I Was a Sailor Once
Ken Jack
USS Forrestal Reunion Banquet, July 28, 2012
Hello Forrestal shipmates, spouses and guests. I’m grateful to your Executive Committee for allowing me these few minutes to share with you my reminiscence of the Forrestal and some events in its history. But first, this is a good opportunity for all of us to thank all who have organized another great reunion. Please give them a round of applause.
I was aboard Forrestal in 1962-63 with my VFP-62 detachment. VFP-62 was the photo reconnaissance squadron that flew the supersonic RF-8A photo Crusader and provided detachments to each attack carrier in the Atlantic Fleet.
My first detachment with VFP-62 was aboard the USS Shangri La, the World War II carrier with a wooden plank flight deck. I can still remember those planks smoking when the fighters would make a launch in afterburner.
I even made one landing on the Forrestal to join my detachment already at sea. What a thrill of a lifetime for a twenty-year old kid to look down and see the massive carrier, the size of a postage stamp, and we were going to land on her!
Down through the years our squadron members have joined you, your, children, and grandchildren paying patriotic respect to veterans and our carrier, soon we thought, to be sunk. John Sees, a fellow VFP-62 photomate and I participated in the 2007 Veteran’s Day pier-side ceremony in Newport, alongside Forrestal and Saratoga. It was sad to see that Saratoga had no such contingent.
All-in-all, she didn’t look bad; seeing her from the pier, reawakened memories of the gangways we used to climb after returning from liberty, sometimes not too steadily. And at night, seeing her lights draw closer, gave us relief as we returned in liberty boats plying through choppy waves--our home away from home--the workplace of our youth--the experiences of a lifetime that haven't diminished with fading memories.
I hadn’t seen Forrestal for 44 years. I could only stare in awe at her bulk; she still looked formidable, this the first of the super carriers...the Forrestal class. Since 1993 she had rested there waiting for her human creators to decide her fate. Despite your valiant attempts to save her, the Navy had decided to dispose of her. Now at Philadelphia, she awaits her end, but she will live on in our memory and in the history she made. Tonight, I’ll touch on some of that history.
What is it that makes us revere the ships that we sailed? Why do we get pulled back time and again? I think it is clear: these ships were part of our lives, the formative part; the part that made us into the men we have become. Unlike other life experiences, the Navy provided us the privilege and challenge to be part of a great enterprise, to project our nation’s strength to those who would try to destroy us. Compared to my hometown peers I left behind, I experienced the excitement of flight deck operations, and seeing exotic foreign ports: belly dancers in Istanbul; the ruins of the Middle East; the ports of call that provided the opportunities for good experiences as well as youthful excesses. We were so young then . . . !
Someone who knew the answer to this question was the 35th President of the United States, himself a World War II Navy hero who was almost killed aboard his rammed PT-109. In 1963, President John F. Kennedy, having just led the nation and the world through the Cold War’s most dangerous conflict, the Cuban Missile Crisis and only a few short months away from his own assassination, addressed the Naval Academy’s graduating class. With prophesy, he challenged the new naval officers with a profound observation: “Any man who may be asked in this century what he did to make his life worthwhile ... can respond with a good deal of pride and satisfaction, 'I served in the United States Navy.' ”
It is clear that he had settled this reflection in his own mind. It is obvious to me that when he considered his life’s destiny, this man born to a life of wealth and privilege, having achieved the office of senator, and finally president, a man who had it all, chose the Navy as “one of the experiences that made his life worthwhile.”
Jack Kennedy loved sailing and was intrigued by the sea, musing to friends that the saline concentration in sea water was the same as in human blood---evidencing his fascination of what drew him to the sea. We Forrestal Veterans share his connections with the sea and the Navy and I’d like to read you a portion of a piece that I received years ago, written by an unknown author:
I was a sailor once. I liked standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with clean ocean winds whipping in from the four quarters of the globe - the ship beneath me feeling like a living thing as her engines drove her through the sea.
I liked the piercing trill of the boatswain’s pipe, the syncopated clangor of the ships bell on the quarterdeck, the harsh squawk of the MC and the strong language and laughter of sailors at work.
I liked liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port. I even liked all hands working parties as my ship filled herself with the multitude of supplies, both mundane and exotic, which she needed to cut her ties to the land and carry out her mission anywhere on the globe where there is water to float her.
I liked 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 trusted and depended on them as they trusted and depended on me for professional competence, for comradeship, for courage. In a word, they were "shipmates."
Yes, I was a sailor once. I remember the work was 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 was ever present.
In my dreams, I still remember the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ships work, as the flying fish flitted across the wave tops and sunset gave way to night. I remember the feel of the Navy in darkness - the masthead lights, the red and green navigation lights and stern light; And I liked drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small that told me that my ship was alive and well, and that my shipmates on watch will keep me safe.
What wonderful prose, it captures our own experiences so well. “That my shipmates on watch will keep me safe. . .” Tomorrow, we will gather to remember those who perished in the horrific July 29, 1967 Forrestal flight deck fire. They gave their lives to keep their shipmates and Forrestal safe.
When viewing those old flight deck movies of the bomb explosions that shook the mighty ship and the Plat camera’s recording of the frightful events below, the one lasting impression I have is how the firefighters would get knocked to the deck with each explosion, BUT get up and head BACK to the fire, rescuing fallen shipmates, battling the walls of fire---suppressing the urgency to flee---selflessly trying to save the ship.
I remember the scariest part of my boot camp experience was when we were taught how to fight a raging oil-fed fire in a dark steel compartment that simulated an onboard ship fire. After 53 years, I still remember the salty instructor trying to get our attention: He said, “Men, the only thing the United States Navy fears is fire!” I remember entering that fire where I could barely see the man in front and feel the man in back, all carrying the hose that would defeat the inferno---a lesson in trust, a lesson in teamwork, and a lesson in what it meant to be a shipmate. The Forrestal fire fighters learned those lessons well.
The Forrestal had another serious fire you may not know about. For those of you who were onboard the 1962-63 Mediterranean Cruise, you will remember the boiler room fire on October 18, 1962. Our Carrier Air Group Commander, CAG as we called him, was a wonderful leader and writer. He issued a regular epistle called “The CAG’s Rag,” where he wrote about the fire and I’ll share some of it with you tonight.
CAG wrote: “On occasions when disaster raises its ugly head and threatens with its beady green eyes and fiery hot breath the safety of the vessel or its crew, there always seems to be a sleeping inner courage and bravery, not seen from day-to-day, that jumps up and beats down the devil. Yesterday we had such an occasion.”
From this opening, you can see why we enjoyed the “Rag.” I think he was my first inspiration to write.
CAG went on, “When the fire started, it gave no warning. Suddenly the forward starboard corner of the machinery room was engulfed in flame—dense clouds of black greasy smoke almost instantly filled the space. Chief Rosell, MMC, on watch in the space immediately went into action. He quickly evacuated the area—sent the non-rated men up the escape trunk and put his petty officers to work securing boilers, stopping feed, auxiliary and condensate pumps and checking the lube-oil pumps and securing the space and equipment.”
“With this done, his well-trained team of fire fighters set about fighting the fire. The heat was so intense that it was melting the aluminum valve handles and handrails, which puts the temperature in a large part of the area around 1180 degrees F, the melting point of aluminum. In one area around the automatic bus area, the temperature must have been above 1925 degrees F, which is the fusing point of copper.”
CAG speculated in his account to us, “Think of what might have happened. Suppose Rosell had panicked and fled, closing off the only path of safe escape to the men trapped in that space. We might have been holding memorial services for at least 10 or 15 men today and perhaps several hundred. “
He concluded, “The fire occurred only about eight feet from the oil heaters that feed the boilers in that space, where oil under high pressure is heated to the flash point and fed to the burners. Had the fire been permitted to rage until it ruptured one of these lines it would have had a source of fuel that would have turned this blazing inferno into a melting pot. The fire could have then spread to the bilges and perhaps next to the 3,000 gallon lube-oil storage tank in the back of the room. Where it could have gone then is anybody’s guess—perhaps sending us to abandon ship stations.”
While all of this was happening, Forrestal had an AD-5 bomber plunk into the water off the stern during flight operations. CAG humorously mentioned, “One of the exhausted sailors who had just finished fighting the fire to a successful conclusion heard about the AD-5 and complained to the chief, “Those airdales just couldn’t stand to see us get a little credit down here; they heard about us and went right up there and ditched an airplane just to attract attention.”
After the boiler room fire, Forrestal anchored in the bay of Genoa, Italy for some scheduled liberty. In a few days, our home-based squadron, Forrestal, and President Kennedy would be engulfed in the most dangerous conflict of the Cold War. On October 22, 1962, President Kennedy placed the United States armed forces at Defense Condition (DEFCON) 3, a heightened state of alert before he sat down in front of television cameras to announce that American U-2 reconnaissance photos revealed that the Soviets were constructing offensive Medium Range Ballistic Missile sites in Cuba. These nuclear-tipped missiles had a range of 1,300 miles and could reach Washington, D.C. and New York City. The thirteen-day stand-off between President Kennedy and Soviet Chairman Nikita Khrushchev became known as the Cuban Missile Crisis.
In his address, the president demanded that Khrushchev dismantle and withdraw the Soviet missiles and medium-range jet bombers, capable of carrying one-megaton nuclear warheads. As a first step demonstrating his determination, he announced a naval blockade of Cuba, preventing any new introduction of prohibited military material. Shortly after his address, Forrestal pulled anchor, stranding some crew members ashore. Many were flown out to the ship later. Forrestal was soon preparing for nuclear war.
I write in our book how I witnessed nuclear bombs being brought to the hangar deck on special transporters, surrounded by armed Marine guards. I remember the high-tech look of the bombs, shiny, slim, and very different from any other bomb I’d ever seen. These special weapons were brought to the flight deck and mounted under our attack aircraft and under constant Marine guard for a number of days. The sixth fleet was preparing for any backlash response from the Soviets. While the action was most concentrated in the Caribbean, the president was concerned that our nuclear missiles in Turkey and Italy would be attacked by the Russians.
The Cuban Missile Crisis dragged on for 6 more days, with the world not knowing if it would end in a global nuclear war. During that period, VFP-62 was selected to lead the low-level photographic reconnaissance of the nuclear sites (codenamed Blue Moon). President Kennedy was evaluating whether to order an air attack against the missile sites and airfields in Cuba. An invasion, as large as the Normandy invasion was also being planned. Aerial reconnaissance, particularly low-level photography provided him daily updates on the operational status of the sites. It bought him time to develop a peaceful resolution to the crisis.
Before the crisis was peacefully resolved on October 28, the Air Force Strategic Air Command was placed on DEFCON 2, the highest state of readiness. B-52s loaded with nuclear weapons were constantly in the air ready for the president’s command to strike. Fortunately, for the world, the crisis ended peacefully. This is the subject of our new book, Blue Moon over Cuba: Aerial Reconnaissance during the Cuban Missile Crisis.