This html article is produced from an uncorrected text file through optical character recognition. Prior to 1940 articles all text has been corrected, but from 1940 to the present most still remain uncorrected. Artifacts of the scans are misspellings, out-of-context footnotes and sidebars, and other inconsistencies. Adjacent to each text file is a PDF of the article, which accurately and fully conveys the content as it appeared in the issue. The uncorrected text files have been included to enhance the searchability of our content, on our site and in search engines, for our membership, the research community and media organizations. We are working now to provide clean text files for the entire collection.
Casablanca
(See page 909, September, 1951, Proceedings)
Rear Admiral Samuel Eliot Morison, U. S. Naval Reserve (Retired).—Thank you for giving me the opportunity to comment on the Honorable Russell Brooks’s article “Casablanca—the French Side of the Fence,” in your September issue.
I do not find much discrepancy between my History of U. S. Naval Operations, Volume II (1947) and Mr. Brooks’s account. It represents a more detailed knowledge of and exhaustive research into French actions and motives than I was able to give. I am flattered that Admiral Michelier regards my volume as meritorious, and that he expressed regret that I did not consult him on the occasion of my visit to Morocco. But, as my only visit to Morocco since 1939 was as a lieutenant commander on board U.S.S. Brooklyn between November 7 and 15,1942,1 had no access to the French Admiral. However, the Bethouart episode was told me by General Bethouart himself on the occasion of his visit to Washington in 1943 or 1944.
I shall, however, stand by my comment in Volume II, page 71, which Mr. Brooks quotes on page 915 of the Proceedings, to the effect that “the French armed forces apparently kept no radio watch,” and so never heard President Roosevelt’s B.B.C. broadcasts from 0130 November 8 on. It was natural, perhaps, for the local French military authorities at Fedhala, Safi, etc. to watch only their assigned military frequencies; but what of the higher authorities at Casablanca, Rabat, Oran, Algiers and Vichy? It still seems extraordinary that nobody in the entire Vichy chain of command picked up the repeated presidential warnings of an impending invasion or that they should have brushed them off as “amusing” and failed to warn the responsible commanders in Morocco over the assigned frequencies. I am equally amazed that Admiral Michelier did not know that the warships sighted off Fedhala at daylight November 8 were American, especially if he already had news of the attack on Algiers at 0315 and of the one on Oran 15 minutes later. Surely the Admiral had enough knowledge of the capabilities of the Royal Navy to know that it could not have floated three large amphibious operations simultaneously. Moreover, all our major units off Casablanca, Fedhala, Safi and Mehdia, displayed big battle ensigns which could have been seen by any sharp-eyed shore lookout in “dawn’s early light.” We had enough communications failures and surprises in World War II but none quite so bad as these.
My version of the episode of Colonel Wilbur’s visit to Admiral Michelier’s headquarters may be “not wholly accurate” as Mr. Brooks says, but it was told me within two months of its occurrence, by Major Francis Rogers, USMCR who drove Colonel Wilbur’s car and witnessed the whole affair.
I regret that I do not remember where I found the statement that Admiral Darlan telegraphed General Nogues on November 8 to end resistance, and that Nogues refused. It may be one of the facts brought out in the trial of Marshal Petain. It may be in one of the American accounts of the negotiations with Darlan at Algiers. But I am not prepared to give it up simply on the statement of one General Nogues, who might have found it convenient to forget.
In conclusion I welcome Mr. Brooks’s article as a contribution to the history of our landings in Morocco, and to cementing the historic friendship.
Extraordinary Rolls
(See page 499, May, 1951, Proceedings)
Commander John C. Spenser, U. S. Navy.—I commanded the 1,500-ton U.S.S. Micka which rolled through 70 degrees in an Atlantic hurricane while proceeding from New York to Bermuda for shakedown in October, 1943.
The maximum degree of roll of 70 degrees was witnessed by the personnel in the pilot house on the inclinometer. On several occasions the inclinometer was seen to indicate rolls of 68 degrees.
The circumstances surrounding the Micka's experience were quite different from those of the Lima, in that the Micka was a newly-commissioned ship, never having been outside the inland waters of the United States, with a crew who had never operated together and who equalled the ship herself in inexperience.
Experienced personnel in those days was hard to get. Only a handful of the crew of some two hundred men had ever been to sea. With the exception of myself, all the officers were reserves, most of whom had confined their sea experience to small boats or had had none at all. My chief boatswain’s mate had served in World War I and, since that time, had been a New Jersey traffic cop.
My own experience was hardly more extensive. I had had only four years in the Navy, mostly aboard the U.S.S. Houston and Oklahoma, since graduating from the Naval Academy in June, 1939,1 did have one command under my belt, the PC 589 in 1942. In short, we were about as green a crew of U.S. sailors as ever put to sea.
The weather was bad on the day we left the Brooklyn Navy Yard and appeared to be getting worse. They moved us over to Iona that morning to take on ammunition. The waves were high, even around the dock, the wind strong, and the tugs had a great deal of trouble in putting us alongside.
We got the word that a South-Atlantic hurricane which originally was supposed to have hit Florida, was moving up the coastline and would hit the New England coast instead. Operations estimated that, by heading out to sea, we would avoid it as it moved north up the coastline. Consequently, after completing taking on ammunition all day, we got underway about 2100 that evening.
Before we ever reached Ambrose Lightship the Micka was rolling and pitching considerably and most of the crew were thoroughly seasick. We had no idea that we were heading directly into the path of the hurricane. The storm, instead of following the coastline, had again changed its course and was heading northeast. As a result, our course took us directly into the eye of the hurricane. The eye, incidentally, which we passed through about 0300, was the only calm period we experienced until the following evening.
Unlike the disastrous situations existing in the cases of the Hull, Spence, and Monaghan, three destroyers which capsized in a Pacific typhoon later in World War II, the Micka was fully loaded with fuel, stores, and ammunition—-all ready for a month at Bermuda. Her displacement at this time was probably about 1,700 tons. Had her tanks been only partially full and not ballasted I believe she would have capsized in the hurricane to which she was subjected that night and part of the next day.
We had secured everything as best we could above and below decks. No top-side gear was left loose. Wardroom furniture was lashed down. Then it became a matter of holding on as best we could. The OOD, JOOD, and I were on the open bridge above the pilot house. We tried to keep the ship heading into the sea as the huge waves mounted, but as we approached the storm center the sea became confused, the waves appearing to approach from various directions. Visibility went down to zero. Close to the hurricane center we could hardly see the surface of the water at all and could not see the jackstafl on the forecastle. We kept turns on for 12 knots and estimated that we were making good anywhere from 0 to 3 knots, in various directions.
If the wind and sea were bad before we passed through the eye they seemed to smack us twice as hard on the other side. Passage of the eye lasted only about 5 minutes. This was quite different from one encountered later on the island of Yap in the Western Carolines. In the latter case, it took the eye one hour and twelve minutes to pass.
Getting back to the Micka’s story again, it was after passing through the eye and into the other side that the ship was seen to roll 70 degrees. After this had been reported from the pilot house by the quartermaster, I sent the JOOD down to observe the inclinometer. He lost his footing inside the pilot house and promptly knocked himself unconscious against a bulkhead. Fortunately, he suffered no serious injury
On several occasions the inclinometer indicated rolls of 68 degrees. At one time the Chief Engineer, a young Lieutenant (jg) made his way up to the bridge and said, “Captain, the main engines are moving back and forth in the bedplates.” I could immediately picture one of those big diesel engines getting loose and going right through the side of the ship. But if they were going to do it, there was certainly nothing we could do to prevent it.
Until about 0500 the storm continued at a furious pace. We had no idea of how fast or how far we had been blown off our course. The rudder, of course, was useless. The rain and flying spray formed an almost solid bank. With each big roll we wondered if the ship would ever right herself. We could not measure the wind velocity, but estimated it to be about 110 knots. The barometer dropped to 27.87 inches.
As we would sink into a trough, the next oncoming wave looked as huge and as formidable as Mt. Ranier. If there are any more terrifying experiences than going through a bad typhoon in a small ship, I hope I never run into them. There’s not a thing you can do but take it. You can’t fight back against the elements of nature.
By 0600 the extent of the rolls had decreased to between 50 and 60 degrees and we began to take heart. By 0700 we could relax to rolls of merely 40 degrees and could take stock of our damage to ship and personnel.
Miraculously the ship came through the storm without damage and without injury to its personnel. Almost unbelievedly, no topside gear was lost. This is in sharp contrast to the Lima, which suffered both topside and engineering casualties. I believe it due primarily to the excellent construction job done by the Federal Shipbuilding and Drydock Company at Port Newark. There were certainly times when we on the bridge did not think it possible that the forecastle could survive the terrific weight of water and pounding to which it was subjected. If the forecastle had broken in two and become detached from the rest of the ship, as it did in the case of the cruiser Pittsburgh, I would not have been suprised. Yet, to the best of my recollection, not a plate was bent in the ship’s hull.
Needless to say, we were all well shaken down by the time we got to Bermuda, one day late.
Coincidentally, I repeated the above experience, in a slightly milder form, a year later aboard another destroyer escort built by Federal Shipbuilding, the U.S.S. Formoe (DE 509). As before, we had a green crew and a new ship. The storm wasn’t quite as bad, although of hurricane force, and we arrived again one day late at Bermuda.
I believe that other destroyer escorts have rolled in excess of the 67 degrees encountered by the Lima. If I recall correctly the former skipper of the Tabberer, Commander Henry L. Plage, related that his ship rolled 72 degrees. This was in the same typhoon that capsized the Hull, Monaghan, and Spence. The Tabberer picked up 57 men and received the Presidential Unit Citation for her work, which covered a period of 41 hours.
In any case, it can definitely be stated that the roll of the Lima has been exceeded.
Navy Regulars in Congress
(See page 21, January, 1951, Proceedings)
Commander Louis J. Gulliver, U. S. Navy (Ret.).—In answer to Captain K. C. McIntosh’s remark on page 25, “Stockton, Hobson, Hart—in 150 years can anyone remember any other ex-Navy Regulars in Congress?,” three men come to mind. First, Edouard V. M. Izac, Lieutenant Commander, U. S. Navy (Retired), graduate of the Naval Academy’s Class of 1915, was elected as a Democrat in 1934 to represent the San Diego district in the national House of Representatives and served during the following ten years. A member of the House Naval Affairs Committee, Representative Izac contributed appreciably to the enlargement and general improvement of the Navy.
In 1946, Willis W. Bradley, Captain, U. S. Navy (Retired), a member of the Naval Academy’s Class of 1907, was elected as a Republican to the House of Representatives by the Long Beach, California district. During his one term Captain Bradley served as a member of the House Committee on Merchant Marine and Fisheries.
John W. Weeks, a member of the U. S. Naval Academy’s famed Class of 1881 and a Republican, represented the Newton, Massachusetts, district in the House of Representatives for four terms beginning in 1904. In 1912 he was elected to the U. S. Senate and served one six-year term. In 1916 at the Republican National Convention he received 105 votes for the presidential nomination. Weeks also served as Secretary of War from 1921 until 1925. He died in 1926.
Although Weeks was never a regularly commissioned officer in the U. S. Navy (on completion of his two years sea duty he was “honorably discharged” on account of a general reduction of officer personnel), he served during the Spanish-American War as a lieutenant in the Volunteer Navy and later accepted a reserve commission as rear admiral.
Refloating the U.S.S. Missouri
(See page 181, February, 1951, Proceedings)
Rear Admiral Henry Williams, U. S. Navy.—In his article Admiral Smith refers to a gash in the hull which also appears in the photograph, on page 195, of the vessel in dry dock.
He states that the vessel was not hung up on rocks but does not elaborate on this damage, which was a “gash starting out almost as a sharp pencil scratch, gradually becoming deeper and within twenty feet pierced through the high tensile steel shell plating. Then the object causing the damage was dulled to a larger bearing surface and double- sheared the plating quite clean and pushed it inboard nearly two feet.” The object had to be sharp and well backed up to accomplish a piece of work like that. As a possible explanation of the presence of such an object I suggest the following. In the mid-twenties a loaded railroad car float sank in about the location of Missouri’s grounding, presumably spilling its load of cars in that vicinity. After some effort at salvage the railroad company abandoned the wreck, and as it was an obstruction to navigation, its removal became the responsibility of the U. S. Army Engineers, whose representative commissioned the Norfolk Navy Yard to undertake to remove the car float by refloating. This proving unduly costly, the wreck was dynamited and cut down to give the established draft of water in this channel. The foregoing account is given from memory, as I find no record of the incident. However, there may be record, which will prove or disprove this theory, accounting not only for the damage to the hull plating, but also might explain the failure of the vessel to move on the January 31 effort, no doubt hung up on a part of a wreck, possibly the one referred to above.
Another question frequently and persistently asked related to the cost to the tax payers of the salvage operation. It is common knowledge that commercial salvage jobs are quite costly—and justly so—as a considerable factor is the overhead involved in maintaining, in idleness, high priced equipment, salvage vessels, crews, and all that goes with such a job, awaiting an emergency call. As pointed out by Admiral Smith, the Navy does not have an operating salvage unit as such, but with the “know-how” of salvage work among naval personnel, the specialized and regular equipment on hand, major salvage operations can be undertaken with assurance of success and minimum cost. Of course, it must be accepted that use of naval personnel, except extra pay for diving, and use of naval equipment, except for cost of repairs and replacement, does not involve added expenditure of naval funds.
To return to the actual cost of the Missouri job, I received from the Bureau of Ships the following general information:
“The Navy took pride in the fact that the costs for ungrounding the Missouri were extraordinarily small, and in large part could be written off as worth that much for training of salvage crews in various categories, and in renewing material which was finished off during the operations.
“Costs outside of the Armed Forces totaled only $34,552.50. These costs involved a civilian dredge for about $16,000.00, and towing costs for about $18,000.00.
“Within the Armed Forces, the major cost was for the Army Dredge Comber, which meant a transfer of funds within the Armed Forces of about $65,000.00.
“The costs within the Navy itself were divided up among various vessels for renewal of material primarily, for divers’ pay ($4,100.00), shipyard costs other than repairs ($16,000.00). This gives a total of within-Navy costs of $125,000.00 and a grand total of about $224,000.00 for the refloating operations.
“To this should be added the cost of drydocking and repair of damage to the vessel. The total cost of this was $47,600.00.
“Thus, the grand total of all costs incident to the grounding was about $272,000.00.”
Might I add, for the benefit of some of my air-minded friends, who are disposed to emphasize the vulnerability and cost of battleships, that in this case, at least, the costs of the accident proved to be only a fraction of the costs of a corresponding accident to, let us say, a single heavy bombing plahe!
Red, White, and Blue Bread
Captain W. S. Keller, U. S. Navy.—In 1945 while in command of the General William F. Ease, AP-146,1 was talking with my Supply Officer a few days prior to one of our national holidays, and happened to tell him about our family’s tradition of holding a “Red, White, and Blue Dinner” on each 4th of July. I related how on these festive occasions we used blue plates, red tumblers, red, white, and blue flowers, blue table decorations, etc.
A few days later my Supply Officer came to me and said, “Captain, I have been thinking of your tale in regard to the red, white and blue meals you gave your children. I wonder if it wouldn’t be possible to do something like that for our troops?” I was a little flabbergasted as I had on board 3,000 troop class passengers and thought that the Supply Officer was slightly ambitious in wanting to plan a particular color scheme for the general mess. Nevertheless, I asked him what his idea was and he said, “Red, White and Blue Bread.” Anyhow, we tried it and it was a tremendous success. The bakers used coloring in two batches of dough and then made a loaf somewhat similar to a marble cake. From the outside the crust did not show the color very well, but when the bread was sliced there was a very definite red, white and blue pattern running through each slice.
As a matter of curiosity, I asked the Censoring Officers approximately what percentage of mail made reference to the “Red, White and Blue Bread”; the answer was that 100% of the mail for the next three days mentioned it and that the volume of the mail increased 50%.
From then on the General William F. Ease had patriotic bread every national holiday.
An Unpublished Kipling Poem
(See page 424, April, 1951, Proceedings)
Captain F. H. Brumby, Jr., U. S. Navy. —In the issue of April, 1951, Colonel Berkeley quotes, under “Discussions, Comments, Notes,” what he says is alleged to be an unpublished poem by Rudyard Kipling.
The first verse of this poem appears in Bartlett’s “Familiar Quotations,” Eleventh Edition (Page 785, to be exact), as a quotation from “Inscription to Robley D. Evans,” by Rudyard Kipling.
The Halls of Montezuma
Mr. Roger Williams.—Recently I saw in one of the New York papers a small paragraph to the effect that no one knew the origin of the Marine’s hymn, “The Halls of Montezuma.”
Back in 1910-1911, when I was serving on Admiral Aaron Ward’s staff, I recall very well his telling me that he wrote this song for an officers’ show put on at Annapolis when Ward was on duty there. He said the tune was an old French air which he heard as a boy in France, but that he wrote the words himself.