USS Langley (CV 1): The Finale (Part 3)

Sailors watch from USS Whipple as Langley is scuttled. (Naval History and Heritage Command)

By Thomas Grubbs

Contributing Writer

 Editor's Note: This is part 3 of the USS Langley series. Click the links to read Part 1 and part 2.

On February 26, 1937, USS Langley, now designated as AG 3, reentered active duty as a member of the Aircraft Scouting Force. It operated out of various West Coast ports and Pearl Harbor before making a brief detour to the Atlantic between February and July 1939. It was then deployed to the Asiatic Fleet some ten weeks later. War would find Langley at Cavite, Philippines.

After the Pearl Harbor attack, Langley fled south, first to Balikpapan in what is now Indonesia and eventually to Darwin, Northern Australia, by early January 1942 where it joined ADBACOM (Australian Dutch British American Command). It would spend the next month assisting the Royal Australian Air Force in anti-submarine patrols off Darwin. On February 22, 1942, Langley would leave on its date with destiny.

Curtiss P-40Es in flight (Wikipedia)

The seaplane tender embarked 32 P-40 Warhawk fighters of the 13^th Pursuit Squadron (Provisional) in Fremantle, Australia, as part of Convoy MS5 bound for Columbo in what is now Sri Lanka. Alongside three further transports and the cargo ship Sea Witch and escorted by the light cruiser USS Phoenix, the convoy was to deliver its war materiel to British forces in India. However, ABDACOM ordered both Langley and Sea Witch to deliver their combined cargo of 59 P-40s to Tjilatjap on the island of Java in a desperate attempt to stem the Japanese tide. Langley would not succeed.

On the morning of February 27, 1942, the tiny convoy, now escorted by destroyers Edsall and Whipple, was spotted by a Japanese reconnaissance plane. In response, 16 G4M Betty bombers attacked from Denpasar airfield, Bali. With the convoy lacking air cover, the Japanese commander, LT Jiro Adachi, ordered a rather leisurely attack on the American ships with Langley drawing the lion’s share of the attention. Apparently enraged at this lack of respect, the tender fought back with a fury worthy of a far larger warship. Coupled with exceptional ship handling, Langley was able to evade the first two attack runs. But the third pass would prove fatal, with five hits and three near misses from 550-lb and 130-lb bombs killing 16 sailors, starting fires, crippling the ship, and inducing a 10-degree list to port. The crippled vessel was abandoned at 1:32 P.M. and scuttled by the escorting destroyers to prevent its capture. 

A torpedo from the destroyer USS Whipple (DD 217) strikes home as the seaplane tender USS Langley is scuttled after being disabled by Japanese bombers on February 27, 1942. (Naval History and Heritage Command)

Of the 485 men rescued, most would be lost when the ship carrying them, oiler USS Pecos, was sunk by the Japanese on March 1 south of Java. Thirty-one more would be lost when the destroyer Edsall was sunk in an epic showdown with two Japanese battleships Kirishima and Hiei that same day, while they were responding the oiler’s distress calls. Thus ended the story of the US Navy’s first aircraft carrier. The valiant sacrifices of ABDACOM bought the time necessary for the United States to prepare a counterpunch against the Japanese, but that is a story for another time.

USS Langley (CV 1): Firsts and an Evolving Mission (Part 2)

 

USS Langley (CV 1) seen in 1924. Note the crowded and narrow flight deck. (National Naval Aviation Museum)

By Thomas Grubbs

Contributing Writer

Ever since the days of the Spanish Armada, warships had been designed to do one thing: pound one another into wreckage with a battery of the largest caliber weapons that could be accommodated aboard. There had, simply put, never been a ship quite like an aircraft carrier in the world’s navies. No one knew what, if any, role such a new vessel could play in the fleet. Was it a scout? A spotter? An offensive weapon in its own right? It would fall to the crew of the new Langley, sporting hull number CV 1, to literally write the book on aircraft carrier operations for the United States Navy.

Vought VE7s take off from Langley in 1927 (Wikimedia Commons)

An Aeromarine 39B plane comes in for landing on Langley's flight deck in 1922. Note no real catwalk, just sailors using safety nets as such. (Naval History and Heritage Command) 

As an experimental vessel, Langley would be the scene of a number of firsts for the Fleet. The era of the aircraft carrier for the US Navy began when a Vought VE7 launched from its decks on October 17, 1922. While not the first time a plane had flown from an American naval vessel, it was the first time it had been done from a ship designed for that purpose. Nine days after this, an Aeromarine 39B safely landed aboard, marking the first time a plane had landed on the carrier. Langley would officially join the fleet in January 1923 and spend the rest of that year touring the East Coast from Norfolk to Bar Harbor, Maine, demonstrating the Navy’s new weapon to admiring crowds. Many came simply to watch the aircraft take off and land on the vessel’s flight deck.

Visitors look at a Curtiss F6C fighter plane aboard Langley in October 1926 (Naval History and Heritage Command)

Langley would join the Pacific Fleet in 1924, participating in the annual fleet exercises until the middle 1930s, during which experiments in everything from flight deck operations to mock attacks on the battleline of capital ships would be conducted. It even found time to play a starring role in the silent film The Flying Fleet released in 1929. Sadly, newer and larger ships such as Lexington (CV 2), Ranger (CV 4), and Enterprise (CV 6) soon relegated Langley to an auxiliary role.

Langley (bottom) dwarfed by USS Saratoga (CV 3- middle) and USS Lexington (CV 2-top) at Bremerton, Washington around 1930. (Naval History and Heritage Command)

Since the end of World War One, Imperial Japan was seen as the most likely future opponent of the US Navy. The vast reaches of the Pacific presented a conundrum in the pre and early aviation era: how does one locate the enemy fleet? The answer was seaplanes: these amphibious aircraft and their accompanying tender could turn any sheltered tropical lagoon into a fully functioning airbase in a matter of hours. No longer capable of operating in its designed role, Langley became an ideal candidate for conversion into a seaplane tender thanks to a roomy design and already installed aircraft maintenance and operation facilities.

Langley seen after conversion to a seaplane tender in 1937. The ship was re-designated with the hull number AV 3. (Naval History and Heritage Command)

This conversion took place at Mare Island California between October 1936 and February 1937. The new tender, with hull number AV 3, would spend the next two years operating out of various ports on the West Coast, scouting for the fleet’s battleships and cruisers. But fate had a curve ball in store for the little tender. War clouds were gathering on the horizon and Langley would soon face its sternest test.

USS Langley (CV 1): The Beginning (Part One)

USS Langley (CV 1) with battleships of the fleet in the 1920s. (Naval History and Heritage Command)

By Thomas Grubbs
Contributing Writer

A collier was perhaps the most unprepossessing vessel afloat. Mostly empty space, it plodded from one port to another laden with coal, metallic ores or other bulky cargoes, fuel for the economy. But one collier, laid down as USS Jupiter (AC 3) on October 18, 1911 at Mare Island Naval Yard in Vallejo, California, would go on to become a nautical trailblazer.

The collier USS Jupiter (AC 3) seen in 1913. (Naval History and Heritage Command)

The second of four sister ships, Jupiter was the first vessel in the fleet to be powered by a turbo electric drive. After being commissioned on April 7, 1913, it spent time with the Pacific Fleet before passing through the Panama Canal on Columbus Day 1914, becoming the first ship to transit the Canal from west to east in the process. It would spend the prewar and the First World War years engaged in the hum drum life of a naval collier, enlivened only by a pair of voyages to France in June 1917 and November 1918 carrying a detachment of 129 naval aviators. After supplying coaling services to ships transporting the American Expeditionary Force home, it returned to Norfolk for decommissioning on August 17, 1918. But its story was not to end there.

After the end of the First World War, the five great naval powers gathered in Washington D.C. in early 1921 to attempt to prevent another ruinous naval arms race like that that had led to the recently ended conflict. Most of the resulting arms treaty, colloquially known as the Washington Treaty, dealt with the battleship: entirely appropriate given that vessel’s then central role in the Fleet. However, recent wartime experience had revealed that ship-based aircraft could prove decisive in any future conflict. Therefore, each of the signatories were allowed to convert for experimental purposes several already existing vessels into aircraft carriers under Article VII of the Treaty.

Langley (ex-Jupiter) being converted at Norfolk Naval Shipyard in 1921 (National Naval Aviation Museum via wikipedia)

Because of its relative newness and ease of conversion, Jupiter was chosen to become America’s first aircraft carrier. Renamed Langley after an aviation pioneer on April 11, 1920, the collier would spend the next two years undergoing an extensive conversion at Norfolk Naval Shipyard. It would eventually be recommissioned as USS Langley (CV 1) on March 20, 1922 as an aviation trials ship. Data on everything from flight deck procedures to arrestor gear collected over its career would be the basis for the great carrier fleet that would lead America to victory a generation later. Under the command of Commander Kenneth Whiting, who had originally proposed the conversion of a collier to a carrier, the little Langley set out to face the future.

USS Langley with aircraft aboard in the 1920s (Wikimedia commons)

Seventy-Five Years Ago: A Legendary Name is Reborn

On April 15, 1943, a ceremony held at Norfolk Naval Shipyard marked the commissioning of the newest Essex-class carrier.  What it really represented, however, was the rebirth of a legendary name in American military history.

Yorktown.

A new crew stands at attention as the National Ensign is raised for the first time during commissioning ceremonies for USS Yorktown (CV 10) at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard, Virginia, April 15, 1943, Capt. Joseph J. Clark commanding. The fourth vessel to bear the name of the decisive Virginia victory during the Revolutionary War, she was the second built at Newport News Shipbuilding. (Lt. Charles Kerlee, USNR/ Naval History and Heritage Command Image)

Her keel was originally laid on December 1, 1941 as Bon Homme Richard, after the famous Continental Navy vessel commanded by John Paul Jones, but word came the following summer that the carrier Yorktown (CV 5), which had been launched from the same shipyard on April 4, 1937, had been sunk by a Japanese submarine in the Pacific after the Battle of Midway.  She was officially renamed that September.

The new Yorktown was the same as her predecessor only in name and vessel classification. In all other respects, she was a tremendous leap forward in capability. The shipyards of Hampton Roads were also at the top of their game. On January 21, 1943, sponsor Eleanor Roosevelt was shocked when Yorktown slid down the ways seven minutes ahead of schedule during her launching ceremony in Newport News. 

Sailors on wooden scaffolds apply paint below the waterline of USS Yorktown (CV 10) during dry docking at Norfolk Naval Shipyard in June 1943.  (Naval History and Heritage Command image)

Yorktown's finishing touches were applied that spring by throngs of workers at Norfolk Naval Shipyard, adding guns and radar systems that would receive a lot of use after she arrived in Hawaii by way of the Panama Canal in July.

Lieutenant Charles Kerlee captured Yorktown's ensign flying over the per at Naval Station Norfolk on June 22, 1943, just before the carrier set off for the Pacific.  The destroyers and auxiliary ships anchored in Hampton Roads in the background are indicative of the crowded conditions that have existed sporadically at Sewells Point from the 1940s until the late-1960s. (Naval History and Heritage Command image)

After work-ups by the crew and embarked air wing, Yorktown conducted her first combat operations off Marcus Island on August 31. After a brief mission to San Francisco to pick up additional aircraft and supplies, the fall and winter saw strikes on Wake Island, the Gilberts, Kwajalein, and Wtoje Atoll. A documentary film crew working under Commander Edward Steichen, who was to the Navy during World War II what Ansel Adams was to the Yosemite Valley around that same time, embarked during her first wartime deployment.  Their film entitled "The Fighting Lady," shot completely in Technicolor, gave the carrier her nickname. It would be the first in a long line of big and small screen appearances.  

Yorktown's combat record during the Second World War was exceptionally well-illustrated due to advances in photographic technology and the rapid expansion of the Photographer's Mate rating during the war, with carriers such as Yorktown receiving the lion's share of them.  Chief Photographer’s Mate A.N. Cooperman captured a Japanese "Jill" torpedo bomber immediately after a direct hit by antiaircraft fire (the original caption claimed it was a 5-inch shell) about 150 yards from the carrier off Kwajalein Atoll on December 4, 1943. (Naval History and Heritage Command image) 

Beginning in January 1944, Yorktown fought her way back and forth across the Central Pacific for nearly seven months with Task Force 50, starting with the invasion of the Marshall Islands, to the Marianas, to New Guinea, then all the way to Guam. Most of the time she used Majuro Atoll, the Marshall Islands’ capital which fell into American hands at the end of January, as a base of operations. After a two-month yard period at Puget Sound. She joined TF 38 in support of the Philippines invasion that fall and winter, surviving Typhoon Cobra off Luzon in December 1944. 

By January 1945, her planes were ranging as far as Saigon to the south and Okinawa to the north. The following month, they were flying over the main Japanese island of Honshu. All this time, not a single enemy aircraft made it through Yorktown’s lethal barrage of 5-inch, 40mm and 20mm guns. On March 18, however, this amazing run of luck ended when two Yokosuka P1Y “Frances” and three Yokosuka D4Y “Judy” dive bombers attempted to sink the carrier. Only one Judy was able to release its bomb before being cut to pieces, but it went right through the starboard signal bridge, penetrating all the way down through battery number seven to the second deck, where it exploded, killing five and wounding 26. Despite this, she remained fully operational, and despite numerous attempts at ramming the carrier off the southern main Japanese island of Kyushu and throughout her support of the Okinawa invasion, no other enemy aircraft go through her defensive screen.

Just a week later, Yorktown’s planes scored direct bomb and torpedo hits on the battleship Yamato and cruiser Yahagi when they made their suicidal sortie towards Okinawa. Operations off the Japanese home islands continued, with a short respite off Leyte in June.

For the next two months, Yorktown supported missions against Tokyo itself and Kure Naval Base on the Inland Sea, not far from Hiroshima. When that city was destroyed by an atomic bomb delivered by the Army Air Corps’ 509th Composite Group on August 6, she was off Northern Honshu, sending strikes against Tokyo and points north to Hokkaido over the next couple of days.

A visitor guide printed aboard the ship described an infamous event which followed:

On August 10th at 7:45 p.m. word was received from the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet, to cease offensive operations. Orders were sent out to all planes to jettison bombs and return to ship. 

Tragically enough, Yorktown pilots on their way back to the ship were jumped from above by a strong force of Japanese fighthers. Four planes were lost before our pilots could recover from their surprise at this final act of Japanese treachery.*

Decommissioned and attached to the Pacific Fleet Reserve during the rapid demobilization following WWII, Yorktown was brought back to life in 1953 after her 5-inch batteries were removed and other major modifications were competed to the flight deck to allow for the operation of jet aircraft. Documentary film crews were on hand the following year to record the results, making the film “Jet Carrier,” which nearly netted an Academy Award.

This painting shows the antisubmarine warfare carrier Yorktown (CVS 10) operating off Hawaii between 1961 and 1963.  Two Sikorsky HSS-1N Seabat helicopters are staged forward with one just aft of the port-side elevator and another near the fantail. On the catapults are two Douglas AD-5 Skyraiders of Airborne Early Warning Squadron 11, while several Grumman S2F Trackers belonging to Anti-Submarine Squadron 23 (VS-23) and VS-25 round out the mix of aircraft belonging to Carrier Anti-Submarine Air Group 55. (The National Naval Aviation Museum, Pensacola, Florida)   

Although Yorktown operated as a fleet carrier during the war against Japan and an attack carrier (CVA) during the Korean War, the growing progression of jet fighters and ever-heavier strike aircraft necessitated the construction of the Forrestal-class “super carriers.” After they started coming on line during the mid-1950s, Yorktown was converted into an antisubmarine warfare carrier (CVS) in 1958, becoming the nucleus of a resurrected “hunter-killer” group, a concept that had proved itself very effective when escort carriers served in the same role during the Battle of the Atlantic 15 years before.

Fifty years ago this week, Yorktown was in the midst of her seventh and last WESPAC cruise as a CVS, over half of which was spent off the coast of Korea after the signals intelligence gathering ship Pueblo (AGER-2) was captured in January 1968.

After undergoing maintenance at Long Beach Naval Shipyard from July through November, Yorktown’s first foray into dramatic feature films took place when she portrayed the lead aircraft carrier attacking Pearl Harbor for "Tora! Tora! Tora!," carrying 30 modified North American T-6 Texan and Vultee BT-13 Valiant trainers sporting “meatball” markings.

The Apollo 8 command module rests on the deck of USS Yorktown (CVS 10) after its successful flight around the moon in December 1968. (National Aeronautices and Space Administration via Wikimedia Commons)

After the filming, her last duties in the Pacific included being the prime recovery ship for Apollo 8, the first manned circumlunar flight. On December 26, astronauts William Anders, Frank Borman, and James Lovell landed in the Pacific about 1,000 miles southwest of Hawaii, within 3,000 yards of the carrier. On January 2, 1969, she departed Hawaii for Hampton Roads via Cape Horn, with stopovers in Long Beach and several South American ports.

After 26 years away from Hampton Roads, Naval Station Norfolk finally became Yorktown's home port when she joined Hunter Killer Force, U.S. Atlantic Fleet, replacing the carrier Randolph (CV-15) on February 28, 1969. After refresher training off Cuba, she participated in the NATO exercise Operation Sparkplug, followed by a Northern European deployment.

Her service life came to an end at her decommissioning on June 27, 1970, at Philadelphia, whereupon she became part of the Atlantic Reserve Fleet. She lives on today as a museum ship at the Patriots Point Naval and Maritime Museum in South Carolina, where she took up residence in 1975.

Thirty-five years ago, Yorktown once again became a shooting location for a drama, this time set in the present. Simulating a breaking news broadcast, 1983’s “Special Bulletin,” which some at the time compared with Orson Welles' 1938 "War of the Worlds" radio broadcast, was perhaps the first American film to depict nuclear terrorism in an age of wall-to-wall news coverage.

The following year, Hollywood again came calling, this time in the science fiction genre, when Yorktown served as a setting for "The Philadelphia Experiment," about an apocryphal 1943 Navy stealth technology test that inadvertently transports two Sailors 41 years into the future.

Museum ship Yorktown was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1986 and receives thousands of visitors each year at her home near Charleston, South Carolina. Her name was carried back into active service by the Ticonderoga-class cruiser Yorktown (CG 48), which was commissioned, fittingly, in Yorktown, Virginia, on the fourth of July, 1984.  She was based for another two decades at Naval Station Norfolk until her decommissioning in December 2004.  

*Yorktown's official history maintained by the Naval History and Heritage Command does not mention the incident described in the visitor’s guide, nor do several other sources consulted by the author, thus it is not clear whether the incident actually took place.

Aircraft Carrier with Butterfly Wings

USS Ranger (CV-4) travels down the slipway at Newport News Shipbuilding and Dry Dock
Company during her launching on February 25, 1933 (INS Photo via Navsource/ David Buell)  

You might remember from reading a previous post in our blog that our museum proudly displays the brass builders' plaque of USS Ranger (CV-4), the first American ship designed and built specifically as an aircraft carrier, and that her construction began at the Newport News Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Company on September 26, 1931.  Aside from photographs, there are a multitude of ways that a ship can be depicted and remembered, many of which are imbued with unique artistic traditions specific to a particular place and time.  In our collection, Ranger is no exception.  Though it is far too delicate to go on public display, a memento of the aircraft carrier, made in part of materials that are today considered rare, resides at a climate-controlled facility the museum maintains. 

During Ranger's first cruise, just a couple of months after her commissioning at the Norfolk Navy Yard in June 1934, a young Sailor named William F. Graham acquired this visual representation of his new ship that was rendered by an enterprising local artist in Brazil.  The carrier, complete with raised funnels aft of the island, is depicted in reverse-painted glass atop a backing composed mostly of the wings of the butterfly Morpho Menelaus.  Even after almost 81 years, the iridescent upper sides of the Morpho wings remain undiminished.  The more camouflaged underside of the same species' wing, along with those of other indigenous butterflies, serve to help frame the carrier,  shown in Guanbara Bay with the iconic Sugarloaf and Mount Corcovado in the background.

According to the Rainforest Alliance, the Morpho butterfly is today severely threatened not only from those who still use its wings to make artwork, but also from the destruction and fragmentation of its natural habitat.  Artwork such as this reminds us of a time before such scarcity, when any Sailor could afford to bring home such an exotic blend of local style and Navy pride.    

   

Carrier Embark onboard USS George H.W. Bush (CVN 77)

By Elijah Palmer
Hampton Roads Naval Museum Educator

“Here we go! Here we go!”

(Photo by Elijah Palmer)

As I heard those words yelled over the engine noise, I clutched my knees a little bit tighter and said a short prayer.  Mere seconds later, I felt my body shoved into the back of my seat with great force as the C-2 “Cod” aircraft caught the arresting wire with its tailhook. But just as quickly, I was unpinned, and I felt the plane rolling forward.

Our plane touching down (Official U.S. Navy Photo)

And just like that, I realized I was 120 miles off the coast of Virginia on USS George H.W. Bush (CVN 77).

USS George H.W. Bush (CVN-77) (Official U.S. Navy Photo)

How did I end up there? Well, the previous week a few of us from the Hampton Roads Naval Museum in Norfolk, VA were invited to participate in a carrier embark. Four of us, along with eight other “distinguished visitors” were flown out to USS Bush for an overnight stay to see what life was like for some of the men and women of the Navy.

As soon as we landed, we were escorted into the ship's “island” (the tower on the flight deck), to meet the captain.  He welcomed us onboard and introduced our group to a few other people who would help us with our stay.  One of these was Ensign Mack Jamieson who shepherded us around for the next 24 hours.  Another was the safety officer who gave us a quick brief on flight deck operations and safety, and before I knew what was happening, we were all headed to part of the flight deck near one of the forward catapults.

The group with the CO, Captain Andrew Loiselle (second from left). (Official U.S. Navy Photo)

Flight deck safety brief (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

The flight deck was a marvel to behold. At once seemingly huge and small, the deck was a hive of activity, with sailors in brightly colored shirts running around in all directions, and various airplanes maneuvering around.  As one can imagine, it was also very, very loud.  Everyone was wearing double ear protection, but even so, often you had to shout to be heard over the engine noise. We were also standing only about 30 feet from the F-18 Hornets and C-2 Greyhounds being launched, so you could feel whenever one of them catapulted off, as the whole deck vibrated.

F-18 getting prepped for launch (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

A Plane Captain guides a C-2 Greyhound Carrier Onboard Delivery (COD) aircraft around the flight deck. (Photo by Jerome Kirkland)

After watching them launch, we headed aft to view the planes landing.  I respected Navy pilots before, but after watching them land on a moving ship, I am in awe.  The planes came in at over 100 mph, and had to catch one of three wires just right, so that they could land safely.  While this was impressive during the day, it was even more amazing at night.  All I could see were a few lights in the darkness and then “whoosh” and the F-18 had landed.  Some of the air officers remarked that being able to do night flights were one of the aspects of the U.S. Navy that set them apart from most other navies.

Tailhook down. (Photo by Jerome Kirkland)

Catching one of four arresting wires on the aft flight deck. (Photo by Jerome Kirkland)

The author. (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

(Photo by Jerome Kirkland)

(Photo by Elijah Palmer)

After a full day, including visiting other areas of the ship like the library and chapel, as well as dinner with some senior officers, it was time for bed.  While we were treated to some very nice rooms, the night flights kept going until after 2 a.m.  I fell asleep after a bit, with the help of earplugs, but not before gaining additional respect for the officers and Sailors onboard who had to live with similar noise on a daily basis.

In the morning, we were taken to see several other areas of the ship, including the maintenance department, the hangar deck, the galley, the forecastle, and the tower (where the “air boss” runs things on the flight deck).  It was clear that the ship was a living organism of sorts, with various parts supporting and assisting each other to make sure that the ship was able to operate as needed.  At the center of this cooperation were the Sailors and officers.  What struck me most about those we talked to was the sense of pride and purpose that these men and women had in their jobs on the carrier.

Hangar deck (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

Ship's bridge (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

Air handler (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

Boatswain's mate talking about lowering the anchor in the forecastle (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

View of the bow from the bull nose (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

Searching the deck for debris (Photo by Elijah Palmer)

After lunch it was time to head back home. By this time we were only about 50 miles off the coast, meaning that our return flight would be a bit shorter.  However, first we needed to leave the ship, which would involve the catapult taking us from 0 to 130 in a few seconds!  So we strapped in and waited.

“Here we go! Here we go!”

And with a jolt, away we went, back to our civilian lives after a small taste of the Navy life.  

Photographing Local Ships in the Korean War

During the early 1950s, there was a saying around Atlantic Fleet headquarters that the Korean War was "Pacific Fleet's problem, not ours." The reluctance to send ships from Norfolk to Korea was based on a reasonable assumption that the fighting on the Korean Peninsula was just a small part of a coming global conflict with Communist forces, and the Atlantic Fleet wanted to be ready to fight the Soviets in European waters and the Atlantic Ocean. Despite this feeling, the Atlantic Fleet did contribute quite a number of ships to Task Forces 77 and 95 (the Navy's two battle squadrons off of Korea). It was fortunate that the Atlantic Fleet agreed to cooperate, because by 1953, the Navy as an institution was facing an issue with the American public regarding why the Navy was sending any ships to the Far East, not just Korea, in the first place.

As part of the plan to educate the American public, Admiral William Radford, then Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet, and soon to be Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, penned an article explaining America's interests in the Far East and why the Navy sent ships there. Of interest, however, is where the Navy chose to publish the article: National Geographic. Possibly attempting to reach an audience with a more international perspective of the world, National Geographic not only agreed to publish the article, but also deployed nationally-renowned photojournalist J. Baylor Roberts to photograph the Navy in action.

Here are some of the images of locally-based ships and sailors taken by Roberts and Navy photojournalists that National Geographic published alongside Radford's article. The article and photos originally appeared in the March 1953 issue of National Geographic. 

Editor's Note: HRNM Educator Elijah Palmer contributed to this article.

Roberts took this photo of USS New Jersey (BB-62) off the North Korean coast
during the battleship's second war tour.  In the 1950s, the Navy homeported all
four Iowa-class battleships in Norfolk.

A Navy photojournalist took this photo of USS Missouri (BB-63) en route to
Korea during the battleship's second war tour.

Roberts took this photo of F9F Panther fighter-bombers from NAS Oceana-based squadron
VF-91 and NAS Alameda-based VF-94 being refueled and rearmed onboard USS Philippine Sea (CV-47).

An F9F flies across the carriers USS Essex (CV-9),  Norfolk-based Intrepid (CV-11), and
Bon Homme Richard (CV-31) en route to Korea.

Official Navy photo of USS Wisconsin (BB-64) with USS AFDB-1 in Guam, 1952.  This was taken
after Wisconsin's first war tour in Korea.  This dry docking was at the time the heaviest ship
  AFDB-1 had ever taken on.  

USS Franklin (CV-13) Going to War, 1944

Shown here is the Essex-class aircraft carrier USS Franklin (CV-13) on May 4, 1944 in the Elizabeth River. Steaming upstream towards downtown Norfolk and Portsmouth, the warship had just completed her final check up at Norfolk Naval Shipyard.  She then headed to the Panama Canal and the Pacific Theater. 

Leaving Norfolk Naval Shipyard, February 21, 1944

Launched at Newport News Shipbuilding on October 14, 1943, the Navy commissioned the carrier on January 4, 1944. Franklin spent the next four months conducting shakedown cruises off the Virgina coast and in the West Indies.  After each of these cruises,  the carrier returned to Norfolk Naval Shipyard to fix any flaws discovered during the operation. 

Franklin's combat operations in the Pacific theatre are among the most legendary war cruises in U.S. Naval history.  After she arrived in the Pacific, the carrier participated in several strikes against Japanese-held islands including Guam, Formosa, and the Philippines throughout 1944.   She sustained four major hits from Japanese aircraft during these operations.  It was only on the fourth strike that the carrier returned to a shipyard for repairs. Returned to action on March 3, 1945, Franklin participated in strikes against the Japanese home islands. 

Another view of Franklin in the Elizabeth River on February 21,
1944.  This time the ship is passing downtown Norfolk.

Here she suffered her fifth hit.  According to the ship veteran's website, "On 19 March 1945, off Shikoku, the Franklin was struck by two bombs which passed through the flight deck and detonated in the hangar.  A terrific conflagration fed by gasoline in aircraft fuel tanks, together with detonations of a large number of heavy bombs and rockets loaded on aircraft, demolished a major part of the flight deck and wrecked the hangar and gallery deck spaces.  Flooding from fire-fighting water caused a heavy list.  All machinery spaces were evacuated because of smoke and heat and all power failed.  This is the worst damage which any United States warship has survived."

Franklin's official damage report can be read at our parent command's web site here.

In large part to due her ship's company's company's heroic damage control, Franklin not only made it back to the United States, but made it all the way to New York City for repairs. 

USS Nimitz Task Force Homecoming, 1980

This is a picture of the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz (CVN-68) arriving at Naval Station Norfolk on Memorial Day, 1980, with her escorts USS California (CGN-36) and USS Texas (CGN-39). With the stream of small boats, fire boats, and tug boats, this homecoming was the largest homecoming celebration since World War II. President Jimmy Carter and many members of his cabinet came to Naval Station Norfolk to meet the task force's sailors in person. 

An ad that appeared in Soundings newspaper,
encouraging Hampton Roads' small boat owners
to greet the Nimitz task force home. 

The reason for the huge, public display of support was because of the events that proceeded the homecoming.  The all-nuclear-powered task force left Norfolk in mid-1979, expecting nothing more than the usual Mediterranean cruise.  The task force changed course for the Indian Ocean due to the 1979 Iranian Revolution and hostage crisis.

While in the Indian Ocean, the task force not only had to be prepared to launch combat operations against Iran, but also needed to keep military units of the Soviet Union at bay. Soviet bombers and ships frequently attempted to get close to the task force to spy on and harass the Americans.

The Carter Administration then authorized Operation Eagle Claw, an attempt to rescue the American hostages being held in Tehran. With members of Delta Force and U.S. Army rangers on board, helicopters launched from Nimitz to a spot in central Iran labeled "Desert One." Through a series of mishaps that resulted eight American causalities and the loss of a helicopter and one C-130 aircraft, the operation was called off.

In addition to Eagle Claw's failure, the task force had been at sea for over 140 days before finally being relieved. To show support for their hard work and dedication, Hampton Roads made an all-out effort to welcome the weary task force home.

Battle of Midway-70 Years Later

Today marks the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Midway. One third of the aviation squadrons and all three aircraft carriers that fought at the battle had very close connections to Hampton Roads. In the latest issue of The Daybook, one can read about the local connections to the battle, why the battle is so important to remember, and read about the battle as remembered by the fight's last surviving Dauntless dive bomber pilot. Click here to download the issue (in PDF).



A Dauntless dive bomber from the Norfolk-based Scouting Squadron Eight (VS-8) lands on USS Hornet (CV-8) during the Battle of Midway.


USS Hornet at Naval Station Norfolk shortly before being shipped out to the Pacific, 1942.