Fighting Tojo, Mussolini, and Juan Peron: The Battles of USS Boise/ ARA Nueve de Julio

August 12, 2015, 4:11 pm

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Seen here is the Brooklyn-class cruiser Boise (CL-47) on her commissioning day, August 12, 1938, at Pier 7, Naval Station Norfolk.   She was relocated that morning from Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company, where her keel was laid on April 1, 1935, and she was launched on December 1, 1936.  The photographic negative has sustained water and/or fungal damage since the photograph was taken  (Courtesy Sargeant Memorial Collection, Norfolk Public Library).

American fighting ships sometimes fight just one war during their existence, only to be scrapped after their service to the nation is complete.  Some are held in reserve in the event they have to fight another day, sometimes seeing service in more than one war.  Yorktown-class aircraft carriers such as USS Enterprise (CV-6) are a well-known example of the former, while Iowa-class battleships are prime examples of the latter.  Over the last century, because of government initiatives such as the Lend-Lease andForeign Military Sales (FMS) Programs, hundreds of former U.S. Navy ships have been transferred to foreign navies, and under their new masters some have fought battles under quite different circumstances than those experienced by Americans.  Our example for today is USS Boise (CL-47), a light cruiser built in Newport News, Virginia, and commissioned at Naval Station Norfolk on August 12, 1938.

USS Boise (CL-47) underway in 1938 (Navsource.org).

At the outbreak of hostilities with Japan just over five years later, Boise was near the Philippine island of Cebu on December 8, 1941 (local) after arriving in the area with a convoy four days earlier.  As a part of Task Force Five, she was one of the most modern ships in the Southwest Pacific theater at the time, but an accidental grounding in January 1942 resulted in a yard period spent at Mare Island that took her out of the action until June.  After returning to the Southwest Pacific, she took part in providing naval gunfire support for Marine Corps reinforcements taking part in the Guadalcanal Campaign, and conducted raids to draw away counterattacking Japanese forces.

During the Battle of Cape Esperance in October near Savo Island in the Solomons, Boise was one of four cruisers and five destroyers that intercepted and sank one Japanese cruiser and a destroyer as they attempted to bombard Henderson Field and shield a convoy resupplying their forces on Guadalcanal.  During the battle, she took a number of direct hits from Japanese cruisers and destroyers that killed over 100 Sailors and knocked out her forward three turrets, forcing her to withdraw back to the United States for repairs. 


USS Boise arrives at Philadelphia Navy Yard on November 19, 1942, after a month-long voyage from the Solomon Islands.  (Naval History and Heritage Command image via Navsource.org)

This overview shows the tremendous damage dealt Boise by seven direct hits, mostly from 8-inch Japanese shells, putting her forward turrets out of action and taking her out of the battle, and the war, until she left Philadelphia Naval Shipyard on March 20, 1943.   Bureau of Ships, War Damage Report No. 24, USS Boise (CL-47) Gunfire Damage, Savo Island 11-12 October, 1942 (NHHC/Hyperwar via Mike Green/ Navsource.org)

Because of her recuperative sojourn in America, a new mission awaited Boise after she left Philadelphia in March 1943, spending the summer and fall covering the allied landings in Sicily and on the Italian mainland in Taranto and Salerno before her orders took her back to the South Pacific, arriving in New Guinea at the end of the year. 

During the invasion of Sicily in July 1943. Boise (CL-47) fires on enemy forces near Gela, Sicily, 11 July 1943. Photo taken from LST-325. Note manned .50 caliber machine guns on several of the Army trucks embarked on the  Landing Ship, Tank (LST)'s deck, a precaution against German air attack. According to History of U.S. Naval Operations in World War II (Vol. IX, page 107), Boise's targets were enemy tanks. (National Archives via Navsource.org)

USS Boise (CL-47) shells the coast of New Guinea in early 1944. Photo is dated 10 February 1944, but may have been taken during the Madang-Alexishafen bombardment of 25-26 January 1944. This view looks forward on the starboard side from the midships 20mm gun gallery. Note tracers, which appear several feet in front of gun muzzles. Those from the four starboard side 5"/25 guns have a higher trajectory than the tracers fired from the forward 6"/47 gun turrets. Tracers from the 6-inch guns appear to wobble slightly (Naval History and Heritage Command image).

Boise spent a good part of 1944 lending gunfire support to a number of amphibious landings on the northern coast of New Guinea.  As the Japanese defense perimeter began to collapse back towards the Philippines, the cruiser followed it, covering the Battle of Morotai in what was then the Netherlands East Indies (Now Indonesia).

Anti-aircraft fire from ships of US Task Force, Lingayen Gulf, Luzon, Philippines on January 10, 1945, as seen from USS Boise (CL-47). (5/22/2014).

The last of her eleven battle stars were earned during General Douglas MacArthur's return to the Philippines at Leyte Gulf in October 1944, including participation in the last major battle between surface combatants in which aviation played no consequential part: The Battle of Surigao Strait.  The cruiser hosted Gen. MacArthur himself during the landings at Lingayen Gulf in January 1945, and again during a tour of the Central and Southern Philippines and Borneo in June.  Boise finally returned to the continental United States in July, undergoing overhaul and training activities in the San Pedro, California area until being dispatched to New York, where she was decommissioned on July 1, 1946.     

Boise Fights Again: Revolución Libertadora (1955-1958)

Although defense links between the American Navy and its Argentine counterpart stretch back to the Taft administration, the remainder of the Argentine military had closer historical links with Germany, and though the country remained neutral in both World War I and II, by the 1950s, the time was ripe for a diplomatic "reset," particularly after Argentina became a signatory of the Inter-American Treaty of Reciprocal Assistance (commonly known as the Rio Treaty) in 1947.  The necessity of keeping Latin American countries within the American sphere of influence as the Truman Doctrine crystalized, not to mention the surfeit of war material on both coasts, were also important reasons for America to eclipse Britain as Argentina's largest naval supplier after the war.   From 1941 to 1954, American-made warships in the Argentine Navy had gone from just two to 46, ballooning from just 4.4 percent of the fleet to 57.5 percent.  Meanwhile, the British-made percentage of the fleet, which stood at 83.8 percent at the turn of the last century, had dropped from 33.3 percent of the fleet in 1941 to only 15 percent by the mid-1950s.    



A memorandum of understanding is signed between the Argentine government and the U.S. Navy for the transfer of two light cruisers as a part of Hemisphere Defense Plans on January 11, 1951 in the office of the Undersecretary of the Navy Dan A. Kimbell, (right), who is signing the memorandum with Admiral Carlos J. Martinez, Chief of Naval Operations for the Argentine Navy.  USS Phoenix (CL-46) and USS Boise (CL-47) were sold under the terms of the Mutual Defense Assistance Program. Other Brooklyn-class light cruisers were sold to Brazil and Chile. (Official U.S. Navy Photograph/ Naval History and Heritage Command via Flickr).

ARA Nueve de Julio was officially commissioned into the Argentine navy on March 11, 1952.  (Robert Hurst/ Navsource.org)

The former USS Boise was recomissioned Armada de Republica Argentina (ARA) Nueve de Julio (Ninth of July, the date of the 1816 Argentine declaration of independence) after she and sister ship USS Phoenix (CL-46) were purchased in 1952 for around $7.5 million dollars during the presidency of Juan Domingo Peron, who assumed power in 1946.  In June 1955, however, Peron and his followers were attacked by Argentine naval aircraft on the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aries, killing hundreds, during the opening salvos of a military revolt known today as the Revolución Libertadora.  

During the campaign, ARA Nueve de Julio shelled Peronist military positions and a fuel depot.  Peron himself was ousted in September, inaugurating a period of political instability under successive military governments during his 13 years in exile.  Peron's return and reassumption of the presidency in 1973, followed by his death in 1974, only worsened the country's economic and political troubles, especially after his wife and vice-president, Isabel Peron, took power.  The military, led by the air force this time, moved in again to sweep the Peronists aside. 

Evidence of widespread human rights abuses perpetrated by members of the Argentine military junta in power during the so-called "Dirty War" (1976-1983) caused the Carter Administration to suspend military assistance to the Argentine government, but not before the decommissioned destroyer USS Collett (DD-730) was recommissioned ARA Peidra Buena in 1977. 

The American-led arms embargo would last until February 1989, after which Argentina sent the only Latin-American vessels to participate in the 1991 Persian Gulf War and contributed three corvettes to help enforce a commercial embargo of Haiti during Operation Uphold Democracy in 1994.  Argentine warships, which are now mostly German and French models, resumed joint exercises with their American counterparts once again after the turn of the century.  

Nueve de Julio and sister ship General Belgrano in undated photo taken at Puerto Belgrano Naval Base near the city of Bahia Blanca, Argentina. (Robert Hurst/ Navsource.org) INSET:General Belgrano, her bow blown off by a British torpedo, lists to port as her crew abandons ship on the evening of May 2, 1982, about 36 miles outside a 200-mile "Total Exclusion Zone" around the Falkland Islands that was declared by the British Government on April 30.

Boise's sister ship, ARA General Belgrano, was consigned to the icy South Atlantic's depths on May 2, 1982, by two Mark VIII torpedoes fired by the submarine HMS Conqueror during the Falklands War (or Guerra de las Malvinas), killing 323.  The attack shocked the Argentine public and hastened the downfall of its military leader, Lieutenant General Leopoldo Galtieri, which in turn led the country back towards democracy.  As for Boise, she had already met her end at the hands of ship breakers in Brownsville, Texas, the year before, after being decommissioned from the Argentine navy in 1978.

"Hot" Navy Ships Continue Emigrating

Today, the FMS Program is as popular as ever.  For example, as the last of the Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigates, such as the Norfolk-based USS Kauffman (FFG-59), is decommissioned, a number of foreign nations will be waiting in the wings.  Eight frigates have completed or will complete this year, in the terminology of its guiding instruction, a "hot ship transfer," in which foreign sailors and officers, such as those from Pakistan, man the ship literally moments after the departure of her American crew.  

Through a number of officially-sanctioned programs, past and present, former U.S. Navy vessels have also been transferred to the maritime forces of Australia, Bahrain, Brazil, Canada, Chile, the Republic of China (Taiwan), Columbia, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Egypt, Ethiopia, Fiji, France, Germany, Greece, Haiti, Holland, India, Indonesia, Iran, Italy, Japan,  Korea, Malaysia, the Marshall Islands, Mexico, Morocco, Myanmar (Burma), New Zealand, Norway, Palau, Peru, the Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Singapore, the Soviet Union, Spain, Thailand, Tunisia, Turkey, the United Kingdom, Uruguay, Venezuela, and the Republic of Vietnam.    

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Remembering the Sailors and Marines Sacrificed at Fort Fisher

January 31, 2015, 12:33 pm

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The monument marking the spot where Confederate Colonel William Lamb's headquarters stood at Fort Fisher, looking southwest from roughly where the Land Face spanned Federal (then-Confederate) Point.  During a joint attack made 150 years ago, a Naval Shore Contingent made up of Sailors and Marines of the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron approached the fort at its' heavily-fortified Northeast Bastion, about 200 yards to the left (now underwater), while an Army expeditionary force fought their way into the fort over a bridge leading past Shepherd's Battery, the only section of the fort easily identifiable today, at the opposite edge of the Land Face, nearly 280 yards to the right.

Kure Beach, North Carolina, is home to the Fort Fisher State Historic Site, about five-hours' drive south of Norfolk, Virginia.  It is located near the southeast end of the Federal Point peninsula, a narrow ribbon of land separating the Cape Fear River and the Atlantic covered in beaches, thick grasses, briars, fire ants, and cacti.

Hundreds of giant boulders have been trucked in to form a revetment, keeping this part of the peninsula from disappearing into the ocean.  There are luxury beachfront houses in need of protection just to the northeast, not to mention the North Carolina Aquarium about a mile-and-a-half south.  Another compelling reason for preventing nature from taking its course has to do with preserving what is left of a structure that suffered two unprecedented iron rains, followed by a violent human deluge, a century-and-a half ago.  

The restored Shepherd's Battery at the northwest corner of Fort Fisher's Land Face affords a commanding view of the Cape Fear River and a wooden walkway that follows the path taken  by Union soldiers who rushed the "Bloody Gate" here on January 15, 1865, while Sailors and Marines were being repulsed 750 yards away on the opposite end.  The 32-pounder pivot gun displayed here was salvaged from the former blockade runner USS Peterhoff, which was rammed and sunk by another North Atlantic Blockading Squadron ship off Kure Beach in a case of mistaken identity in 1864.

Reenactors clad in gray fought off an inexorable yet imitation tide of blue here during sesquicentennial commemorations earlier this month from the fort's reconstructed northwestern corner, Shepherd's Battery.  It stands overlooking the old entrance to the fort on the battery's northeast side facing the Cape Fear River, the Wilmington Road Sally Port.  The site is more commonly known as the "Bloody Gate," standing today as a reminder the sacrifices made by the Union Soldiers who poured through it under withering artillery and musket fire on the afternoon of January 15, 1865.  By late that same evening, the fort was theirs. 

So Desperate a Service

Monuments located about 450 yards away, at the site of the fort's former headquarters, attest to the bravery of Ft. Fisher's Confederate defenders, most prominent among them Norfolk native William Lamb, who designed and commanded it.  No similar structure or monument, however, mentions the sacrifice of a Naval Shore Contingent, made up of Sailors and Marines of the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron, on the now-vanished far side of the fort's Land Face.  Their disastrous attack, which began just before the Army's, against the most fortified corner of the fort, diverted Colonel Lamb, his garrison and their reinforcements just long enough for their US Army counterparts to fight their way through the less-secure Bloody Gate, establishing a foothold within the fort before Lamb realized that the naval shore assault had been a feint. 

This hand-drawn overlay found at the Fort Fisher State Recreation Area offices, near the site of the fort's telegraph station, shows both its massive scale and how much has been lost to erosion or demolition.  Fort Fisher's palisade, a 9-foot-high fence constructed of sharpened pine tree trunks (as opposed to the recreated cedar version that girds Federal Point today) spanned the Land Face from Shepherd's Battery to the Atlantic shoreline.  It would have extended beyond the lower right-hand corner of the photograph.  Dams constructed in the late-1800s by the US Army Corps of Engineers, spanning where blockade runners once rounded Federal Point (then Confederate Point) just southwest of the fort at New Inlet, as well as road construction during the 20th Century, altered the peninsula's shoreline.

The sea swallowed up any trace of the corner, known as the Northeast Bastion, decades ago.  There is nothing to restore.  No site to place a monument.  If a structure of some kind, however, could be engineered a few hundred feet off the beach to properly commemorate the site where over 2,000 Sailors and Marines were deliberately sacrificed to make that inadvertently effective feint, few could produce more appropriate words to adorn it than the man who conceived the idea of the improvised naval assault unit in the first place, Rear Admiral David D. Porter.

On January 27, 1865, Porter, the commander of the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron, sent Navy Secretary Gideon Welles his hyperbolic appraisal of his brainchild's significance:

Nowhere in the annals of war have officers and sailors undertaken so desperate a service, and one which was deemed impossible by a former general and an engineer having a high reputation in the service.  Twenty-one officers were killed and wounded in this service, and twenty officers and sixty men were kept for four hours under fire from the enemy's sharpshooters, not being able to escape until night set in.  The courage of these officers deserves the highest reward.  Their efforts, though unsuccessful, gained the day, as the enemy considered this the main attack, and brought superior numbers from a superior position to bear on it.        

Of course, the former general was Maj. Gen. Benjamin Butler, Porter's Army counterpart during the abortive attempt to capture Fort Fisher in December and his fiercest public critic.  Just two days after the second attack took place, Porter testified in his own defense before Congress against Porter's widely published claims that his naval force had made victory possible for his Soldiers the first time around.  Butler's second-in-command, Brig. Gen. Godfrey Weitzel, was a senior military engineer and accomplished combat veteran who, unlike either Porter or Butler, actually saw the fort up close during the first attack.  Weitzel had also disagreed with Porter's confidence that his squadron had rendered Fort Fisher ripe for the picking in December.  He testified before the Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War that after inspecting the fort at the conclusion of the first bombardment, "I went back to General Butler and told him I considered it would be murder to order an attack on that work with that force." 

As it happened, Porter's lightly-armed and inexperienced Bluejackets, the brave yet uncoordinated officers leading them, and the Marines assigned to support and protect them despite inconsistent orders, were indeed sacrificed while trying to perform the impossible service Porter had assigned them. 

The term "sacrificed" is not used lightly in this blog post.  It accurately describes what was done to the members of the Naval Shore Contingent when they made their almost suicidal attempt to storm the fort's Northeast Bastion, marring what was otherwise a well-planned and executed joint operation to capture the fortress guarding Wilmington, the last functioning Confederate seaport and lifeline to the outside world.  Although the Army expeditionary force detached from the Army of the James in order to attack the opposite side of the fort's Land Face at Shepherd's Battery that day outnumbered those in the Naval Shore Contingent more than four-to-one, the Sailors and Marines accounted for almost forty percent of the Union casualties sustained during the operation.    

Despite evidence that some officers within the squadron were under no illusions that the bastion could be taken using the personnel, tools and tactics assigned to them, no dissent bubbled to the surface within the North Atlantic Squadron's ranks.  The officers enthusiastically went ashore and threw themselves and their men at the Confederate Great Wonder of the World, following the spirit of the admiral's orders, if not the actual guidelines.  As a result, the contingent was decisively and dramatically routed.  Porter, as if prepared for the outcome in advance, deftly deflected blame and in short order rebranded the debacle as a necessary expedient contributing to the success of the larger operation.  As a result, no ill effects from the ill-conceived naval ground assault were felt on the part of its progenitor.

A Share in the Assault

Porter's idea for forming an organized naval unit ashore to attack in concert with the Army was spelled out in General Order No. 81, which was distributed to the ships of the squadron on January 4, 1865.  It directed each commander to "detail as many of his men as he can spare from the guns as a landing party....That we may have a share in the assault...." "The sailors will be armed with cutlasses, well sharpened, and with revolvers," the short directive specified.  As for tactics, the Sailors were to "board the fort on the run in a seamanlike way," while the Marines were to "form in the rear and cover the sailors."

"Two thousand active men from the fleet will carry the day," the order prophesied.

After the joint effort to capture Fort Fisher less than ten days earlier ended in failure, Porter had argued stridently and convincingly that his squadron's bombardment had all but destroyed the fort and eliminated all effective resistance, and that the roughly 6,500 Soldiers under the command of Maj. Gen. Butler could have merely moved in to occupy it.  This uninformed, unsubstantiated argument won out over Butler's indignant insistence, supported by the experienced military engineers at his disposal, that the naval bombardment had achieved little, and that taking the fort would require a longer, more sustained siege than his expeditionary force, lacking any field artillery, was prepared to carry out.  Butler lost the very public argument and was relieved from his command, ostensibly for failing to follow to the letter Lt. Gen. U.S. Grant's orders to hold the ground that he abandoned.  Butler also lost his job because his superiors found Porter's can-do view of reality more compelling, believing that Butler should have cast aside his own convictions about avoiding unnecessary loss of life and boldly attempted what Porter insisted could be done, whatever the cost.

Porter had retained his position as commander of the North Atlantic Squadron after the masterful campaign of blame deflection, retaining responsibility for once again softening up the fort's 30-foot-high, 25-foot-thick traverses protecting its heavy seacoast Columbiads, mortars, rifled guns, and mobile field cannons, also ensuring the safe landing of the Army's over 9,500-strong expeditionary force detached from the Army of the James.  This he would do, and do much more effectively than before.  But to Porter, accomplishing this mission merely meant enabling Soldiers to plant their regimental standards upon the smoking ruin his guns would deliver to them, and that would not do.  By seeking a "share" in the ground assault for his men this time around, he sought to establish definitive proof of the efficacy of his bombardment, not to mention a more equitable share of the glory.

“It is strange but true,” Porter wrote to Assistant Secretary of the Navy Gustavus Fox on January 7, “that the desire to kill and destroy grows on a man, the oftener he hears shot whistle, and I must confess I and all hands are itching to go to work again at Fort Fisher.”  This was not entirely empty bravado.  During the December attack, his Sailors proved just as hungry for close, hand-to-hand combat ashore as their Army counterparts.  During the opening stages of the ultimately abortive assault, Union Soldiers and Sailors had practically raced one another to reach a surrendering Confederate battery northeast of Fort Fisher, and the Sailors won.  Porter further boasted to Fox, "I can do anything with them, and you need not be surprised to hear that the webfooters have gone into the forts." 

With Perfect Safety

Brevet Major General Alfred Terry, appointed on the third of January by Lt. Gen. Grant to replace Butler in command of the Fort Fisher Expeditionary Force under the Army of the James, met up with Rear Adm. Porter in Beaufort, North Carolina on January 8, only one week before the attack began.  Unlike the enmity that developed between Porter and Maj. Gen. Butler during the Christmastime attack, the two developed a quick rapport.  Grant wrote that "the most complete understanding should exist between yourself and the naval commander," within Terry’s sealed orders.  "I suggest, therefore, that you consult with Admiral Porter, and get from him the part to be performed by each branch of the public service, so that there may be unity of action.”  

 Terry, an experienced combat veteran who, unlike Maj. Gen. Butler, knew the difference between caution and capitulation, would draw up a highly-organized plan of attack.  In tacit recognition of Butler’s seemingly disregarded insistence that nothing short of a conventional siege would deliver the massive earthwork into Union hands, Maj. Gen. Terry's landing plan specified that his attack would not begin until his 9,632 men were ashore with artillery pieces, siege guns, and 12 days' rations. His  22 Army transports landed five miles northeast of the fort on January 13, farther away than the 2,300 of Butler's 6,500 Soldiers who made it ashore during the December attack.  He also ordered a defensive line constructed against a possible counterattack from Confederate Gen. Braxton Bragg's forces stationed further up the peninsula.

Before going ashore, Terry had also worked out a signaling system to enable instant communication between his headquarters ashore and Porter's flagship Malvern.  In contrast, Porter's landing orders, which were dated January 15, the day of the landing and attack, were fairly vague.  This turned out to be of little consequence because so few of the officers assembling on the beach that day seemed to possess a copy. 

The brief orders were replete with generalities.  "The object is to get as close to the fort as possible and with perfect safety," Porter's orders cautioned, "so that the men will have shelter to go in case of the enemy firing grape and canister....not showing themselves until the signal is made and the army moves to the assault."  There was no elaboration on how this was to be accomplished.  Virtually every move the Sailors and Marines made after the landing itself, directed to be made "out of gunshot of the fort," was done on cleared ground under continuous fire. 

Some helpful instructions were given, such as the depth of the trenches to be dug, and it identified the officer chosen to lead the contingent as well as the officer "in charge of the men with shovels."  Other specific orders such as, "No move is to be made forward until the army charges,""The marines will follow after [the Sailors]," and "Officers are directed not to leave their companies under any circumstances, and every company is to be kept together," would prove difficult to follow or to reconcile with other instructions such as, "The sailors will charge at once on the fieldpieces...," and "the sailors when they start to board are to go with a rush, and to get up as fast as they can." Again, only a few in the contingent seem to have read, much less followed, Porter's orders as the afternoon of attrition wore on.

This illustration credited to the US Coastal Survey shows how close Fort Fisher appeared from the perspective of the gunboats and ships of Line Number Two (extending left foreground out of view, starting with USS Wabash) and Line Number One (extending to the right out of view, slightly farther away, beginning with the broadside ironclad New Ironsides, which also led the group of smaller monitors).  Rear Adm. Porter's flagship Malvern is steaming north, aligned with Line Number One, arranged in a north-south line paralleling the shoreline.  The smaller ironclads are positioned between the southern end of Line One and the shoreline, as close as 1,000 yards from their primary target, the Northeast Bastion.  Not including the group of ironclads led by New Ironsides, Line One consisted of 13 vessels, mainly smaller gunboats, stretching between three-quarters of a mile and a little over a mile directly northeast of Fort Fisher's Land Face.

In the Light of a Lark

The first part of the operation went exceptionally well.  During a sustained bombardment that lasted from January 13 through the afternoon of the 15th, the 58 North Atlantic Squadron vessels expended an estimated 19,682 shells.  Applying lessons learned from the first attack, Porter moved his three main lines of ships and a small detachment of ironclads much closer to the fort than before, achieving much greater accuracy.  Almost all of the 44 guns of the fort, including all 20 atop the Land Face overlooking both Union lines, were neutralized before the land assault began.  

On the evening of January 14th, Terry met Porter on his flagship and the two decided that the ground attack would begin at two in the afternoon the following day, or at least that was the time Porter believed the attack was to take place.  The ensuing uncertainty over just when the Soldiers were scheduled to make their attack and how long they would take to appear after they signaled the squadron, compounded by the inability for the naval contingent and the Army's expeditionary force to signal one another, sealed the fate of the shore contingent the following afternoon.       

By the morning of the 15th, Terry's Soldiers had already been ashore for a day and were positioned in the woods along the Wilmington Road.  They had completed a solid breastwork to protect their rear, and they were reasonably well-rested.  The Sailors and their officers who had volunteered (or had been volunteered) to make the assault, along with the Marines assigned to cover them, were notified only after the meeting on the 14th that they were to go ashore the following morning.  

Lieutenant Commander Thomas O. Selfridge, then commanding USS Huron, later described the scene on the morning of the 15th:

Before noon the signal was made for the assaulting column of sailors and marines to land.  From thirty-five of the sixty ships of the fleet boats shoved off, making, with their flags flying as they pulled toward the beach in line abreast, a most spirited scene.  The general order of Admiral Porter required that the assaulting column of sailors should be armed with cutlasses and pistols.  It was also intended that trenches and covered ways should be dug for the marines close to the fort and that our assault should be made under the cover of their fire; but it was impossible to dig such shelter trenches near enough to do much good under fire in broad daylight.   

The sailors as they landed from their boats were a heterogeneous assembly, companies of two hundred or more from each of the larger ships, down to small parties of twenty each from the gun-boats.  They had been for months confined on shipboard, had never drilled together, and their arms, the old-fashioned cutlass and pistol, were hardly the weapons to cope with the rifles and bayonets of the enemy.  Sailor-like, however, they looked upon the landing in the light of a lark, and few thought the sun would set with the loss of one-fifth of their number.

Porter's naval bombardment as seen from the Mound Battery is depicted in this enlargement of James Madison Alden's print Bombardment of Fort Fisher, featured in the Hampton Roads Naval Museum's Civil War Gallery.  Alden, Adm. Porter's secretary at the time, would have had excellent access to charts showing where ships were deployed during each stage of the bombardment, and this view seems consistent with the illustration above as to where the lines of the squadron were deployed before the cease fire signal was given. The Columbiad pictured remained operational for a time after the Union bombardment and took shots at around 200 Sailors and Marines who had made it around the palisades (not pictured) to the right of the Northeast Bastion before it was finally silenced by Porter's guns.

Porter selected his flag captain, Lt. Cmdr. K. Randolph Breese, to lead the contingent.  This arrangement, however, had not been disseminated among the other officers leading their respective ships' forces ashore, many of whom were senior to Breese.  After arriving on the beach a little after noon and showing his orders to more senior officers who until then believed they would be leading the contingent, Breese began assembling the groups of officers and men into three "divisions" of around 600 men each.  Lieutenant Commanders Charles H. Cushman, James Parker, and Thomas O. Selfridge led the First, Second, and Third Divisions respectively, while Marine Corps Captain Lucien L. Dawson led a Fourth Division made up of Marines, who were assigned to provide covering fire for the Sailors.  Instead of the 1,600 Sailors and 400 Marines Porter had initially intended to contribute, it was later determined that 2,261 Sailors and Marines went ashore.

Not a Very Pleasant Job

To lead the way, Breese dispatched Flag Lt. Samuel Preston with about ten firemen from each ship to dig breastworks for the Marines.  During the prelude to the attack, the working parties led by Preston and an assortment of junior officers managed to dig three successive trench lines, the first being about 600 yards from the fort, for the Marines to occupy while providing cover to the three divisions as they moved closer to the Northeast Bastion, their heavily-fortified 43-foot-high objective.

The firemen, armed only with coal shovels, toiled out on the open ground that had been cleared for a half-mile up the peninsula by the Confederates, well within range of an undamaged 8-inch Columbiad, which happened to be on the side of the bastion facing them, as well as two 12-pounder Napoleon field pieces positioned at an elevated battery outside the sally gate (tunnel entrance) in front of the parapet, at the base of the land face midpoint.  And since they had not yet received the order from Gen. Terry's signalmen to divert their fire from the Land Face, nearly half the Line One gunboats were firing directly over the beach where the Naval Shore Contingent awaited what they thought was the imminent signal to advance, stemming from Porter's mistaken belief that the attack would begin at 2 pm.  

Acting upon this incorrect assumption, Breese ordered his divisional lines into the shallow trenches made more than 30 minutes ahead of the scheduled joint advance, and an hour before the Army advance actually took place, exposing them to friendly fire as they crouched in their hastily-dug trenches.  "Together with musketry, canister and grape fired by the enemy in front of us, and fragments of bursting shell fired by our ships at the rear and left of us," recalled Acting Ensign Joseph Simms, leading a party of the ersatz sappers, "intrenching [sic] near the face of Fort Fisher was not a very pleasant job."

Lt. Cmdr. Parker, USS Minnesota's executive officer and one of the officers senior to Breese who graciously stepped aside to lead the contingent's Third Division, recalled to a group of Brooklyn schoolchildren in 1894, "While the army was fully protected from the fire of the fort, we were fully exposed to it as well as to the shells from our own ships."

This predicament was not unforeseen.  General Order Number 78, Porter's plan of attack issued to the squadron on the second of January, identified 11 of the Line One gunboats that would potentially be firing over the heads of the contingent.  "To avoid accidents by firing over our troops by these last-mentioned vessels," Porter wrote, "the patches will not be taken off the shells until the assaulting column is in the works." This remedy, as well as lengthening fuses, was intended to prevent the Naval Shore Contingent from taking friendly fire by mitigating the possibility of premature shell detonation.  The longer fuse setting was also designed to "tear away the traverses," stripping away the protective covering of the fort's bomb-proofs where the garrison waited out the bombardment.  

While the order provided remedies in one respect, another instruction within the same order possibly elevated the risk of friendly fire.  During the December bombardment, the squadron sustained 37 casualties on five ships from exploding 100-pounder Parrot rifles.  One of the Line One gunboats, USS Yantic, lost the commander of her gun division as well as the rifle's gun captain when her 100-pounder exploded.  Within Order #78, Porter directed gun captains using the 100-pounder rifles to reduce their propellant charges from 10 pounds to seven in order to mitigate the chances of another catastrophic failure.  As a result, however, the range and velocity of the shells being fired from the 100-pounder Parrots, particularly from the Line One gunboats farthest from their targets on the Land Face, were drastically affected.

Though Yantic was no longer using that weapon for the January bombardment, three other gunboats at the farthest end of Line One were still equipped with the unstable weapons.  The side wheel gunboats USS Pontoosuc and USS Pawtuxet were equipped with two apiece.  The smaller screw steamer USS Maumee was equipped with one.  Reports made after the attack indicate Pawtuxet stowed its two 100-pounders, yet Pontoosuc's report isn't clear whether theirs were used.  The smaller screw steamer USS Maumee's report indicated 117 rounds were fired from from her 100-pounder Parrot rifle, the heaviest armament the gunboat carried.  No definitive claim is made here as to whether the Parrots were the source of the friendly fire, but the primary sources merely add to the accumulation of evidence that the Naval Shore Contingent itself was conceived by Porter as an afterthought.  No adjustments to the overall plan, from tactics to weapons to provisions, were made to give the Sailors and Marines a real chance at success. 

Within this illustration showing the deployment positions and gunnery targets of lines one, two and three, several of the 14 gunboats at the northern end of Line One could have accidentally shelled the Naval Shore Contingent, even if they hunkered down in improvised breastworks beyond the half-mile of cleared land north-northeast of the fort's Land Face (within the red area shown) as they awaited the Army's attack.  In particular, the double-ender side wheel steamers USS Pontoosuc and USS Pawtuxet (second and third from top) were armed with two of the unstable 100-pounder Parrot Rifles each, while the steamer USS Maumee was equipped with one.  USS Yantic, the next gunboat down, had been equipped with one 100-pounder as well, but it had exploded during the December bombardment, killing two and wounding three.  As a result of the substantial accidents, commanding officers were given discretion whether to use the rifles.  Pawtuxet ceased using its 100-pounders in December 1864, while Maumee fired 117 rounds using its 100-pounder during the January bombardment.

As they hugged the sands, the hapless Sailors and Marines also dealt with another foe as a result of their ill-preparedness: hunger.  None of them had brought any food.  "We were getting very hungry, as we had taken our breakfast at daylight," recalled one survivor, Lieutenant John Bartlett.  "I was anxious to get into the fort to try some rebel provisions."

By 2:30 that afternoon, Lt. Cmdr. Breese began to fear that the precarious situation the Sailors and Marines were enduring in the sand trenches was becoming untenable as they continued to draw fire.  He crossed over the peninsula, leaving Lt. Cmdr. Selfridge temporarily in charge, and discovered the Soldiers had been told their attack would take place at 3 pm.  He returned to his own divisions at around 2:45 and made the decision to move them from the exposed shallow trenches to the beach, where the shoreline sloped down towards the water, affording marginally greater concealment and protection.  While this immediately took some of the pressure off the Sailors, the Marines now had to relocate from the rifle pits they had been prepared to use to cover the Bluejackets' advance and dig new ones.  As it turned out, there would not be enough time to dig new pits to cover the Sailors' new route along the beach.  The die was then cast for what would happen during the attack to come.

Moving the three columns onto the beach made them harder targets for the Napoleons, but the threat from their own guns actually became worse.  Lt. Bartlett, leading the second of three companies within the contingent's First Division, described his experience on the beach about half a mile from the fort.  "While here the fleet were firing directly over our heads," he wrote a couple of days later, "which was far from pleasant, as some of them fell short and right among us, wounding several."    

Might As Well Have Had Broomsticks

After the Sailors and Marines moved from more central trenches facing Ft. Fisher's Land Face to the ocean's edge, they were in less danger from Napoleon field guns firing from the Main Sally Port in Land Face.  They were still threatened by the one remaining Columbiad on the Northeast Bastion's northern corner and the remaining operational guns on the Mound Battery.  Thanks to the naval bombardment, however, none of the large electrically-actuated torpedoes buried near the Land Face worked.

The state of paralysis continued until nearly 3:25, when Gen. Terry's Signal Corps Soldiers finally signaled the fleet that they were ready to attack, and Porter's flagship Malvern gave the signal to change the direction of fire away from the land face; a steam whistle repeated by every vessel in the squadron.  Despite the fact that Gen. Terry's troops hadn't actually approached the other end of the Land Face when the whistles blew, Breese ordered a charge.  The Sailors emerged in a line but devolved into an unruly mass, dashing at varying paces across anywhere from a few hundred yards to a half a mile of empty sand.  Breese's decision not to wait for the Army contravened Porter's standing orders and ensured that the naval contingent would draw fire first.  Whether by accident or design, the naval contingent's mission became a diversionary feint at that moment. 

Many of the Marines still providing cover fire with their rifles from trenches were then ordered by Breese to keep up with the sprinting seamen, whose ranks had by then broken down.  Yet somehow they were expected to provide covering fire as they closed in on the Northeast Bastion.  Unfortunately, the Confederate garrison taking shelter in the bomb-proofs also heard the squadron's whistles and immediately took their positions atop the bastion, right when the Sailors needed covering fire the most. 

Lt. Bartlett, who had advanced "double-quick" in the middle of the first division, wrote, "When we started on the charge the fleet ceased its fire, but the rebels opened on us a most murderous fire of musketry, with now and then a round of grape and canister."   
 

The 32-foot-high Northeast Bastion was the scene of carnage and sacrifice for the Naval Shore Contingent.  Few Sailors or Marines made it through the entire half-mile of sand to the palisades at its base.  Fewer still made it around or through the palisade's gaps and up the fort's 45-degree ramparts, and those who did were killed.  After the collapse and disorganized retreat of the contingent under unrelenting fire, many who had been at the front hid behind the palisades until nightfall. Afterward, they made individual retreats.

Both the Army and Navy paths of attack were supposed to parallel one another on opposite sides of the narrow peninsula, approaching opposite ends of the same northeast wall simultaneously.  Quickly, yet orderly, both forces were supposed to divide the portions of the garrison defending the Land Face.  Not only did the naval contingent monopolize the attention from Col. Lamb and the other Confederates manning the parapets, but in their haste, some of the officers leading the Navy companies didn't seem to notice that they and only portions of their Sailors had left the main body far behind.  Some officers ran so fast, in fact, that they reached the jagged nine-foot-high sharpened pine trunk palisades in front of the Northeast Bastion without their troops at all.    

The young officers in dress uniform, particularly those carrying unfurled ship's flags in violation of Porter's order to keep them rolled until the objective was reached, were singled out for special attention by the Confederate defenders, who were filthy, beleaguered and battered, yet still very much alive.  Col. Lamb ordered the first musket volley from atop the bastion delayed until the contingent's vanguard was only 150-yards away.  "The whole mass of men went down like a row of falling bricks," one survivor recalled as the first volley split the air.  Another volley followed in quick succession.  The entire contingent seemed to sputter and halt under the sustained fire.  

"There was a halt at the foot of the palisades till the sailors in the rear should come up," recalled John Bartlett.  "I stopped close to the end of them.  Oh, such a fire as (we) were under.  Sailors and officers were dropping all around me."

A detail from the J.O. Davidson's painting Marines Charge the Traverse, a part of the Beverly R. Robinson Collection, US Naval Academy Museum.  The painting makes the Northeast Bastion look lower than it actually was and the North Atlantic Squadron's Naval Shore Contingent look more successful than it actually was.  At least 284 Sailors and Marines were killed or wounded in the 25-minute assault, followed by a disorderly flight back up the beach by many of the Sailors in the rear who thought they heard the call to retreat.

Only one Sailor was confirmed to have successfully reached the parapet of the bastion, but even he was dead by the time he made it over the parapet's sandbags, his body falling into the rebels' midst.  

"The rush of the sailors was over.  They were packed like sheep in a pen," recalled another survivor, "while the enemy were crowding the ramparts not forty yards away, and shooting into them as fast as they could fire.  There was nothing to reply with but pistols."

"The sailors might as well have had broomsticks for the good [pistols and cutlasses] done," recalled survivor Thomas Richardson, a Yantic volunteer.

Lt. Cmdr. Parker, one of the few officers to make it through the battle unscathed, recalled decades later:

The fort was forty feet high, and the fire from the parapet was terrific. We had only pistols to return the fire directed at us.  Finally, we had to scatter to save ourselves.  All around us men were falling dead and wounded.  It was a regular slaughter. 


"The sailors were behind the marines in the rear.  I was just aiming at a rebel when I heard a shout behind," wrote Lt. John Bartlett. "I looked around.  The sailors were all on the run down the beach.  The marines broke and ran, the sailors following.  Poor Jack," wrote Bartlett.  "He could not stand the fire of bullets with nothing to fire back, as they were armed with cutlasses and revolvers."

Bartlett continued:

When the sailors started to run, they were shot down like sheep; over fifty lay dead at the foot of the palisades.  Now and then a wounded man would raise his head; a dozen bullets would fly towards him in an instant.  It was low tide when we made the charge and a few fell close to the water.  Before dark the tide rose and the waves washed up on the poor fellows, some only wounded.  It was hard to look on and not be able to give them any help.

One officer whose request to join the shore contingent had been turned down watched from about three-quarters of a mile away.  George Dewey, then executive officer of the steam frigate USS Colorado, described the debacle that unfolded in his memoirs many years later, after securing his own less-costly and more spectacular victory in the Spanish-American War:

We could see very clearly the naval detachment which had landed under the face of the fort.  The seamen were to make the assault, while the marines covered their advance by musketry from the trenches which they had thrown up.  For weapons the seamen had only cutlasses and revolvers, which evidently were chosen with the idea that storming the face of the strongest work in the Civil War was the same sort of operation as boarding a frigate in 1812.  Such an attempt was sheer, murderous madness.  But the seamen had been told to go and they went. 

In face of a furious musketry fire which they had no way of answering they rushed to within fifty yards of the parapet.  Three times they closed up their shattered ranks and attempted another charge, but could gain little more ground. How Flag- Captain [sic]Breeze, who was in command, leading his men and waving his sword, escaped death, is one of those marvels that almost make one accept the superstition that some men do lead a charmed life.

Our losses in the assault in officers alone were four killed and fourteen wounded, which is proof enough of how unhesitatingly they exposed themselves, following Breeze’s example.  The falling figures of the killed and wounded and the desperate rallies of the living were as clear as stage pantomime to their shipmates on board the fleet, who witnessed a piece of splendid folly of the same order as the charge of the Light Brigade, in which, however, it was not a case of one wild ride but of repeated attempts at the impossible.  We may be proud of the heroism, if not of the wisdom, of the naval landing force's assault on Fort Fisher, which, no doubt, did serve some purpose in holding the enemy's attention while the army pressed in from the rear.

As the mass of  Bluejackets subsided from the Northeast Bastion's defenders like a broken rogue wave, Col. Lamb observed that he and around 300 Confederate defenders posted on that side of the Land Face "witnessed what had never been seen before, a disorderly rout of American sailors and marines."  His feelings of triumph and relief quickly subsided as he noticed Union standards flying over Shepherd's Battery on the far side.  The vanguard of Brig. Gen. Terry's vastly larger expeditionary force had driven back the 200 or so Confederate defenders stationed there.     
 
Although the fort finally fell to Terry's Soldiers about six hours after the naval contingent's repulse, after fierce close quarter combat, no one could conceal the shockingly dismal performance of the naval contingent.  It had inflicted only a handful of casualties while acting as a massive blue target on the vast ribbon of sand.   After such an obviously botched operation, Porter had a reason at the ready: The Marines.

Porter's attempts to lay blame for the disaster at the feet of the Leathernecks proved to be tougher than his last feat; faulting an unpopular general.  No single Marine could be singled out as having failed in his duty or deserting his post, and the accounts of those present seemed to agree that the Marine division's greatest mistake was being just as disorganized as the Navy divisions of the contingent, which coalesced into a amorphous mass during the charge, and scattered under intense fire from the parapets.  

Within days, the effort to spin the rout of the Navy as being the fault of the Marines, spearheaded by Adm. Porter, changed through the reports of other senior leaders into the slaughter being an unpleasant yet necessary outcome of the feint made by the Navy in support of the Army.  

On January 17, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton reported the following to President Abraham Lincoln upon his return to Fortress Monroe:

The assault was made on Sunday afternoon, at half-past three o'clock.  The sea front of the fort had been greatly damaged and broken by a continuous and terrible fire of the fleet for three days, and the front was assaulted at the hour mentioned by a column of seamen and marines, one thousand eight hundred strong, under command of Captain Breese.  They reached the parapet, but after a short conflict this column was checked, driven back in disorder, and was afterwards placed on the defensive line, taking the place of a brigade that was brought up to reinforce the assaulting column of troops.  Although the assault on the sea front failed, it performed a very useful part in diverting the attention of the enemy, and weakening their resistance to the attack by the troops on the other side.

This change in the narrative drew attention away from the abysmal tactics employed by the hapless Sailors, negating what could have easily become grist for the ongoing Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War. 

Senator B.F. Wade, chairman of the committee, expressed the opinion four months after the attack that, "the assault by the sailors and marines, though novel in its character and unsuccessful in its immediate results, doubtless proved of great advantage to the army by its very novelty, and the diversion it created in the operations of the garrison of the fort." 

Gallant Officers and Men So Cut Up

The rear of Shepherd's Battery with bomb-proof entrance shortly after the battle (top), and what it looks like today (bottom).  Just as Colonel William Lamb and his Confederate garrison atop Fort Fisher's Northeast Bastion thought they had repelled Union forces once again, they realized Soldiers here on the far side of the Land Face had already planted their standards.

On the reverse of the aforementioned nonexistent monument to the Naval Shore Contingent, perhaps a plaque with Porter's reflection, made the evening after the attack, could be affixed:

It is a matter of great regret to me to see my gallant officers and men so cut up, but I was unwilling to let the troops undertake the capture of the works without the Navy's sharing with them the peril all were anxious to undergo, and we should have had the honor of meeting our brothers in arms in the works had the sailors been properly supported.

Some might wonder why only the words of Rear Admiral David D. Porter should appear on a proposed monument to the Naval Shore Contingent.  The answer would be fairly straightforward: The attack itself was a monument to Porter's dogged insistence that his "webfooters" could achieve any impossible service assigned to them.  That is, if they were "properly supported." Perhaps that support could have originated with Porter himself.    

In an attempt to secure what he thought would be the Navy's fair share of the credit for the triumph at Fort Fisher, the commander of the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron once again paved the way for the Army, securing instead an ignominious footnote in the annals of Navy-Marine Corps history.  The unintentional feint taken by the Navy and Marine element of this amphibious operation 150 years ago unquestionably provided a valuable diversion, giving the Army element the breathing room it needed to quickly gain access to the fort on the far side of the land face, forcing Fort Fisher's surrender that night, effectively sealing the Confederacy off from the rest of the world.  But in order to play what Secretary Stanton called "a very useful part" of the battle, a high percentage of the Navy and Marine Corps volunteers paid a very high price.

Casualty statistics from North Carolina Historic Sites:

The Union Army’s official total of 9,632 involved in the battle racked up a casualty count of 664, or about seven percent, with 111 killed, 540 wounded, and 13 missing.

The Navy and Marine Shore Contingent’s total of 2,261 sustained 393 casualties, with 88 Sailors (six of them officers) and Marines killed, a percentage of over 17 percent.   

Brick by Brick 2015: Ready to Launch

February 5, 2015, 9:41 am

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≪ Previous: Remembering the Sailors and Marines Sacrificed at Fort Fisher

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Educator Diana Gordon and Deputy Education Director Laura Orr of the Hampton Roads Naval Museum (HRNM) go over last-minute arrangements for Lego shipbuilding activities at one of their "dry dock" work stations temporarily installed in the museum's Civil War gallery.  The docks are color-coded based on skill level and are equipped with kits and instructions appropriate to each skill level, such as the aircraft carrier America shown.

The fourth annual day-long shipbuilding competition and event known as "Brick by Brick: LEGO Shipbuilding," to be held starting at 10 am Saturday, will feature a major change to the shipbuilding competition as well as a number of new activities spread throughout the first and second floors of the Nauticus building, located on the Norfolk waterfront.

"Something that you work on for weeks at home is obviously going to have an advantage over ships built here in just a few hours," said Laura Orr, Hampton Roads Naval Museum's deputy education director, as she explained the decision to split the builder's contest award categories this year into two major groups; those made before the competition off-site, and those made at the museum on Saturday. 

Also new for this year are a system of table top "dry docks" created for the on-site Make a Ship activities, which are color-coded by skill level, with green denoting "easy," blue for "intermediate," yellow for "hard," and red for "expert" model builders.  While those participating in the on-site builder's competition on the second floor scramble to create the best simulated seagoing vessels, those aspiring naval architects who have put in the sweat equity (not to mention their own pieces) into their creations at home need only bring them to a display area located in the Nauticus café on the first floor. 

Judging for both competitions begins at 2 pm.  Not only will a panel of judges pick winners from each age category (4-6, 7-9, 10-12, 13-16, and 17+) within both builder's competitions, but a ship from each competition will also be judged a "fan favorite" based upon votes received from attendees.

Not all of the activities, however, involve building.  The attendee who comes the closest at estimating the number of Lego pieces contained in a large jar without going over will win that jar at 3:30 Saturday afternoon.

For those builders attracted to the event less by the thrill of competition and more by the desire to create and experiment, there will also be a "free play" section in the Battle of the Atlantic gallery of the museum located on the second floor.      

Some other firsts for this year:

- For the first time, there will be a Duplo building block area in the museum's Life at Sea gallery for the youngest building enthusiasts. 

- A Lego "Chalk Wall" will be installed near the Life at Sea gallery.

- A "Lego Man Craft" featuring two-dimensional characters who can be outfitted in a multitude of ways.

- A Lego "photo corner" complete with an event-themed backdrop will be in operation throughout the event, as well as a kid-sized "Lego man" photo cutout figure. 

- A Lego-themed corn hole game will be taking place toward the staircase located near the rear of the Nauticus first floor.

Another aspect of the builder's event became more polished and professionalized this year in the form of the glossy instruction manuals created by Matthew Eng of the Naval Historical Foundation (NHF), from designs created by HRNM Educator Don Darcy.  NHF support was also instrumental for getting the manuals professionally printed and bound, as well as for promoting the event on social media and procuring the builder competition prizes.

HRNM Education Director Lee Duckworth emphasized the vital role of volunteers in making the event come together, as about 70 volunteers will augment the staff for the Saturday event.  Some volunteers gave more than time to make the event preparation successful.  Naval architect Chris Adams, for example, contributed 500 pieces to the event, including many specialized for ship building. 

The extra activities translated to an additional number of hours spent preparing for the event between the staff and a devoted group of volunteers, which Orr said she could not possibly calculate at this point.  She could, however, certify that the interest generated by the extra time devoted to promoting the event on social media, local television, and flyers distributed throughout Hampton Roads could result in a much higher attendance this year than last. "I've gotten more calls than I've ever gotten in the past," she said, estimating that the number of attendees could top two thousand. 

This could result in slightly more of a challenge for the attendees vying for prizes in the on-site Make a Ship competition, which is restricted to vessels made on Saturday using pieces provided by the museum.

"If you plan on building something (here), come early," advised Educator Elijah Palmer, who made sure instructions and kits worked well together as well as promoting the event at libraries across the area.  Fellow educator Diana Gordon, said Orr, "did a lot of the grunt work," organizing the expanded number of activities for this year's event, copying promotional flyers and instructions, and counting the thousands upon thousands of Lego pieces, which will fuel the competition and creativity on Saturday. 

Brick by Brick 2015: The Winners

February 10, 2015, 10:48 am

≫ Next: Commemorating an Enduring Peace

≪ Previous: Brick by Brick 2015: Ready to Launch

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Twelve-year old Jack Koleszar puts the finishing touches on his model of the destroyer Maddox (DD-731) as the deadline for contestants who brought their own models to the Hampton Roads Naval Museum's "Brick by Brick" shipbuilding competition draws near.  His model took second place in his age category Saturday afternoon.

The results are in for the Fourth Annual "Brick by Brick" Lego shipbuilding competition held Saturday afternoon at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.  For the first time this year, the competition was divided not only by age classes, but by where the models were created.  If the models were made outside the museum using parts provided by the builder, they were judged in the "Made at Home" section, while models made between 10 am and 2 pm (the judging deadline) at the museum with parts provided by the museum were judged in the "Made at HRNM" section. 

So without further ado, here are the results:

Made at HRNM

Ages 4-6:

                1^stplace: "The Battler," by Rogan N.

                2^ndplace: "USS Battleship," by Zac O.

Kaleb Konzelmann and Ethan Casey work on their Lego version of the battleship New York in the "free play" area located within the Hampton Roads Naval Museum's gallery as Fred Konzelmann looks at their inspiration, a waterline model of the battleship New York (BB-34), as Vanessa Casey looks on.  The duo and Kaleb's younger brother Evan (not pictured) took second place in their age category for models made at the museum Saturday.

Made at HRNM

Ages 7-9:

                1^st place: "Shiver Me Timbers," by Logan R.

                2^nd place: "USS New York," by Kaleb and Evan K., and Ethan C.

 



Photo Archivist David Colamaria of the Naval History and Heritage Command adjusts biplanes on the flight deck of his seven-foot-long model of the aircraft carrier Lexington (CV-2), which was only one of three expertly built scale models he put on display at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum on Saturday, February 7, 2015.  Although not in the competition, Colamaria's creations demonstrated the possibilities for making realistic Lego scale models to the over 2,000 "Brick by Brick" attendees on Saturday.

Made at HRNM

 

Ages 10-12:

                1^st place: "USS Iowa," by Jack J.

                2^nd place: "Lego Hauler," by Charles J.

 

 

 

Within the café area of the museum Nauticus, located on Norfolk, Virginia's waterfront, visitors look at a highly-varied display of ship models brought in for judging during the "Made at Home" shipbuilder's competition held Saturday.  Ships that represented nautical fantasy and science fiction themes to specific ships from naval history, from models only about three inches long to others approaching six feet in length, were brought in for the "Made at Home" portion of the ship builder's competition.

Made at HRNM

 

Ages 13-16:

                1^st place: "Green Ghost," by Keenon M.

                2^nd place: "USS AD," by Adam C.

Hampton Roads Naval Museum Educator Joseph Miechle straightens out one of the entries submitted to the museum-built portion of the ship builder's competition as judging gets underway Saturday afternoon in the Nauticus second-floor theater.

Made at HRNM



Ages 17+:

                1^st place: "Cape Henry Charles," by Marc H.

                2^ndplace: "Harbor Patrol," by Henry S.

 

Fan Favorites:

 

                1^st place: "The Windcatcher"

                2^nd place: "USS England"
 



Hampton Roads Naval Museum Educator Elijah Palmer and Deputy Education Director Laura Orr go over vote tallies during a competition for Lego ship models made by participants during the "Brick by Brick" event held Saturday.  Events were held within HRNM itself and throughout the first and second floors of the larger museum that surrounds it, Nauticus.

Made at Home

Ages 4-6:

                1^st place: "USS Mullet," by Gabriella S.
 

                2^nd place: "Cargo the Ship," by Austin C


Educators Elijah Palmer and Joseph Miechle give Deputy Education Director Laura Orr their results during the "Made at HRNM" portion of the shipbuilder's competition held Saturday at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.

Made at Home

Ages 7-9:

                1^st place: "SS Caribbean," by Ryan N.

                2^ndplace: "USS Night," by Daniel N.



Hampton Roads Naval Museum Special Events Coordinator Don Darcy tabulates scores among models submitted for the off-site portion of the ship builder's competition held Saturday in the Nauticus Café.

Made at Home

Ages 10-12:

1^st place: "USS Fury," by Chase R.

        2^ndplace: "USS Maddox," by Jack K.

 

Ages 13-16:

1^st place: "Helicarrier," by Jett S.

        2^ndplace: "A14 Halo Littoral Ship," by Scott E.



This expertly-crafted model of the littoral combat ship Independence (LCS-2) made by Thomas L. won first place in the 17+ category of the "Made at Home" shipbuilding competition held Saturday afternoon at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.

Made at Home 

 

Ages 17+:

 
 

1^st place: "LCS Independence," by Thomas L.

 

         2^ndplace: "Imperial Warship," by Alex D.

Fan Favorites:

1^st place: "Hudson"

 

         2^ndplace: "Shark Researcher"
 

CONGRATULATIONS to all the winners! 

If there are any questions about them or for any other questions relating to the competition, please call Deputy Education Director Laura Orr at (757) 322-3108.

Commemorating an Enduring Peace

February 23, 2015, 9:21 am

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Our "Make Tea not War: A Tea Commemorating the Treaty of Ghent" was a grand event hosted by eight members of the Regency Society of Virginia from all over the state, drawing in 55 visitors from across the Hampton Roads area, and supported by over a dozen HRNM staff members and volunteers from the Hampton Roads Naval Historical Foundation.  In particular, 14 NATO Youth Ambassadors hailing from Canada, France, Germany, Greece, Italy, and the Netherlands helped keep the tea, and the schedule, flowing smoothly.  The success of the event would have not been possible without the generous financial support of the Hampton Roads Historical Foundation and the Daughters of the War of 1812.   

 

Kate Melhuish welcomes Jeanine and John Paul Lindberg at the Nauticus main entrance as "Make Tea not War" gets underway.

Hampton Roads Naval Museum Director Becky Poulliot confers with Hampton Roads Naval Historical Foundation volunteers Connie Kellam, Anne Brockenbrough, and Joanne Berkley at the event registration desk.

Using her Irish Harp, Kathleen Kennedy provides musical accompaniment.

Stacy Weissner instructs Leia Palmer, 3, on the finer points of using teaspoons while Jeraldine McDowell, 97, listens as Heather Hufton describes life in 1815.

 

Ann Maliniak of the Virginia Regency Society hosts a discussion with "Make Tea not War" attendees Sunday.

Historical Interpreter Matthew Krogh explains the tasks and challenges of US Navy life two centuries ago to visitors at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.

Jacqueline Smith, as "Eliza Smith," answers a question from attendee Diane Newton (right) as Katherine Spivey, as "Dolly Madison" (center), looks on.

On the Trail of Willie Scott Tanners Creek

February 28, 2015, 10:29 am

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Self-referential observations rarely creep into our Hampton Roads Naval Museum posts, but as I attempted to achieve just the right perspective on the Bachelor Officer Quarters (BOQ) featured in today's post, I could not help but observe that the study of neglected historical figures can be comparable to treading an unmarked, snowy path.

The easier thing to do is simply follow the tracks others have made.  This is what researchers tend to do during the times of the year when we customarily focus our attention on particular groups overlooked in official histories of the past.  We tend to home in on powerful trailblazers from those neglected groups; those with a large paper trail.  The higher the profile, the easier the path.

When it comes to lesser-known figures, even those who were remembered for many years after their passing, one could almost literally be next door to their old haunts and not know it.  This was my Black History Month lesson for this year.

Willie Scott Tanners Creek in 1956. Virginian-Pilot Photo/ The Sargeant Memorial Collection-Norfolk Public Library.

Our subject for today, Willie "Scottie" Scott Tanners Creek, would have not come to our attention at all were it not for a request from the Virginian-Pilot in January to find where he worked, Building M-47.  A cursory look at the base maps in our archive revealed that M-47, a BOQ combining the fire-damaged remains of two of the original 1907 Jamestown Exposition houses sometime during the 1940s, still existed.  In fact, the building was within sight of our main entrance.  Even better, the building was under renovation and was thus mostly unoccupied, affording access to virtually the whole building.

A two-hour search, from the basement to the second floor, stem to stern, revealed no significant clues.  The building manager and a housekeeper who had both spent the better part of a decade working there knew nothing about a "Scottie's Shine Shop" ever having existed there.  I had to report back to the naval station public affairs office that, although the building existed, no evidence of where the shoe shine shop might have been was left.    

A surprise discovery made while trying to learn more about another significant African-American figure in Naval Station Norfolk's history (to be featured in a future blog post) a few weeks later changed all that.  

From a 1999 issue of the Supply Chest, the Fleet and Industrial Supply Center Norfolk's newsletter, we learned from an obituary released in 1969 that Willie Scott Tanner Creek had been born on Christmas Eve, 1883.  His shop had indeed been located for many years in the basement of Building M-47.  Furthermore, his presence at Sewell's Point predated the establishment of what was then known as the Naval Operating Base, and even the Jamestown Tercentennial Exposition held there a decade before.

"Scottie had a heritage perhaps as colorful as any man on earth," the obituary went on. 

It was no exaggeration: 

Scottie's father was stolen by a Scots slave trader named Tanners Creek in England, from whom the family got the first name (Scott), and the latter half of their surname.  The slave was brought to America and sold to a wealthy plantation owner who owned the land that is now the Naval Station and the Naval Air Station.  At the end of the Cvil War, Scottie's father was willed part of the land on which Scottie was born.  With the coming of the Jamestown exposition in 1907, the elder Scott "lost his deed" but continued to live there with his family, and in 1917, when the Navy took over the property, Scott's father became valet to the first admiral of the base. 

One day, while going about his duties, the ex-slave found a bag containing $118 in the street, and he hastily returned it to the paymaster of the station.  When asked by President Theodore Roosevelt what he would like as a reward for his honesty, all he said was, "Nothing save that the Navy give my son work and provision for his lifetime." The government fulfilled the promise and Willie Scott Tanners Creek became the proprietor of a shoe shine shop on the Station to be passed down from son to son. 

From the prodigious digital holdings of the Sargeant Memorial Collection at the Norfolk Public Library, we found excellent high-resolution images of Mr. Scott Tanner Creek standing at the entrance to his shop, taken for a Virginian-Pilot feature on January 18, 1956.  Even with the obituary and the photograph, we still had problems finding where the shine shop might have been.  Thanks to a maintenance engineer who happened to be standing at the right place at the right time, we learned that there was more than one basement at M-47.  A modest set of cellar doors at the western side of what was once the North Carolina house led to a small basement now containing the house's water heaters.         

Standing in the top hat and tails he said were given to him by Secretary of the Navy (later Secretary of Defense) James Forrestal, WIllie Scott Tanners Creek stands at the entrance of his shine shop in a Virginian-Pilot photograph taken January 18, 1956, while the image to the right shows the same area on February 27, 2015.

Writing a personality feature on Scott Tanners Creek for the Virginian-Pilot in 1956, Ann McDonough described Scottie's Shine Shop in its heyday:

If you should chance into his "office," you'd think you'd entered a Fifth Avenue shoe salon, for it's not only immaculate but has a full-length mirror, a wide selection of magazines, a radio playing a soft background of symphonies, and two hand-carved black mahogany chairs of the kind that would hold an entire family for a portrait. 

Fifteen minutes later after receiving the important tip, we had toured the claustrophobic space, which, save for a few linoleum floor tiles stubbornly adhering to the bare concrete, gave no indication that a shop of any kind existed there.  Even the plaster walls of the shop, its doors, and even its door frames were gone.  

Although he was once referred to as "A great name in the 'Norfolk Navy,'" it was as though every trace of Mr. Scott Tanners Creek's shop had been scrupulously erased. 

I harbor no illusions that an obituary tells the whole story of a man, particularly in the case of Willie Scott Tanners Creek.  In fact, it seems to only scratch the surface about a person of mysterious origins who transformed himself as the land around him transformed; from plantation, to exposition site, to the Navy's capitol.   

The more we delve into the story of Mr. Scott Tanners Creek and his origins, the more we will learn about Sewell's Point and how Naval Station Norfolk came to exist there.  As we approach the hundredth anniversary of the establishment of what was then known as the Naval Operating Base, the story of "Scottie" is not only applicable to telling the larger story of the base; his story resonates with the tribulations and triumphs of African-Americans in Tidewater Virginia during an era of unparalleled change.

If you ever paid a visit to Scottie's Shine Shop to pick up or drop off your shoes, or if you ever sat for a moment in one of Mr. Scott Tanners Creek's hand-carved mahogany chairs as your shoes were burnished to a brilliant luster, we want to hear from you.  If you even know of him or what possibly became of his chairs, or the pictures of presidents and saints that once adorned his walls, tell us about it.  

We have only begun to tell his story, and you can help us tell the rest.  

Call (757) 445-8574 or email clayton.farrington@navy.mil.    

Special thanks to Troy Valos of the Sargeant Memorial Collection at the Slover Library, Norfolk; Frank Luettger of the Gateway Inns and Suites Maintenance Department; Naval Supply Systems Command, Fleet Logistics Center Norfolk Public Affairs; and Hampton Roads Naval Museum Registrar Katherine Renfrew for her persistence.  

Z-Gram 116: The Navy's "Equal Rights Amendment"

March 4, 2015, 10:43 am

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In a Google world that returns millions of results per search, finding a single item search result is a rarity.  Entering Zgram 116 without quotation marks gets over 77 million results, including every reference to “gram."  After adding quotation marks, one and only one item comes back.

The 1973 article result poignantly reports “Life Aboard the Navy’s First Coed Ship.” 

Today, the term "Z-gram" is used variously for newsletters and websites and social media usernames.  Even institutions such as the National Military Intelligence Association and the National Atmospheric and Oceanic Administration (NOAA) use Zgrams for communication.  The word Z-gram, however, has a specific, significant etymology.  Zgram 116 in particular set in action a poignant transition in the Navy’s history.

The Z-Gram Legacy

The Navy’s Z-gram origin belongs to one of the more iconic Chiefs of Naval Operations (CNO).  In 1970, Admiral Elmo Zumwalt became the youngest CNO in Navy history, during one of its more tumultuous periods.  Late in the Vietnam Conflict era, Adm. Zumwalt faced a dual headed problem:  an aging fleet and equal opportunity tensions.  He considered retention to be the number one issue, and the numbers were reason for concern.

The new CNO institutionalized a cadre of Retention Study Groups (RSGs).  Beginning with a casual gathering of junior aviation officers, RSGs soon promulgated a more formal process which included numerous specialty groups within the Navy and addressed a broad variety of quality of life issues to include race and women inequalities.   Zgrams became his signature method of communicating the results of those RSGs and they transformed policy into action.

The Navy “Equal Rights Amendment”

The Zgrams – 121 in total – addressed a plethora of ongoing topics from haircuts to uniform guidance to radical personnel policy changes.  Zgram 116 was one of the latter category and came to be known as the Navy “Equal Rights Amendment.” 

It incorporated several transformations, including:

·     Command opportunity for women

·      Eliminating separate management of men and women

·     Opening all ratings to enlisted women

·     Suspending restrictions for women succeeding to command ashore

·     Opening the entire staff corps to women

·     Opening the restricted line to women

·     Integration of male and female detailing

·     Opening the Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps to women

A Year of Firsts

With Z-gram 116, many career opportunities opened for women.  The Women Officer School (WOS) was disestablished, and Officer Candidate School (OCS) training was integrated to support both men and women.  During that same time period, the Navy had several firsts for women.

Captain Arlene Duerk, Director of the Nurse Corps, was spot promoted, becoming the US Navy's first female admiral.

Source: Navy Live (navylive.dodlive.mil)

Lieutenant Junior Grade Dianna Pohlman became the first female Chaplain in the Navy-as well as the entire Department of Defense. 

Source: Shipscribe.com

Although female crew members had served in medical roles aboard USS Sanctuary(AH-17) since her commissioning in 1945, she was recommissioned on November 18, 1972, after nearly a year in an inactive status, with two female officers and 60 female enlisted personnel assigned to perform in non-medical roles.  Sanctuary, with her newly-integrated crew, returned to service for a three month South American goodwill tour, including a Panama Canal transit.  

Source: The Seabag (Naval Station Norfolk), January 18, 1973, 5.

Women Aviators

January of 1973, the first female Navy servicemembers were selected for flight training.  Lieutenant Junior Grade Barbara Allen was stationed in Norfolk on the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) communications staff.  She was one of six selected and the first to complete her training in 1974.

Unpopular Reform

During his tenure, Adm. Zumwalt was not recognized for his equal opportunity achievements.  In fact, he was highly criticized for his sweeping strategic changes in personnel and warfare policy.  Even President Richard Nixon, who appointed Zumwalt over 33 senior ranking officers, appears to have had his regrets. 

Many years later, however, President Bill Clinton would recognize Zumwalt's forward thinking in the face of challenges by awarding him the Medal of Freedom, the nation's highest civilian award.  

"I have a long list of friends and a long list of enemies," Zumwalt was fond of saying, "And I'm proud of both lists."

"Ours must be a Navy family that recognizes no artificial barriers of race, color, or religion. There is no black Navy, no white Navy-just one Navy-the United States Navy." 

Z-Gram 66, December 17, 1970. 

(This post was written by Commander Colette Grail, USNR)

Fifty Years Ago: The Navy "Lands the Landing Force" in Vietnam

March 10, 2015, 8:12 pm

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Fifty years ago this week, the scope of American military involvement in supporting the 10-year-old Republic of Vietnam (created in the wake of the Geneva Accords between French and nationalist Vietnamese officials in 1954) broadened in a visually dramatic way.  Reminiscent of the D-Day images of Normandy, or, more comparably, those of Douglas MacArthur and his forces returning to the Philippines a generation before, the first battalion-sized American combat unit came ashore near the strategic air base at Da Nang, and the images of those Marines have symbolized the massive expansion of America's footprint in the country ever since.  The year 1965 opened with roughly 23,000 military advisors and support personnel, ballooning to around 181,000 by year's end, much of the increase made up of combat forces.

Special Landing Force (SLF) Marines of Battalion Landing Team, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment (BLT 3/9), come ashore about four miles northwest of Da Nang Air Base on March 8, 1965. (Official US Marine Corps Photo/ mcu.usmc.mil/historydivision)

There was nothing spontaneous about their arrival.  The US military had a presence in Vietnam for nearly a decade in advisory and support roles, but the need to have a flexible fighting force available for emergencies increased as the political and security situation in the Republic of Vietnam (also known as South Vietnam) deteriorated.  A Marine Special Landing Force consisting of Battalion Landing Team, 3rd Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment (BLT 3/9) had been on 72-hour alert status offshore since January, 1965, partially because of the removal of South Vietnamese Premier Tran Van Huong on January 27, and partially because of an increase in enemy activity against American military targets.  

On February 26, President Lyndon Johnson authorized the deployment to Vietnam of two Marine battalion landing teams, a medium helicopter squadron, and headquarters elements of the 9th Marine Expeditionary Brigade.  

And of course, they didn't just appear out of nowhere. 

The Seventh Fleet Amphibious Force Flagship Mount McKinley (AGC-7) prepares to depart Naval Station Subic Bay, Philippines, in 1966. (Rich Draves/ USS Estes.org)

The Navy's Seventh Fleet was becoming rapidly enmeshed in the operations of the growing Military Assistance Command, Vietnam (MACV), which had been established in February 1962, one month after President John F. Kennedy's decision to establish a military advisory effort.  Its Amphibious Force (Task Force 76) and attached Marine Units were by 1965 becoming instrumental as a potential resource to counter an increasingly brazen National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam (then, as now, known popularly as the Viet Cong), which had changed its strategy from targeting primarily South Vietnamese military forces to targeting Americans as well.  Since 1962, US Marine helicopter units had supported Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) combat operations, and on February 9, 1965, batteries of the 1st Light Anti-Aircraft Missile Battalion, equipped with the "Homing-All-the-Way-Killer" (HAWK) medium-range surface-to-air missile, began arriving at Da Nang air base, which had been home to Marine Corps and US Air Force aviation units for some time.



US Marine Corps UH-34 Seahorses approach Da Nang airfield from the north in this 1965 photo.  The City of Da Nang lies  to the east of the airfield, bordered by the Han River, with the East Vietnam Sea immediately beyond. At the time of the first major amphibious landing nearby on March 8, 1965, the Marines of BLT 3/9 were assigned only to protect the air base.  That would change on April 1, when President Lyndon Johnson authorized the Marines to engage National Liberation Front (NLF, or Viet Cong) and People's Army of Vietnam (PAVN, or North Vietnamese) forces in combat. (Official US Marine Corps Photo/ mcu.usmc.mil/historydivision)

On March 1, South Vietnamese government officials had, through diplomatic channels, agreed to the deployment of American combat troops to protect Da Nang, yet, conscious of the image it would convey to the Vietnamese public, requested that they be deployed "in the most inconspicuous way possible."  Two days later, US Ambassador Maxwell Taylor received word from Assistant Secretary of Defense John T. McNaughton that deploying the Army's 173rd Airborne Brigade from Okinawa would satisfy this desire for a lighter footprint.  Parachutes gently falling through the tropical air over the airfield would not present as forceful a picture as Marines storming a beach.

In Hawaii, Admiral  Ulysses S. Grant Sharp, Commander in Chief, Pacific, was of one mind with General William Westmoreland, Commander, MACV, in rejecting this change to a plan that was already in motion.  Brigadier General Frederick J. Karch, commander of the 9th Marine Expeditionary Brigade, and his staff had already wrapped up preparatory visits to Saigon and Da Nang in February, meeting with Westmoreland and Vietnamese Major General Nguyen Chanh Thi, senior commander of the Republic of Vietnam's five northern provinces.  BLT 3/9 was already aboard the ships of Task Force 76, off the coast.   

Sharp cabled the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), "The CG, 9th MEB is presently in Da Nang finalizing the details for landing the MEB forces in such a way as to cause minimum impact on the civilian populace... I recommend that the MEB be landed at Da Nang as previously planned."

High-level reservations about what picture the landing would convey to the Vietnamese people were swept aside, and the decision to go ahead with the landing was handed down from the JCS on March 7. 



During the landing of the Third Marine Expeditionary Brigade (MEB) on May 7, 1965 at Chu Lai, 57 miles south of Da Nang, Republic of Vietnam, 3rd MEB commander Brigadier General M.E. Carl confers with Task Force 76 commander Rear Admiral D.W. Wulzen aboard Amphibious Assault Ship Princeton (LPH-5), as Captain R.W. Clark, commanding Amphibious Squadron One, looks on.  The Third and Ninth MEBs, joined by the Seventh MEB in July 1965, subsequently came under the operational control of III Marine Expeditionary Force (III MEF). (Official US Marine Corps Photo/ mcu.usmc.mil/historydivision)

The task of delivering BLT 3/9 to Da Nang the momentous morning of March 8 was the job of the Seventh Fleet's Amphibious Task Force commander, Rear Admiral Donald W. Wulzen, who gave the order to "land the landing force" at 6 am.  The four ships involved in delivering the Marines that morning consisted of the flagship Mount McKinley (AGC-7), Amphibious Transport Dock Vancouver (LPD-2), Attack Transport Henrico (APA-45), and Attack Cargo Ship Union (AKA-106).




As seen from Landing Craft, Utility 1476 (LCU-1476) as it departs the well deck of Amphibious Transport Dock Vancouver (LPD-2), Marines, armored vehicles and supplies transit the Bay of Da Nang on their way to Red Beach during the first major American amphibious landing in Vietnam, March 8, 1965. (Official US Marine Corps Photo/ mcu.usmc.mil/historydivision)

Marines and their M-48 Patton tanks transit the Bay of Da Nang aboard LCU-1476 during the first major amphibious operation undertaken by US forces in Vietnam on March 8, 1965.  The Attack Transport Henrico (APA-45), also disembarking elements of the 3rd battalion, 9th Marines, can be seen in the background.  (Official US Marine Corps Photo/ mcu.usmc.mil/historydivision)

LCU 1476 disembarks Marines, vehicles and equipment on Red Beach near Da Nang Air Base on the morning of March 8, 1965.  (Official US Marine Corps Photo/ mcu.usmc.mil/historydivision)



Attack Transport Henrico (APA-45), with a Landing Craft, Mechanized (LCM) and a Landing Craft, Vehicle, Personnel (LCVP) alongside.  Date and location unrecorded.  (Chief Signalman Ronald Roy/ Navsource.org)

Marines from BLT 3/9 come ashore on March 8, 1965 at Red Beach 2 from a Landing Craft, Mechanized (LCM), northwest of Da Nang (Official US Marine Corps Photo/ mcu.usmc.mil/historydivision)

 Between 9:02 and 9:18 that morning, the roughly 1,500 Marines of BLT 3/9 had crossed the beach...



A Marine Corps truck of BLT 3/9 passes under a banner at the entrance to the City of Da Nang on March 8, 1965.  After coming ashore, the members of BLT 3/9 became part of the 9th Expeditionary Brigade (9th MEB).  later that day, lead elements of the Battalion Landing Team, 1st Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment (BLT 1/3) would arrive by aircraft at Da Nang Air Base.

...and by that afternoon had made it under the welcoming signs (and the curious stares of local children) of the City of Da Nang.   



Attack Cargo Ship Union (AKA-106) in 1966. (Richard Dawson/ Navsource.org)

The morning of the first landing, the Marines of BLT 3/9 were assigned only to defend Da Nang Air Base, and they received a curious but cordial reception from local officials and residents, as well as the press.  Only three weeks later, however, their defensive posture would change when President Lyndon Johnson authorized the Marines at Da Nang to move out and engage National Liberation Front (also known as Viet Cong) guerrillas, as well as elements of the People's Army of Vietnam (PAVN, or North Vietnamese Army).  



Marine Corps Brigadier General Frederick J. Karch, commanding general of the 9th Marine Expeditionary Brigade, sports a freshly applied lei as he receives a warm welcome from ARVN (South Vietnamese) Major General Nguyen Chanh Thi on March 8. 1965.  Although Karch emphasized the defensive mission of his Marines to the press, they were to go on the offensive beginning in April.  He was later quoted in the New York Times as saying of their new enemy, the Viet Cong, "I thought that  once they ran up against our first team they wouldn't stand and fight, but they did.  I made a miscalculation." Karch moved on to his final assignment at Quantico,  Virginia in December as director of the Command and Staff College, until his  retirement in 1967. Maj. Gen. Thi, a hero to the Buddhist population of South Vietnam, was forced by  rival military officers into exile in the United States in 1966, further fracturing the  political and sectarian fault lines in the country.  (LIFE)

In October 1965, Naval Support Activity, Da Nang, also known as Camp Tien Sha, would be established, later becoming the Navy's largest overseas logistics command, staffed at its peak by over 4,000 naval personnel.  It would be disestablished in 1973.





Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Donald Wesley  Wulzen finished his active duty career  in 1969 as deputy director of the Directorate of  Inspection Services, Office of the Assistant  Secretary of Defense (Administration).  (Official  US Navy Photo)

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150 Years Ago: The Court Martial of William A. Parker

March 19, 2015, 4:52 pm

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"The action of the court in this case has somewhat embarrassed the Department."

Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles
March 18, 1865

Aboard the sidewheel steamer USS Baltimore, anchored on the James River a century-and-a-half ago, a 33-year naval career hung in the balance.  Commander William A. Parker, who had until recently commanded the Fifth Division of the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron, stood accused of, among other things, "withdrawing from and keeping out of danger to which he should have exposed himself," and "[f]ailing to do his utmost to overtake and capture or destroy a vessel it was his duty to encounter." 



This print by William R. McGrath in the Hampton Roads Naval Museum collection shows the powerful ironclad Onondaga patrolling the James  River in more tranquil times.  Although successful in damaging the ironclads of the Confederate James River Squadron without suffering a single fatality or serious damage during the Battle of Trent's Reach in January 1865, the controversial decision of her commander, Commander William A. Parker, to withdraw during the first hours of the battle led to Parker's court martial in March.

Nearly two months before, Parker had been in command of the double-turreted USS Onondaga and eight wooden gunboats dispersed along a 70-mile stretch between Richmond and Hampton Roads when the bulk of the Confederate Navy's James River Squadron, composed of three ironclads, five wooden gunboats, and three smaller torpedo boats, staged a desperate attack on the evening of January 23 to breach Union obstructions placed across the river. 

The week before, Commodore John K. Mitchell at his office within the Mechanic's Institute in Richmond faced a now-or-never decision.  The grim news that Fort Fisher had fallen on January 15 hung in the frozen air.  Wilmington, North Carolina; the last functioning port of the Confederacy and lifeline to Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia, was effectively neutralized. 

The city, buttressed by other fortifications guarding its approaches on the Cape Fear River, continued its resistance against the Union Navy some weeks afterward, leveling the odds between Mitchell's James River Squadron guarding Richmond, and the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron's Fifth Division, commanded by Cmdr. Parker, tasked with defending the Armies of the James and the Potomac.  The lion's share of Rear Admiral David D. Porter's North Atlantic Squadron was still tied up in the Wilmington Campaign over 300 miles to the south, portending the possibility of the Confederate Navy snatching a victory in Virginia from the jaws of defeat in North Carolina.  Change, it seemed, was in the air. 

As it happened, the air was literally changing.  A warm front sweeping across Virginia that week had also made conditions optimal for a naval attack against Union targets.  During the middle of January, much of the snow across the river basin suddenly melted, unleashing a freshet, or sudden rise of fresh water, temporarily surging the river.  Intelligence that the freshet had damaged Union obstructions at a bend in the river called Trent's Reach had also reached the Confederate commodore's desk. 

If Mitchell had not yet made up his mind about attacking, Confederate Secretary of the Navy Stephen Mallory made up his mind for him.  "I deem the opportunity a favorable one for striking a blow at the enemy, if we are able to do so.  In a short time many of his vessels will have returned to the river from Wilmington and he will again perfect his obstructions," Mallory wrote to Mitchell.  

Time was of the essence to take advantage of the spring thaw, the destructive water surge and the elevated river levels that came with it, as well as the apparent parity in opposing forces.  These factors were temporary, but the James River Squadron's mission was simply to do what the Confederate Navy did best throughout the war: Wreak havoc upon the Union's commercial shipping.  

The plan entailed cutting off both the Army of the James and the Army of the Potomac from their base of supplies at City Point, Virginia, only about 15 miles south of Richmond, which was also the location of Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant's headquarters.  "If we can block the river at or below City Point, Grant might be compelled to evacuate his position," Mallory wrote.     

Before the sudden thaw and surging of the river, the Union obstructions confronting the squadron would have included a thick hawser supporting a net intended to catch Confederate torpedoes before they reached the main barrier, which was made up of 14 sunken vessels, including five schooners, connected by double spars or booms.  This barrier was linked together by a one and one-quarter-inch chain spanning the river, supported by beams.    

Thanks to the freshet, Confederate Lieutenant Charles W. Read, the daring young officer commanding the James River Squadron's torpedo boats, was able to inform Mitchell after his men scouted the area:

SIR: The net which was stretched across the river above the obstructions in Trent's Reach is gone.  The schooner that was sunk in the old channel, on the south side, has drifted down several hundred yards.  The vessel that was nearest the north shore has been drifted ashore abreast of her old position.  The two vessels on each side of the north channel have lightened up by the stern; their entire sterns are out of the water; their bows are under the water.  There is no vessel to be seen in the north channel.   

On the Union side of the now-fraying obstructions, the news was remarkably similar, if not quite as enthusiastic. 


"The condition of the river obstructions above us is bad; they are washed away by the freshet," Cmdr. Parker telegraphed City Point from his base at Aiken's Landing, replying to a query from Major General John Gibbons, commanding XXIV Corps of the Army of the James. "I do not consider our naval forces sufficient to prevent the possibility of the enemy's gunboats coming down at high water, should they make the attempt.  I believe it impossible to replace the obstructions unless Howlett's battery [also known as Battery Dantzler] be first captured."

One of the 10-inch Columbiads at what was known by the Confederates as Battery Dantzler overlooks the James River in this image taken after its abandonment in April 1865.  Cmdr. William A. Parker's concern over the two Columbiads and two Brooke rifles overlooking the James about three-quarters of a mile above Trent's Reach at what he called "Howlett's Battery" prompted a cautious approach. (Civilwartalk.com)

Two days before the attack, Cmdr. Parker received word from Brigadier General John A. Rawlins, Grant's chief of staff, that the Confederate order to attack had been given, and that he should "exercise more than usual vigilance to defeat any plan the rebels may have in contemplation upon the river." This would be easier said than done.  No less than 10 of Parker's vessels were laid up at Norfolk Navy Yard with no word as to when repairs would be complete, and he had just given up two of his needed tugs to the Potomac Flotilla in Maryland.  

On January 23, the day of the attack, Parker sent a request to Maj. Gen. Gibbons that more vessels be sunk and torpedoes put in place that evening to make up for what had been lost, but by that time, it was too late.  The confederate squadron got underway from its base at Drewry's Bluff at 6 pm, and about 5 hours later, Lt. Read began sounding out the north channel in a small boat as a team of Confederate Sailors hacked away at the remaining chains of the obstruction.  Two hours after that, Commodore Mitchell ordered CSS Fredericksburg, the ironclad with the shallowest draft, through the obstruction. 

The Confederate Ironclads Fredericksburg, Richmond, and Virginia II of the James River Squadron lead eight other vessels including the gunboat CSS Hampton past the guns of Fort Brady at about 8 pm on the evening of January 23, 1865. (Harper's)

Although sustaining damage from sunken hulks on either side, Fredericksburg, followed closely by the gunboat Hampton, made it through the obstruction, and behind enemy lines.  The jubilation on the part of the insurgents would be short-lived, but not because of Cmdr. Parker or his Fifth Division, seemingly the only force left to opposing them.  Nature herself had by this time turned against the squadron's other two ironclads, the flagship Virginia II and CSS Richmond.  Both had run aground, and the remaining Confederate gunboats and torpedo boats were either grounded, abandoned, or even destroyed by Union shore batteries just downstream of the obstruction in the attempt to free them.  

Make-or-break time had once again come to Commodore Mitchell.  He decided to recall the only vessels that had any hope of carrying out the mission.  Both ships retreated past their marooned shipmates under what Lt. Read called "a perfect rain of missiles," to relative safety under the guns of Battery Dantzler. 

Lieutenant E.T. Eggleston of the C.S. Marine Corps, who was aboard Fredericksburg during the operation, wrote of his frustration a few days later:

This vessel passed through the Yankee obstruction at 1:30 a.m., and we all flattered ourselves that every difficulty had been overcome.  The enemy's fire from their mortars had been quite troublesome for some time, but their heavy guns had not struck us once.  After waiting for the other vessels for about an hour and seeing nothing of them, our captain sent me in a small boat to report to the commodore [Mitchell] that we were safely through and ask if we should wait any longer. I went up to the obstructions, and seeing nothing of them, continued for some distance before I came to them.  After reporting, the commodore ordered me to return without delay and say to our captain that both the other vessels were aground and would not be able to get off before 11 a.m. the next day.  This compelled our abandonment of all ideas of success, for the first requisite was a complete surprise, and before the next night they would have time to concentrate a large fleet above City Point. 

By daylight, multiple Union shore batteries were finding their mark on the forlorn ironclads to surprisingly little effect, yet the question on Lt. Gen, U.S. Grant's lips, and on his telegraphers' fingertips, was, "What fleet has [Cmdr. Parker] collected or ordered to the front?"

CSS Fredericksburg, distinctive among Confederate ironclads because of her two pilot houses, had a shallower draft than her sister ship Richmond and flag ship Virginia II, which enabled her to pass Union obstructions at Trent's Reach when the others could not.  When she was ordered back through the obstructions early on the morning of January 25, her weaknesses, lighter armor overall and a casemate covered only with iron grating, threatened to be her undoing.

 As the ironclad Fredericksburg and gunboat Hampton awaited further instructions amid their momentary mile-long foray past the Union obstruction, Cmdr. Parker ordered Onondaga nearly two miles back from her normal station at Aiken's Landing to a pontoon bridge spanning the James at about 2:45 am, where he promptly damaged one of his propellers attempting to bring the massive ironclad around.  



These two models in the Hampton Roads Naval Museum gallery show that, even under optimal conditions, the fight between CSS Richmond (left) 180 feet long (minus the spar torpedo) and around 800 tons, and USS Onondega (right) 226 feet long and 1,250 tons, would have been uneven.  The actual conditions on the morning of January 24 made matters much worse for the Confederate ironclad.

Parker waited until around 8:30 to go back up the James.  Meanwhile, Lt. Gen. Grant continued sending furious cables to Parker, but after hearing an explosion coming from the direction of Trent's Reach (which was actually the result of a direct hit upon the ammunition stores of gunboat CSS Drewry, abandoned and aground after the effort to free CSS Richmond), he moved up to Assistant Navy Secretary Gustavus Fox.  Shortly after that, Grant issued "Special Orders to GUNBOAT COMMANDERS," which were ostensibly issued "By authority of the Secretary of the Navy," to "proceed to the front above the pontoon bridge, near Varina Landing."  

"This order is imperative," continued Grant, "the orders of any naval commanders notwithstanding."     

"I have been compelled to take the matter in my own hands to get vessels to the front, ordering by direction of the Secretary of the Navy," Grant informed Fox.

There seemed to be no objection on Fox's or Secretary Gideon Welles' part to Grant assuming direct command of US Navy vessels on the James River.  In fact, Fox and Welles moved with dispatch, issuing orders to remove Parker from command and replace him with his deputy until Commodore William Radford and his New Ironsides could arrive from Hampton Roads.   



This illustration from Harper's published February 11, 1865, depicts the scene at Trent's Reach around daybreak on January 24, 1865, after the ironclad Fredericksburg and the gunboat Hampton had made it through the gap in the Union obstructions created by the crew of the torpedo launch Scorpion (not pictured) at about 1:30 am.  Yet after making it a mile past the obstructions, Fredericksburg was ordered to return after the ironclads Richmond and Virginia II became grounded waiting for the obstruction to be breached.  Commodore Mitchell's decision doomed the only chance of the mission's success.  Shortly after 7 am, the gunboat Drewry took a direct hit in its magazine and exploded, and Scorpion also had to be abandoned under fire. (A.R. Waud)

When Onondaga did make her reappearance at around 10:45 am, along with the former ferry boat USS Hunchback and the side wheel steamer USS Massasoit, Parker was still in charge.  Richmond was grounded at an angle in which her guns could not even be brought to bear, and she and the other ironclads were sitting ducks.  Virginia II was struck over 70 times that morning from Union shore batteries, yet direct hits from Onondaga's 15-inch Dahlgren guns almost became the Union coup de grace.  One shot tore a five foot square hole in her armor, killing one Sailor and wounding two others before the rising tide finally allowed the ironclads to make their escape.

"The monitor opened on us," wrote Lieutenant John W. Dunnington after surviving the pummeling aboard Virginia II, "and I am of the opinion that the two most damaging shots, one aft on port side of shield, and one between after port and port quarter port, were fired from the monitor." Richmond also sustained a hit from the much larger Union ironclad knocking away the port side gun port shutter.  In contrast, one of Onondaga's whaleboats and two dinghies were "stove in" during the fight.

As the sun came up the following morning, Parker appeared on the double-ender gunboat USS Eutaw and, upon finding her commander, Lieutenant Commander Homer C. Blake, informed him that he had been removed from the command of the division "'by the honorable Secretary of the Navy.'"  "'You being the senior officer present,'" Blake recalled Parker saying, "'I turn the command over to you.'"

Lt. Cmdr. Blake reported the exchange to Rear Adm. Porter, who had meanwhile joined the chorus of castigation concerning Parker, going so far as to say later, "Parker proved afterwards to be of unsound mind, though it was not suspected at the time, and previous to this fiasco stood high in the naval service both as a brave man and an excellent officer."

Two days after the battle, Parker outlined the preparations he had made, as well as the problems he had encountered before the attack, appealing to Secretary Welles, "I pray that you will order an investigation of the facts."

On March 18, Parker's prayers were answered in the form of a general court martial held aboard Baltimore.  He was tried on two lengthy charges that essentially amounted to willful cowardice before the enemy.  Although he had sent the order stripping Parker of command in the heat of the battle that day in January, Welles' attitude towards the incident had softened markedly by the time the voluminous specifications against the erstwhile commander appeared in black and white. 

Welles surmised that many of the charges against Parker, such as that he "did order the U.S.S. Onondaga... to be moved down the river and away from the vessels of the enemy for the discreditable purpose of avoiding an encounter with [enemy] vessels," was practically unprovable, in that "[t]he ways in which an officer might fail to do his utmost to encounter and capture or destroy an enemy's vessel are innumerable."  Furthermore, the secretary declared the allegation that Parker gave the order to move downstream for a "discreditable purpose" was not proved either, and that finding had thereby "virtually acquitted the accused of the charge of avoiding an encounter with the enemy."   

Welles concluded:

It is to be inferred from the opinion of the individual members of the court, as stated in their individual recommendations for clemency, that the sole offense of Commander Parker... was "error of judgment." The Department is at a loss to understand whether the court considered "error of judgment" a crime in itself, or, under some circumstances, a valid defense against a proved crime.  Neither can be sanctioned by the Department.  The findings of the court ...and its specifications are not approved, and as the sentence... can now be modified, it is necessarily set aside, and Commander Parker is hereby relieved from arrest.

And with that, the sentence that Parker be dismissed from the Navy was vacated, and he was moved to the retired list.

River Queen: Ark of a Civil War Covenant

April 1, 2015, 11:47 am

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He was mystically, sincerely, but most discreetly religious.

Life of George P.A. Healy by His Daughter Mary (Mme.Charles Bigot), 1912

Entitled, The Peacemakers, it is an extraordinary painting of an extraordinary meeting near Hampton Roads; the only face-to-face strategy session between four men who were by this time 150 years ago deciding not only how best to finish a period of war, but how to begin an era of peace.

The Scene: Arguably the greatest military leaders of the American Civil War meet with their Commander-in-Chief in what appears to be a cozy parlor.  William T. Sherman, fresh from leading the greatest punitive expedition of the war, seems to give advice to the President.  His friend Ulysses S. Grant at Lincoln’s right listens, yet seems nonplussed.  David D. Porter, seated at Lincoln’s left after his recent return from waging a successful military campaign against Wilmington, North Carolina, followed by blunting Benjamin Butler’s political campaign against him before Congress, listens as well.

The painter George P.A. Healy's rendering of the meeting of President Abraham Lincoln, Major General William T. Sherman, Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant, and Rear Admiral David Porter aboard the steamer River Queen at City Point (now Hopewell), Virginia.  Less than two weeks later, Robert E. Lee would surrender. Lincoln himself would be assassinated the week after that.  One of the original copies of the painting now hangs in the Oval Office dining room. (Wikipedia.org)

There is something more than a little allegorical about the scene rendered by the prolific artist George P.A. Healy in 1868.  With their symmetrical gestures, Lt. Gen. Grant and Rear Adm. Porter seem to be holding back an invisible curtain or veil revealing Lincoln, who has borne the responsibility for deciding nearly every major strategic decision of the war.   Note that the four windows behind them seem to progress, beginning on the left with curtains and shades drawn, to the rainbow’s appearance followed by the parting of the clouds.  The destructive flood of war that swept the nation is subsiding, Healy seems to say, and it seems that one merely has to open the doors located directly behind the president and step out into the light.   

But of course, life after great drama and trauma is never that simple for an individual, much less a nation.  Important decisions must be made about how to proceed, and that is why Lincoln pensively listens behind the closed doors, seemingly lost in thought, his mind far beyond the contemplation of tactics to bring the swiftest defeat to General Robert E. Lee's remaining forces.  There were weightier strategic issues to contemplate.  

As depicted by William R. McGrath, River Queen (at the far left) would have hardly been noticeable among the throngs of cargo vessels in the teeming logistical center of City Point, Virginia, at the end of March 1865. (Hampton Roads Naval Museum Collection)

The setting for The Peacemakers was the steamer River Queen, then moored near Lt. Gen Grant's headquarters at City Point, Virginia.  River Queen was also the setting for a very different conference held near Fort Monroe just a few days after the fall of Fort Fisher in January.  Perhaps within the very cabin depicted in the painting, Lincoln had received three other high-ranking visitors, Confederate Vice President Alexander Stephens, Assistant Secretary of War John A. Campbell, and Senator Robert M.T. Hunter, who had traveled under a flag of truce from Richmond to propose an armistice and joint expedition against Mexico.

Probably preoccupied with more profound thoughts than the three Confederate emissaries could possibly fathom, Lincoln stated flatly during the February 3 meeting that only the disbandment of the Confederate armies and the restoration of the union would bring the peace they supposedly sought; not a mere redirection of the fighting.        

In the conference with Sherman, Grant, and Porter on March 28,  Lincoln still seemed deep in thought, yet above the fray.  Much of the discussions revolved around whether or not Gen. Lee's forces could somehow escape Central Virginia and unite with those of General Joseph E. Johnston, which Sherman's forces had bottled up in North Carolina. 

According to Adm. David Porter's account of the meeting, Maj. Gen. Sherman "took a military view of the situation.  He had made a long toilsome march and desired to reap the honors due a victorious general." 

Thanks to Sherman’s account of his meeting with Healy while his painting was still in the planning stages, we have a pretty good insight into precisely what he was actually telling the President during this reconstructed moment. 

“In this picture I seem to be talking, the others attentively listening,” Sherman wrote to Lincoln’s friend and early biographer Isaac Newton Arnold.  “Whether Healy made this combination from Admiral Porter's letter or not, I cannot say; but I thought that he caught the idea from what I told him had occurred when saying that ‘if Lee would only remain in Richmond till I could reach Burkesville, we would have him between our thumb and fingers,’ suiting the action to the word.”

According to Porter, Lincoln's response might not have been what some of his officers were hoping to hear, yet it was consistent with the higher goal he had elucidated within his second inaugural address earlier that month, with intentions to "bind the wounds of the nation...[w]ith malice towards none, with charity for all....". 

"All very well," said the President, "but we must make no mistakes, and my way is a sure one: Offer General Johnston the same terms that will be offered Lee; then, if he will not accept them, try your plan; but as long as the Confederates lay down their arms I don't think it matters much how they do it.  Don't let us have any more bloodshed if it can be avoided.  General Grant is in favor of giving General Lee the most favorable terms."

And that is precisely what Grant did 12 days later at the village of Appomattox Court House, April 9, 1865.

Porter concluded:

General Grant shared in the President's desire for the most liberal arrangements that could be entered into for the surrender of the confederate armies; and while Mr. Lincoln had implicit confidence in Grant's military abilities, he relied no less on his good judgment and kind feeling, and it is fortunate that the last act in the bloody drama of the civil war[sic] was under the direction of the two men acting in perfect accord, whose names will be handed down to posterity with increase of honor as the years roll by.

The steamer River Queen in a detail from a larger photo made by the photography studio of Charles H. Shute and Son of Nantucket after the war.  Despite the length of time President Lincoln spent aboard the vessel and his obvious preference for her above the plethora of Union Navy steamers available to him, she was not retained by the War Department nor was her historic significance ever recognized.  River Queen went back to plying standard ferry routes around New England for another half-century, finally succumbing to fire in 1911. (oldtimeislands.org)

Final Orders for the James River Squadron

April 3, 2015, 6:00 am

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                                                                                  CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA
                                                                                  Executive Office, Richmond, Va., April 2, 1865

     SIR: General Lee advises the Government to withdraw from this city, and the officers will leave this evening accordingly.  
     I presume that General Lee has advised you of this and of his movements, and made suggestions as to the disposition to be made of your squadron.  He withdraws from his lines toward Danville this night: and, unless otherwise directed by General Lee, upon you is devolved the duty of destroying your ships this night, and with all the forces under your command, joining General Lee.  Confer with him, if practicable, before destroying them.
     Let your people be rationed as far as possible for the march and armed and equipped duly in the field.
                                                                                                                  Very respectfully, your obedient servant,

                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                   S.R. MALLORY

                                                                                                                   Secretary of the Navy

Rear-Admiral RAPHAEL SEMMES,

Commanding James River Squadron

150 Years Ago: CSS Hampton's Flag is Captured

April 3, 2015, 4:02 pm

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The following recollection was recorded on page 578 of Thirteenth Regiment of New Hampshire Volunteer Infantry in the War of the Rebellion, 1861-1865: A Diary Covering Three Years and a Day by S. Millett Thompson, who believed Captain William J. Ladd to be the first Union soldier to enter Richmond, Virginia after its evacuation.  This was Ladd's recollection of his brief encounter with the gunboat Hampton on the morning of April 3, 1865:



The Confederate gunboat Hampton's flag as it appears today at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum after an extensive restoration.  It was taken by Captain William J. Ladd of the 13th New Hampshire Volunteer Infantry Regiment just before explosives planted aboard the vessel detonated.

I was in the Capitol grounds as early as 5.30 a. m. I saw no flag on the Capitol at that time. After looking about the grounds and vicinity for a few minutes, and realizing that I was alone in the city, I rode back toward Rocketts, and when near there met a white Union cavalryman—the first Union soldier I had seen in Richmond that morning. We tied our horses, took a skiff and rowed out to a rebel war ship in the James, and captured the two Confederate flags then flying upon her. I pulled down the larger flag, the cavalryman the smaller one, and we rolled them up and tied them to our saddles.  These were the first and only flags of any kind—Federal or Confederate—that I saw in Richmond that morning... Soon after we secured these flags the vessel blew up.

A model of the Hampton-class gunboat Nansemond at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.

CSS Hampton's Flag Has Come Home to Norfolk

April 22, 2015, 11:07 am

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By now followers of our museum have probably become accustomed to what the national ensign of the Confederate States Gunboat Hampton looked like when it was officially accepted into the collection of the Naval History and Heritage Command in 2013.  It is what I like to call the "before" picture: 

The flag was not only desiccated from insufficient moisture, but it also suffered from an “acidic” environment caused by pollutants in the atmosphere.  It had also sustained damaging exposure to ultraviolet rays over the years.  Its loose and frayed hems have been painstakingly mended, its structural integrity has now been stabilized using archival-quality batting, and it is supported by its own frame.  This brings me to the "after" picture:

On Wednesday, the 22nd of April at 6 PM, this true rarity made its public debut in our main museum location at One Waterside Drive, inside Nauticus. 

Come and see it!

Saved: A Chaplain's Two-Century-Old Chart

April 30, 2015, 10:35 pm

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"It’s just been sitting here for 75 years next to the door next to the weather under this light, and I thought, 'I’ve got to do something about this.'"

Chaplain Denis Cox

"There is a point of no return.  Fortunately... Chaplain Cox found it in the nick of time."

 Conservator Pamela Young


Nearly 75 years have passed since a chart made 199 years ago by the most famous Navy chaplain of the War of 1812 came to adorn a wall of the Naval Station Norfolk Chapel.  After the rededication of the chart and its official transfer to the Naval History and Heritage Command on April 29, 2015, this restored artifact, one of the earliest of the U.S. Navy in Hampton Roads, made a short but substantial journey to the archives of the nearby Hampton Roads Naval Museum.  

The talent of its creator, David Phineas Adams, was on full display as dozens of Chaplain Corps members, most notably Deputy Chief of Navy Chaplains Rear Admiral Brent W. Scott; members of the Naval Station Norfolk community, led by Captain Robert E. Clark; and members of the Hampton Roads Naval Museum, itself part of the Naval History and Heritage Command led by Director of Naval History Sam  J. Cox, gathered in the David Phineas Adams Memorial Chapel to commemorate the event.  

During the construction of the current Naval Station Norfolk Chapel in 1941, then-Command Chaplain William W. Edel discovered this chart made by Chaplain David P. Adams in 1816.  He taped it together and had it framed for display, subsequently obtaining permission from then-Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox to name the chapel for Adams.  The chart remained mounted to a wall to the right of the sanctuary until 2013, when oncoming Chaplain Denis Cox took notice of it.  "I... thought, there's no way that this could be the original 200-year-old chart," said Cox, who discovered that it indeed was the genuine article. "It’s just been sitting here for 75 years next to the door next to the weather under this light, and I thought, 'I’ve got to do something about this.'"

 

Chaplain Denis N. Cox discusses the significance of Chaplain Adams' chart during its rededication ceremony at the Naval Station Norfolk Chapel on April 29, only about 30 feet from where the chart was mounted for nearly 75 years.  A duplicate chart has now taken its place on the wall, and the original seen here on an easel now resides at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.

“I learned of David Phineas Adams when I was in Chaplain’s School, on what not to do as a chaplain” said Commander Denis N. Cox, Chaplain of Naval Station Norfolk, and the man whose interest in the chart led him on a two-year journey culminating in the ceremony.  "But it wasn’t until I came to this chapel, saw his chart, read that plaque, and instantly fell in love with Chaplain David Phineas Adams.  I fell in love with who he was.  I fell in love with what he accomplished.  I fell in love with what he was able to do.  As a chaplain.  As a man."

A one-time professor of mathematics and astronomy at Columbia College (now Columbia University) in New York, the Harvard-trained Adams was appointed by President James Madison as a  Navy chaplain on May 10, 1811.  Although he performed the duties expected of chaplains today, the exigencies of war demanded much more of him.  His most famous exploits during the War of 1812 came from serving under Captain David Porter on the frigate Essex;not for ministering to the crew, but for taking command of three of Porter's prizes on his famous cruise around Cape Horn to the Galapagos Islands, where Adams became arguably the first American to conduct topographical surveys, decades before the arrival of HMS Beagle on her own history-making mapping mission.  

After the war, Adams was assigned by Captain Stephen Decatur to utilize his skills once again, undertaking a survey of Hampton Roads for its suitability for future use by the Navy.  The resulting chart was completed in 1816.  "[Adams spends] all year out here in Hampton Roads and charts all the shoal waters and does an incredible job," said Chaplain Cox.  "[Adams] submits it back to the Navy.  And then the chart just goes dormant.  David Phineas Adams goes dormant.  We don’t read anything about David Phineas Adams after that.  Nobody knows about him.  He just falls off the charts."

"Until 1938," Cox added, after another chaplain succeeded in securing funding from Congress for the naval station's Protestant and Catholic chapels, as well as Frazier Hall.

Director of Naval History Sam Cox listens to Commander Denis Cox as he describes his realization shortly after becoming command chaplain of Naval Station Norfolk in September 2013 that the original 1816 chart made by David Phineas Adams, hanging at a corner of the chapel since 1941, had to be saved and preserved.  It has now been replaced with a high-resolution copy provided by the National Geospatial Intelligence Agency.

Commander William Wilcox Edel discovered the chart sometime during the construction of the new chapels, which were completed in 1941.  "It’s kind of falling apart because it’s 125 years old at this point," said Cox.  "[Edel] takes out Scotch tape and tapes this thing together, and then he puts it on acidic paper, and he puts it right next to the door.  God bless him.  He [was] a chaplain; not a preservationist."  

"So I am walking around here wondering what am I going to do," said Cox as he described his first encounter with Adams' chart shortly after taking over as command chaplain of Naval Station Norfolk in 2013.  "And I look over here and I see this chart that’s sitting on the wall. And I go, 'What is this?'  And I started reading and thought, there’s no way that this could be the original 200-year-old chart.  There’s no way.  [But] yeah, it’s the original 200-year-old chart.  Unbelievable.  It’s just been sitting here for 75 years next to the door next to the weather under this light and I thought, 'I’ve got to do something about this.'  So I called up [Hampton Roads Naval Museum Curator] Joe Judge, and Joe Judge says, call [conservator] Pamela Young, and I called Pamela Young and instantly fell in love with another great American."

 

As Director of Naval History Sam Cox looks on, Chaplain Denis Cox greets Pamela Young, the conservator who restored the original 1816 Adams Chart, just before the ceremony commemorating the chart's official transfer to the Naval History and Heritage Command on April 29, 2015.  A reproduction provided by the National Geospatial Intelligence Agency has now taken its place on the chapel wall.

 

Young subsequently spent about 30 hours over the next nine months painstakingly removing the adhesive tape Edel applied in 1941 and fabricating new "rag stock" paper to replace the cotton fibers that had leached away from the chart over the past 199 years.  "This organic material is prone to deterioration," said Young, "and there is a point of no return.  Fortunately... Chaplain Cox found it in the nick of time."

"We will make sure that it is taken care of," said Sam Cox, director of the Naval History and Heritage Command and Curator of the Navy, adding that the chart would also be protected from, in his words, "the ravages of ultraviolet light that are as bad as the ravages of time on memory."

Sam Cox, Director of the Naval History and Heritage Command (NHHC) as well as the Curator of the Navy, signs the official form accepting the 1816 David Phineas Adams Chart into the NHHC collection as Hampton Roads Naval Museum Curator Joe Judge looks on.

"This chart was used by the Navy as a reason to bring the United States Navy down here to Hampton Roads," said Chaplain Cox.  "This [was a] backwater area.  Nobody lived out here in the 1700s and 1800s.  Nobody but tobacco farmers and corn farmers...  There was nothing but swampland until the Navy came here to Hampton Roads.  And now we have millions," Cox added.  "Blame a 'chap' for that." 

 

Just before the rededication ceremony for the 1816 David Phineas Adams Chart, Hampton Roads Naval Historical Foundation member Channing Zucker, who spent a career at the Defense Mapping Agency (now known as the National Geospatial Intelligence Agency), traces the lines around what was then known as "Willoughby's Point" on the 1816 Adams Chart of Hampton Roads as fellow attendee Elizabeth M. Dietzmann looks on.

 

 

 

130 Years Ago: The "New Navy" of 1885

August 18, 2015, 9:54 pm

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USS Dolphin, commissioned on December 8, 1885, photographed during the 1890s (Naval History and Heritage Command image via Flickr)

Nearly 130 years ago, the first in a line of new all-steel ships for the US Navy was commissioned, with three more either under construction or fitting out at a Pennsylvania shipyard or at the New York Navy Yard.  It was a long, difficult process which began 132 years ago.  These four ships were the first four steel ships approved by Congress.  There were a lot of hurdles and delays that had to be overcome to produce what later became known as the “ABCD Ships.”

On July 19, 1886, the protected cruiser Atlanta became the second of the "ABCD Ships" to be commissioned.  She appears here in a port bow view by the Detroit Publishing Company at the Brooklyn Navy Yard between 1884 and 1901. (Naval History and Heritage Command image via Flickr)

The A, B, C, and D came from the names of the four ships: USS Atlanta, USS Boston, USS Chicago, and USS Dolphin. These ships also became the central elements of what would come to be called the “Squadron of Evolution” as new ships of an experimental nature were added.  As with all endeavors into new territory, there are lots of questions to be answered before beginning, and many new things to learn along the journey.

A port-side view of the third "ABCD Ship" to be commissioned, USS Boston.  This port view of the protected cruiser, commissioned on May 2, 1887, was photographed by the Detroit Publishing Company between 1890 and 1901 (Naval History and Heritage Command image via Flickr).

The first question asked was, “Do we need this?”



William H. Hunt (Wikimedia Commons)

Answering the question was Secretary of the Navy William Henry Hunt who, starting in 1881, used the Naval Advisory Board to ask Congress for $30 million to build 21 new ships.  Pointing out the poor shape of our old wooden and iron-hulled Navy, it was not hard to convince Congress that we needed new ships.  Building 21 of them, costing 30 million dollars (remember, this is 1881 and not 2015), was too much for Congress.  The idea to buy a few steel hulled ships from Britain, like many other countries did, was proposed.  National pride and self-reliance, however, led to this idea being shot down.  So too was the idea of purchasing ship plans from another country for an American shipyard to build.  

This brought on the next question: “Can we do this?”



This image from the archives of the Johnstown Corporation General Office, Johnstown, Pennsylvania,  shows a typical machine used for steel manufacturing in the late-19th Century, a rail bending machine (Library of Congress).

This question was not as easy to answer. Building a naval ship out of steel was an endeavor not yet attempted by American industry.  New designs and construction techniques had to be developed for a material that had thus far been used almost entirely to traverse America’s mountains and plains instead of the world’s oceans.   For example, the Pennsylvania Steel Company, the first of its kind in the country, had been producing steel for American railroads for nearly two decades.  The quantity of steel needed to construct a modern warship out of the material, however, was in question.  It would take 13 months of study, investigation, and debate before Congress passed the Naval Appropriations Act of 1884 on March 3, 1883, authorizing $1.3 million for initial construction of the four steel-hulled ships.  


The crew of USS Atlanta mans the yards and boat booms in Boston during the reunion of the Grand Army of the Republic in 1890.

The steam engines of the day were not trusted by the Navy or its Sailors for anything more than river and coastal service.  This, along with the amount of coal the engines used and the limited locations to get it, resulted in the new ships having sails for normal cruising, using the engines for maneuvering and additional speed.The Navy did not have shipyards big enough to build these ships, so a contract was awarded to a civilian contractor, John Roach and Sons of Chester, Pennsylvania.  Difficulties in construction, and politics, resulted in delays producing the first of the ships, USS Dolphin.

Secretary of the Navy Joseph Daniels (second from right) and his wife Adelaide disembark from USS Dolphin in 1913. Dolphin served as a special dispatch ship for President Woodrow Wilson and other important officials and diplomats (Library of Congress via Navsource.org).

Dolphinwas a dispatch vessel, meant for delivering messages before the age of radio, and for acting as a gunboat.  Being the smallest of the four new ships, she would be the stepping stone to building the larger ones.  Dolphin served the US Navy until the end of 1921 and was sold to Mexico shortly after her decommissioning.  During her active service, she was used to transport many important government officials and was even designated as the presidential yacht for President Chester Arthur.  Difficulties in producing USS Dolphin, and political maneuvering, resulted in the Navy voiding the contract with the civilian contractor and taking over production of the remaining three ships itself.

USS Chicago (seen here in 1893 with USS Vesuvius on her port side) was the last of the "ABCD Ships" to be commissioned, April 17, 1889 (Naval History and Heritage Command image via Flickr).

The three remaining ships were all classified as protected cruisers, meaning that steel armor protected the vital mechanical parts of the ship.  No belt of armor protected their waterlines, however, which would have made them armored cruisers.  The three cruisers; USS Atlanta, USS Boston, and USS Chicago, all served the Navy for many years.  They were decommissioned and re-commissioned several times, used in war as cruisers and in peacetime as everything from training ships, experimental ships, and even receiving ships.


The model of the Protected Cruiser Chicago as she appears today at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum (Photo by Jerome Kirkland)

All four ships had their engines updated several times.  As engine technology improved, the sails on these ships became less important, until eventually they were removed.  New breach-loading guns were initially the best the US Navy had, but these too would be replaced several times as they became outdated.  In fact, all four ships were considered outdated by the time they were launched.  They nevertheless were invaluable as stepping stones for the US Navy, and their descendants a generation later would become the Great White Fleet that would circumnavigate the globe from 1907 to 1909.
 

Receiving Ship Boston in 1936 (U.S. Navy Photo via Navsource.org).

USS Atlantawas finally decommissioned in 1912 and sold for scrap.  USS Bostonwas converted to a freighter during World War I.  She then served as a receiving ship from 1918 to 1940.  After that, Boston was then renamed USS Despatch (IX-2) and served as a radio school until the end of 1945, before being towed out to sea and sunk in 1946.  USS Chicagowas the biggest of the four ships, took the longest to build, went through the most refits, and served as the flagship for the “Squadron of Evolution” and several other squadrons until 1908.  She was assigned afterward to the Naval Academy until 1910.  Being reduced to the status of “commissioned in reserve”, from 1910 to 1917, Chicagowas used by the Massachusetts and Pennsylvania Naval Militias.  She went on to serve as a receiving ship, being renamed USS Alton (IX-5) in 1928, before being sold in 1936.

These four steel-hulled ships may have been outdated by the time they were launched, but they paved the way for the United States Navy of the future.




This post was written by Hampton Roads Naval Museum Educator Jerome Kirkland

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120 Years Ago: USS Texas Joins the Fleet

August 27, 2015, 10:58 pm

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(Naval History and Heritage Command Image via Flickr)

By Jerome Kirkland 

Hampton Roads Naval Museum Educator

In August of 1895 the United States got its first steel battleship, after 9 years of waiting.  USS Texas is this first battleship, beating USS Maine by just one month.  Built at the Norfolk Navy Yard, spending much of her service based in Norfolk, and being sunk in the Chesapeake Bay for target practice, Texas demonstrated the importance of Hampton Roads to the new steel Navy.  Facing years of delays and being largely outdated by the time she was launched, much like the ABCD fleet, and overcoming problems after entering service, much like the ABCD fleet, USS Texas was still an important step forward for US shipbuilding, much like the ABCD fleet. 

 Both battleships Texas and Maine were authorized by Congress in August of 1886 as second class battleships.  “Second class” meant the ship was meant more for coastal defense rather than as an oceangoing battleship meant to take the fight to a foreign country.  Although USS Maine was originally meant to be an armored cruiser, this role changed during the construction process resulting in two “near” sister ships.  USS Maine and Texas represented the latest in battleship construction at the time of their design and early construction, but delays in their completion resulted in outdated ships by their commissioning, 9 years later.  Chief among the “advanced” design elements that became outdated by their launch were the “en echelon” placement of their main gun turrets.  This meant that for USS Texas, the forward turret was placed to the port, or left, of the centerline, while her aft turret was placed to starboard, or the right, and not centered like modern ships.

USS Texas postcard (Hampton Roads Naval Museum Collection).

After her launching, a series of defects and mishaps earned Texas the nickname “Old Hoodoo,” until shaking this nickname with her service in the Spanish American War.  While undergoing sea trials before her commissioning, several deck plates buckled and cement near the keel cracked.  These problems were fixed by reinforcing the hull and brackets supporting the deck.  In 1896, Texas ran aground off Newport, Rhode Island.  After being freed she was sent to a shipyard in New York for repairs, where she sank due to a broken valve yoke.  Three months later, February 1897, while anchored in Galveston, Texas, the tide pushed the battleship aground in a mud flat.  It took a tug at high tide the next day to get her free.

This apparent hex would be dispelled by her service in the Spanish/American War, despite being an outdated ship.  At the start of the war there was fear that the Spanish fleet may attack the east coast of the United States.  This resulted in the formation of the “Flying Squadron,” based out of Hampton Roads, to be able to respond if the Spanish fleet showed up.  When it became apparent that the Spanish fleet was in Cuban waters, USS Texas, along with the rest of the Flying Squadron, was dispatched to Cuba.  Here the battleship played a key role in defeating the Spanish fleet at the battle of Santiago de Cuba.  Engaging several Spanish ships, including the armored cruiser Vizcaya, she did much damage while taking only one hit from a 6-inch gun.

 After the war several attempts to modernize her were made, but by 1911 USS Texas was simply too outdated.  She was renamed the San Marcos in order to free up the name Texas for a new modern battleship under construction.  In 1911, now named the San Marcos, she was towed to shallow waters in Chesapeake Bay for use as a target to test the effectiveness of newer guns.  USS New Hampshire (BB-25), a Connecticut-class battleship commissioned in 1908, made several passes even after San Marcos settled on the muddy bottom with her deck still above the waves.  The results from this test helped the Navy understand the relationship between armor and modern guns.  San Marcos continued to be used as target practice through the post-WWII years, including during the Billy Mitchell bombing tests against USS Alabama during the 1920s.

After being sunk in the Chesapeake, San Marcos/Texas continued to rack up the “hits,” with at least seven ships damaged and at least three confirmed sinkings.  This post-service record far exceeded her wartime record.  Unfortunately, these were all commercial and private vessels that ran into her because she was not visible beneath the surface.  This prompted the Navy to use explosives, in 1959, to force her down into the mud at least 30’ below the surface.

Although USS Texas was outdated by the time she was launched she was vital to the development of our modern steel Navy. The lessons learned in her construction and from her sinking supplied vital information in developing steel battleships.  Her service in war and as a target gave many lessons in effective combat skills.

McClure Field Isn't Number Two? Say It Ain't So!

September 2, 2015, 1:49 am

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Detail of a panoramic photograph taken by the G.L. Hall Optical Company of Norfolk on opening day of the Athletic Stadium, Naval Operating Base Hampton Roads, on June 12, 1920.  In 1944, the stadium was renamed for Captain Henry McClure, a Navy Cross recipient and the base's commanding officer at the time (Hampton Roads Naval Museum Collection).

 

Like the setting of any competitive sport, the field of history is contested ground.

Never take it for granted that what you read or hear is the absolute truth, keeping in mind that the very concept of “truth” is something of an abstraction, much like the value of a negative number or the meaning of the slogan, “Louisiana Fast™.”  Accepted truths in history are frequently the result of an argument won, and some arguments reignite when new facts come to light.  And so it goes with sports history as well as naval history.  This week’s post deals with a Hampton Roads landmark well known to regular readers of this blog as significant to both.

In the performance of my duties as a public servant, many research assignments I take on are prompted by members of the public.  A recent email sent to the museum was different than most others we have received lately in that while most emails come in as queries, this one was more like a cease-and-desist order.

 

“Your description of McClure Field as being second only to Wrigley Field as the oldest brick ball field is incorrect,” its author tersely informed us, adding a reference to a Wikipedia page.

 

“Bosse Field in Evansville, IN, was built in 1915 and has been in continuous operation since,” the message continued.  “That would make McClure Field third to Wrigley Field as the oldest brick ballpark.”

 

“Please correct your literature and signage.”  

Bosse Field, built in 14 months on the orders of Evansville Mayor Benjamin Bosse after the collapse of a grandstand in another part of the city, is seen here during the 1920s.  Photographs of the stadium's construction on other parts of the "Historic Evansville" web site show only concrete being used as a building material (Willard Library-Knecht via historicevansville.com).

Such a message would of course warrant scrutiny and due diligence on my part before changing said literature and signage.  After exercising due diligence in subjecting the claim in the message to scrutiny, this is what I have to report:

A cursory look at the Wikipedia entry on Bosse Field mentions that it opened on June 17, 1915, just shy of five years before McClure Field.  In this, the Wikipedia entry does seem to establish this “fact” definitively.  But does this entry convey the “truth” that the author of the message meant to convey when he instructed us to change all of our descriptions of this Norfolk landmark?  I frankly found the Wikipedia entry wanting, so I searched further.     

Thanks to early pictures of the Indiana ball field posted online and F.J. Reitz High School history teacher Jon Carl on the web site Feel the History, we now know that Bosse Field isn’t necessarily an older brick ball field than McClure Field.      

“The original stadium did not look as it appears today,” said Mr. Carl.  “It was not covered with brick but with white stucco.  The brick façade that you see today when you come to Bosse Field, was done during a renovation during the 1930s.  Due to the quick pace of construction,” Carl continued, “the concrete was not allowed to cure properly during the 1914-1915 construction.  In 1957, the entire inside of the stadium, all the seating area, had to be torn out and redone because it was structurally unsound.  The wooden seats you sit in today when you go to Bosse Field were put in during that 1957 renovation.” 
 

This postcard shows the grandstand of a brickless Bosse Field during the 1920s.  The brick facing covering the stadium today would be added during the 1930s (ballpark digest.com)

To be clear, it is not our position at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum that McClure Field is the oldest ball park in North America by any stretch.  According to the Guinness Book of World Records, “The oldest baseball diamond is Labatt Park in London, Ontario, Canada, which was established in 1877 and has hosted baseball games to the present day.”  Construction on what was simply known then as the Athletic Stadium at what was then called the Naval Operating Base started in August 1918 under the direction of Navy Yards and Docks Project Manager Lincoln Rogers.  It was to be the centerpiece of a multi-use sports facility encompassing not only a baseball field but also a track and football field.  A swimming pool was also added to the complex in 1942. 

The caption to this panoramic photograph by the G.L. Hall Optical Company of Norfolk, Virginia, reads: “OPENING OF ATHLETIC STADIUM.  IN FOREGROUND READY FOR CONTEST, NAVAL TRAINING STATION & NAVAL AIR STATION BASE BALL CLUBS.  NAVAL OPERATING BASE, HAMPTON ROADS, VA, JUNE 12, 1920.”  The flattened look of the stands above stems from the type of camera used.  In this case, a panoramic camera lens swiveled during the exposure, viewing each section of the stands from essentially the same perspective as it rotated (Hampton Roads Naval Museum Collection).

 

Off-duty Sailors play at McClure Field on the afternoon of September 1, 2015 (Clayton Farrington, HRNM).

As you can see by the less ostentatious roof and railings adorning the stands today, some things have changed during the 95 years the ballpark has been in operation, but the solid brick foundation remains the same. 

So does our longstanding claim. 

 

McClure Field is still the second-oldest American brick ball field in continuous operation.  Though by no means a professional stadium, designed solely for the Sailors defending our nation in mind, it has nevertheless hosted some of the greats of American baseball history, many of whom actually joined the Navy during World War II.  

History remains contested ground; the product of continuous research and dialogue, along with a generous helping of argumentation.  To borrow an expression from former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, the known-knowns aren’t always known as well as you think you know them, myself included.  Therefore, if other verifiable information comes to light challenging McClure’s vaunted position in the annals of baseball history, I am standing by to receive it.

Meanwhile, fans of McClure Field, rest easy for now in the knowledge that you can still proclaim:

McClure Field’s still number two (albeit in its own particular way)! 

And that’s the truth.  

 

 

55 Years Ago: Hurricane Donna Attacks Hampton Roads

September 10, 2015, 3:27 am

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The civilian tug Virginian lies wrecked along the waterfront of Naval Station Norfolk, which received 94 mile-per-hour winds and over three and a half inches of rain from Hurricane Donna during the September 12, 1960 onslaught.  Her crew of five escaped with the help of Sailors from the nearby Naval Supply Center (Official U.S. Navy photograph via the Virginian-Pilot).

The legacies of historic events are always with us, in one form or another.  The same age-old dynamics that shaped history in ages past continue to shape our present.  One of these is the weather.

Sometimes the effects wrought by weather events are on a grand scale, and for the Hampton Roads Sailor, hurricanes in particular have wrought dramatic and profound changes over the years in our area.  For example, the most prominent local geographic feature to have been shaped by such events during recorded history is Willoughby Spit, said to have been formed and shaped by massive hurricanes in 1749 and 1806.     

Such events have also shaped our present in more subtle ways.  It is with this in mind I would like to bring into remembrance one of the more destructive storms to make landfall in Hampton Roads during the last century, and how a tragic yet little-noted accident that befell a local Sailor in the wake of that hurricane made an impact that still resonates in courtrooms today.

(Photographed by Keith Mosher, The Seabag)

Hurricane Donna, which swept through the area early on September 12, 1960, buffeted Naval Station Norfolk that morning with up to 94 mile-an-hour winds, smashing the Norfolk Dredging Company tug Virginian at the naval station pier, ripping the asphalt along the waterfront into massive jagged pieces, and nearly tearing the destroyer Zellars (DD-777) from her moorings.  And in the words of Virginian-Pilot reporter Richard Mansfield, “The base golf course became a huge water hazard.” 

Indirect damages inflicted by Hurricane Donna on the Navy in Hampton Roads included the loss of two fighters from Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach when they failed to reach their destination in New York, though both pilots were rescued safely. 

Around the city of Norfolk, over 1,000 trees were felled, at least 800 of which blocked streets and cut power to over half of the city’s residents.  This brings us to the tragic event that happened to two Sailors then stationed aboard the repair ship USS Amphion (AR-13) nearly half a day after the height of the storm.   

(Photographed by Keith Mosher, The Seabag)

Neither Sailor had been able to make it aboard on Sunday, September 11, when Amphion left for open water to evade Hurricane Donna, so both had reported to the receiving station, then part of the Naval Support Activity, that evening. The two had been on liberty separately since shortly after noon on Monday, but had met up in the hours since.  By around 7 pm, 23-year-old Jimmy L. Dotson, driving a friend's car, and his passenger, 19-year-old Robert A. Fenon, were traveling northwest on Jamestown Crescent towards Hampton Boulevard, back towards the naval station, when they struck a large tree that had fallen into the road earlier that day.     

(Photographed by Keith Mosher, The Seabag)

City workers had placed a yellow sawhorse just ahead of where the tree trunk jutted into the northbound lane, which Dotson did not notice in the darkened street until it was too late.  Fenon was thrown from the car when its right side was ripped away during the impact, and his unconscious body came to a rest 102 feet from where the car struck the tree, while his right arm and parts of the car’s interior remained near the point of impact.  Luckily a doctor also came upon the scene and helped save Fenon’s life. 

 

The court case that sprang from that event, Fenon v. City of Norfolk, would become a watershed moment for a tactic known as the “sovereign immunity” defense.  

(Photographed by Keith Mosher, The Seabag)

Through his attorney, Fenon filed a lawsuit on October 13, 1960 against the City of Norfolk for $185,000 in damages, alleging that the city neglected its “obligation to use reasonable care to maintain and keep its streets at all times in reasonably safe conditions for traveling,” and that it “negligently and carelessly” failed to “keep the…street in a reasonably safe condition for travel in the usual mode… by placing a barricade in the street … leaving same without lights or proper warning to approaching traffic….”

During the opening stage of the trial, which took place on February 15, 1961, a witness who lived near the accident scene, one of several who seemed to support Fenon’s allegations, testified that the stretch of Jamestown Cresent around the accident scene “was completely dark and it was just like coming upon a nightmare.”

After almost two months at Portsmouth Naval Hospital and a further stay at the naval hospital in Philadelphia, it was finally Fenon’s own turn to take the stand.  “They told me at the hospital that my Navy career is ruined,” Fenon told the court.  “I am out now and I can’t follow that trade no more."

Despite the consistent testimony of Fenon's witnesses, including one from the city highway department, that only a yellow unlighted wooden sawhorse would have alerted oncoming drivers to the fallen tree blocking the lane, deprived as it was of working streetlights in the wake of Hurricane Donna, there were a number of ways Norfolk city attorney Leonard H. Davis could have defended the city from Fenon's lawsuit.  There were inconsistencies in testimony between Dotson, Fenon and the police officer who investigated the accident.  Even Judge Clyde H. Jacob remarked after the first day's testimony that, in his words, the "broken-down car with lights that did not comply with the law," they had been riding around in was but one "proximate cause" of the accident, and that in his opinion, "if the City hadn't worked at all, hadn't gotten around to this tree, this accident would still have happened."

With such an irresolute case put forth by the plaintiff, and knowing the judges' feelings as to the merit of Fenon's case, Davis could have used reason and logic to methodically deconstruct, discredit, and ultimately demolish Fenon's case; the sort of activity lawyers are typically expected to engage in to win over a jury.  Davis, however, would pursue a very different strategy; one that would render evidence and testimony, not to mention a jury, irrelevant.  He would win this case on a technicality.

Davis did not refute Fenon's charge that city workers had been negligent in dealing with Hurricane Donna's aftermath.  Two who cleaned up the particular section of Norfolk where the accident took place on September 12  freely admitted on the stand that they only had a couple of axes and no saws with which to cut wood, and despite testimony from city officials that the hurricane had left the streets more clogged with debris than any single storm in the previous quarter-century, the workers still left work at their regular time that day because, in the words of one, "It was knocking-off time."

Rather than continuing to engage in litigious interplay with Fenon's attorney in a set-piece game to determine the relative merit of either side's cases, Davis merely declared that his client was immune to prosecution.  In Judge Clyde H. Jacob’s chambers after all witnesses had given their testimony on the afternoon of February 15, Davis moved to strike the plaintiff's evidence on the grounds that, among others, “that in this situation, in doing what it was doing at the time, the City was acting in its governmental capacity, was performing a governmental function and it is immune from liability even if it might be said that it was guilty of any negligence in the performance of that function[emphasis mine].”

The following morning, Judge Jacob granted Davis' motion, informing the jury:
 

Gentlemen of the jury, during your absence council for the defendant, City of Norfolk, moved to strike out the plaintiff’s evidence as not being sufficient in law to submit to you for a verdict against the city.  The Court has sustained that motion.  The Court is not required to tell you the reason for its ruling but you have sat here yesterday and part of today; you may be curious to know it.  The court holds and has held that the work being done on Jamestown Crescent by City employees was done in the performance of the governmental duty that the City owes the public. With the exception of repairing streets, the City is not liable for torts of its employees. The employee himself is liable but the City is not; it has that immunity; and for that reason the City cannot be held liable if the work they were doing was in the performance of a governmental function. The Court has stricken the evidence of the plaintiff.

And with that, Jacob discharged the jury from further consideration of Fenon's testimony or that of his witnesses and issued a summary judgment for the plaintiff.

  

North American FJ-3 Fury fighters of Fighter Squadron 61 (VF-61) Jolly Rogers on the flight line of Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach, circa 1955.  Two Oceana-based FJ-3s crashed near Hamden,  New York, after going off course and running out of fuel, although their pilots ejected safely.  A total of 39 aircraft were moved from NAS Oceana and 31 others were moved from NAS Norfolk as Hurricane Donna approached on September 11, 1960.   (National Museum of Naval Aviation via Wikimedia Commons) On February 16, 1961, the Circuit Court of the City of Norfolk found for the city, and that “said plaintiff take nothing by his suit and said defendant go hence without day and recover against said plaintiff its costs about its defense in this behalf expended, to all of which said plaintiff, by counsel, duly excepted.”  Fenon then appealed to the Supreme Court of Virginia, which rendered a judgment on June 11, 1962 virtually unchanged from that rendered by Judge Jacob.  From then on, a legal precedent was set that continues to be cited in civil, maritime and even admiralty law today.  “As a general rule in most states,” a 2008 textbook on maritime and admiralty law citing the case states, “municipal governments are immune from liability for negligence in performing governmental functions, but for negligence in performing proprietary functions.”  Writing in Virginia Lawyermagazine, Norfolk attorneys David N. Anthony and Beth V. McMahon explained, “A city or municipality engages in two types of functions: governmental functions (which are like the functions undertaken by the state) and proprietary functions (which are more akin to the functions of a private corporation).”  Fenon v. City of Norfolk helped set the definition that “A governmental function advances or protects general public health and safety,” as opposed to proprietary functions, which are characterized by the municipality performing tasks that private entities otherwise would, usually for a fee.   Citing case law such as that established by Fenon, city attorneys across the Commonwealth of Virginia can claim sovereign immunity in order to thwart or nullify legal action stemming from "governmental functions" performed by city employees, regardless of how poorly or dangerously they are performed, and despite the fact that different courts continue to disagree just what the precise definition of “governmental functions” is.  In stark contrast to the still-relevant court case that bears his name, Robert A. Fenon only lived another decade after losing the Virginia Supreme Court case.  He died in June of 1972, at the age of 30.

Announcing our First Artifact of the Month: "Admiral Byrd's Bird"

September 16, 2015, 12:01 am

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NORFOLK, VIRGINIA-- The new Artifact of the Month display debuts this week at the front of the Hampton Roads Naval Museum (HRNM) gallery in an initiative to give visitors the chance to discover rarely-seen items from the museum's collection that for various reasons are not part of the permanent exhibit.  This inaugural display commemorates the little-known role played by a veteran U.S. Navy explorer in countering Nazi rivals as they attempted to claim territory for the Third Reich at the bottom of the world during the prelude to World War II.  

In 1939, Rear Admiral Richard E. Byrd (seen at left as a commander in 1926 wearing a cold-weather mask developed for flying over the arctic), was appointed head of the United States Antarctic Service (USAS) by President Franklin Roosevelt and given orders to halt Nazi exploration in Antarctica and establish permanent bases there.  Among the biological specimens brought back by USAS members in 1941 was the Gentoo Penguin now featured in the museum's "Artifact of the Month" display (Charles Nusbaum Collection/ Hampton Roads Naval Museum)

Alarmed by reports that Nazi explorers had staked claim over more than 200,000 square miles of Antarctica during the "German Antarctic Expedition of 1938-39," the Third Reich's first conquest of territory outside Europe, President Franklin D. Roosevelt sought a way to stem Hitler’s expansionism by mounting the first official U.S. government expedition to the continent.    

Although other American explorers were preparing for their own private expeditions, retired Navy Rear Admiral Richard Byrd, already world famous for his Arctic and Antarctic exploits, stood out from the rest.  Roosevelt called the admiral for a private White House meeting to inform him of his intention to establish a permanent American presence on the continent, and on July 7, 1939, designated Byrd commanding officer of the United States Antarctic Service (USAS), which was supported by the Navy, Interior, State, and Treasury Departments.  

Original photographs from the expedition, including the bark USS Bear with penguins in the foreground, grace the Artifact of the Month display at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum in downtown Norfolk, Virginia (Charles Nusbaum Collection, HRNM).

The USAS expedition of 1940-41would be the first official American mission to establish a permanent presence in Antarctica, but it would be Byrd’s third expedition.  His first expedition in 1928 and a long-duration stay from 1933 to 1935, five months of it spent alone, had been the largest undertakings of their kind in history.  Before President Roosevelt put the might of the Federal Government at his disposal, Byrd had been preparing yet another large privately funded expedition.  Because his private journey of discovery had become a government operation, the native Virginian actually sold his own flagship, the former whaler USS Bear (AG-29), to the Navy for a dollar before sailing from Norfolk.  The USMS North Star, based in Seattle, was the Department of the Interior’s contribution to the mission.  The 59 USAS members also had three aircraft, two light Army tanks, two light tractors, and 130 dogs for transportation. 

Within the new Artifact of the Month display at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum in downtown Norfolk, Virginia, an optimistically-rendered promotional illustration of the experimental mobile base Snow Cruiser is shown with an actual photograph from the expedition showing the behemoth vehicle being unloaded from USMS North Star upon reaching the Antarctic  (Charles Nusbaum Collection, HRNM).

The technological marvel of the expedition was supposed to be the 55-foot-long, 33.5-ton multi-wheeled mobile base and laboratory called the Snow Cruiserthat had been custom made for the USAS.  Unfortunately, its weight and lack of power proved too much for the vehicle to be of any practical use to the USAS team and the one-of-a-kind vehicle was soon abandoned.    

HRNM Exhibit Specialist Marta Joiner arranges the new Artifact of the Month display on Monday, September 14, 2015, at the front of the Hampton Roads Naval Museum in downtown Norfolk, Virginia, on the second level of Nauticus (Photo by Public Information Officer Susanne Greene, HRNM).

Although the USAS only undertook one season of research and exploration out of the two that were planned (possibly in part because their Nazi rivals never came back to defend their Antarctic “colony”), they established two bases, one of which became the oldest permanent U.S. research station in Antarctica.  Lessons learned during the USAS expedition also laid the groundwork for Operation Deep Freeze, which ensured a year-round Navy presence in Antarctica that lasted from 1955 until 1997.    

Despite the political and even military overtones of the USAS expedition, its chief accomplishments were scientific.  Among the specimens collected by USAS staff biologists were bird eggs and the skeletons of Wedell Seals.  Chief Mess Specialist Charles Nusbaum of Portsmouth, Virginia, accompanied Byrd on his historic mission to deny the Nazis a foothold in Antarctica, bringing back the intriguing artifacts, including the Gentoo Penguin, featured in HRNM's first Artifact of the Monthexhibit. 

"Museum staff members are eager to share individual pieces from our collection that can tell a story on their own," said Hampton Roads Naval Museum Director Elizabeth Poulliot.  "We also want visitors to examine our new accessions.  The Artifact of the Month display gives people a chance to go behind the scenes to discover individual treasures not normally on exhibit," continued Poulliot.  "As is the case with most museums, our institution does not have enough space to exhibit everything.  Artifact of the Month ensures visitors see something new every return visit." 

Byrd’s USAS expedition to the Antarctic stands as the largest undertaking of its kind against fascism.  His next expedition in 1946, intended to both counter Soviet designs on Antarctica and train for a possible polar war with this new adversary, was known as Operation Highjump and still holds the record as the largest single expedition to Antarctica ever conducted, with 4,700 personnel and 13 ships involved. 

Indiana Jones, eat your heart out. 

USS Nashville (PG 7) and the Building of the Panama Canal

September 21, 2015, 7:18 pm

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Five weeks before USS Maine (ACR-1) exploded in Havana Harbor, USS Nashville (PG-7) is seen in her peacetime color scheme at the Norfolk Navy Yard in Portsmouth, Virginia.  (Naval History and Heritage Command image)

By Elijah Palmer 

Hampton Roads Naval Museum Educator

A small model of USS Nashville (PG-7) resides in the museum's Steel Navy exhibit.  Sharp eyed visitors might pick out some of the ship's crew on deck, as well as the ship's mascots.  However, many might not know about the important role it played in the building of the Panama Canal.

The desire to build a canal in Central America was not new by 1903, but by that year the United States viewed the need as urgent. An example of the convenience and military advantage that might be had with a canal was evident in the high speed run of USS Oregon (BB-3) from California to Cuba (14,000 nautical miles) in 66 days during the Spanish-American War.  A canal would have significantly shortened that trip, and others like it. 

USS Nashville (PG 7) painted in gray, somewhere on the Great Lakes between the Spanish-American War and its supporting role in the Panamanian "revolt," as American ships of this era were typically painted white during peacetime. (Chuk Munson Collection via NavSource Online)

The United States had guaranteed joint sovereignty over any canal going through Central America in treaties with both Columbia and Great Britain regarding potential canals in Panama (controlled by Columbia) and Nicaragua respectively. The treaty with Columbia originated in 1846, evincing that this concept was not a new one. As one of the terms of this treaty, the United States had helped Columbia put down the numerous revolts and revolutions that occurred nearly yearly in Panama during the latter half of the 19th century. 

A French company had first undertaken a canal project in Panama during the 1880s, but it failed due to the high costs, both monetarily and in lives, particularly deaths from yellow fever.  Once Theodore Roosevelt (a huge proponent of naval seapower) became president, the United States he bought the French property and pushed heavily for a treaty allowing for construction, offering to pay a large down payment as well as annual fees.  Columbia, however, wanted more money from the United States as well as from the French, and refused. 

Quickly following these discussions, Panama seized the moment and revolted again.  Unlike previous times, the United States supported their revolution.  USS Nashville was sent to block Colombian troops at Colon, Panama, arriving on November 2, 1903.  At stake was preventing troops on either side from utilizing the Panama Railroad, but as largely there were not many armed Panamanian rebels yet, keeping the railroad neutral was really meant to keep the Colombian soldiers at bay.  On November 4, 1903 the Colombian commander demanded use of a train or Americans would be killed.  The Americans were heavily outnumbered, but were fortified in a stone shed as well as being supported by the guns of the shallow-draft Nashville, which was able to come very close to shore.  After several tense hours, the Colombians backed down and decided to negotiate. 

Nashville's shallow draft is visible from these plans. The ship was ideally suited for traversing rivers and shallow bays on gunboat duty (Transactions of the Society of Naval Architects and Marine Engineers, Vol. 2, 1894 via NavSource Online)

Within the next two days, the American naval presence was increased with the arrival of the Newport News-built auxiliary cruiser USS Dixie and the protected cruiser USS Atlanta (of ABCD fame), both of which brought hundreds of Marines.  Colombia quickly came to realize that the United States was serious about their support for the newly formed Republic of Panama as the American government recognized the country on November 6, 1903.  The rights to the canal zone were quickly ceded to the United States, in exchange for American support of Panamanian independence from Colombia. 

Nashville played a key role in this instance of "gunboat diplomacy" which gave the U.S. Navy a central role in international affairs for years to come.  

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