Showing posts with label USS Randolph. Show all posts
Showing posts with label USS Randolph. Show all posts

Thursday, April 18, 2019

BB-64 @ 75: Wisconsin at War, Part 2


Editor’s Note: As we observe the 75th anniversary of Wisconsin's commissioning this week, we remember the generations of former crewmembers who brought this iconic Norfolk landmark to life and sailed into harm's way. We continue the series with "plankowner" Marshall Pearson, who recounted his life life aboard the "Wisky" during World War II to David Kohnen for Nauticus' "City at Sea" Exhibit.
Personnel take cover on the forecastle of the battleship Wisconsin (BB 64) as the main batteries commence firing in 1945 as published in The Badger, Wisconsin's newspaper. (Hampton Roads Naval Museum file)
By Marshall Pearson
as told to David Kohnen


Marshall Pearson was not even 20 years old when he enlisted in the Navy. The service was not a complete stranger to him as he had worked at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard here in Hampton Roads. But even this previous experience did not fully prepare him for his tour as a deck seaman on Wisconsin.

“It was an amazement, really,” he commented. “It was a great thrill and everything else for a young sailor to see something that big and know that’s going to be your home, and not knowing where you’re going, or what you’re getting into.”


Like all crewmembers, Pearson had his everyday duties along with a battle station. His everyday duty was working in 1st division on the starboard side. Probably the deck division’s most important job along with mooring the ship and holystoning the deck was refueling the battleship’s escorting destroyers.


First Division aboard USS Wisconsin (BB 64) in the May-June 1945 edition of The Badger. (Hampton Roads Naval Museum file)
Pearson’s battle station was turret #1. Gunner’s mates called upon the seaman and boatswain’s mates of the deck department to assist them in loading the big guns. Pearson’s job, at the young age of 19 was to ram the one-ton shell and the six 110-pound powder bags in behind them. There was no time to rest either.

“Thirty-two seconds…so you didn’t have to wait and think. You knew what you had to do and you had to do it then.”

To Pearson, the feeling of the big guns going off was somewhat unreal, yet quite quiet.

“You could feel it, but in the turret, you actually only heard a swish of the gun. You didn’t actually hear an exceptionally loud noise. Turret two was right behind us and when they fired, there were vent holes underneath that turret. When they fired, it would blow your pants legs off, like somebody was slapping you on the leg.”

Not every combat situation had Pearson running to turret #1. Sometimes he was called to help man a 5-inch or one of the 40mms. Then there was the “kamikaze watch.” While the Navy had used radar to great effect during the war (Wisconsin served as fighter director during the war), it could not detect anything directly overhead. The sailor on this special watch was given a mattress on top of the gun director and told to look up.
Antiaircraft gunners aboard USS Wisconsin (BB 64) in 1945 as published in The Badger. (Hampton Roads Naval Museum file)
“You looked directly overhead up there and these kamikazes would be very, very high-I mean way up above…we had to watch for them.”
Like his shipmate, Quartermaster Bill Carpenter, Pearson was not particularly concerned about the Japanese suicide aircraft.

“I keep tell everybody, as a 19-year-old kid, you really don’t think of anything as serious for yourself. I mean, you just see a plane and you do what you’re supposed to do.”

Of course there was the one time when no one was on the kamikaze watch because the crew ‘s minds were given a brief moment to relax at Mog Mog. Like Foreman, Pearson and his fellow sailors from Wisconsin and from several other ships at anchor, including nurses from hospital ships, awaited the comical spoof “Two Little Hips” on the battleship’s fantail [on March 11, 1945].

The program from the musical Too Little Hips, produced by and starring Wisconsin crew members. (Hampton Roads Naval Museum file)
One of Wisconsin's ship's servicemen puts the finishing touches on a wig for one of the performers of Too Little Hips. (Hampton Roads Naval Museum file)
“They were all on our fantail, sitting there, waiting for the show to start…and two kamikazes, we had lights on and had mentioned that everybody had their lights on, came in and went right into the stern of the Randolph. All Hell broke loose.” 

“My battle station was all the way forward and me trying to get all the way forward. Everybody else was scrambling, trying to just get anywhere they could get…out of the line of fire. Nobody even knew really what it was until later. It was quite a mess for a few minutes.”
USS Randolph (CV 15) alongside a repair ship at Ulithi Atoll, Caroline Islands, on March 13, 1945, showing damage to her after flight deck resulting from a Kamikaze hit two days earlier. Photographed from a USS Miami (CL 89) floatplane. (National Archives and Records Administration via Naval History and Heritage Command)
Like all of Wisconsin’s World War II veterans, Pearson will always be grateful to the warship that got him home safely. You see, waiting at home was his girl Gladys. The two of them had known each other since high school.
“When I was 15,” Gladys told us “he left to go to the Navy. He was 19 years old. I was heart broken. He was gone 18 months, I don’t know whether he remembers that or not. I don’t remember him coming home. When he did come home, got out of the Navy in April of ‘46, and June of ‘46, we got married. It’s been like that ever since.”

In addition to his contributions to award-winning exhibits on USS Wisconsin in Norfolk and the former U-505 in Chicago, Dr. David Kohnen is the author of numerous articles and books on naval history including 21st Century Knox: Influence, Sea Power, and History for the Modern Era (Naval Institute Press, 2016). He currently serves as the director of the John B. Hattendorf Center for Maritime Historical Research at the Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island.  

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Sixty Years Ago: The Mercury Seven's Navy Connections


On April 9, 1959, NASA introduced its first astronaut class, the Mercury 7. This image was taken by LIFE magazine photographer Ralph Morse on March 17, 1960, in the Atmospheric Wind Tunnel building at Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia. Front row, left to right: Walter M. Schirra, Jr., Donald K. "Deke" Slayton, John H. Glenn, Jr., and M. Scott Carpenter; back row, Alan B. Shepard, Jr., Virgil I. "Gus" Grissom, and L. Gordon Cooper, Jr. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
By Steve Milner
Contributing Writer

Though their pioneering accomplishments were filed away more than 50 years ago in our nation’s aerospace archives and, sadly, all seven of these heroes have died, it’s still worth noting that five of the Original 7 Mercury astronauts, whose names were announced to the public on April 9, 1959, had direct ties to the U.S. Navy. For example, four were initially naval aviators; one of whom was a U.S. Marine. And of the three additional astronauts, one started out as an enlisted Marine before becoming an Air Force pilot. Now let me match their names with their original military branches: Our Mercury Navy pilots were Alan Shepard, Scott Carpenter and Walter “Wally” Schirra. John Glenn was a Marine Corps pilot. Gordon “Gordo” Cooper was the enlisted Marine who first served with the Presidential Honor Guard in Washington, D.C., and later transferred to the Air Force and became a fighter pilot.
Astronaut Alan Shepard aboard "Freedom 7" atop a Mercury-Redstone (MR-3) rocket lifts off from Pad 5 at Cape Canaveral during the first American human suborbital space flight on May 5, 1961. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
A U.S. Marine helicopter recovery team hoists astronaut Alan Shepard from his Mercury spacecraft after a successful flight and splashdown in the Atlantic Ocean. On May 5th 1961, Alan B. Shepard Jr. became the first American to fly into space. His Freedom 7 Mercury capsule flew a suborbital trajectory lasting 15 minutes 22 seconds. His spacecraft landed in the Atlantic Ocean where he and his capsule were recovered by helicopter and transported to the awaiting aircraft carrier USS Lake Champlain (CV 39). (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)


Safely back aboard USS Lake Champlain (CV 39), Alan B. Shepard, Jr., America's first astronaut, stands in front of the Freedom 7 spacecraft shortly after completion of the flight of the Mercury-Redstone (MR-3) vehicle, May 5, 1961. During the 15-minute suborbital flight, the Freedom 7 Mercury spacecraft, launched atop a modified Redstone rocket developed by Dr. Wernher von Braun and the rocket team in Huntsville, Alabama, reached an altitude of 115 miles and traveled 302 miles downrange. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
Shepard was our first astronaut launched into space, and went aloft on a Redstone rocket that sent him and his Freedom 7 spacecraft on a 15-minute suborbital flight on May 5, 1961. He’s also remembered as the Apollo 14 astronaut who used a lunar tool as a makeshift six-iron and hit two golf balls on the lunar surface in 1971. More seriously, he and other astronauts conducted numerous experiments, and returned lunar rocks for scientific study during our nation’s six manned lunar landings.
Astronaut John H. Glenn Jr. and technicians inspect artwork that will be painted on the outside of his Mercury spacecraft. The artwork was designed and painted onto the capsule by Cecelia "Cece" Bibby. As with all the Mercury flights, the spacecraft were named by the astronauts.  Glenn chose the name "Friendship 7." On February 20, 1962, Glenn lifted off into space aboard his Mercury Atlas (MA-6) rocket and became the first American to orbit the Earth. After orbiting the Earth three times, Friendship 7 landed in the Atlantic Ocean four hours, 55 minutes and 23 seconds later, just East of Grand Turk Island in the Bahamas. Glenn and his capsule were recovered by the Navy Destroyer Noa (DD 841), 21 minutes after splashdown. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
Glenn flew 59 bombing missions during WWII against Japanese-held islands, and 90 combat missions in Korea, where he shot down three MiGs. Here, he served with baseball legend Ted Williams, who was recalled to active duty as a fighter pilot.    
On October 16, 1962, the "Sigma 7" Mercury capsule is towed toward USS Kearsarge (CVS 33) for pickup, after its orbital flight with its occupant, Commander Walter Schirra, still inside. Note rescue swimmer on the capsule's flotation collar, and a Kearsarge 26-foot motor whaleboat standing by. (Naval History and Heritage Command image)
Schirra was the only Mercury astronaut who flew on subsequent Gemini and Apollo missions, in addition to his initial earth-orbital flight.  He grew up in a performing flying family, with his father piloting a light aircraft while his mother was tethered to a wing.  How many folks can say their Mom was a wing walker?  Schirra flew 90 combat missions during the Korean War, and named his Sigma 7 Mercury flight in recognition of engineering excellence.
John Glenn and Scott Carpenter, designated the prime pilot and backup respectively for the first U.S. manned orbital spaceflight, Mercury-Atlas 6, are seen here at Cape Canaveral, Florida, circa 1961. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
After Carpenter’s earth-orbital mission, he left NASA and participated in the Sealab Program, a deep-sea endeavor that tested the effects of that environment on humans. 

The crew of the aircraft carrier USS Kearsarge (CVS 33) spells out "Mercury 9" on the ship's flight deck on May 15, 1963 while on the way to the recovery area where astronaut Gordon Cooper is expected to splash down in his "Faith 7" Mercury space capsule the following day. Steaming alongside is the destroyer Fletcher (DD 445). (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
Navy frogmen deploy from a hovering Marine Corps UH-34 Seahorse to begin the recovery process of the Mercury-Atlas 9 "Faith 7" Capsule, with astronaut Gordon Cooper on board. (Naval History and Heritage Command image)
As Sailors approach in a motor whaleboat, Navy divers install a stabilizing flotation collar around Gordon Cooper's Mercury space capsule nicknamed "Faith 7" shortly after splashdown on May 16, 1963, after a flight lasting 34 hours, 19 minutes, and 49 seconds. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
Safely aboard USS Kearsarge (CVS 33) after his recovery from the Atlantic Ocean on May 16, 1963, technicians help extricate Astronaut Gordon Cooper from his capsule "Faith 7" as Sailors keep the capsule steady and civilian members of the press and military public affairs personnel document the event. Note the Navy and Marine Corps sideboys awaiting Cooper's walk down the red carpet at the conclusion of the final manned mission of the Mercury program. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)   
The two remaining Mercury 7 Air Force pilots were Virgil “Gus” Grissom and Donald “Deke” Slayton. Slayton had been a World War II bomber pilot who flew more than 60 missions in the then US. Army Air Corps, transferring to the U.S. Air Force when it was stood up in 1947. He also flew during the Korean War. But due to a suspected heart murmur, he was the only Mercury astronaut who didn’t fly in space; that is, until more than 16 years later when he and astronauts Tom Stafford and Vance Brand rendezvoused and docked their Apollo spacecraft in earth orbit with a Soviet Soyuz spacecraft. Before his space mission, at 51, Slayton headed the Flight Crew Operations Office at the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, where he determined which astronauts would fly in space.

After the hatch of "Liberty Bell 7" opened prematurely after splashdown on July 21, 1961, seawater flooded the spacecraft. A helicopter recovery team attempted to empty the water, but seconds after this picture was taken, the Marine UH-34 Seahorse dropped the spacecraft because it was too heavy to continue lifting, and the capsule sank to the ocean floor.  Astronaut Virgil I. Grissom was still in the water at the time, and his head is seen bobbing next to the capsule. Grissom almost drowned, but he was rescued by a second helicopter before his suit filled up with too much water. The Liberty Bell 7 was eventually recovered from 15,000 feet below the surface of the Atlantic on July 20, 1999. Note the recovery vessel USS Randolph (CV 15) in the far distance. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
Astronaut Virgil I. "Gus" Grissom, pilot of the Mercury spacecraft, "Liberty Bell 7" arrives aboard the recovery ship, USS Randolph (CV 15), on July 21, 1961, following his 15 minute 37-second suborbital space mission. He is flanked by Air Force and Navy medical officers. Grissom's capsule sank soon after splashdown and was not recovered until nearly forty years later. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
Grissom was an Army Air Corps cadet during WWII, and later flew more than 100 combat missions during the Korean War. He died in the Apollo 1 launch pad fire with astronauts Ed White and Roger Chaffee on January 27, 1967. This writer, along with members of Cape Canaveral’s permanent press corps, were attending a dinner when this tragic news was announced. And as a NASA public affairs contractor I, and many others, worked around-the- clock that awful night, answering news queries and releasing prepared statements to the world’s media, even though little preliminary information was known.

It wasn’t until nearly 38 years after Grissom’s Liberty Bell 7 mission–and after his spacecraft was recovered from nearly 16,000 feet of the Atlantic Ocean–that it was determined he didn’t blow his spacecraft’s Mercury spacecraft hatch prematurely, upon splashing down. Navy pararescue personnel, fortunately, extracted him from his flooded spacecraft, but couldn’t fly it to a recovery vessel due to its waterlogged weight.


Grissom lived with this negative legacy for the next six years before his death but, ironically, the Gemini spacecraft he piloted in earth orbit with John Young four years later was nicknamed “The Unsinkable Molly Brown,” after a popular Broadway show and movie–and a clear reference to Grissom’s earlier negative experience.
John H. Glenn runs through a training exercise in the Mercury Procedures Trainer at the Space Task Group, Langley Field, Virginia. This Link-type spacecraft simulator allowed Glenn to practice in both normal and emergency modes of systems operations. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)
The Mercury astronauts trained at Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia, and were “adopted” by that city, which honored them by, among other things, renaming its major thoroughfare Mercury Boulevard. Hampton also named seven small bridges in each of the astronauts’ names. Appropriately, the one honoring Glenn leads to the city’s outdoor-indoor aviation and aerospace attraction adjacent to Mercury Boulevard.

Additionally, in 2014, Hampton named a new access highway to Langley Research Center “Commander Shepard Boulevard,” which was his rank during his Mercury mission. Shepard retired from the Navy as a rear admiral.

Throughout the Mercury Program and succeeding manned space missions, our Navy operated Task Forces consisting of ships, planes and helicopters that recovered astronauts and their spacecraft when they splashed down in either the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans.
 
This lasting tribute to the seven Mercury astronauts, located near Cape Canaveral’s Atlas launch site, contains a time capsule that’s scheduled to be opened in the year 2464.  (NASA photo)
The Mercury 7 monument at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station consists of the astronomical sign for the planet Mercury, inscriptions about this early manned flight program and a time capsule containing related memorabilia that’s scheduled to be opened in the year 2464. It’s located near Launch Complex 14, site of the four Mercury Atlas launches.
President John F. Kennedy congratulates Commander Alan B. Shepard, Jr., the first American in space, on his historic May 5th, 1961 ride in the Freedom 7 spacecraft and presents him with the NASA Distinguished Service Medal on May 8, 1961. The ceremony took place on the White House lawn. Shepard's wife, Louise (left in white dress and hat), and his mother were in attendance as well as the other six Mercury astronauts and NASA officials, some visible in the background. (NASA on the Commons via Flickr)

Our Mercury 7 astronauts should be remembered for their bravery, accomplishments and their positive influence on our nation’s can-do attitude–reinforced by President John F. Kennedy, when he said, on May 25, 1961, 20 days after Shepard’s Freedom 7 Mercury launch:

"I believe this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to Earth"
                                      
Editor's Note: In addition to serving as public affairs officer for 17 years at Norfolk Naval Shipyard, Steve Milner was also a public affairs contractor with the National Aeronautics and Space Administration at Cape Canaveral during the manned Gemini, Apollo and Skylab programs.