Monday, August 25, 2014

The "Mighty Mo" is Free at Last: Part 2 of 2

By mid-morning on January 17, 1950, the battleship USS Missouri (BB-63) was now hard aground on Thimble Shoal near the entrance to Hampton Roads. A number of tugs were summoned, their numbers swelling to sixteen by the end of the day. Yet even with their concerted effort, Missouri remained stuck.

This created an extremely embarrassing situation for the Navy. The grounding was widely reported across the nation. Jokes were quickly forthcoming, not just from other branches of the military, but also from the public and even the Soviet Atlantic Fleet. With a highly visible situation, the Pentagon debated on using civilian or Navy resources for the recovery. In the end, Rear Admiral Allan Smith volunteered to take responsibility of the operation. He asked Rear Admiral Homer Wallin, a noted salvage expert, to assist him. Wallin was most famous for running the salvage at Pearl Harbor after the Japanese attack there. By 1950, he was in command at Norfolk Naval Shipyard.

Smith and Wallin quickly got to work, forming a basic plan to lighten the ship, dredge a channel, and wait for the next highest tide. A look at the charts indicated that the next tide that was as high as that on the 17th would be on February 2nd; the men had much work to do before that day. Before long, a small flotilla surrounded Missouri. These included dredgers, tug boats, barges, the large fleet oiler USS Chemung (AO-30), and the submarine rescue ship USS Kittiwake (ASR-13), which supported divers working on the site.
Orders were given to remove excess weight in order to lighten the ship. This was a tall order, given the size of the ship and the necessary requirements for providing for the crew. Missouri’s sailors were kept busy for the next few days. All of the ship’s ammunition had to be removed, with the giant 16-inch shells slowing the process due to their bulk and weight (nearly a ton each). Over 2.25 million gallons of fuel was pumped out to Chemung and other smaller oilers, plus water and other liquids. Food stores were limited to only what was needed for one week; over 280 tons were sent off-ship. In addition, sailors removed the anchor chains (each weighing nearly 100,000 pounds).
Moving a 16-inch shell

Unloading 5-inch ammo
In addition to removing surplus weight, work continued underwater to free the ship. Divers and dredging vessels worked to refloat Missouri. This in itself was a herculean task, but the problem of getting the battleship safely to deeper water once freed also existed. Here the dredging operations were paramount. A channel needed to be cleared from the site back to the main waterway, a distance of 2,500 feet. Work continued over the next week until favorable conditions could be had for a refloating attempt. Although ultimately not needed, additional plans included possibly running destroyers by to move more water under the ship. 
A diver prepares to go below. Over 650 man hours of diving went into the operation. 
This event was a national phenomenon, helped in part by the time that it was taking to free Missouri. Of course Virginia newspapers were reporting, but others further afield, such as the Daily Iowan, had coverage as well. With each passing day, the naysayers seemed to increase, some thinking that the famous Iowa-class battleship was now a permanent monument out on the shoal. The salvage work steadily continued until January 31, when the Navy attempted a major refloating operation. This “rehearsal” failed, largely due to the discovery that something was holding the vessel in place on the shoal. Due to this failure, it was decided to remove more weight from the battleship, including one of the 30,000-pound anchors.

The next day, February 1, another operation was undertaken. Twenty-one tugboats, along with the salvage lifting vessels USS Salvager (ARS(D)-3) and USS Windlass (ARS(D)-4) were involved in the process. The operation commenced at 0545. Within an hour, the battleship was afloat and soon after was taken away from its shoal prison and back to the channel. Signal flags were hoisted showing “Reporting for duty” and music floats across the water. The salvage operation had taken fifteen days, but Missouri was free and had been refloated a full day ahead of predictions. The battleship was taken back to Norfolk Naval Shipyard for inspection and repairs. 
Missouri coming into Norfolk Naval Shipyard a few hours after being refloated.
The dry dock inspection showed damage to the hull, with fuel tanks ruptured. A twelve-foot gash is visible, caused by a six-foot steel bar, likely part of a shipwreck on Thimble Shoal. 
An investigation began soon after the grounding, but it was only after the ship was freed that a formal Court of Inquiry was held. At first the only primary suspects in the incident were Captain Brown (CO) and Lieutenant Commander Morris (Navigator). Commander Peckham (XO) was the primary witness. As the court proceeded, Commander Millet (Operations officer), and Lieutenant Carr (Combat Operations Officer) were also named as defendants. The court was heated at times, with Brown’s counsel often on the offensive. But in the end, Brown took full responsibility, saying, “As captain of the ship, it was my duty to keep her safe and secure. And I didn't do it.”

After nearly a month, the inquiry finished and a court martial was ordered for Brown, Millet, and Morris. Carr was reprimanded, but was not brought to court martial. Brown was found guilty of neglect of duty and other negligence at his court martial and the captain was reduced 250 spots on the promotion list. He never held a command at sea again. Millet and Morris were also both found guilty of neglect of duty and were reduced on their respective promotion lists.

There are always the “what if” questions surrounding an incident like this, and hindsight often shows problems that should have been fixed or other courses that could have been taken. In the case of the Missouri grounding, it seems that a series of blunders, miscommunication, personality clashes, organizational confusion, poor leadership, and a lack of recent sea command on the part of the captain seem to have formed a perfect storm leading to a disaster.

*Readers can find the original salvage report online

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

The "Mighty Mo" Gets Stuck: Part 1 of 2

By January 1950, USS Missouri (BB-63) was the last of the Iowa-class ships still in service. Her fame as the site of the Japanese surrender and her patronage from President Harry Truman surely helped in this regard, as the other battleships had been decommissioned. Events would soon unfold that brought fame of a different sort to the “Mighty Mo.”
USS Missouri (BB-63)
After four months of overhaul at Norfolk Naval Shipyard, Missouri was set to sail to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, for exercises. Her commanding officer (CO) was Captain William D. Brown, who had only recently taken over command. A few weeks before sailing, the Navy requested that Missouri participate in some tests regarding underwater acoustic cables. To do so, the ship would sail between some buoys near Thimble Shoal, just outside the mouth of Hampton Roads. Captain Brown agreed to this request but apparently did not inform most of his officers, which would prove to be a grave oversight. In addition, the charts that the Navy had were marked with five buoys showing the acoustic channel, but a few had been removed, leaving only two in the water. Only the navigator was aware of this fact and did not effectively communicate this to the CO or to anyone else.
Map of Hampton Roads, with Missouri's path marked
On the morning of January 17, 1950, Missouri began to leave Hampton Roads. It was only near Fort Wool (Rip Raps) that Brown told his officers about the acoustic test. The officers appeared confused at this news. The captain then told them, “Go get yourselves informed!” The ocean current was strong that morning, so the ship’s speed was increased to 15 knots. A buoy was soon spotted and was identified as one of the acoustic range markers, but was incorrectly thought to be for the right side of the range. Captain Brown ordered the Missouri to steer to the left of this marker. As the acoustic range was close to the danger zone for the shallows near Thimble Shoal, this was a hazardous decision. 

As the ship plunged ahead, the officers sighted two more buoys. These indicated a fishing channel, but Brown thought they were the end of the acoustic range. Several officers and quartermasters disagreed and tried to inform the CO of the approaching danger. Both the navigational officer and executive officer suggested that the ship be steered to the right, but Brown ignored them. Missouri came aground hard on the shoal. Her momentum pushed the ship 2,500 feet, finally resting several feet out of the water. As this event happened during a very high tide, the ship was soon high and dry to a considerable degree. The weight of the ship would lead to structural damage on the hull.
A combination of arrogance, miscommunication, and poor leadership led to this debacle. Even worse yet, this incident occurred within view of both Naval Station Norfolk and the Army brass at Fort Monroe. It took only 15 minutes to leave the entrance of Hampton Roads and ground upon the shoal. Getting Missouri free would take much longer.

Check back next week for part two of this story: the salvage and re-floating of Missouri.

(This blog post was written by HRNM Educator Elijah Palmer.)

Monday, August 18, 2014

Preserving our Past: HRNM's Anchor, Part 2 of 2

The modern-day journey for one of HRNM’s largest artifacts, a 200-year-old anchor, began in 1993 (read part 1 about the anchor here). In order to treat the anchor and preserve it for the future, Dr. Brad Rodgers of East Carolina University constructed a preservation tank in November 1993. His team built the tank by digging a hole, lining it with cinder blocks, and then pouring concrete to create the tank’s walls. They built an I-beam superstructure over the tank that would allow them to raise and lower the anchor as well as turn it over. The tank held 4,000 gallons of water and was fourteen feet long, nine feet wide, and four-and-a-half feet deep.
The anchor being delivered to HRNM after preservation was completed.
Throughout the process the conservation tank was filled with either distilled water or rainwater. Once the anchor was submerged in this water, conservationists added sodium carbonate and placed steel anodes over the shank and arms of the anchor. The anodes did not make contact with the anchor, but formed a tent-like structure over it instead. An electrical current then ran through the anodes. This complicated procedure allowed the corrosion on the anchor to change from its original state into magnetite or hematite, which reduced the thickness of the corrosion and allowed chlorides to rinse out of the anchor. Conservationists emptied the tank halfway and refilled it with fresh rain or distilled water several times throughout the process. This was continued until all of the salt was removed from the anchor.

Dr. Rodgers estimated that five percent of the anchor’s weight, or sixty pounds, was salt. After the anchor was preserved, it was painted with several protective coatings. On average, the preservation process takes four to six years, but a number of hurricanes delayed the process. In 1999, Hurricane Floyd’s rains contaminated the tank with mud and other debris. After the hurricane Dr. Rodgers and his team decontaminated the tank and re-started the process from the beginning. It was not until December 2005 that the anchor’s preservation was finally completed, and it is now on display at the Naval Museum.

(This blog post was written by HRNM Public Relations Coordinator Susanne Greene.)

Thursday, August 14, 2014

USS Augusta (CA 31) and the Atlantic Charter, 1941

One of the valuable items in the museum’s World War II exhibit is the aft steering wheel from USS Augusta (CA 31), shown above. On August 14, 1941, this cruiser witnessed one of the most famous summits of the 20th century, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Winston S. Churchill signed the Atlantic Charter at Argentia, Newfoundland.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill at
the Atlantic Conference, where they signed the Atlantic Charter on August
14, 1941. Left to right: General George S. Marshall, USA; President Roosevelt
(seated); Prime Minister Churchill (seated); Admiral Ernest J. King, USN;
Admiral Harold Stark, USN. (National Archives photograph.)
The complexities of the war situation (in which America was still officially neutral) persuaded Churchill and FDR that the time had come to meet.  In August 1941 the two men set out secretly on naval vessels and rendezvoused, along with their staffs, at the new American naval base at Argentia. The President embarked on the Augusta on August 5 in Vineyard Sound, Massachusetts, transferring to the cruiser from the Presidential yacht Potomac at 0617. For security purposes, the President's flag remained on Potomac in New England waters. A Secret Serviceman, approximating the President in size and affecting the Chief Executive's mannerisms when visible from a distance, played a starring role in the drama. Press releases issued daily from Potomac led all who read them to believe that FDR was really embarked in his yacht on a pleasure cruise.

As for the meeting with Churchill, the most important result was the linking of Britain and America in a moral partnership to defeat the Axis powers and seek political freedom for all people in the postwar world. One participant said that the meeting “gave meaning to the conflict between civilization and arrogant, brute challenge.”

USS Augusta (CA 31) and USS McDougall (DD 358) at Argentia, August 1941.
Seen from HMS Prince of Wales. Note the American and British sailors
mustering together. (NHHC photograph collection.)
As for the Augusta, the heavy cruiser (built by Newport News Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Co. and launched on February 1, 1930) went on to distinguished service during Operation Torch and the Normandy Invasion. The sturdy veteran, a one-time flagship of the Asiatic Fleet, hosted President Roosevelt again after the Yalta Conference in 1945 and President Truman en route to the Potsdam Conference that same year.

(This blog post was written by HRNM Curator Joe Judge.)

Monday, August 11, 2014

Preserving our Past: HRNM's Anchor, Part 1 of 2

One of the collection objects on display at HRNM is a 200-year-old anchor. Its modern-day journey began back in 1993 while USS Kittiwake (ASR 13), a submarine rescue ship, was on a routine operation in the Elizabeth River. Kittiwake recovered the anchor, which dates back to the early 1800s. For twelve years, it was under the care of the Department of Maritime History and Underwater Research at East Carolina University. While the anchor’s journey began back in the early 1800s, there are no markings or records to enlighten us about the anchor’s past.
The large iron loop at the top of the anchor goes through a smaller loop at the top of the shank. The loop, along with the curvature of the anchor's arms, are two of the design elements that show experts that this anchor is from the early 1800s. In addition, the band that wraps around one of the arms of the anchor and is riveted to the bottom of the fluke was a common repair method used in the early 1800s. Although anchors were made out of wrought iron, many were damaged when lowered quickly and their flukes broke as they hit the ocean floor. Anchors were constructed in the Royal Naval Dockyards and created with pieces of iron welded together. The iron was heated to a “white heat” and beaten into the appropriate shape with sledgehammers. The process was not without problems. When the anchors were welded, the hammering did not remove all of the air and bubbles, which created weaknesses in the final product.
Close-up of the anchor
One feature that was not common among the anchors of the early 1800s was a gravity band. One of these bands is placed in the middle of our anchor’s shank. An expert from ECU believes this to be an addition at a later date, perhaps when the anchor was repaired. The anchor’s dimensions, approximately eleven feet tall with six feet between its flukes, led the experts at ECU to believe it is a bower anchor. The name implies its place is at the bow of a ship. Based on the anchor’s weight of approximately 1200 pounds, it may have belonged to a vessel that weighed between 150 and 200 tons.

Stay tuned for more information about the preservation of this historic anchor!

(This blog post was written by HRNM Public Relations Coordinator Susanne Greene.)

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

The Sinking of USS Tecumseh- August 5, 1864

One of the gallery pieces illustrating everyday life on Civil War naval ships is a plate from the ironclad monitor USS Tecumseh. The single-turreted Tecumseh was commissioned in April 1864. The war would last for one more year, but for Tecumseh it would only last a number of months. The monitor played a memorable role in two campaigns. 
The USS Tecumseh plate on display at HRNM.
Tecumseh’s first assignment was with the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron, tasked to ascend the James River to support General Ulysses S. Grant's operations against Richmond. Grant ordered General Benjamin Butler to move up from Fort Monroe and attack the railroad link between Petersburg and Richmond, with the additional duty of taking City Point. The Union Army and Navy worked to block the channel to prevent Confederate warships from coming down from the James. From June 15-18, 1864, Tecumseh helped by sinking four hulks and a schooner, and by stretching booms across the channel, the flats, and the right bank of the river. Three days after these obstructions were in place, Tecumseh turned back a Confederate threat to Grant's supply line by shelling a line of breastworks at Hewlett's Farm.

On July 5, the monitor got underway to join Admiral David Farragut's squadron in the Gulf of Mexico. Tecumseh arrived off Mobile Bay on the evening of August 4th. Farragut was impatient to attack Mobile Bay, and shortly after 0600 on the 5th—150 years ago today—the 18-ship Union squadron moved into action. On that morning she steamed slowly past Fort Morgan, at the mouth of Mobile Bay, leading a line of four monitors that were to cover the advance of the rest of the squadron. While maneuvering to engage the Confederate ironclad ram Tennessee, Tecumseh struck an enemy mine (or “torpedo”) at 0740, quickly rolled over, and sank, with the loss of 92 of her crew, including her captain.
In February 1967, the Smithsonian Institution Tecumseh Project Team found the wreck. Their goal, to raise the ship for a planned museum in Washington, was never realized. Some artifacts were recovered from the ship, which remains Navy property like all Navy ship and aircraft wrecks. In 1984 the plate came to the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.

The back of the USS Tecumseh plate
The English company Bridgewood & Clarke made the plate. The company manufactured earthenware, including white porcelain for the American market, at Burslem in the midlands of England from 1857-64. White porcelain was inexpensive and durable, qualities attractive to Navy purchasing agents then and now. The 1861 census described one of the partners and his business: "Jesse Bridgewood, age 54, Earthenware manufacturer employing 40 men 15 women 20 boys 13 girls."  Bridgewood & Clarke used the British Royal Arms in their mark on the back of the plate. Normally the use of the Royal Arms is reserved for businesses that hold a Royal Warrant – that is, that did some business for the British crown. However, many potters—both English and non-English—who did not have a Warrant also used the Arms as part of their mark to add prestige to their product. Americans are familiar with this strategy through liberal advertising use of the flag or the Statue of Liberty.

(This blog post was written by HRNM Curator Joe Judge.)

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Naval Air Station Norfolk

World War I erupted in Europe 100 years ago this week. Though the United States managed to avoid entry into the war for over two years, the war presaged the build-up of naval forces in the Hampton Roads region. Among those forces was naval aviation, with a detachment of pilots, mechanics, and seaplanes. Initially located in Newport News, a more suitable location was identified in the fall of 1917 to establish a permanent aviation detachment.
In this photo you can view a seaplane in the foreground and the tower of the Pennsylvania House
in the background, the initial home of the Hampton Roads Naval Museum in 1979.
The site selected was a plot of 150 acres on the former Jamestown Exposition, located in the northeastern corner of the Naval Operating Base at Norfolk, Virginia. With seven seaplanes, five officers, and 20 mechanics on board, the Navy constructed several canvas hangars to house aircraft, framed buildings for repair, smith, and fabric shops, and erected three two-story barracks, along with mess halls. By the end of 1917, the Navy added two H-12, one H-16 seaplane, and one Sopwith Speed Scout to the inventory of planes assigned to the unit. Other aircraft assigned included R-6 and R-9 seaplanes and the HS-2 flying boat. As the result of increased operations, four hangars, an administrative building, a lighter-than-air hydrogen plant, and a dispensary were also constructed.
P. N. L. Bellinger

By the end of the war, the air detachment was recognized as one of the most important sources of trained naval aviators. In recognition of its importance, on August 27, 1918, the detachment became Naval Air Station Hampton Roads, a separate station under its own commanding officer, Lt. Cmdr. Patrick N. L. Bellinger. The Naval Air Station existed as a separate command until the Navy consolidated it with Naval Station Norfolk in 1999.

(This blog post was written by HRNM Education Director Lee Duckworth.)

Monday, July 28, 2014

The Golden Thirteen: The Navy's First African American Officers and the Hampton Roads Connection

The Golden Thirteen were put into a consolidated training program that compressed four years of courses into three months. “We decided early in the game that we were going to either sink or swim together – even to the point of studying together after we were supposed to be in bed,” George C. Cooper stated in Paul Stillwell’s book, The Golden Thirteen: Recollections of the First Black Naval Officers.

George C. Cooper, a member of the Golden Thirteen, has a personal connection to Hampton Roads. Cooper graduated from Hampton Institute with an undergraduate degree in vocational education. In 1942 Cooper applied for a position teaching metal smiths at Hampton Institute and through this position Cooper met Commander E. Hall Downes, who ran the naval training school in Hampton, Virginia. 
George Cooper is directly in the center, bottom row.
Cooper joined the Navy in 1943 as a petty officer, and Commander Downes used his influence to get Cooper transferred back to Hampton. Soon Downes had another opportunity for Cooper. An opportunity of a lifetime at Great Lakes Naval Training Station awaited him. After a few rigorous months of training, Cooper became a member of the Golden Thirteen and was transferred back to Hampton Institute, where he became personnel officer for Downes. 

After one year in his new position, Cooper received orders to go to the Pacific. Before going to the Pacific, Cooper was sent to Norfolk, Virginia. While receiving his first real medical exam, the doctors in Norfolk discovered a back injury that Cooper had received while undergoing training in the Great Lakes. They refused to send Cooper to the Pacific and he was released from the Navy on medical discharge.

Cooper and the other members of the Golden Thirteen have left their mark on not just U.S. Naval history, but on American history. “I was the only one of the 13 who could go into the Navy store and put on a uniform and walk out with it,” Cooper explained to Paul Stillwell for his book, The Golden Thirteen: Recollections of the First Black Naval Officers. He further stated, “I was the first black man to wear a naval officers’ uniform because my size was just right.”  

(This blog post was written by HRNM Public Relations Coordinator Susanne Greene.)

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Captain Arthur Sinclair II, Early American Naval Hero

This historic painting depicts Virginia native Arthur Sinclair II (1780-1831), a man who became known for his naval exploits around the globe. As one of the Commonwealth’s most decorated naval war heroes, Sinclair served aboard USS Constellation in several of its important early engagements and was a Commanding Officer Afloat at Gosport Navy Yard from 1819 to 1830. Sinclair served during three wars: the Quasi-War with France, the Barbary Wars, and the War of 1812. His three sons also served in the U.S. Navy, but all three resigned in 1861 to fight with the Confederacy.
USS Constellation model 
For much of the War of 1812, Sinclair was assigned to the Great Lakes as part of Commodore Isaac Chauncey’s squadron, where he commanded the warship General Pike in an engagement on Lake Ontario in September 1813. For his valor during another engagement on Lake Erie in 1813, Sinclair received a presentation sword from the Commonwealth of Virginia (now in the Virginia Historical Society’s collection). In 1814, Sinclair commanded the Niagara on Lake Huron and Lake Superior, during which time he directed actions against Fort St. Mary’s and Fort Nautauwassauga. In September of 1818, under the direction of Captain John Cassin, Sinclair superintended the construction of a seventy-four-gun ship at Gosport Navy Yard in Portsmouth, Virginia. The following year, Sinclair was ordered to take over the commanding duties of Captain John Shaw at Gosport and became Commanding Officer Afloat there from 1819 until 1830. In addition to these duties, Sinclair was instrumental in the establishment of a nautical school for young officers of the Navy on the frigate USS Guerriere in 1821 (the Naval Academy would not open until 1845).  The school operated until 1828, when Guerriere was ordered to duty in the Pacific.

The painting of Arthur Sinclair is currently in the Hampton Roads Naval Museum’s collection.

(This blog post was written by HRNM's Public Relations Coordinator, Susanne Greene.)

Monday, July 21, 2014

We Hope to "Sea" You at the 10th Maritime Heritage Conference - September 2014

The Hampton Roads Naval Museum is partnering in a week-long conference of everything maritime. If your interest is naval history, ship history, Coast Guard, or even pirate history, the downtown Norfolk Marriott is the place to be this September 17-20. In addition to several HRNM staff presenters, there will be an array of noted speakers and historians. Nationally-known author, Clive Cussler, will offer the banquet keynote. So check out the links below and register for the conference today!

(Information for this blog post was provided by HRNM Special Events Coordinator Chris Allen-Shinn.)

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Return of the Mayflower, by Bernard Gribble

We have several paintings in HRNM’s gallery, but one in particular stands out as we approach the 100th anniversary of the United States’ involvement in World War I. The Return of the Mayflower, by Bernard F. Gribble, illustrates Norfolk-based Destroyer Squadron 8 heading into Queenstown, Ireland, in May of 1917—only a month after the United States declared war on Germany. These U.S. destroyers were the first American ships to arrive in Europe. Britain suffered immense shipping losses due to German U-boat attacks, and this convoy helped turn the tide on the battle against underwater warfare. Assistant Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt commissioned the painting in 1919. In 1933, when Roosevelt became President of the United States, the painting hung in the oval office. Our museum proudly displays a copy of the original piece (the original can be viewed at the U.S. Naval Academy Museum in Annapolis, Maryland).

Bernard Gribble, a master in oils and watercolors, used darker tones to create a dramatic feeling while filling the canvas with a setting full of crashing waves and eerie clouds. He strategically placed a local British fisherman’s boat on the left side, full of darker shadows, expressing Britain’s despair and turmoil over the war. The fisherman’s boat fills the left side of the canvas, leading the viewer’s eye toward the center, where a United States destroyer steams straight ahead. This particular destroyer is USS Porter (DD 59), which was one of the six destroyers that was part of the mission; the rest include USS Wadsworth (DD 60), USS Conyngham (DD 58), USS McDougal (DD 54), and USS Wainwright (DD 62). The American destroyers are highlighted by sunlight peering through the parting clouds, emphasizing these ships as signs of hope. This dramatic painting not only displays the artist’s knowledge and skill in oil work, but also shows the power and hope the United States Navy provided worldwide.

(This blog post was written by HRNM Educator Diana Gordon.)

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

USS New Jersey (BB-16) in World War I

The picture here shows the Virginia-class battleship USS New Jersey (BB-16) in 1918. She is painted in one of the wartime camouflage paint schemes. Commissioned in 1906, she took part in the Jamestown Exposition in 1907 and sailed a few months later with the Great White Fleet for a 14 month cruise around the world. She also participated in the Vera Cruz expedition in 1914.

By the outbreak of World War I, New Jersey was too outdated to actively participate in fleet action. Like her sister ship USS Nebraska, the ship proved a valuable training tool for the wartime Navy, operating in the Chesapeake Bay. In 1923, the ship was sunk off of Cape Hatteras as part of Billy Mitchell's famous bombing tests.

New Jersey being bombed in 1923