed "Familygrams" he wrote detailing our deployment
activities and adventures (which he had printed up and given
to every crew member to send home for their families) he
never failed to pay tribute to his crew and thank the families
for their sacrifice in giving up their men for so long to
serve the call to duty and cause of Freedom.
Rather than remain in officer's country or on the bridge,
he frequently ate chow in the mess hall with the crew and
sincerely took time to chat with them. I remember
one time he overheard a comment from a crewman about the
quality of the ship's laundry and seemed to pay it no mind.
But about 15 minutes after he finished chow (he stood in
line with the rest of us and waited his turn) the PA came
on there was this announcement: "Now the supply officer
lay up to the Captain's cabin on the double." The
laundry got markedly better.
But perhaps the most touching and largely unobserved tribute
to his dedication came when he suffered a hernia and rather
than leave his ship to fly to Japan for treatment, he stayed
aboard and had the ship's doctor perform the procedure.
Now Captain Snyder had a policy of celebrating crew birthdays
once a month by having the ship's baker prepare a sheet
cake with the name of every man who had a birthday that
month. Then just before noon chow, he would order
head-of-line privileges for each birthday boy and join them
at a reserved table in the mess hall. After chow,
he would personally cut the cake, making sure to give each
man the piece with his name on it and have the ship's photographer
record the event. (One of those photos is on the website).
He made sure every man got a copy of the photo and even
would sign it if asked.
Now when you have a hernia operation, you are in considerable
discomfort and some pain for several days afterward.
The LAST thing you should do is lift your legs to climb
over the hatches that separate the many compartments.
Captain Snyder's quarters were forward just near the bridge
and of course the mess hall was aft under the fantail past
Turret 3. I don't know the exact distance, but we
all know the ship is 887.5 feet from stem to stern and probably
that was at least a 600-foot walk for him (not even counting
the ladders he had to use to go down about 3-4 decks.
I'm not sure how many hatches he had to climb over coming
and going but it was probably easily in the dozens.
When it was time to celebrate the birthdays that month,
I was stunned to see Captain Snyder appear at the mess hall
as usual to celebrate with and honor his crew after having
climbed down ladders and over hatches and repeat it on the
way back. The pain and discomfort had to be excruciating
as he slowly climbed over each hatch and ladder. I
don't think many of the crew were aware of this example
and gesture of a Captain for his men but it is just one
of many reasons why J. Edward Snyder is as much an example
of loyalty, dedication, leadership and service as the ship
he had the honor to command.
name: Anthony S. Leanza GM-3
email: anthonysl519@cs.com
story:
...................Crawl through where!?..................................
I am a former 1st Division main battery gunners mate.....Viet Nam era....
We were in the stages of decommissioning the ship, back in 1969. The Chief
was looking for three small guys. So I being a small guy,
I was one of the three small guys selected for this interesting
job. As a small guy you expected to get all the jobs no
one else really wanted to do..a lot of the jobs in the turret
were in small restrictive spaces.......This job was no exception,
it entailed, crawling all the way through the gun from the
breech to the muzzle, and out, backwards, with a can
of grade two oil and a 4 inch paint brush. A line was tied
to our ankles, I guess in case we had to be hauled out,
and also an extension cord with a light, really needed that,
and someone was pulling up the slack as you backed out towards
the muzzle, they also tied rags around our knees and elbows
to save us from getting bruised up by the rifling
as we went through, ..you really had very limited space
in there to be swinging a brush around but eventually you
did get the job done. However after an examination,
afterwards by the Chief, with his trusty flashlight, he
saw some holidays in the rifling, the rifling was
very hard to cover completely, and to really be able to
see that it was indeed coated completely , since you were
like about six inches away from it, and have this glaring
light right there next to you, in your eyes. The rifling
is being blocked from your sight by the four inch
paint brush, too.... as you make your swings with it, and
being in the position you were in....... Well, you guessed
right all three of us had a repeat performance of this.
Afterwards the Chief re-examined it and was then satisfied
that it was done thoroughly, .....so if anyone ever asks
you if a man can crawl all the way through one of those
sixteen inch gun barrels you can say a definitive YES.....
I really love to relate this story to others simply to give them some
sense of how really huge these sixteen inch gun barrels
really were....A man can actually crawl al the way through.....
SEABAGS
Sweet memories........You guys that owned a seabag with
"backpack" straps, sailed on ships with air conditioning,
and had heads with "stalls", and a locker bigger than 2'
x 2' x 14" deep, underneath the bottom canvas rack,can't
really appreciate living out of a Seabag.
There was a time when everything you owned had to fit in
your sea bag. Remember those nasty rascals?
Fully packed, one of the suckers weighed more than the poor
devil hauling it. The damn things weighed a ton and
some idiot with an off-center sense of humor sewed
a carry handle on it to help you haul it. Hell, you could
bolt a handle on a Greyhound bus but it wouldn't make the
damn thing portable. The Army, Marines and Air Force
got footlockers and we got a big ole' canvas bag.
After you warped your spine jackassing the goofy thing through
a bus or train station, sat on it waiting for connecting
transportation and made folks mad because it was too damn
big to fit in any overhead rack on any bus, train and airplane
ever made, the contents looked like hell. All your gear
appeared to have come from bums who slept on park benches.
Traveling with a sea bag was something left over from the
"Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum" sailing ship days. Sailors
used to sleep in hammocks. So you stowed your issue in a
big canvas bag and lashed your hammock to it, hoisted it
on your shoulder and in effect moved your entire home and
complete inventory of earthly possessions from ship to ship.
I wouldn't say you traveled light because with one strap
it was a one-shoulder load that could torque your skeletal
frame and bust your ankles. It was like hauling a dead linebacker.
They wasted a lot of time in boot camp telling you how to
pack one of the suckers. There was an officially sanctioned
method of organization that you forgot after ten minutes
on the other side of the gate at Great Lakes or San Diego.
You got rid of a lot of issue gear when you went to the
SHIP. Did you ever know a tin-can sailor who had a raincoat?
A flat hat? One of those nut hugger knit swimsuits? How
bout those roll your own neckerchiefs... The ones the girls
in a good Naval tailor shop would cut down and sew into
a 'greasy snake' for two bucks?
Within six months, every fleet sailor was down to one set
of dress blues, port and starboard undress blues and whites,
a couple of white hats, boots, shoes, assorted skivvies
a pea coat and three sets of bleached out dungarees. The
rest of your original issue was either in the pea coat locker,
lucky bag or had been reduced to wipe down rags in the paint
locker. Underway ships were not ships that allowed vast
accumulation of private gear.
Hobos who lived in discarded refrigerator crates could amass
greater loads of pack rat crap than fleet sailors. The confines
of a canvas back rack, side locker and a couple of bunk
bags did not allow one to live a Donald Trump existence.
Space and the going pay scale combined to make us envy the
lifestyle of a mud hut Ethiopian. We were the global equivalents
of nomadic Mongols without ponies to haul our stuff.
And after the rigid routine of boot camp we learned the
skill of random compression packing known by mothers world-wide
as 'cramming'. It is amazing what you can jam in to a space
no bigger than a breadbox if you pull a watch cap over a
boot and push it in with your foot. Of course, it looks
kinda weird when you pull it out but they never hold fashion
shows at sea and wrinkles added character to a salty appearance.
There was a four-hundred mile gap between the images on
recruiting posters and the actual appearance of sailors
at sea. It was not without justifiable reason that we were
called the tin-can Navy.
We operated on the premise that if ' Cleanliness was next
to Godliness', we must be next to the other end of that
spectrum... We looked like our clothing had been pressed
with a waffle iron and packed by a bulldozer. But
what in the hell did they expect from a bunch of jerks that
lived in the crews hole of a 2100 Fletcher Class can. After
awhile you got used to it... You got used to everything
you owned picking up and retaining that distinctive aroma...You
got used to old ladies on busses taking a couple of wrinkled
nose sniffs of your pea coat then getting up and finding
another seat...
Do they still issue sea bags? Can you still make five bucks
sitting up half the night drawing a ships picture on the
side of one of the damn things with black and white marking
pens that drive old master-at-arms into a 'rig for heart
attack' frenzy? Make their faces red.. The veins on their
neck bulge out... And yell, "What in God's name is that
all over your sea bag?"
"Artwork, Chief... It's like the work of Michelangelo...My
ship... Great huh?"
"Looks like some damn comic book..."
Here was a man with cobras tattooed on his arms... A skull
with a dagger through one eye and a ribbon reading ' DEATH
BEFORE SHORE DUTY' on his shoulder... Crossed anchors
with 'Subic Bay 1945' on the other shoulder... An eagle
on his chest and a full blown Chinese dragon peeking out
between the cheeks of his butt. If anyone was
an authority on stuff that looked like a comic book, it
had to be this E-7 sucker.
Sometimes I look at all the crap stacked in my garage, close
my eyes and smile, remembering a time when everything I
owned could be crammed into a canvas bag.
(Author Unknown)
Submitted by: John Croix, MMCS(SW), USN(ret)
*******************************************************************************
name: Samuel Flener
email: theflea98@hotmail.com
story:
I will say I had some of the best duty aboard the
Big J. Funny story don't say you would like to be
some where you may wind up there like I did..
I was in Roger Division down in Cuba ... me and another
sailor was working on one of sick bays doors.. we had it
off the hinges I told him I would like to be their as it
was the only place on the ship that has air-conditioning.
Well we had a fire in one of the engine rooms we had
to go to our fire station than they was going to move us
closer to the fire.. well in going down the steps I slipped
and fell my foot got under me and my ankle hit every step
going down.. Well there was a chief petty officer setting
in a chair and I fell right in his lap.. "And what did he
say to me. WHAT DID YOU DO FALL..If every I wanted
to hit any one it was than".. any way I was hobbling
to sick bay with a broken bone in my ankle the chief petty
officer didn't offer to help me he kept setting
their.. Any way the Captain came by on his way to the fire
he came over and put my arm around his neck and helped me
to sick bay.. And I was in sick bay 30 mins. after what
I had said I thank the captian for his help.. and yes I
forgave the chief. I got a walking cast put on.. The New
Jersey was good duty I was aboard from 1953 to 1955 I got
aboard on a high line in the Korean waters..
name: ANDREW ADAMS USN RET MCPO (MDV)
email: aadamsjr@cableone.net
story:
IN WW11 I WAS IN THE SEABEES I WAS STATIONED IN TRINIDAD
BWI WHEN THE KOREAN WAR STARTED AND MY YOUNGER BRO JOINED
THE NAVY AND WAS ASSIGNED TO THE NEW JERSEY ,SO I REQUESTED
TO CHANGE OVER TO THE SEA GOING NAVY WE WERE SENT TO BAYONNE
N.J. TO RE COMMISSION THE BIG J. MOST OF THE CREW WAS FROM
THE NEW YORK, NEW ENGLAND AREA, ALL OLD WW11 VETS WHO HAD
JOINED THE RESERVES AND THAT WAS A BITTER BUNCH OF MEN HOW
EVER WHEN IT CAME TIME TO GET TO THE BUSINESS AT HAND THEY
WENT TO WORK AND ALL US FIRST TIME SHIP BOARD SAILORS AND
RECRUITS WAS WHIP INTO BATTLE REDDINESS IN NO TIME AT ALL
BY THE TIME WE REACHED THE COMBAT AREA THOSE OLD RESERVES
HAD PUT THE FINISHING TOUCHES ON ALL US WE WERE READY FOR
TASK AT HAND THOSE OLD RESERVES WHIPPED US INTO SHAPE PRONTO
THOSE DAMN YANKEES KNEW FROM EXPERIENCE WHAT HAD TO BE DONE
. ILL NEVER FORGET THOSE GUYS THEY WERE A TOUGH BUNCH
BUT WE ALL SURVIVED EXCEPT FOR ONE POOR SAILOR THANKS TO
A GREAT CREW OF MEN GOD BLESS THEM ALL
R/S ANDREW ADAMS USN RET. (MDV)
WW11 KOREAN VIETNAM VET.
name: Phil Cramer
email: kcramer@wi.rr.com
story:
I'm not sure if anyone will ever read this story or not.
I was stationed on board the USS New Jersey (BB-62) from
November 1989 until it's decommissioning on February 8 1991.
I was a Damage Controlman Second Class at the time and the
work center supervisor for the C02/Filter shop. It
was a small space off Broadway.
During the decommissioning process it was my responsibility
to inspect all of the voids that the shipyard was cleaning
so we could put desicants in them and then seal them up.
One day I had to go into a space that was forward of the
FWD Emergency Generator room. It took some effort
to climb through all the knee knockers to get to where I
needed to go, so I was pretty tired when I got there.
I sat down for a second to catch my breath. I couldn't
see much because all the drop lights were already removed.
I shined my flashlight around and on one of the bulkheads
I saw where some one had written "On the way to Vietnam",
and the date 1968. I wrote right underneath it "Almost
Decommissioned, Dec 08 1990".
Chip Heald
Email:
chipster@intrex.net
Well, with only ONE story involving
Marines onboard, I've got one for you...
I reported onboard in July 88 as the
Marine Detachment (MARDET) administration chief. I'm not
sure when exactly this happened, but I think it was during
sea trials. We were in a pretty bad storm but, being onboard
the "Cadillac of the Fleet," we were taking the waves fairly
well (spoken from a land lover who had yet gained complete
control of his sea legs). I was even able to fall asleep.
However, all of a sudden, I was literally thrown from my
bunk, across the room (I was berthed in the secondary weapons
issue point room for the MARDET) and slammed into the large
weapons safe. I found myself LAYING ON THE WALL OF MY ROOM
when the alarm sounded for a "Security Alert." Shortly after
that, Marines burst into the room to get their weapons.
I asked, What the hell happened?" The reply was that an
alarm originating in either the Captain's stateroom or the
Officer's Mess was sounding.
I got dressed and the only thing I
thought to do was head for my office. When I arrived, everything
was in a pile in the middle of the room. Desks, computers,
files, everything. I thought we ran a ground or something.
I don't know how far the ship listed, but it must have been
bad to do this kind of damage.
Anyway, I finally heard what happened
from my fellow Marines. Apparently, and I can't prove this
at all but it makes sense to me, there was a relatively
inexperienced officer in charge on the bridge at that time.
The reason the "Big J" could handle large waves with ease
is that you are supposed to steer into a wave. That disperses
most of the wave to either side of the ship. Instead of
going from side-to-side, you go more up-and-down (remember,
I'm a Marine, NOT a true sailor, forgive me). What I heard
was that this officer steered us along side a wave and that
pushed us to one side considerably. What got the Marine's
involved in a Security Alert was that, apparently the listing
sent a model of the "Big J" crashing through it's alarm-protected
glass case, thus sending in the Marines.
I'll never forget that look on the
MARDET CO's face when he found out what caused the alarm...
Hurr, Alan E CIV PSNS/IMF, Code
960 [alan.e.hurr@navy.mil]
I was on board USS New Jersey BB-62
from 31 December 1968 to November 1969. I was a SA/SN at
the time in three different Divisions. I came to her in
the Tonkin Gulf by way of a chair lift between her and the
USS Passumpsic AO-107. I was one of two coming on board.
They other came back from emergency leave. He also got dunked
when the two ships narrowed their distance between each
other. After a coin flip he was first to go.
I became a Mess Cook in S-2 Division and served my term
of 4 months. They then transferred me to S-1 until July
when I was sent to the 2nd Division Deck Force after I drop
a 16" gun bore gage over the side in Long Beach Harbor before
we set sail on a Mid-Shipmen Cruise for the summer. In November
1969 I was transfer to the USS Prairie AD-15.
I have always been proud to serve onboard her and grateful
of the memories. I have all three books from that time frame.
Respectfully
Alan Hurr
Tool Mechanic Planner
CB-20, Central Tool Control
Code: 960, Shop: 06
Puget Sound Naval Shipyard
PH: 360-476-3221/3222
Richard Parker [rparker47@gmail.com]
My uncle CPO David E. Golden served
aboard USS New Jersey as a gunner's mate during the Vietnam
War. He retired from the Navy in the mid 1980s as
a CPO and passed away on 28 January 1994. He is buried
at the Chattanooga National Cemetery in Tennessee.
I appreciate any help you can give.
Thank you for your service.
Sincerely yours,
Dr. Richard D. Parker
Greensboro, NC
P.S. I used to live in Nashville, Tennessee.
I hope you have a good reunion there in a few weeks.
Julius.Marold@fe.navy.mil
Ed, I just wanted to pass on an
anecdote before it's lost forever:
When NJ made her last WESTPAC to
Pusan, I was a civilian tech rep (retired Chief ET) at MOTU-7
(Mobile Technical Unit) in Yokosuka, Japan.
I was assigned to ride the NJ from
Pusan down to Subic and conduct and antenna and EMI (ElectrMagnetic
Interference) survey for the ship. This would involve my
going aloft while underway. I was accustomed to that and
a battleship certainly wouldn't be bouncing around like
the three tin cans I had served on during my active duty
days. I was messing in the wardroom and when the officers
heard I'd be going aloft they wanted to know if I'd be going
up to the TACAN antenna. I told them I would and that elicited
the story that there was a plaque up under the TACAN antenna
and every new officer on board was required to go up there,
read the plaque, and report to the wardroom as to what it
said. I told them I'd be sure and read the plaque and verify
it was still up there. I also said I wouldn't divulge what
the plaque said but only confirm the accuracy of what it
said when told by those who had already been up there. As
I remember, it was pretty small (about one by three inches)
and said "Welcome aboard Ensign". Wonder if it's still up
there.
The last EMO on NJ was really super
and he wrote me up a really nice BZ in part for going out
on the port yardarm while enroute to Subic and finding a
broken connector that kept the port VHF whip antenna from
working.
Wishing you and all of the crew
fair winds and following seas.
J. J. Marold ETC USN(RET)
SPAWAR Facility Japan
Yokosuka, Japan
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