Naval History Blog

Three score and seven years ago, on what used to be Memorial Day, organized resistance by Japanese forces ended on the island of Attu in the Aleutian Islands of Alaska. Although primarily a land battle involving the 7th U.S. Army Infantry Division, the United States Navy made that day possible, by pulling off one of the most challenging amphibious operations of the war. In this case the strongest ally the Japanese had was nature who in the late Aleutian Spring did her best to delay and hamper the safe landing of American Forces.  The Naval History and Heritage Command posted a series of pictures commemorating this day in their photo album and then followed up with a link to the entry for the USS Zeilin (APA-3) which has photos of LCVP’s from the  ”Mighty Z” as she was called, landing on the beaches in the opening hours of the invasion. Less known is a narrative of this campaign preserved by the crew of the Zeilin, in the book Attack Transport: The USS Zeilin in World War II-An Oral History.

The trip up and landing were described by Captain Logan of the Zeilin, in this unpublished manuscript.

“… and ship to shore movement was promptly underway. But it is only fair to report that this particular journey north through the foulest weather imaginable was one  to remember. Fog bound for several days , and constantly combating the bitter cold, rainy foggy weather characteristic of that area, all hands concerned did a marvelous job getting the old lady through.”…the coxswains were always encountering considerable difficulties in safely navigating their small boats to and from the shore. Some of these brave lads returned to the ship practically frozen to their wheels.”1

For six days the invasion fleet stood by as the transports disgorged their men and cargo. The fierce weather conditions made almost every trip a dance with death. Even if the trip in was uneventful, the return trip could turn deadly on even the gentlest change in the wind that brought pea soup fog rolling in. Former Machinist Mate William P McMahan described one such trip.

We started back to the ship, and a huge, dense fog rolled in. It got so bad that you couldn’t see anything; we were out there, but we didn’t know which way to go. Finally we heard a fog horn on a little destroyer escort. They had sent this little ship out for us because they realized the fog was so thick that we couldn’t find our way back on our own.  We heard that horn and headed in its direction. After a bit, we’d stop and wait until we heard it again. We kept on like this until, finally we ran into the side of that vessel….they got several of us together and we formed a line like a duck and her little ducklings and made our way back to our ship. Of course once we got back, they loaded us up again, and we headed back to the beach. This went on all day and night, without stopping until our ship was unloaded.2

Besides the fog, the swells some reaching fifteen feet along with the bitter cold, even made trips in clear weather treacherous. One such trip almost ended in the loss of a boat crew when after delivering an army officer to the shore during the night, the returning LCVP encountered fifteen foot seas. Machinist Mate Robert H Vinson related how they learned to navigate in rough seas.

“We went around and around with these huge swells – they must have dropped at least fifteen feet – you go up, and you go down, you go up, and you go down. You have to take your time or, otherwise, you go up and you can either ‘pitch poles’ – go back down in a trough end-over-end – or your can go crossways to the swell and capsize. Even though we were wearing our life jackets, we had all our foul weather gear on and so, if we had gone overboard, nobody would have ever found us.”3

Vinson’s boat eventually made it to the Zeilin, but the boat davits were jamed, so the crew attempted to raise the boat with a single hook.  After getting the hook attached to the bow ring and before being able  to secure the after ring, the deck crew began to raise the boat. The screams of the three men could not be heard over the sound of the steam winch. Hanging on for dear life the three crewman clung to the sides of the LCVP. With the boat suspended vertically and half submerged, the crewman climbed up the inside of the boat to reach the extended hands of the deck crew and safety. Vinson remembered.

“I’ve never been so scared in my life. we raised holy hell: we were cursing and jumping up and down,  but the Chief was there and said, ‘Hey, it’s not our fault,…..at least we got you out of there.’”4

Finally on May 17, 1943 the Zeilin steamed south her mission complete.  In a strange turn of events the “Mighty Z” and her crew got a brief respite when upon return to San Diego she co-starred in the movie Guadalcanal Diary ironically playing herself.  “Many of  the crew were unpaid extras in the film,” according to Robert W. Thompson.5  The shooting went on for a few weeks, ending when the landing craft repainted with the former ‘P9′ to designate the original hull number for the Zeilin during the Gaudalcanal Campaign shot the landing scene of the troops hitting the beaches at a tropicalized Camp Pendleton beach.

As soon as the filming ended, the Zeilin steamed to San Francisco to pick up troops for the invasion of Kiska. And after that, Bloody Tarawa.

1. Robert E Witter, Attack Transport: The USS Zeilin in World War II-An Oral History (Haverford, PA: Infinity, 2001) 51.

2. Ibid, 53.

3. Ibid, 57.

4. Ibid, 58.

5. Ibid, 59.

The first Secretary of the Navy, Benjamin Stoddert, took up his duties in May 1798, in the midst of an international crisis. Under his effective leadership, the fledgling United States Navy would defend the new nation’s burgeoning commerce against the power of one of Europe’s major powers and lay the foundations of the Navy’s honorable heritage and hallowed traditions.

France had been America’s major ally in the War of Independence, and without its assistance the United States may not have won independence. But the new government of Revolutionary France viewed a 1794 commercial agreement between the United States and Great Britain, known as Jay’s Treaty, as a violation of France’s 1778 treaties with the United States. The French increased their seizures of American ships trading with their British enemies and refused to receive a new United States minister when he arrived in Paris in December 1796. In April of 1798 President Adams informed Congress of the infamous “X Y Z Affair,” in which French agents demanded a large bribe for the restoration of relations with the United States. Outraged by this affront to national honor, on 27 April 1798 Congress authorized the President to acquire, arm, and man no more than twelve vessels, of up to twenty-two guns each.

Since 1794, naval affairs had been the responsibility of the Department of War. In March 1798, overworked Secretary of War James McHenry brought before Congress the problem of his responsibility for naval affairs. Naval administration had become a significant portion of his department’s work, as it had for the Department of the Treasury, which oversaw all the Navy’s contracting and disbursing. The Department of War also had received congressional criticism for what was seen as the mismanagement and the excessive cost of the naval construction program. In addition, the growing trouble with the French induced Congress to authorize an increase in the size of the navy and raised the possibility that the navy would be called on to confront French privateers.

In response to the obvious need for an executive department responsible solely for, and staffed with persons competent in, naval affairs, Congress passed a bill establishing the Department of the Navy. President John Adams signed the historic act on 30 April 1798. Benjamin Stoddert, a Maryland merchant who had served as secretary to the Continental Board of War during the American Revolution, became the first secretary of the navy. Stoddert “was a classic Navalist” who “desired an American navy which could, not only protect commerce, but which would increase American prestige.”

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John William Finn was a Chief Petty Officer serving at Naval Air Station Kanoehe Bay, Oahu, Territory of Hawaii on 7 December 1941, during the Japanese air raid that struck that facility and others on Oahu. Chief Finn manned a machine gun and effectively fired on the enemy planes despite the receipt of several painful wounds. For his heroism at that time, he was awarded the Medal of Honor. In June 1942, Finn was temporarily commissioned as an Ensign, rising in rank to Lieutenant two years later.

Lt. John Finn, who was awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery on December 7, 1941 died today at the Veterans Home of California in Chula Vista.At 100, Finn was the oldest surviving recipient of the nation’s highest medal for valor and the only recipient still alive among those who received the medal for actions during the attack of Dec. 7, 1941.

Last year, NHHC Photo Curator Robert Hanshew interviewed Finn for our Facebook Fan Page:

The following are excerpts from that interview.

Question: When you realized the Japanese were attacking what went through your mind?

“I thought they were doing a fantastic job in wrecking the place. They really knew what they were doing and [must have been] studying to perform this attack for years. They were doing really well, especially with our carriers being out of the way,” said the lieutenant. He was only a mile away, at his base residence, when the Japanese attacked. When he got to the air field he manned a .50 caliber machine gun, made an improvised gun mount, and fought back at an exposed section of a parking ramp.

Question: Though wounded and treated for injuries you returned to ensure planes were rearmed. “A lot of men were shot during this time, a lot of shot-up men. I was angry.”

At Kaneohe Bay 19 men were shot. Finn said it was better to be there than at Pearl Harbor where more than 2,000 men died. He added, “We had ordnance gun crews, but no stationary gun mounts. We could have done a better job if we had had those mounts.” Proudly, he stated, “Every man was determined to find a machine gun to fight back and we did what we could to fight and turn them away.”

Question: How many times were you wounded?

“I had 21 wounds, though I seemed to hardly notice because of the heavy enemy machine gun fire during the attack. The men felt proud as we fought them off.”

Question: How did you feel on the day you received the Medal of Honor.

“It was not a very happy occasion. It was a tragic day for my family. My baby brother died on the exact same day I was awarded the Medal”

Question: What were you thinking when you were awarded the Medal of Honor?

“I was frightened getting the Medal at the ceremony, where Admiral William F. Halsey was also in attendance.” But he was glad he didn’t have to go all the way to Washington, D.C. to get the award from President Roosevelt.

Question: “If you enlisted in the Navy today, what would you be most interested in?

“I would be doing the same thing [that I was doing] when I first came in. I left school after completing eighth grade. I couldn’t do anything with math. When I was seventeen, I joined the Navy. I never wanted to be burden to my family. After finishing my training, I realized I was born to have done what I was doing in the US Navy. To this day, I still feel the same.”

Question: do you have any advice for sailors, or any service members, just enlisting today?

“They should still maintain their American ideals, respect the flag, and learn to work. No matter what age they are — the youth of today should respect their parents. Work to the best of your ability. Life isn’t a bed of roses, but one should keep ones faith to complete a good job. Upon that, the young sailors of today will achieve.”

Editors note: Photo Curator Robert Hanshew has worked at the Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph Section for the past ten years. A former Navy veteran, he received his degrees from the University of Maryland and Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland. He has worked on the Medal of Honor project, specifically for the past five years. Lt. John W. Finn turned 100 years old on 24 July 2009.

RIP Lt. Finn.  You stand relieved.  We have the watch

This week marks graduation for the Class of 2010 across the nation.  High school students may be graduating and heading off to enlist in the Navy, and Naval Academy Midshipmen and NROTC students are soon ready to begin their careers as Navy officers.  As part of our incredible collection the Navy Department Library contains some of the books that mark these momentous occasions. 

 Lucky Bags are an incredible resource from the Naval Academy  and our collection dates from 1849 to 2001.  We also have NROTC year books from universities and colleges such as Notre Dame, Marquette University, and the University of Washington.  There are even books from the Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island from the 1950s and 1960s.  Our collections also include large runs of training or recruit books from Naval Training Centers in San Diego, Orlando, Great Lakes, and Bainbridge. 

 While not every year or company is represented it is still an impressive and treasured collection.  For a more complete listing of the training and education yearbooks in our library please visit our website.  These books are available to the public in our library spaces or in some cases inter-library loans may be requested if you are unable to visit us in person.

Times change, technologies change, but human nature remains constant.

The summer of 1944 found Seaman First Class James Fahy at sea in the Pacific on board the USS Montpelier (CL-57). The light cruiser began shelling Saipan 14 June to support the Marianas invasion, participated in the Battle of the Philippine Sea from 19 to 21 June, and then returned to the Marianas to continue shelling Saipan, Tinian, and Guam.

Before enlisting in the Navy at the age of twenty-four, Fahy was the happy driver of a garbage truck in Waltham, Massachusetts. A remarkably unflappable, optimistic, and devout Roman Catholic, Fahy believed that the Good Lord would protect him and his shipmates through thick and thin. Although he would spend nearly three years at sea, witness appalling casualties inflicted upon nearby warships and Marines ashore, and suffer the deprivations that war visits upon all who serve, his spirit remained generally upbeat.

Nevertheless, these extraordinary demands got to him from time to time. On 3 July 1944, he recorded one such occasion in a secret diary he kept throughout the war. “Last night I got about a half hour sleep,” he wrote. “I could not find a place topside to keep dry. I took a shower at 10 P.M. and it stopped raining about 11 P.M. I went on watch from midnight to 4 A.M. I hit the sack after 4 A.M. and all hands went to General Quarters at 4:45 A.M. There is one thing you do not have to worry about getting out here, and that is a good night’s sleep. There is no such thing as that. Most of our time is spent at battle stations. In all the time that I have been out here I only slept below in my bunk a few times, because it is too hot. You sleep on the steel deck with your clothes on and use your shoes as a pillow. . . . It will be quite a treat for us when we return home and go to sleep in a bed with nothing to spoil our sleep. It is just the little things in life that you look forward to. . . .

Following her commissioning on March 1, 1939, the submarine SQUALUS (SS-192) began a series of test dives out of Portsmouth Navy Yard on 12 May. After successfully completing 18, SQUALUS made final preparations for her fateful dive near the Isles of Shoals at 0835 on the morning of the 23rd. The commanding officer of SQUALUS, Lieutenant Oliver F. Naquin, initially thought the dive, as he later recalled, was “going to be a beauty”. However, nearly simultaneous reports of flooding from both engine rooms initiated a relentless descent to the bottom that the best efforts of the crew could not arrest. As the men worked to close watertight doors and ventilation flappers, the submarine compartment lights went out soon followed by the emergency lighting. Hand lanterns soon provided the only illumination available to the men trapped on the ocean floor. At 0845, Lieutenant Naquin ordered that the first of a series of red smoke rockets be fired and that the torpedo room marker buoy be released.

When the stricken submarine failed to provide a surfacing report, Rear Admiral Cyrus W. Cole, Commandant of Portsmouth Navy Yard, directed her sister ship SCULPIN (SS-191), due to set sail from Portsmouth for Newport at 1130, to search for the missing boat. At 1241, SCULPIN sighted red smoke and soon picked up the forward marker buoy by which she briefly communicated with SQUALUS by telephone until the buoy cable snapped. At 0425 the next morning, the submarine rescue ship FALCON (ASR-2) reached the scene and began preparations for rescue operations. Minutes before, Commander Allan R. McCann, USN, and 12 divers from the Experimental Diving Unit arrived in the area. The Officer in Charge of Experimental Diving at the Washington Navy Yard, Lieutenant Commander Charles B. Momsen, USN, would also be instrumental in the rescue of the crew and the salvage of SQUALUS. The rescue chamber that McCann and Momsen had helped develop for the Navy was about to take center stage.

The tragic loss of life that resulted from the sinking of the submarine S-4 (SS-109) in December 1927, spurred the Navy to look for technology capable of retrieving trapped submariners. Momsen conceived of a rescue chamber and continued to refine this idea in reaction to testing and experimentation until he was assigned the task of developing an individual breathing apparatus, nicknamed the “Momsen Lung”. From July 1929 to July 1931, McCann, during his tenure at the Bureau of Construction and Repair, further developed the escape apparatus that would be known as the McCann Rescue Chamber. While in command of the Experimental Diving Unit at the Navy Yard, Momsen also proposed a helium and oxygen mixture that would be used by the divers involved in the SQUALUS operation. The work of both men prior to and during the rescue and salvage proved crucial.

By 1212 on the 24th, the rescue chamber made contact with SQUALUS and 28 minutes later had been securely attached to the submarine. After providing provisions to the crew of SQUALUS, the rescue chamber took on seven survivors who reached the surface at 1342. The rescue chamber continued to operate as designed as it evacuated nine more men from SQUALUS in each of her next two trips. However, during the fourth trip to gather up the last eight survivors, including Lieutenant Naquin, the downhaul wire jammed 150 feet from the surface. Divers, at great personal risk, entered the dark and frigid waters to cut the downhaul wire. The chamber admitted water ballast to achieve negative buoyancy and it sank to the bottom before the crew of the FALCON hauled the rescue chamber to the surface by hand. The last survivors from SQUALUS left the chamber at 0025 on the 25th after a harrowing ascent of nearly four hours. A final, unsuccessful, attempt was made to find survivors beyond the 33 who had already been saved, but all the aft compartments had been completely flooded. In all, one officer, 23 sailors and two civilians had perished.

In September 1939, in a considerable technological feat, the Navy raised SQUALUS. The submarine was recommissioned as SAILFISH (SS-192) on May 15, 1940 and earned nine battle stars and a Presidential Unit Citation during World War II service.