The Joys and Personal Prices we pay in Military Service by Jack Hayes
 
It was the fall of 1952 and, my ship, USS BARTON (DD722) with the rest of Destroyer Squadron 2 was heading home from a six month tour to the war zone in Korea. [Besides BARTON, Destroyer Squadron Two included JOHN R PIERCE (DD753), STRONG (DD758) and SOLEY (DD707)] The other ships in the squadron had not seen enemy action, but BARTON fought an hour, main battery gun action with her 6 – 5 Inch/38 Caliber guns against enemy troops who had mounted captured 105 mm howitzers in three caves in the mountains surrounding Wonsan Harbor, North Korea; and BARTON later had hit a mine in the South China Sea while screening the main naval force in the area, Task Force 77. With major damage from the mine, we had limped back to The Japanese Naval Base at Sasebo where we were a month in drydock, having a skin welded over the mine damage. I was Main Propulsion Assistant Officer, in charge of the boilers and engines at the time, and my forward fireroom crew, instantly killed by the mine and mostly washed into the sea through the tremendous gash in the hull, was still partially entombed by the blast in the damaged boilers where the mine had hit us. The squadron had been scheduled to leave while we were still in drydock, and JOHN R. PIERCE and STRONG proceeded toward home on schedule via Hong Kong, Singapore, Bahrain, Colombo, Aden and the Mediterranean. SOLEY was assigned to wait with us during the month of our repairs. We joined up with the other two ships in Aden, Arabia (now Yemen) and proceeded up the Red Sea and through the Suez Canal to the Gulf of Suez and Cairo where we anchored out while papers were checked. ~ Four American destroyers proceeding in formation called for some looking into by the Brits. A British destroyer came alongside and “rafted up” with us. Their officers came aboard and we offered tea and coffee. But the Brits soon suggested that we move to their ship where alcoholic beverages were available. Cocktails opened things up, they being as curious as we about the differences in our ships and operations. At one point someone made a comment about the amount of paperwork we generated, and a Brit asked, “How many typewriters do you have aboard?” When an estimate was given he said, “Oh well, I can understand why you have all that paperwork ~ we threw all but one of our typewriters overboard. You can’t believe how much less voluminous hand-written reports can be.” Our schedule called for Athens, Greece to be our next stop and I was looking forward to seeing all the places I had read about. But there was an election going on and the powers decided it would be unseemly to have four American ships, bristling with guns, sitting in the harbor as an intimidation to the voters, so they sent us on to Naples, Italy. Here we were privileged to dock, but not in a manner I had ever heard of. It was called a “Mediterranean Moor”. The ship proceeds along and at some distance off the quay, then stops and drops the starboard anchor and backs down turning the stern toward the shore, then drops the port anchor and, when backed fully to the quay, sends the gangway over from the stern to the quay, forming a “Y” with the base of the letter against the quay to allow boarding. It made a wonderful firm docking and, since we were side-by-side, facing outward from the beach, we could get many more vessels in the port – and we didn’t have to walk across the decks of inboard vessels moored the usual way. Naples still bore the scars of World War II, obvious as we left the quay for liberty and passed shops selling all kinds of things in the first floor of buildings where the upper stories raggedly displayed the fact that they had been bombed out, the ragged brickwork and broken sash of the upper floors still witnesses to the explosions which the war had brought. So we didn’t spend much time in Naples, except for a brief tour of where they were beginning to unearth the ruins of Pompeii; there was not much to see in 1952. There was a tour to Castel Gondolfo, the winter home of Pope Pius XII, and the staff chaplain, Father Stanton, had enough influence to arrange an audience with the Pope, which lasted about thirty minutes. I have a picture of the crew in the audience hall and, although Pius XII was vilified by some for his lack of action against Hitler and Mussolini during the war, it was impressive to be that close to a famous and holy man. We were five days in Naples and then moved on to Genoa, the home of Christopher Columbus; there was extra time because the Athens stop had been planned as a long one. This city was in better condition, but not exciting for sailors arriving right from action. One afternoon four of us were walking along, admiring the wares in the stores, and the female population, when I noticed a movie house with a sign outside advertising a film with John Wayne. “IL HOMO TRANQUIL”, it said, and there were background photos of Barry Fitzgerald and Maureen O’Hara. I recognized it as “The Quiet Man” film and I thought it would be in English with Italian subtitles, so we bought tickets. But no – There were all the actors speaking in Italian, including Barry Fitzgerald, his Irish brogue adding to the Italian as he led the donkey cart down the road behind the couple, prattling in Italian. What fun? And then, after a few days, we were moved to the harbor at Villefranche on the French Riviera! This was “de javous” for me. I had spent time here as a cadet on the training ship EMPIRE STATE II from the New York State Maritime Academy just a few years before, and I knew my way around ashore. I was on the bridge as we steamed into the harbor, and Captain Seim had heard about my previous visit and asked me if I knew where to buy some perfume ashore. I looked through binoculars and immediately pointed out the shop next to the “Welcome Bar” just off the quay. When liberty was called the captain went ashore in the gig, and I joined three other officers in civilian clothes to take liberty with him. As it turned out we all walked on down to see the topless women on the beach at Nice – amazing how the girls could change from street clothes into bikini bottoms without showing complete nudity -- and then on to some gambling at the casino at Nice. The dress code at the casino called for jacket and tie. The captain was properly attired and went in alone. The four of us others could only come up with one tie and one jacket among us, so we went in one-at-a-time. The Captain was inside when it came my turn to enter and I found him at a roulette table. He explained how to bet and I placed a 1,000 Franc bid on a number made up from birthdays of people I knew. The wheel spun and I WON! At 35-to-1 odds, I should have left immediately, but it only took me another ten minutes to lose all 35,000 Francs and move outside to let the next guy in with the duty tie and jacket. We had some drinks and a meal in a restaurant ashore with the Captain and moved on back to Villefranche. We all went into the shop to buy perfume. Being served and finished first, the Captain moved off to his gig, a motor whaleboat, to go back to the ship. I was still at the register when a seaman came in to suggest I “hurry us up” as the captain was already in the boat. I ran out, last of the ones needing to board. The whaleboat was at the quay, loaded with crew members all returning to the ship. Since the Captain was aboard they were all sitting nervously quiet and tense when I approached the boat. I rushed to board and had my left foot on the boat gunwale, the right still on the quay, when the nervous Boatswain shoved off with his boathook, trapping me in mid-air over the water. I tossed the package of perfume into the boat but “took a November swim” at the Riviera, camera around my neck and all. They fished me out, soaking wet, and we went back aboard. Later, after a short stop-over to fuel at Gibraltar, we proceeded at an economical and boring eleven knots for twelve days to conserve fuel since the Navy would not send an oiler to meet us at sea to permit a more reasonable speed. A Destroyer “wallows” at eleven knots and seasickness overcame many in the crew. ~ That story was part of the “Travelogue Version” of our trip to Korea I usually tell. Would that all service was so enjoyable, embarrassing or not. But there were prices to pay for the fun and comradery. What follows is the other side of the coin. I was only on active duty for a single two-tear tour with the Navy, from January ’52 to December ’53, but for me the time was packed with exciting travel, frightening action, sacrifices and sorrowful memories. Over the years since my service aboard the Destroyer, USS BARTON during the Korean War, I have been able to shunt the difficult memories to the back of by consciousness, concentrating on that wondrous round-the-world travel, and our success at saving the ship after grievous damage. However, from the start there were prices to pay for me and my family and for everyone aboard, and perhaps my writing about these prices may prove to provide a catharsis, allowing me to see the other side of the experience. Readers of this piece who have also discarded and are unable to speak about unpleasant memories may also benefit from my opening up. I’ll try to list some of the prices I paid. The First Price – Put your life on standby and wait When I was growing up in New York City it was a time of war. World War II was raging in Europe and the Far East. There was a Draft in force to provide manpower to the armed forces and this eliminated the choices we would have had under normal circumstances. I had a draft number which would have called me to service at any time. The choices for me and for every young man, other than running out of the country, were – wait for them to call you and accept the duty assigned, or enlist and get the kind of duty you want. I chose the latter. I applied for the Army Air Corps Cadet Program, but enlistments closed before I graduated from high school. I then opted for the Maritime Academy where, upon graduation I could go aboard merchant ships carrying war supplies to the fighting forces, or take advantage of the Naval Commission awarded to graduates. In October of 1947 when I graduated, the war was winding down. The merchant fleet had been mostly mothballed and there were plenty of applicants but few billets available aboard the active merchant ships. The Navy required eight years of service to pay for my schooling, but the fleet had been cut back as well and I spent four years in the Reserve as a part-time sailor, waiting for orders. I found an entry level job with Ingalls Iron Works, the structural steel fabricator division of Ingalls Shipbuilding, to which I had originally applied. I had also found the love of my life and we planned to get married. We were engaged in June, and set the wedding date for November third. We rented an apartment, bought some furniture and sent out announcements to our relatives and friends to come to the festivities. When I came home to my parents’ house on the Thursday evening before our planned Saturday wedding, I found a large packet of papers in a partially-opened envelope lying on an end table. My mother admitted to starting to open it when the telephone rang and she left it. I quickly took it into my room. It was orders from the Navy Department to active duty in Norfolk, Virginia two months hence. I was in shock: tell anyone about this and it would put a severe crimp in the party and the wedding. Maybe my girl would decide to find someone else – someone who would stay around. I pondered the decision and, considering that some unseen hand had called my mother to the telephone before she could continue opening the packet, and realizing that it was probably not fair to take that choice away from the young lady, I decided to keep my mouth shut. So we married, had a short vacation in a Manhattan hotel, and moved into our apartment. I had a Navy physical scheduled and decided that, since I might fail, the call to duty might disappear; but no such luck. We faced the music and I left for Norfolk in January with all my gear in a 55 pound ValPack suitcase. The war in Korea was raging and the Navy needed me to fill out the crew on a destroyer. I’m certain the lives of many others were similarly torn up by their assignments. The Second price – Separation from family My tour was for two years and we were assigned to sail for the war zone in May, not to return until September. (The then popular ballad Oh it’s a long, long time from May to December was our anthem.) As a trained Marine Engineer my assignment aboard ship was a wonderful experience for me. And the camaraderie and responsibility produced by the military was most enjoyable to a young man. When my new wife took a vacation and came down to be with me, however, we moved to a motel and I realized there was no way she could share the experience and, if I stayed in the military, this would be our life – short visits between long separations. I decided I would not “ship over” at the end of my tour When we headed for the Panama Canal, I was ecstatic, although my first assignment was as Damage Control Officer, responsible with my crew for repair of normal wear-and-tear break downs and battle damage, and not the steam propulsion plant and Diesel auxiliaries just like this ship had, that I was licensed to operate. Then, when I discovered an oil leak into one of the shaft alleys, spaces where the ship’s propeller shafts lead from the engines to the propellers, and reported it to the captain, he refused to let me make repairs as laid out in the Bureau of Ships Manual, and, instead, called for a stop at the Navy Yard at San Diego. The Yard, of course, proceeded to complete the repair just as my crew would have. What did they need me for? Possibly realizing that he had frustrated me, the captain assigned me to work with senior chief petty officers to assure that the plant was ship-shape. I saw lubricating oil in the bilges in the forward engine room, a fire hazard, and we traced the source to the huge reduction gears casing between the high speed of the turbines and slower requirement of the propellers. But, we could not locate the specific area of the leak. This assignment made me vacillate for a time, realizing that perhaps the Navy was for me after all, since billets in the Merchant Fleet were so few. But I realized we needed help, and made a request for time alongside a repair ship when we reached the harbor at Yokusuka, Japan. To confirm my confusion about staying in, the repair officer who came aboard was a classmate from the Academy, Steve Long; he had a tour similar to mine and had been assigned there much as I had been. With multiple mirrors on a pole, Steve’s crew found that the leak was caused by the original tapped holes for bolts holding the shaft bearings having been over-drilled and we plugged the resulting gap and stopped the leak; we realized that the oil had been leaking into the bilges since the ship left the construction ways in 1942. Steve and I had a few great liberties in Yokusuka and, when discussion got around to it, I found he was not “shipping over” either. That confirmed it. And then… The Third Price – Enemy action After some training cruises against submarines and friendly aircraft as targets for our armaments, we left for the “bomb line” – and the enemy. Our ship was senior in the squadron and we had a Commodore and his staff aboard. He was charged with a blockade of the Eastern Coast of North Korea. Two of the four ships of our squadron were assigned to the coast. We and another destroyer, JOHN R PIERCE were assigned to patrol Wonsan Harbor, North Korea where our spies were assigned to infiltrate ashore from one of the two islands we held. The harbor was small and there were orders to avoid walking on the weather decks since we were within range of rifle fire from the enemy beach. To initially confuse my decision again whether to “ship over”, one of these spies was another schoolmate who had been on the island for a year, and we shared Cappuccino laced with Anisette while the crew played baseball on the beach on Yodo Island. Could it all be like this? Then, in the middle of one quiet afternoon, the enemy began bombarding my new friend’s island from caves around the harbor. The island had no artillery with which to retaliate and it became up to us to silence the enemy; JOHN R. PIERCE had been assigned deeper in the harbor and couldn’t bring her guns to bear without endangering our maneuverability at 27 knots doing figure eights in this close harbor, while bringing our battery of six 5 inch/ 38 caliber guns to bear on the caves. I had manned my station at DC Central, set up in the Supply Officer’s space, and made certain all the damage control parties were properly positioned throughout the ship to evaluate any damage sustained as the battle proceeded. It went on for more than an hour during which we fired four hundred rounds from our six mounts and received similar returns from the enemy’s mounts in three caves ashore. About halfway into the fray a report came from the bridge that they had seen an enemy round burst on our boat deck, aft of their position. That was my call to action. I left the office, helmet, 45 caliber side arm and life jacket in place and headed to the place where the burst had been reported.As I left the cover of the ship’s hull the sound of our battery firing was more acute, as were the sight of splashes of enemy shells close aboard and the skittering of shrapnel across the deckhouse. I climbed the outside ladder to the next deck and found that the enemy shell had burst against the sheetmetal of the forward fireroom stack and there was little major damage. A later examination of some of the debris established that the shell had been from one of our own howitzers, probably captured from the Army or Marines in some far-off battle. I noticed a hole in the deck, and climbed down to inspect the torpedo shack below. When I opened the hatch I found Boatswain’s Mate Gray’s body, face-down with a hole in the back of his neck. I could find no pulse. He had been killed instantly by the freak piece of shrapnel which had penetrated the deck above. His normal general quarter’s station was at the torpedo tubes on the weather deck and since this was forbidden he had gone to his shop in the hull as a secure place to stay. I called forward and had his body removed to the wardroom, the forward battle dressing station aboard ship. I then reported to the captain, who was on the open bridge, nonchalantly leaning against the pilot house while calling rudder orders to the helmsman, guiding the short figure eight course while maintaining full speed, “Right full rudder, shift your rudder, left full rudder” etc. He was a helluva ship handler, thank God. Then, as if it was needed to confirm my decision, as I entered the wardroom after the action for a quiet, nerve-settling cup of coffee, our South Korean interpreter, called Che, approached me. “Where is dead man?” he asked. “His body has been prepared and taken to the refrigerated compartments below to be sent to his family for burial” I said. He burst out laughing. “Dead sailor no good to ship. In Korean Navy we throw dead sailor overboard to clear away.” And, indeed, we had seen many bodies, probably North and South Korean alike, floating in the harbor, confirming this action. I could have punched him in the mouth, but I left my coffee and went aft. ~ After some time on liberty in Japan again, BARTON was assigned with her three destroyer cohorts to join Task Force 77, the main Naval force in the area, with the Battleship IOWA, four carriers, six cruisers, and with thirty-six destroyers forming a circular anti-submarine pattern around the larger ships.Our Commodore was in charge of this screen. At this time I was Main Propulsion Assistant, finally in charge of the engines I loved. I had repairs in progress on a standby feed pump in the forward fireroom, to provide a source of feed water to the boilers should the primary source be put out of action. I had the feed water lines from the after fireroom cross connected to provide standby until the repairs could be completed. While we were not in action this was permitted, but in battle this was vulnerable and a problem As there was every night, there were movies for the crew in the mess decks and in the wardroom for the officers. The crew had an “oater”, a western, and we had Scandal Sheet with Broderick Crawford. In the middle of the first reel the word was passed for department heads to report to their stations while changing course and speed. We were turning into the wind and increasing speed to take planes aboard the carriers. The movie was put on hold and I went aft and down into the forward fireroom. The speed increase called for by the Admiral required that the boilers be shifted from producing saturated steam to the main propulsion turbines to firing additional burners and adding the boiler superheaters to the operation. This required careful handling so as not to damage the boilers, but my senior Boilertender Chief was in charge of the after fireroom and he knew what to do. We spoke on the telephone and coordinated the operation, successfully bringing the superheaters in both firerooms into operation. We were ready when the order came for the fleet move and the ship went from sixteen to twenty-five knots to move in unison with the rest of the fleet. We had been steaming near the rear of the circular screen so the Commodore could see the circle on radar and order changes. When the Admiral changed the fleet course to steam into the wind for landing planes, the circular screen was shifted and we wee “tail end Charlie” at the very end of the fleet. I went back to the wardroom with the others and the movie commenced. As the show progressed the story called for Broderick Crawford (the bad guy, boss) to induce a poor worker he had to eliminate into an alley. He confronted the man, who was dressed as a poor bum, and pulled back to hit him in the face with his fist, when WHAM! The ship lurched, pandemonium broke out when the lights went out for a few minutes until emergency lighting took effect, and a tremendous SCREAMING filled our ears. Everyone rushed to the door to the passage leading aft. When the door was cracked open, however, we knew what the God-awful screaming was – the passage was full of steam pouring from hatch to the forward fireroom and the boilers I had just been tending. We had been struck by a floating mine which had passed through the entire fleet to hit us, the last ship in the huge formation. I raced to the forward exit door from the wardroom, leading to the open deck, and proceeded down the port side deck to the midships passage. Close-by was the deck hatch leading to the forward engine room, where my senior Chief Machinist Mate, Nesmith, was at the control center. Four or five others followed me. The hatch was secured and when I touched the hatch-opening wheel it was much too hot. The large main steam line bringing steam from the forward fireroom to the engines passed just next to and below the hatch and apparently, I thought, had burst. This would have meant loss of half of our propulsion system. I said, “Too hot!” “Did you burn yourself?” The captain had come to the same spot and was apparently compiling a Purple Heart list in his head for later. “No sir,” I replied. I had not been so excited as to grab the wheel. I spoke on the telephone to Chief Nesmith, who reported he had everything under control. We later found out that the throttleman, Seaman Walton, whose operating station was next to the ladder leading up to that hatch, had panicked and started up the ladder. A seam in the damaged steam line had gapped for a second as sea water mixed with the steam, allowing superheated steam to escape, and it cut him badly enough that he died of the wounds. The steam had also sprayed against the bottom of the hatch I was trying to open. Dave Schmulbach, who had relieved me as Damage Control Officer when I took over the engines was there at the hatch. He went to the starboard side weather deck where another hatch opened to the forward engineroom. In our preparations before we left Norfolk I had brought aboard a quantity of 4-by-4 wood shoring beams, and Dave wound up directing installation of them to brace the forward bulkhead of the engineroom. The bulkhead was a full, keel-to-deck, port-to-starboard wall which separated the engineroom from the forward fireroom space, now full of water, and was now under tremendous pressure. He used the engineroom machinery as a base support for the shoring to prevent the bulkhead’s collapse. He also directed the installation of two eductors, devices which produce suction to a fire hose, to dewater some compartments forward of the damaged fireroom where leakage had allowed some flooding. But, I had concern for the rest of the propulsion plant and headed for the after fireroom where my lead Boilertender Chief, I found, had quickly closed all valves leading from his space when he had recovered from the shock of the hit, and had shut down his boilers with three hundred fifty pounds of pressure still remaining. The emergency Diesel generators had supplied power for the emergency lighting, but now we re-energized the turbine-driven generators and could even provide steam to the after engineroom and got underway on one shaft for some port. When we looked around in the morning, we were alone in the sea. The Admiral had seen us get hit and, thinking it might have been a torpedo from a submarine, ordered the rest of the fleet to take off in the darkness. Our Commodore had transferred to our sister destroyer, JOHN R. PIERCE and rejoined the task force.The mine had hit us at the waterline at frame 88, starboard side, in the center of the forward fireroom hull, and tore a fifteen-by-twenty-five foot opening to the sea. My fireroom crew, with whom I had just been working, were all killed instantly and either smashed into the boilers from the blast, or swept into the sea through the hole in the hull. Later in the day a seagoing tug appeared and came alongside. There were divers aboard to evaluate our damage. We got the report that the hole in the hull ran from just above the waterline to within six inches of the keel. Our mine had been a “floater”, but had it been anchored below the surface the explosive force would have been lower and would have sunk us for certain. But we now proceeded to the Japanese Naval Shipyard at Sasebo and entered a drydock where we would remain for a month. ~ The foregoing description of enemy action and damage is the bare bones of what happened. It does not adequately describe the terror of each moment, or the fear that we would be casualties if the ship sank. Most of us had been lucky, save those who had been wounded, and Walton and my forward fireroom crew, Thierfelder, Savoie, Graf and Sherry whose bodies were subjected to the direct force of the mine blast. As their Division Leader, when we returned to port it fell to me to open their lockers and pack up the things I thought their mothers would accept as representative of their sons. The Navy eased the chore somewhat by providing form letters to copy, and I added a personal remembrance for each; some were pure fiction, but I thought it would make the news of the deaths easier to take. Back in Sasebo I found a telephone building and placed a call home. Fran was surprised and happy to hear from me. News of our catastrophe had been in the papers and on the radio, and she had some news from wives who had been appointed to receive information directly from the Navy Department. But the direct contact and release of emotions soon had us both bawling for three of the five minutes on the telephone…at five dollars a minute. And I still wouldn’t be home for three months. A Stalwart she was.She lived by herself in the apartment we had lived in together for only two months, went to work, saved our money, set up a purchase to establish a credit rating, and prepared to come to the shipyard in Virginia when the ship returned. Some marriage – two months together followed by two years apart with a war on. But our marriage has lasted for 57 years as of this writing. Unlike the Army or Marine Corps where the deaths are more personal and immediately visible, my men died out of my sight. Their bodies, for the most part, became part of the ocean on which we sailed. The medical crew and those in the forward dressing station took care of Walton’s body, just like they had for Gray a month before and I did not have to deal with the proximity of death. Hearing stories by the Marines who served on the mortuary crews, dealing with body bags, some holding only parts, leaves me to wonder how I would have reacted had it been more personal. At the time my responsibility to the damaged ship took precedence and the need lasted fully into the time we were back ashore. My horror was realized in the aftermath. Living on the ship in the Japanese drydock, and seeing the gaping hole every day where they died had an effect on my system and mental ease which drove me to seek solace in enjoying the differences I found in the Japanese country and way of life...and telling travelogue stories about my service, such as the one about my “swim”. None of us talked about the dark side. There were men and officers aboard who took the inconvenience of the war much harder than me. With a background of maritime education I was more conditioned for it than Gordon Seneff, the First Lieutenant, for instance, who was ripped from his family in Colorado and his work as a Forest Ranger, standing winter deck watches in his “forest greens” and grumbling; or Dave Schmulbach, who had been teaching in a college in Chicago before he began active service. There were probably others like me, who loved the service, of course, and those who “shipped over” and stayed, to whom we should be eternally grateful. For me, the naval experience during the Korean War made a deep impression on my being. I can’t imagine what my life would have been without it. In spite of the price paid by me and my family, I think it has shaped us a better people. Our son, born in 1961, missed drafts and any kind of military conflict which called him, and he has often said he wishes he had the kind of experience his old man had. But when he read my article, The Fez in the Korean War Veterans’ Magazine, he commented, “Gee Dad, I can’t believe you went through that.” I don’t know whether my personality would have been different had I not gone through the military experience; I tend to see the bright side of things and find humor to lighten difficult situations, and I consider myself lucky to have survived the experience to tell others about the wonders of serving in the military, and the price servicemen and women pay to serve their country. ~FIN~  Writers_Gallery.html