Name:  William M. (Bill) Hathorn
email: mhathorn@ix.netcom.com

STORY:

The atom bomb was dropped in August of 1945 during my boot training in San Diego. On completion of boot camp I went to the amphibious base on Coronado for training in LCM and LCVP landing craft. Since there was now no need to invade Japan and the navy was moving toward a peacetime status a group of us were loaded onto an APA as replacements for the fifth fleet then on station in Tokyo Bay Japan.

The New Jersey had arrived a couple of weeks earlier to relieve the Iowa as Flagship of the Fifth Fleet. As the APA dropped anchor I came up on deck and for the first time viewed both the New Jersey and the Iowa floating majestically off Yokosuka, Japan with snow-capped Mt. Fugi rising in the distance. What a sight! World War II had been over just two months and seeing these great American battleships in Japanese waters gave me a since of pride which is hard to express. I never dreamed I would serve on one of them.

The next day I found myself standing on the teak deck of the New Jersey, waiting for my billet assignment. Immediately I detected a bit more “spit and polish” than I had encountered on the APA or at the amphibious base. The officers and enlisted men had their separate gangways. The officer’s starboard forward and the enlisted men starboard aft. We mustered on deck and a salty old chief with a clipboard and hash marks all the way down his sleeve yelled out “Hathorn, William report to the post office.” The post office? I had been at sea three weeks and I already had mail on the New Jersey. Impossible, and also where in hell was the post office?

I finally found the post office and then discovered that this was my billet. I was pleased. Duty in the post office was not bad duty for an 18-year-old S1C. I quickly settled into the post office routine, casing incoming mail by division, franking and bundling outgoing mail, making mail runs to the beach, and “working the window”. The post office window was a special challenge. The only adding machine was in the supply office. During window transactions the only means of computation was a pad and pencil or in your head. This got pretty hairy with guys taking out money orders, buying airmail stamps, shipping home Japanese rifles and Lord knows whatever else they scrounged in Tokyo and Yokohama. It got damned exciting at the end of the day to see if the money taken in matched the stamps and money-orders given out. I could see myself doing hard time in a navy brig somewhere. With the thousands of dollars I handled each week I came up short only once. The shortage was for twenty dollars, which was a lot of money then. The officer and chief’s mail was delivered to the wardroom and chief’s quarters. We also took good care of the cook’s mail. I had mentioned the separate gangways for officers and enlisted men. As enlisted men we made our mail runs to the beach using the rear gangway. On one occasion I needed transportation back to the ship from the fleet post office in Yokosuka and the only boat available was the Captain’s Gig. Of course, the Captain’s Gig was covered so the occupants were not visible. Since I was an enlisted man the coxswain attempted to deposit me on the stern ladder, but since this was the Captain’s Gig the O.D. kept waving him off and pointing to the forward gangway. We finally docked at the platform of the forward ladder.  I doubt that many seamen have boarded the New Jersey with “sideboys”on the quarterdeck.

On the fantail of the WWII vintage New Jersey were catapults holding two Seahawk spotter aircraft (seaplanes) with a retrieval crane in between. The pilots who manned these aircraft had a haunted look, very thin with sunken eyes. I had a close look at them when they came for service at the mail window. After watching a couple of the launching exercises I understood why. At takeoff the pilots would rev the engines to full throttle and at the proper moment the planes would be catapulted off the stern. They would sink momentarily as if going into the drink then, hopefully, maintain enough lift to remain airborne. Those pilot’s lives must have flashed before their eyes at every takeoff.

The retrieval process was about as exciting. These planes would have to land at sea with waves often 6 to 10 feet. The NJ would head into the wind making a sharp turn to starboard or port thus leaving a giant slick in its wake. The planes could then make a landing on this calmer water. The aircraft would be winched aboard by the hoist on the stern. My GQ battle station was in the flag-plot room. My duty was to keep in radio contact with these pilots. On one occasion I received a message from one of the pilots stating that he was experiencing engine trouble and would have to attempt an open sea landing. He gave me his location relative to the ship and was able to land in a wave trough. We came about, found him and brought the plane safely aboard.

I had a buddy from my hometown who was a quartermaster aboard the New Jersey. When we were at sea and he was standing a late night watch I would go to the bridge and he would allow me to take the wheel. I would steer a little to starboard and watch the compass react a degree or so and then I would return to the original course.  What a thrill to feel that mighty ship in your hands, if only for a minute or two. Any veteran who had a son has been asked that famous question “what did you do in the war daddy”? It’s a little hard to explain to an eight year old you “fought the war” in the post office. He wanted to hear that I manned one of those 16-inch guns. When my son was a little older and we would see a picture of the New Jersey I would tell him proudly “ when we were underway I was once at the helm of that great ship” and wasn’t lying. That impressed him.

I’m no war hero and never aspired to be one. During my naval career I never heard a shot fired in anger. I have often wondered about the men 2 to 10 years my senior who manned these great ships during the height of WWII. They never aspired to be heroes either, but many of them were. Unfortunately, many of them are no longer with us. My hope has always been that if their duty had been thrust upon me I would have behaved as gallantly as they. I had the great privilege to serve with many of those officers and men aboard the USS New Jersey BB62.

Name:  John (Jack) McDonald

E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net 

Story:  In April of 1944 Task Force 58.1 was carrying out strikes against the Marshall Islands and the Mariana Islands. I was Captain's Talker connected to 16 look - out stations throughout the ship on the JA phone circuit. They'd report to me then I'd relay the messages on a circuit to the entire bridge. This one particular morning in early April the strike was against Kwajalein Atoll. We were at General Quarters, it was still dark but just before dawn. The lookout -  aft yelled in the phone " Torpedo wake dead astern " In a couple seconds I'd given the report and at that very same time the whole starboard side of the ship lit up. A Gunner on a 20 mm. opened up and scored a direct hit. I believe the description of the plane was a
Japanese " Betty ".( Torpedo Bomber ) Captain Holden couldn't say enough about the gunner's quick actions. The plane exploding took our attention away from the torpedo but we were lucky because it missed.
Jack Mc Donald   N - Div.

Name:  DON CARROLL
email: dcarroll@heartland.net

STORY:

Name:  John (Jack) McDonald

E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net 

Story:  Philadelphia Navy Yard   - - 1943 May / June."   On our first " Sea Trial " after commissioning ' 43 with a group of yard personnel and a Pilot we backed out from the dock to Starboard into the Delaware River.

The pilot did not order enough rudder angle so we dug into the bank on the other side of the river. It was decided that only minor or no damage was done to the propellers so we continued with the exercise. 

Later when we returned to port we went into drydock for an overall inspection. A week or two later on our second " Sea Trial " we had the same pilot. On our Starboard beam was another dock, a utility type, narrow and on pilings unoccupied. Backing out, the pilot remembering how he hit the bank the first time gave the order " Right Full Rudder ." With too much rudder the Jersey hit that dock and caused it to tilt at a very sharp angle. There was a " Head " at the end of this dock and out ran a yard worker with his pants at " Half Mast "  It was a very serious incident but sure caused quite a laugh on the bridge.
Jack Mc Donald  QM 2/c

Jack E Mac

name:  Robert F. Randall
email: rrandall@worldnet.att.net

story:
In late 1953 or early 1954 we were out on maneuvers with the USS Missouri after serving in Korea. (We were on the battleline when the announcement came over the sound system, "Get a hundred miles away from the Korean coast." The truce had been signed.)  A member of the first division, I was assigned to relieve the helm of the New Jersey. It was my first time steering the battlewagon. I relieved the helm somewhat apprehensively and settled down making minute changes to stay on course. Unfortunately, steering aft requested a shift to the starboard steering unit. I gave the word "shift," putting the rudder amidships and flipped the switch on the helm indicating the starboard steering unit. When steering aft returned power to me the rudder indicators were off five degrees. Instead of returning the power to steering aft to align the rudder, I tried to overcompensate and as a result the ship veered off course. The OOD sent down to wake up another helmsman and I, thoroughly humiliated, was relieved.

I had to endure the jibes of my shipmates that I was "ol' - thirty - degrees - off - course - and - a - half - mile - out - of - formation." Subsequently, the Navy put me back on the wheel and I steered while the ship entered harbors and refueled.

Name:  John (Jack) McDonald

E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net 

Story:  I was assigned to the Jersey "43.  In April before her first commissioning. I requested and got into "N" Div.  During General Quarters I was Captains Talker on the bridge -- Underway  Station was Steering Aft and my Fire Station was Upper Con. A memory  I'll have forever is that  one time during a fire drill. The Jersey was  part of Task Force 58.3 and we were starting the campaign against  Saipan, Tinian, and Guam. About 140 warships took part. The nine first line battleships formed abreast of one another and the Jersey was on the flank. Seas were running pretty good and from Upper Con I looked on our port beam over the bows on all nine ships with the waves breaking over their bows. I have to think that never was there a sight like that or would there ever be again.
Jack Mc Donald   QM 2/c

Jack E Mac

Name:  John (Jack) McDonald

E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net 

Story:  Truk Atoll, in the Caroline Islands was a Japanese base much like Pearl Harbor. Task Force 58.3 mission was to search for and destroy the Japanese Fleet. Trouble was we couldn't locate them. At the end of April '44 we received a report that their fleet had assembled at Truk Atoll.
We steamed at full speed for Truk to get in range for a strike using our aircraft. We were detached from Task Force 58.3 -- Adm. Spruance, with his Flag on the Indianapolis, Battleships Washington, So. Dakota, Iowa and the New Jersey. Along with the first line Carriers. About 1500 hours we were about 300 miles from Truk which would mean our planes, with the fuel they carried, could get there and back with about 15 minutes over targets. Even though it was late in the day the decision was made to launch, knowing it would be dark when the planes returned. At dusk our Destroyers reported contacts with enemy Submarines. The order was given NOT to light the Carriers for the returning planes to land because of the contacts. It was decided for the planes to ditch then a couple of destroyers would stay in the area to pick up pilots the next morning.
We'd hear messages form the pilots just before they'd ditch like " Tell my wife my last thoughts were of her " or "Get a letter to my Wife and Kids, etc. etc. " After some of these reports Adm. Spruance said "Light those Carriers".  I've often wondered if he was putting his head in a "Noose" by over riding a General Order. The Japanese Fleet had left Truk Atoll and the only targets were some merchant ships and a few small naval auxiliaries, which were destroyed.  Seeing the Carriers lit for night landings was a beautiful sight.  Jack Mc Donald  QM 2/c


Jack E Mac

Name:  Ed Campbell

E-Mail: edcampbell@prodigy.net 

Story:  In late January or early February of 1969, we were in Yokosuka, Japan.  Port calls represent a lot of things to a sailor; liberty, relaxation, rest (of a kind only a sailor can appreciate, after spending the previous six weeks working twenty hour days seven days a week).  They also represented a time to do those SLJ's we really couldn't do underway.  I was standing in the ET shop with ET1 Rubin Thornton and ETN2 Barry Capelli.  At the time, I was a lowly ETN3 and worked for these two gentlemen - and gentlemen they were albeit each with his own wicked sense of humor.  They were bantering back and forth about what could be done when one of them came up with the bright idea of checking for corrosion on the antenna couplers.  The ship was sporting the Communications "E" on the stack and we took particular pride in the fact we were the ones who maintained the equipment.  For the most part, checking for corrosion was "busy work" and not an overwhelming challenge.  It simply meant visiting every radio antenna on the ship and visually inspecting the connections.  Most of the antennae were easily accessible.....except one.  That one was at the very tip top of the Main Mast....some 200 feet above the Main Deck.

Well, you might imagine, there was some discussion about that; should we, could we, who's we.....  It was finally decided (and I don't really recall by whom but, Rubin was the boss) that we'd all participate in this exciting opportunity.  The question was, how?  Well, most of the way up was a normal climb up through the various deck levels until the very last deck and, from there it was a straight climb up a rickety aluminum ladder.  Oh, sure it was strong enough but, it was somewhat flexible too and tended to sway (ever so slightly) when you got about half way up the sixty foot length.  I could only imagine the thrill.  My knees were getting weak, just thinking about it.   Thankfully, Barry volunteered for that experience.

Rubin noted that we were alongside a pier that had a huge crane.  With a little discussion he managed to secure us a ride in, what I thought was, a bucket.  I carefully noted it was steel and had solid sides, about waist high as I thought, "I can do this".  Rubin and I climbed into this "bucket" and he gave the signal to begin taking us up.  The crane operator was very good and it didn't feel any different than an average elevator ride.  My attention was focused on Barry, who was about half way up the final ladder as the crane operator deftly brought us up to the antenna.  Barry was exuding bravado but, I noticed he had his safety harness hooked to the ladder and I felt better.  "Campbell, look down!"  "Thank you, no.  How does that coupler look?"

Rubin, on the other hand, in his own inimitable laconic manner said, "Campbell, is your shoe untied?"  If you've ever had anyone say that to you, you know it's a reflex to look at your shoes.  I did....and nearly lost my lunch.  We were not in a "bucket".  We were in a "basket", with a grated steel floor.  As I looked at my shoes, I could see straight down, through the floor, to the deck and pier two hundred feet below.

name:  Leon Tucker Jr. QM, BB-62 9/87 - 11/90
email: ltucker5329@home.com

story:  CLOSING THE BOOK ON THE BATTLESHIP NAVY  By JO2 Jonathan Annis

My last watches aboard USS New Jersey (BB-62) were on roving patrol.  It was late 1990 in Long Beach, California.  The Battleship was in drydock preparing for decommissioning in a few months.  The crew lived in barges nearby.  The only life left inside "Big J"s armored shell was in memory.  My watches were more than thorough.  For once, I took myself on a tour of just about every space aboard, seeing them all for the last time; saying goodbye.

"Haunting" is probably the best word to describe the experience.  Systems that once hummed, hissed and sweated lay still.  Shrouded like a ghost in plastic bags and brown paper.  I couldn't be quiet.  The cold, metallic screech of every turn of a dog on a watertight door was awesome.  The hollow echoes of footfalls reverberated down and back along the narrow, winding passageways.

For years, thousands of shouting men had coursed through these same passageways like cells in a bloodstream.  The blare of the 1MC, the perpetual rumble of massive steam engines, the signature thunder of the 16-inc guns all had impressed upon me that this was a living, breathing thing.

The idea made it easier to give tours.  I would say the ship fired salvos in World War II, Korea, Viet Nam and Beirut; the ship did this....the ship did that....I was aboard when "this" happened.  Catchy headlines and colorful accounts by the press reinforced the idea, personifying New Jersey with "Battleship Pride" or "Firing in Anger."  Lately we were hearing that the "Battleship was dying".

That gave me something to think about in the hushed bell of the Battleship.  There, I sensed a pervading feeling of sadness, not spooky at all.  This isn't going to make much sense to anyone who hasn't been aboard a dying ship, but there I also realized the sadness could only be my own. 

When the Battleship "died" in February 1991, the crew collectively mourned.  As could be expected, the press photographed long faces, tears et al.  It was all in the next days paper and, I would suppose, promptly forgotten the day after by a majority of the public.  But what couldn't be photographed was that piece of New Jersey that every sailor kept alive in their hearts and minds.  We knew each of us was part of something special - we were the "BATTLESHIP NEW JERSEY (BB-62)".

Aboard USS Missouri (BB-63), that "other" battleship we shared a pier and friendly rivalry with, I'm sure some sailors had experiences much like my own.  Aboard 75 ships scheduled for decommissioning this year you'll find even more.  There will probably be quite a few more of us in the next five years.  Our ships can be decommissioned, but we won't easily forget where we invested a portion of the best years of our lives.  I know I won't.

(Ed Note: "Amen" to that.)

name:  William M.(Bill) Hathorn
email: mhathorn@ix.netcom.com

story:

Christmas holidays were always a special time for my family and me. I’ll have to admit, as an 18 year old kid attempting to act like a man in the navy, I had some problems with homesickness, especially at this time of year. I’m sure these thoughts of home were shared be a large number of the USS New Jersey crew.

It was December 1945 and World war II had been over just three months. This was the first Christmas in 5 years that the phrase “ peace on earth and goodwill toward men” would not have a hollow ring to it. Christmas was just a few days away and the USS New Jersey, on station in Tokyo bay as flagship of the fifth fleet, had received very few packages from home. We in the post office felt personally responsible for their timely arrival . There was concern about where all the ship’s packages were and if they would make it for Christmas.

The New Jersey had received a large shipment of ditty bags* made by the good ladies from the state of New Jersey. They were filled with stationery, toilet articles, needles and thread and etc. I thought it was nice that a lady in New Jersey would give some stranger from Louisiana a gift because he was stationed aboard a ship with her state’s name on it. That’s the way this country operated  during World War II. This was truly a thoughtful gesture, but the crew was still, hopefully, waiting for their packages from home.

To help the Christmas season along a large marine lieutenant. with a large handle-bar mustache organized a caroling group which I joined. The group was made up of 10 to 12 sailors and marines with varying degrees of vocal and musical talent. We rehearsed in one of the 5 inch gun turrets developing a repertoire of carols and standard Christmas songs. We started out pretty ragged but after a few rehearsals felt we were ready to “hit the road” or to be more explicit the passageways to develop a little “Christmas spirit” aboard ship. We wandered around singing down one passageway and  up another and through  officer’s country. Then the marine lieutenant had a wild idea and said “ Let’s go “serenade” admiral Tower”, the commander of the 5th fleet. Most of us had never been in the rarefied atmosphere of an admiral’s quarters with  a marine orderly standing outside the door. We stood at the entrance to the admiral’s quarters singing and giving it all we had . In a few moments his door opened and the admiral appeared. He let us finish the carol then to our great surprise invited us in. There in his pantry was his smiling Philippine chief steward dishing up bowls of ice-cream with strawberries. A young S1c having ice-cream and strawberries with the admiral? ONLY IN AMERICA!

Christmas was a couple of days away and no packages were in sight. Morale aboard ship was sinking fast; and then, Christmas eve morning we received a message from the fleet P.O. in Yokosuka to come get a shipment of mail for the NJ and come in something bigger than a whale boat. (we made our normal mail runs in whale boats). That morning we headed to the beach in a LCM with a cargo net and a 10 man working party. You would not have believed the mountain of mail sacks unless you had seen them. We finally got the sacks loaded into the boat onto the cargo net. We then brought the LCM to the stern of the NJ and using the crane on the fantail lifted the cargo net filled with mail sacks  onto the deck. When we got all those sacks down to our work area around the post office they extended from the deck to the overhead.  The passageway by the post office was impassable. We had been congratulating ourselves on how smart we were to use the cargo net and crane to get all those mail sacks aboard but. as the sacks were opened some of the packages were smashed with the contents rolling about loose. Maybe they were torn apart during the long  trip from home, but we would never know.

It was Christmas eve afternoon and we were just beginning to sort the packages by division. To get the job done by Christmas morning we would have to work all night. The smashed packages presented another problem. We gathered all the loose items and package wrappers with names on them. These loose items, canned goods, shaving lotion, candy, etc. were distributed to those men who had wrappers addressed to them but nothing left in the parcel. They didn’t receive what their families sent but they did receive something. I’ll have to say this made us feel pretty good.

At 0800 we began our mail call and by the time Christmas chow was being served we had all the packages to the ship’s company.

Oh, by the way, during the previous morning while we were picking up the mail some Japanese beer and sake “mysteriously” found its way into a couple of the mail sacks. On Christmas eve, while we were sorting all those packages, “Santa’s helpers” felt obliged to drink several toasts to “peace on earth and goodwill toward men”.

The End

name:  Christina Gorchinski
email: ciws_sweetie@hotmail.com

story:

In tribute to a man that I remember as a giant, but who was, in the end, just a man.  My father, ETC (SW) Gorchinski, is remembered by his shipmates as a man who was there for everyone, and would bend over backwards to help a sailor in need.  I just remember someone who let me stay up past bedtime to watch "Star Wars".  There are so many who could tell stories I never knew about him, but they hadn't, so I thought it important that his name be remembered here.  Now, as active duty Navy myself, having those memories seems so much more important.  People ask me why I work so hard sometimes, where my drive comes from.  I know someone is watching with very high expectations.  Thanks Dad.

Name:  John (Jack) McDonald

E-Mail: jmac0078@webtv.net 

Story:  Preparing for the main engagement of Saipan, Tinian and Guam, The New Jersey, the Iowa and destroyers were assigned to shell the main island - Saipan. Tinian was only an airstrip and Guam was scheduled for a few days later. Our orders were to fire star shells into the corn fields on the western side of Saipan to confuse the Japanese about which beaches our troops would land. 

For two days we dumped star shells plus regular 5 in. and 16's. The Japanese main forces were on the Eastern side and this caused them to split them. There was no resistance from the Japanese Fleet so we went in close, destroyed the airstrip and
hit other targets.

The morning of the third day 140 warships came over the horizon. Our landing forces did great securing the island having only light casualties. The Japanese told the Islanders that if they were captured by the Americans they'd be tortured. Whole families would hold hands and jump off high cliffs. We set up loud speakers trying to stop the suicides. In mopping up they stacked all the bodies on the beach and doused them with acid. The New Jersey had just come to anchor and the wind
was in our direction so we had to lift anchor and shift our anchorage.

Three days later we were shelling Guam but it was a tougher campaign
than Saipan.


Jack E Mac

name:  LCDR Richard H. Kerr, USN, RET
email: usn4373@yahoo.com

story:
I was privileged to serve in the USS NEW JERSEY from pre-commissioning 1967 until it was again decommissioned in December 1969.  During my 30 years in the Navy I served in the Amphibs (an LCT), a PC, a seaplane tender (Kenneth Whiting AV 14) and two heavy cruisers, the Rochester and the St. Paul.  But of all my sea tours, the New Jersey was the most memorable. 

I remember one humorous incident that happened during our time on the gun line off Vietnam.  My battle station assignment was as a member of the Fast Action Recording Team (FART), made up of myself, Lt Keith Wilcox, and CWO Hyder, Ship's Secretary.  We had access to radio contact with the gun fire spotters on the beach and had to record what the 16" inch shells hit and what damage was done.  One evening while I was at my station, we had a call from the spotter, giving the coordinates, and asking the ship to fire a spotting round for effect.  We did.  We then asked him for damage assessment and his response was "pretty good, you killed 10 water buffalo".  We got a large chuckle out of that. 

I look forward to seeing many old shipmates in the up coming reunion in 2002.

Reflections of a Blackshoe 

by 

VAdm Harold Koenig,USN (Ret) 

I like the Navy.
      I like standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with salt
   spray in my face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four
   quarters of the globe - the ship beneath me feeling like a
   living thing as her engines drive her through the sea.

      I like the sounds of the Navy - the piercing trill of the
   boatswains pipe, the syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on
   the quarterdeck, the harsh squawk of the 1MC and the strong
   language and laughter of sailors at work.

      I like the vessels of the Navy - nervous darting destroyers,
   plodding fleet auxiliaries, sleek submarines and steady solid
   carriers.

I like the proud sonorous names of Navy capital ships:
   Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, Coral Sea - memorials of great
   battles won.

I like the lean angular names of Navy 'tin-cans':
   Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy - mementos of
heroes who went before us.

I like the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside
   speakers as we pull away from the oiler after refueling at sea.

I like liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port.

I even like all hands working parties as my ship fills herself
   with the multitude of supplies both mundane and exotic which she
   needs to cut her ties to the land and carry out her mission
   anywhere on the globe where there is water to float her.

I like sailors, men from all parts of the land, farms of the
   Midwest, small towns of New England, from the cities, the
   mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life.
I trust and depend on them as they trust and depend on me - for professional
   competence, for comradeship, for courage. In a word, they are
   "shipmates."

I like the surge of adventure in my heart when the word is passed "Now station the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for leaving port", and I like the
infectious thrill of sighting home again, with the waving hands of welcome
   from family and friends waiting pierside.

The work is hard and dangerous, the going rough at times, the parting
from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Navy
laughter, the 'all for one and one for all' philosophy of the sea is
ever present.

I like the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's
   work, as flying fish flit across the wave tops and
sunset gives way to night.

I like the feel of the Navy in darkness - the
   masthead lights, the red and green navigation
lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of radar
repeaters - they cut through the dusk and join with the mirror of
stars overhead.

And I like drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises
   large and small that tell me that my ship is alive
and well, and that my shipmates on watch will keep me safe.

I like quiet midwatches with the aroma of strong coffee -
   the lifeblood of the Navy - permeating everywhere.

And I like hectic watches when the exacting minuet of
haze-gray shapes racing at flank speed keeps all hands on a razor
edge of alertness.

I like the sudden electricity of "General quarters,
   general quarters, all hands man your battle stations", followed
   by the hurried clamor of running feet on ladders and the
   resounding thump of watertight doors as the ship transforms
   herself in a few brief seconds from a peaceful workplace to a
   weapon of war - ready for anything. 

And I like the sight of space-age equipment manned by youngsters clad in
dungarees and sound-powered phones that their grandfathers would
still recognize.

I like the traditions of the Navy and the men and women who
   made them. I like the proud names of Navy heroes:
Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, John Paul Jones.

A sailor can find much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms, pride in self and
country, mastery of the seaman's trade. An adolescent can
find adulthood.

In years to come, when sailors are home from the sea, they
   will still remember with fondness and respect the ocean in all
   its moods - the impossible shimmering mirror calm and the
   storm-tossed green water surging over the bow. And then there
   will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a faint echo of
   engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright bunting of
   signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty
   laughter in the wardroom and chief's quarters and messdecks.

Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their Navy
   days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was
   ever over the horizon.

Remembering this, they will stand taller and
say,
      "I WAS A SAILOR ONCE. I WAS PART OF THE NAVY &
THE NAVY WILL
   ALWAYS BE PART OF ME."

name:  Robert F. Randall
email: rrandall@worldnet.att.net

story:

It was 1953 off the Korean coast and I was assigned to the powder magazine five decks down under Turret 1. The message came over the PA system: "Load all nine guns." We scrambled to pull powder bags out of the cans, put them on a tray, and push them to a scuttle. Through the scuttle the bags then went up an elevator to be loaded into the breech of one of the 16-inch cannon. The scuttlebutt was that the New Jersey was waiting for a train to come through a tunnel and then would unleash a barrage from all three 16-inch turrets, a nine-gun salvo sending about nine tons of explosives into the target. Excited, we all waited for the sound and the shudder of the ship as three turrets of 16-inch guns fired simultaneously. We waited and waited and then fell asleep on the floor of the powder magazine thanks to the fumes from the cans. Waking up with a headache the next morning we heard the train never appeared!

name:  gmg3 david j croft
email: stellar@saber.net

story:

 I was the gun captain of the center gun of turret two when we had a loading misshap. After having fired several rounds we were loading another when the rammerman, anticipating my command a little too early tried to ram the projectile before the cradle was down completely causing the rear of the projectile to hit the breach opening and slightly distorting the screws . By orders of the turret captain I tried to close the breach plug but the distortion wouldn't allow the plug to close. Since we had fired several rounds against an enemy concentration the gun was hot. We had to pull the powder bags out of the bore before they cooked off. Being the gun captain I volunteered to climb into the bore and pull them out, which I did one by one until they were all out, and safely thrown into the sea. As I was getting sick on deck from the residual gasses the turret chief managed to file the breach screws back down, where upon we tried the breach plug again and fortunately this time the !
 breach plug closed. We loaded another six bags, C.I.C. had another target and off we went. Oddly enough years later, I heard news of the Iowa's turret explosion on national news from the turret chief of turret three; my 1969 rammerman.

name:  Brent Myers
email: brent.myers@mchsi.com

story:

TROUBLED WATERS: Moonlit Reflections of a Beirut Nightwatch
by Brent R. Myers
© Copyright 1992


Ghost-gray, silent and calm.
For the first time since I had come up on watch I have a chance to relax and take in the surreal atmosphere around me.  Strangely, the air seems almost unearthly somehow despite the ever-present, pervading sea-scent.  I take in another luxurious breath of Mediterranean air, savoring the ever-so-slight tingle of salt in my nostrils as the pleasure smoker might thrill to the flavor of his first deep drag on a long-awaited cigarette. 
"Bridge, Combat: phone check."  The familiar voice rouses me abruptly from my reverie.  I smile despite myself.  "Smitty, they got you on that radar again?"
"Hey, guess they figure why ruin a good thing!  How's it look up there, anyway?"

Ghost-gray, silent and calm.
How else can one describe it?  The ship is almost aglow in bright, chalky grey as if dusted in luminescent powder; the full moon overhead announcing its presence as its softly diffused brilliance engulfs rather than reflects off the light-grey of our vessel.  About us, only the occasional lap of water or slap of a crest against the slow-moving bow belie the presence of the brooding depths beneath.
The night envelops me, wrapping me in its comforting omnipresence.  Soothing and light as gossamer, it reveals itself infinite and inconceptual as Time while palpable as the jewel sparkles of the ghost-gray, watery medium on which we softly, gingerly glide.  A warm peace overwhelms me as the serenity and quiet beauty enfold me.  I feel strangely whole and reborn, becoming one with the ethereal night and glinting water. 
   I almost feel my fingers reach out to touch the shimmering pin-points of bright moon-lit water as they play delicately, tenuously across the near-smooth surface.
"It's quite a night up here," I whisper reverently, mesmerized by the dancing, beckoning glints of moon luster.  Strangely, I find myself unable to avert my eyes as the sea continues to flash its vibrant, silent speech in quiet exultation of life as only it knows.
"Yeah, I don't doubt it,"  Smitty remarks.  "I heard the starboard lookout reported RPG fire again north of Beirut International Airport."
A new voice breaks in.  "Bridge, Starboard.  That's affirmative.  Still going on, too.  Man, but it's somethin' to see!"
"Bridge, Aft-lookout.  New contact bearing 193 degrees relative, hull down on the horizon.  Looks like an LPH."
Tearing myself away from the wide, open portal I quickly examine the dimly-lit tote board, squeezing my eyes shut a couple times to dispel the early-morning weariness.  "Aft, Bridge--roger.  Smitty, that should be the Guam." 
"Roger that.  Aft, what's her drift?"
"Oh," --and then a bit sheepishly, "uh, right bearing drift.  Sorry 'bout that."
"Hey, no problem."
"Yeah, that's her," Port-lookout suddenly confirms.  "I can just make out the '9' on her superstructure.  Best I can tell she's got a target angle of about 060."
"Don't worry 'bout that one, Port," Smitty warns.  "Best keep your eyes on that Russian AGI off about 210.  She's at left full rudder.
"Okay Myers, you ready for another mark?"
I chuckle.  "Think you can read 'em off right this time?"
"How you gonna know if you can't keep up?"
I stifle a chuckle, almost.  The Officer of the Deck glances my way in disapproval.  "Stand-by," I answer as I grab the grease pencil and shoot a glance at the Bridge clock.  As soon as the second hand finishes its sweep we'll begin updating the bearings and ranges to the nearest of the 40-plus warships in the area.
Without warning, the OOD orders, "Indicate revolutions and come to new speed of 18 knots."
"Aye, aye sir.  Indicating revolutions.  Coming to new speed of 18 knots," the Aft-helmsman briskly replies in perfunctory staccato as he rings in the order.  The clear chimes of the aft-helm ring through the Bridge as I relay the speed change to Smitty down in the giant ship's Combat Engagement Center.  The scope info will have to wait.  As anticipated, the next order is quick in coming.  "Right full rudder.  Come to new course, 188."
As I relay the course change to Smitty, the huge bow of the magnificent battleship with its twin turrets of 16-inch guns begins to slowly swing to starboard.  For the first time this watch I see the shoreline of the dark, menacing Lebanese coast come into view as the world around our ship languorously continues to pivot.  The sensation is one of eerie motionlessness within a slowly rotating universe of sheening water, starry sky and black silhouette coast.  And then, slowly unveiling, the lights of the night's fire-fight flash and flicker before me.  


  There ashore, but five miles away, the land-bound battle rages on.  Vibrant pulses of light and fire animate the night in stark beauty and drama, contrasting sharply with the reverent peace of moments before.  A sudden, intoxicating ecstasy overwhelms me as I watch, mesmerized. 
Though I know combatants and civilians are dying with each explosion and muzzle-flash, not a sound of this reaches us out here in the ghost-gray, ethereal realms of peaceful, moon-bathed water.  No cries of grief or pain, no yells of rage or exultation, nothing to taint the battle's splendor as it violently disrupts the night in awe-inspiring, soundless flashes of bright, resplendent color.
"There," the bow-lookout exclaims, speaking for the first time.  "There it is!  RPG fire!"
Quickly I scan the coastline in excited anticipation, as are all within the sound of the lookout's voice.  And then, further north, I see them.
The beads of neon-red launch in rapid succession, rising from the ground to slowly, almost lazily arc through space.  The rocket-propelled grenades--soundless and invisible save for their brilliant, crimson exhausts--continue on, almost appearing suspended in their doomed orbits against the impenetrable, black backdrop of night.  The launching ceases and now thirty or more RPGs arc slowly through the sky like a great string of ruby-red Christmas-tree lights flung heavenward.  The near semi-circle of brilliantly shimmering beads almost too slowly approach--then pass their apogee and begin to fall, never deviating from the suicidal trajectory of their perfect arc.
Finally the first hits, instantly transforming into a blinding, white flash of still-soundless destruction as the rest inexorably follow in brilliant, explosive succession.  The powerful flashes blind me as they light up the surrounding hillside in stark, white strobe.  Then, their energies spent, the night plunges again into black as complete as the silence is eternal. 
And it was beautiful, breathtaking.
As the next string of ruby beads rises into the ebony ether above, I almost feel my fingers reach out to touch the shimmering pin-points of bright light, troubled in the realization that I have lost my longing for --

Ghost-gray, silent and calm.

name:  George J. Stavros, RM1 67-69
email: georgepdx@juno.com

story:

When the Big J was recommissioned in 1968, it was a big deal.  We were the only active battleship in the world and the first since the Korean War.  So it was natural we got a LOT of media attention everywhere we went.

When we got to the gun line off Vietnam in 1968, we soon discovered that there was some understandable resentment and jealousy among the crews of other ships.  We heard complaints when we were in Subic or Yokosuka from other ship's crew about how they had been out there longer than us and serving on small, uncomfortable tin cans and other kinds of ships and WE were the ones who got all the ink and broadcast time.

That was a legitimate gripe but of course we had nothing to do with it.  The media went after the unique or big story and of course the Navy was pushing it for a lot of obvious reasons.  Some of the resentment and jealousy took the form of good-natured ribbing, which leads to my story.

Lt. Albi was the signal officer and the coolest junior officer on the ship.  Very down to earth, not full of himself, respected the enlisted men.  He also had a razor wit and equally sharp and quick mind.  This was proven one night on the gunline when we were doing a modified steaming watch while we occassionaly did harassment and interdiction bombardment at free-fire zones.  The USS Oklahoma City, an 8-inch gun cruiser we often served with, was doing the same thing several miles away from us.

During the midwatch, when junior officers like Lt. Albi were the OOD, ships frequently break the tedium by sending unofficial "OOD to OOD" flashing light messages which get pretty informal because of the circumstances and no record being kept.  One night, Lt. Albi had the watch and got such a message from the Oklahoma City OOD.  It read, "GDA (gun damage assessment or estimate of damage caused by a Naval bombardment) last firing mission 10 NVA trucks destroyed, 12 NVA KIA, 2 ammo bunkers destroyed.  Five-inch popguns." 

Lt. Albi recognized the satirical intent of the other OOD in adding the addendum, "Five-inch popguns" as a slap at our 16-inch main battery and a subtle dig at our supposed ego and self-importance.  Lt. Albi calmly dictated this reply to his signal bridge:  "Last time cruiser gave battleship any lip, GDA read, 'one cruiser sunk.'"

name:  George J. Stavros RM1 67-69
email: georgepdx@juno.com

story:

The Big J was big news when she arrived at the gunline off Vietnam in 1968 until she departed in 1969.  Every high-ranking officer with the pull to have or get his own chopper managed to come calling, which is what led Captain Snyder to have "Welcome to New Jersey International Airport" painted across the helo deck on the fantail.

If you were of high enough rank, you got a personal tour of the ship from Captain Snyder and if you happened to be present during a fire mission, you were allowed the privilege of firing a round of 16-inch gunfire.

Although the guns can be fired electrically from several places in the ship, the most common location was the fire control center deep below the main deck of the ship.  When such missions are being conducted, they are controlled from "Triple-C", the Command and Control Center high above the main deck.

One day, a 4-star Air Force general named Davis, the CINC of all Pacific Air Forces, came aboard for the VIP tour.  Since we were doing a fire mission, Captain Snyder escorted him to the fire control center below decks where he observed the process of firing the 16-inch guns. 

For those of you who have never seen it, there is a large rectangular console that stands about waist-high in the room.  There are two handles very much like bycycle handles but with triggers underneath them.  The left-hand trigger sounds the loud klaxon horn that blasts away all over the outside of the ship warning anyone too close that the main battery is about to fire.  This is because the noise from the guns being fired can damage ears and anyone too close can be knocked down and injured by the enormous concussion generated when the guns fire.

The right-hand trigger actually fires the guns.  It was explained to General Davis that the normal firing procedure after receiving clearance to fire from Triple C and the firing officer in fire control is to pull the left klaxon horn trigger twice in one-second tugs and then to pull both triggers simultaneously on the count of three.  So the process goes, "Whomp, Whomp, BAM!"  General Davis observed the procedure several times and then was invited by Captain Snyder to fire the next round, which he happily accepted.

General Davis gripped the trigger handles as instructed and carefully placed the finger of his left and right hand inside the trigger guard of each handle.  Now I also had the privilige one day of firing the guns thanks to a friendly FTG on duty so I know what goes through your mind as you stand there.  You suddenly realize you are going to pull a trigger, ignite up to 550 pounds of gunpowder for each of up to 9 16-inch rifles that may be firing and by that action launch up to 9 projectiles weighing as much as 2,700 pounds each, which will then soar upwards of 30,000 feet and slam on target up to 23 miles away and blast open huge craters hundreds of feet wide or penetrate up to 37 feet of reinforced concrete.

And you start getting a little nervous.

So after several minutes, the firing officer got the word over the sound-powered phones from Triple-C to fire, pointed at the General and said, "Shoot!" and General Davis pulled the klaxton horn trigger ONCE and then the firing trigger, so what was heard above decks was "Whomp, BAM"! 

Now everyone knows when a firing mission is going on and nobody is in a vulnerable position when the guns fire so there was never any real possibility of anyone getting injured.  But the klaxton-firing sequence was not proper procedure.  It was not really a big deal so afterwards people were congratulating the General on his unique feat when suddenly the intercom came on and the voice of LCDR Allbee, the officer in charge in Triple C, filled the room.  "Fire Control, Triple C:  Who the hell fired that last shot?"  The dead silence, punctuated by nervous tittering, was broken by Captain Snyder, who smiled and told the firing officer, "Tell him."

"General Davis did, sir," said the firing officer.  Now there was dead silence from Triple C.  After what seemed like an eternity, the hum of the intercom filled the room as the talk button was depressed and once again LCDR Allbee's voice was heard:  "Nice shot, General!"

name:  shipserviceman 1st class Mark Shimko
email: gianttiregod@verizon.net

story:

It was the first time I saw the ship from the air it was impressive but the real freeky feeling was when I stepped off of the Helo after flying in off the coast of Beriut. As I stepped off of the Helo I felt a weird feeling of being one of an elite breed of sailor. (A BATTLESHIP SAILOR.) If there is anyone who remembers me please contact  me at above e mail adress. Just remember always a BATTLESHIP SAILOR.   BLACKSHOE FOREVER

name:  RM1 George J. Stavros Vietnam 67-69
email: georgepdx@juno.com

story:

Those of you who served aboard the Big J during Vietnam know as well as I do what a magnificent CO Captain Snyder is.  With all his awesome responsibility, he always took time and made an effort to show his appreciation to his crew, especially the enlisted men.  And his loyalty to his ship and crew were legend.

In the famed "Familygrams" he wrote detailing our deployment activities and adventures (which he had printed up and given to every crew member to send home for their families) he never failed to pay tribute to his crew and thank the families for their sacrifice in giving up their men for so long to serve the call to duty and cause of Freedom.

Rather than remain in officer's country or on the bridge, he frequently ate chow in the mess hall with the crew and sincerely took time to chat with them.  I remember one time he overheard a comment from a crewman about the quality of the ship's laundry and seemed to pay it no mind.  But about 15 minutes after he finished chow (he stood in line with the rest of us and waited his turn) the PA came on there was this announcement:  "Now the supply officer lay up to the Captain's cabin on the double."  The laundry got markedly better.

But perhaps the most touching and largely unobserved tribute to his dedication came when he suffered a hernia and rather than leave his ship to fly to Japan for treatment, he stayed aboard and had the ship's doctor perform the procedure.  Now Captain Snyder had a policy of celebrating crew birthdays once a month by having the ship's baker prepare a sheet cake with the name of every man who had a birthday that month.  Then just before noon chow, he would order head-of-line privileges for each birthday boy and join them at a reserved table in the mess hall.  After chow, he would personally cut the cake, making sure to give each man the piece with his name on it and have the ship's photographer record the event.  (One of those photos is on the website).  He made sure every man got a copy of the photo and even would sign it if asked.

Now when you have a hernia operation, you are in considerable discomfort and some pain for several days afterward.  The LAST thing you should do is lift your legs to climb over the hatches that separate the many compartments.  Captain Snyder's quarters were forward just near the bridge and of course the mess hall was aft under the fantail past Turret 3.  I don't know the exact distance, but we all know the ship is 887.5 feet from stem to stern and probably that was at least a 600-foot walk for him (not even counting the ladders he had to use to go down about 3-4 decks.  I'm not sure how many hatches he had to climb over coming and going but it was probably easily in the dozens.

When it was time to celebrate the birthdays that month, I was stunned to see Captain Snyder appear at the mess hall as usual to celebrate with and honor his crew after having climbed down ladders and over hatches and repeat it on the way back.  The pain and discomfort had to be excruciating as he slowly climbed over each hatch and ladder.  I don't think many of the crew were aware of this example and gesture of a Captain for his men but it is just one of many reasons why J. Edward Snyder is as much an example of loyalty, dedication, leadership and service as the ship he had the honor to command.

name:  Anthony S. Leanza GM-3
email: anthonysl519@cs.com

story:

...................Crawl through where!?..................................
  I am a former 1st Division main battery gunners mate.....Viet Nam era....
  We were in the stages of decommissioning the ship, back in 1969. The Chief was looking for three small guys. So I being a small guy,  I was one of the three small guys selected for this interesting job. As a small guy you expected to get all the jobs no one else really wanted to do..a lot of the jobs in the turret were in small restrictive spaces.......This job was no exception, it entailed, crawling all the way through the gun from the breech  to the muzzle, and out, backwards, with a can of grade two oil and a 4 inch paint brush. A line was tied to our ankles, I guess in case we had to be hauled out,  and also an extension cord with a light, really needed that,  and someone was pulling up the slack as you backed out towards the muzzle, they also tied rags around our knees and elbows to save us from getting bruised  up by the rifling as we went through, ..you really had very limited space in there to be swinging a brush around but eventually you did get the job done.  However after an examination, afterwards by the Chief, with his trusty flashlight, he saw some holidays in the rifling, the rifling  was very hard to cover completely, and to really be able to see that it was indeed coated completely , since you were like about six inches away from it, and have this glaring light right there next to you, in your eyes. The rifling is  being blocked from your sight by the four inch paint brush, too.... as you make your swings with it, and  being in the position you were in....... Well, you guessed right all three of us had a repeat performance of this. Afterwards the Chief re-examined it and was then satisfied  that it was done thoroughly, .....so if anyone ever asks you if a man can crawl all the way through one of those sixteen inch gun barrels you can say a definitive YES.....
  I really love to relate this story to  others simply to give them some sense of how really huge these sixteen inch gun barrels really were....A man can actually crawl al the way through.....

SEABAGS

Sweet memories........You guys that owned a seabag with "backpack" straps, sailed on ships with air conditioning, and had heads with "stalls", and a locker bigger than 2' x 2' x 14" deep, underneath the bottom canvas rack,can't really appreciate living out of a Seabag.

There was a time when everything you owned had to fit in your sea bag.  Remember those nasty rascals?  Fully packed, one of the suckers weighed more than the poor devil hauling it.  The damn things weighed a ton and some idiot with an off-center sense of  humor sewed a carry handle on it to help you haul it. Hell, you could bolt a handle on a Greyhound bus but it wouldn't make the damn thing portable.  The Army, Marines and Air Force got footlockers and we got a big ole' canvas bag.

After you warped your spine jackassing the goofy thing through a bus or train station, sat on it waiting for connecting transportation and made folks mad because it was too damn big to fit in any overhead rack on any bus, train and airplane ever made, the contents looked like hell. All your gear appeared to have come from bums who slept on park benches.

Traveling with a sea bag was something left over from the "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum" sailing ship days. Sailors used to sleep in hammocks. So you stowed your issue in a big canvas bag and lashed your hammock to it, hoisted it on your shoulder and in effect moved your entire home and complete inventory of earthly possessions from ship to ship. I wouldn't say you traveled light because with one strap it was a one-shoulder load that could torque your skeletal frame and bust your ankles. It was like hauling a dead linebacker.

They wasted a lot of time in boot camp telling you how to pack one of the suckers. There was an officially sanctioned method of organization that you forgot after ten minutes on the other side of the gate at Great Lakes or San Diego. You got rid of a lot of issue gear when you went to the SHIP. Did you ever know a tin-can sailor who had a raincoat? A flat hat? One of those nut hugger knit swimsuits? How bout those roll your own neckerchiefs... The ones the girls in a good Naval tailor shop would cut down and sew into a 'greasy snake' for two bucks?

Within six months, every fleet sailor was down to one set of dress blues, port and starboard undress blues and whites, a couple of white hats, boots, shoes, assorted skivvies a pea coat and three sets of bleached out dungarees. The rest of your original issue was either in the pea coat locker, lucky bag or had been reduced to wipe down rags in the paint locker. Underway ships were not ships that allowed vast accumulation of private gear.

Hobos who lived in discarded refrigerator crates could amass greater loads of pack rat crap than fleet sailors. The confines of a canvas back rack, side locker and a couple of bunk bags did not allow one to live a Donald Trump existence. Space and the going pay scale combined to make us envy the lifestyle of a mud hut Ethiopian. We were the global equivalents of nomadic Mongols without ponies to haul our stuff.

And after the rigid routine of boot camp we learned the skill of random compression packing known by mothers world-wide as 'cramming'. It is amazing what you can jam in to a space no bigger than a breadbox if you pull a watch cap over a boot and push it in with your foot. Of course, it looks kinda weird when you pull it out but they never hold fashion shows at sea and wrinkles added character to a salty appearance. There was a four-hundred mile gap between the images on recruiting posters and the actual appearance of sailors at sea. It was not without justifiable reason that we were called the tin-can Navy.

We operated on the premise that if ' Cleanliness was next to Godliness', we must be next to the other end of that spectrum... We looked like our clothing had been pressed with a waffle iron and packed by a bulldozer.  But what in the hell did they expect from a bunch of jerks that lived in the crews hole of a 2100 Fletcher Class can. After awhile you got used to it... You got used to everything you owned picking up and retaining that distinctive aroma...You got used to old ladies on busses taking a couple of wrinkled nose sniffs of your pea coat then getting up and finding another seat...

Do they still issue sea bags? Can you still make five bucks sitting up half the night drawing a ships picture on the side of one of the damn things with black and white marking pens that drive old master-at-arms into a 'rig for heart attack' frenzy? Make their faces red.. The veins on their neck bulge out... And yell, "What in God's name is that all over your sea bag?"

"Artwork, Chief... It's like the work of Michelangelo...My ship... Great huh?"

"Looks like some damn comic book..."

Here was a man with cobras tattooed on his arms... A skull with a dagger through one eye and a ribbon reading ' DEATH BEFORE SHORE DUTY' on his shoulder...  Crossed anchors with 'Subic Bay 1945' on the other shoulder... An eagle on his chest and a full blown Chinese dragon peeking out between the cheeks of his butt.   If anyone was an authority on stuff that looked like a comic book, it had to be this E-7 sucker.

Sometimes I look at all the crap stacked in my garage, close my eyes and smile, remembering a time when everything I owned could be crammed into a canvas bag.

(Author Unknown)


Submitted by: John Croix, MMCS(SW), USN(ret)

*******************************************************************************
name:  Samuel  Flener
email: theflea98@hotmail.com

story:

I will say I had some of the best duty aboard  the Big J. Funny story  don't say you would like to be some where  you may wind up there like I did..
I was in Roger Division down in Cuba ... me and another sailor was working on one of sick bays doors.. we had it off the hinges I told him I would like to be their as it was the only place on the ship that has air-conditioning. Well we had a fire in one of the engine rooms  we had to go to our fire station than they was going to move us closer to the fire.. well in going down the steps I slipped and fell my foot got under me and my ankle hit every step going down.. Well there was a chief petty officer setting in a chair and I fell right in his lap.. "And what did he say to me. WHAT DID YOU DO FALL..If every I wanted  to hit any one it was than".. any way I was hobbling  to sick bay with a broken bone in my ankle the chief petty officer  didn't offer to help me  he kept setting their.. Any way the Captain came by on his way to the fire he came over and put my arm around his neck and helped me to sick bay.. And I was in sick bay 30 mins. after what I had said I thank the captian for his help.. and yes I forgave the chief. I got a walking cast put on.. The New Jersey was good duty I was aboard from 1953 to 1955 I got aboard on a high line in the Korean waters..

name:  ANDREW ADAMS USN RET  MCPO  (MDV)
email: aadamsjr@cableone.net

story:

IN WW11 I WAS IN THE SEABEES I WAS STATIONED IN TRINIDAD BWI WHEN THE KOREAN WAR STARTED AND MY YOUNGER BRO JOINED THE NAVY AND WAS ASSIGNED TO THE NEW JERSEY ,SO I REQUESTED TO CHANGE OVER TO THE SEA GOING NAVY WE WERE SENT TO BAYONNE N.J. TO RE COMMISSION THE BIG J. MOST OF THE CREW WAS FROM THE NEW YORK, NEW ENGLAND AREA, ALL OLD WW11 VETS WHO HAD JOINED THE RESERVES AND THAT WAS A BITTER BUNCH OF MEN HOW EVER WHEN IT CAME TIME TO GET TO THE BUSINESS AT HAND THEY WENT TO WORK AND ALL US FIRST TIME SHIP BOARD SAILORS AND RECRUITS WAS WHIP INTO BATTLE REDDINESS IN NO TIME AT ALL BY THE TIME WE REACHED THE COMBAT AREA THOSE OLD RESERVES HAD PUT THE FINISHING TOUCHES ON ALL US WE WERE READY FOR TASK AT HAND THOSE OLD RESERVES WHIPPED US INTO SHAPE PRONTO THOSE DAMN YANKEES KNEW FROM EXPERIENCE WHAT HAD TO BE DONE . ILL NEVER FORGET THOSE GUYS THEY WERE A TOUGH BUNCH  BUT WE ALL SURVIVED EXCEPT FOR ONE POOR SAILOR THANKS TO A GREAT CREW OF MEN   GOD BLESS THEM ALL  
    R/S ANDREW ADAMS  USN RET. (MDV)
     WW11 KOREAN  VIETNAM VET.

name:  Phil Cramer
email: kcramer@wi.rr.com

story:

I'm not sure if anyone will ever read this story or not.

     I was stationed on board the USS New Jersey (BB-62) from November 1989 until it's decommissioning on February 8 1991.  I was a Damage Controlman Second Class at the time and the work center supervisor for the C02/Filter shop.  It was a small space off Broadway. 
     During the decommissioning process it was my responsibility to inspect all of the voids that the shipyard was cleaning so we could put desicants in them and then seal them up.  One day I had to go into a space that was forward of the FWD Emergency Generator room.  It took some effort to climb through all the knee knockers to get to where I needed to go, so I was pretty tired when I got there.  I sat down for a second to catch my breath.  I couldn't see much because all the drop lights were already removed.  I shined my flashlight around and on one of the bulkheads I saw where some one had written "On the way to Vietnam", and the date 1968.  I wrote right underneath it "Almost Decommissioned, Dec 08 1990".

Chip Heald

Email: chipster@intrex.net 

Well, with only ONE story involving Marines onboard, I've got one for you... 

I reported onboard in July 88 as the Marine Detachment (MARDET) administration chief. I'm not sure when exactly this happened, but I think it was during sea trials. We were in a pretty bad storm but, being onboard the "Cadillac of the Fleet," we were taking the waves fairly well (spoken from a land lover who had yet gained complete control of his sea legs). I was even able to fall asleep. However, all of a sudden, I was literally thrown from my bunk, across the room (I was berthed in the secondary weapons issue point room for the MARDET) and slammed into the large weapons safe. I found myself LAYING ON THE WALL OF MY ROOM when the alarm sounded for a "Security Alert." Shortly after that, Marines burst into the room to get their weapons. I asked, What the hell happened?" The reply was that an alarm originating in either the Captain's stateroom or the Officer's Mess was sounding. 

I got dressed and the only thing I thought to do was head for my office. When I arrived, everything was in a pile in the middle of the room. Desks, computers, files, everything. I thought we ran a ground or something. I don't know how far the ship listed, but it must have been bad to do this kind of damage. 

Anyway, I finally heard what happened from my fellow Marines. Apparently, and I can't prove this at all but it makes sense to me, there was a relatively inexperienced officer in charge on the bridge at that time. The reason the "Big J" could handle large waves with ease is that you are supposed to steer into a wave. That disperses most of the wave to either side of the ship. Instead of going from side-to-side, you go more up-and-down (remember, I'm a Marine, NOT a true sailor, forgive me). What I heard was that this officer steered us along side a wave and that pushed us to one side considerably. What got the Marine's involved in a Security Alert was that, apparently the listing sent a model of the "Big J" crashing through it's alarm-protected glass case, thus sending in the Marines. 

I'll never forget that look on the MARDET CO's face when he found out what caused the alarm... 

Hurr, Alan E CIV PSNS/IMF, Code 960 [alan.e.hurr@navy.mil] 

I was on board USS New Jersey BB-62 from 31 December 1968 to November 1969. I was a SA/SN at the time in three different Divisions. I came to her in the Tonkin Gulf by way of a chair lift between her and the USS Passumpsic AO-107. I was one of two coming on board. They other came back from emergency leave. He also got dunked when the two ships narrowed their distance between each other. After a coin flip he was first to go.

       I became a Mess Cook in S-2 Division and served my term of 4 months. They then transferred me to S-1 until July when I was sent to the 2nd Division Deck Force after I drop a 16" gun bore gage over the side in Long Beach Harbor before we set sail on a Mid-Shipmen Cruise for the summer. In November 1969 I was transfer to the USS Prairie AD-15.

       I have always been proud to serve onboard her and grateful of the memories. I have all three books from that time frame.  

Respectfully

Alan Hurr

Tool Mechanic Planner

CB-20, Central Tool Control

Code: 960, Shop: 06

Puget Sound Naval Shipyard

PH:  360-476-3221/3222

Richard Parker [rparker47@gmail.com] 

My uncle CPO David E. Golden served aboard USS New Jersey as a gunner's mate during the Vietnam War.  He retired from the Navy in the mid 1980s as a CPO and passed away on 28 January 1994.  He is buried at the Chattanooga National Cemetery in Tennessee.

I appreciate any help you can give.  Thank you for your service.
Sincerely yours,
Dr. Richard D. Parker

Greensboro, NC 

P.S. I used to live in Nashville, Tennessee.  I hope you have a good reunion there in a few weeks.

Julius.Marold@fe.navy.mil

Ed, I just wanted to pass on an anecdote before it's lost forever:

When NJ made her last WESTPAC to Pusan, I was a civilian tech rep (retired Chief ET) at MOTU-7 (Mobile Technical Unit) in Yokosuka, Japan.

I was assigned to ride the NJ from Pusan down to Subic and conduct and antenna and EMI (ElectrMagnetic Interference) survey for the ship. This would involve my going aloft while underway. I was accustomed to that and a battleship certainly wouldn't be bouncing around like the three tin cans I had served on during my active duty days. I was messing in the wardroom and when the officers heard I'd be going aloft they wanted to know if I'd be going up to the TACAN antenna. I told them I would and that elicited the story that there was a plaque up under the TACAN antenna and every new officer on board was required to go up there, read the plaque, and report to the wardroom as to what it said. I told them I'd be sure and read the plaque and verify it was still up there. I also said I wouldn't divulge what the plaque said but only confirm the accuracy of what it said when told by those who had already been up there. As I remember, it was pretty small (about one by three inches) and said "Welcome aboard Ensign". Wonder if it's still up there.

The last EMO on NJ was really super and he wrote me up a really nice BZ in part for going out on the port yardarm while enroute to Subic and finding a broken connector that kept the port VHF whip antenna from working.

Wishing you and all of the crew fair winds and following seas.

J. J. Marold ETC USN(RET)

SPAWAR Facility Japan

Yokosuka, Japan