Reading a Museum Artifact: What Commander John Graf’s Flight Jacket Can Tell Us

By William Clarkson
HRNM Educator

In addition to providing insight into the past, artifacts help us form a closer connection with a historical narrative. But what if we do not have that narrative context? Today we will look at an artifact on display at the Hampton Roads Naval Museum in the Ten Thousand-Day War at Sea exhibit, our current special exhibit about the U.S. Navy’s role during the Vietnam War. One of two flight jackets in the gallery, this G-1 style flight jacket belonged to Commander John “Jack” Graf, who enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1945. Graf was a Photographers Mate who commissioned as an officer in 1958. A flight jacket provides a snapshot of an aviator’s service. Using this jacket, we’ll explore how to “read” an artifact and how that examination can be a window into the artifact owner’s career.

CDR John Graf’s leather G-1 style flight jacket, on display at HRNM (HRNM)

At its most basic, this is a leather jacket with a fur-lined collar. Generally, only pilots and aircrew personnel receive and wear this kind of garment. These jackets came about in response to the extreme conditions present when flying at altitude.[i] Based on the materials and design, this is a “G-1” flight jacket (a general designation for a range of variants), which tells us that it was made sometime after 1947 when the “G-1” style came into being.[ii] The leather flight jacket ceased being used during missions as cockpits changed and new fabrics and technologies were developed. Thus, this style of flight jacket became more a status symbol than necessary equipment. The nameplate on the left breast provides the name, rank, and service of the owner. In this case, J.G. Graf, Lieutenant, U.S. Navy, owned this jacket. A close inspection shows the letters “JG” scratched off after the rank, indicating that Graf acquired the jacket while a Lieutenant (Junior Grade), and instead of having a new nameplate made and sewn on, he chose a more expedient remedy.

Steam rises from a vent at a snow- and ice-covered Little America Station during Operation Deep Freeze III (U.S. Navy Seabee Museum)

Visible below the nameplate is a patch from Operation Deep Freeze III (1957-58). Patches of military garments denote service with specific units or participation in certain official operations. The Deep Freeze operations were part of a long-term international scientific effort to perform research and experiments across several stations in Antarctica.[iii] This included atmospheric study, ice-core sampling, and astronomy in the polar environment. This phase of Deep Freeze coincided with the International Geophysical Year, a larger global scientific effort to study both the Arctic and Antarctic regions. Serving in Antarctica is uncommon for Sailors, and the patch’s presence on this flight jacket makes Graf’s career somewhat unique. With the benefit of John Graf’s service history, we know that he did participate in Deep Freeze III, and was part of the “wintering-over” party at Little America Station in Kainan Bay on the Ross Ice Shelf. It was here that Graf commissioned as ensign, making the transition from enlisted to the officer ranks, becoming what is known in the Navy as a “Mustang.”[iv]

USS Independence (CV 62), USS Saratoga (CV 60), and USS Intrepid (CVA 11) celebrate the 50th anniversary of U.S. Naval Aviation (NHHC)

The jacket’s other patches also provide valuable information. The patch on the right shoulder is that of Heavy Attack Squadron 9 (VAH-9), known as the “Hoot Owls.” This patch is datable to the mid-1950s to early 1960s, since the design changed when the squadron was redesignated as RVAH-9 in 1964. On the right breast is the patch of USS Saratoga (CVA 60). Commissioned in 1956, Saratoga was the second aircraft carrier to bear that name. On the left shoulder is the patch of Carrier Air Group 3, known as “Battle Axe.” These three patches are diagnostic due to the overlap of each unit’s service history. VAH-9 was assigned to USS Saratoga from 1957 to 1964 as part of Carrier Air Group 3 (CVG-3). CVG-3 was redesignated as Carrier Air Wing 3, and VAH-9 to RVAH-9 in 1963 and 1964, respectively. Based on this evidence, we can reasonably surmise that Graf served aboard Saratoga as a member of VAH-9 sometime between the years of 1957-1963. With the benefit of Graf’s service history, we know that he served with VAH-9 aboard Saratoga from 1959-1963, during which time USS Saratoga deployed several times to the Mediterranean and was involved in the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.

OV-1 Mohawk aircraft of the Vietnam era. It was in this type of aircraft that LCDR Graf was shot down and captured during his second Vietnam tour in 1969. (Nasa.gov)

So, why is this flight jacket in the Vietnam section of HRNM? While this artifact does not reflect CDR Graf’s time in Vietnam, it represents the man who served there. LT Graf first deployed to Vietnam in 1966 as a Naval Intelligence Liaison Officer, during which time he was forced to crash land an O-1 Bird Dog observation plane (with no prior pilot’s training) after the pilot was killed by ground fire. For this action he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. LCDR Graf returned to Vietnam in 1969 where on November 15, 1969, both he and the pilot of an OV-1 Mohawk were forced to eject and were captured by North Vietnamese forces. Graf died during an escape attempt in February 1970. John Graf was declared “Killed-in-Action” in February 1978 and posthumously promoted to the rank of Commander. This jacket stands as a physical connection to the life and career of a Sailor, officer, and aviator of the U.S. Navy who served and was lost during the Vietnam War.



Notes:
[i] This blog about an MA-1 flight jacket on display briefly discusses the origins of the flight jackets, and how they were adapted with changing flight conditions: https://hamptonroadsnavalmuseum.blogspot.com/2020/07/naval-aviators-essential-accessories.html
[ii] The label inside the collar of the jacket is quite worn, so the specific variant is not immediately discernable. Often, artifacts are only datable to a range of time and not a specific date of creation or use.
[iii] The Cruisebook for Operation Deep Freeze (Task Force 43) is available online at: https://www.history.navy.mil/content/dam/museums/Seabee/Cruisebooks/postwwiicruisebooks/antarctica-cruisebooks/DEEPFREEZE%20III%20TASK%20FORCE%2043%201957-58.pdf
[iv] While not official Navy terminology, Sailors who rise in the enlisted ranks and are then commissioned into the officer corps are often referred to as “Mustangs,” or “Mustangers.”

Body Washed Up on Beach Reminiscent of "Operation Mincemeat"

Last week's post touched on how a recent hurricane brought forth reminders of a past war upon nearby shores.  That same storm wasn't done reminding us of the past, however, because the day after two old sea mines washed ashore at different points on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the body of a "neatly dressed man" washed ashore in Nags Head.

The writer of a newspaper story on the incident speculated, "Whales, exotic shells and even bombs wash ashore occasionally on the Outer Banks, but this might have been the first time waves deposited a human body in a bag."

Maybe so, but it is far from the first time that bodies have washed up on the shores of what has long been called the Graveyard of the Atlantic.  Hundreds of wrecks, the vast majority of them merchant vessels, leavened by a sprinkling of ill-fated warships, dot the seafloor off North Carolina.  Many of the thousands who died aboard these vessels over the last half-millennium would presumably have washed ashore.  What set this body apart from a typical victim of the sea, however, was his attire.  He was apparently dressed for a special occasion.  Investigators were to surmise pretty quickly that he was in fact dressed for a funeral; his own, it turns out.   

The unfortunate gentleman who washed ashore last week was far from the first decedent carefully dressed for consignment to the deep.  A number of private companies perform the service.  One even features a proprietary shroud that is, according to their website, "weighted with traditional cannonballs ... created by the same blacksmiths that forge the ceremonial cannonballs for the oldest commissioned warship on the planet the U.S.S. Constitution, 'Old Ironsides'"

On February 14, 2004, a deceased U.S. Navy Commander is committed to the Atlantic Ocean during a burial at sea ceremony aboard the aircraft carrier Harry S. Truman (CVN 75). At the time, Truman was undergoing sea trials after completing a six-month Planned Incremental Availability (PIA) at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard. U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate 3rd Class Jose L. Barrientos Jr. (Wikimedia Commons)

If one desires a newer American warship to play a role in the final disposition of a loved one (as long as they meet certain requirements), the U.S. Navy performs burials at sea on a pretty regular basis, although the deceased has typically been cremated beforehand.  After all, one doesn't want your honored veteran's final journey to make an unscheduled return trip. There's probably some truth to the old sea story about the Marine detachment that had to put a few more holes in the floating casket of the honored service member with the same rifles they had used to render honors, thus preventing it from becoming a navigational hazard.  

There have been interesting variations of the burial at sea, including the Viking funeral the U.S. Coast Guard gave a veteran of Nordic descent in 2014. From the annals of military history, however, we have the story of a corpse that was taken out into the Atlantic on a naval vessel during World War II, not to be buried, but to play a central role in a secret mission. The body was also dressed to impress a particular target audience: 

Nazis.     

Operation Torch, the simultaneous landings in North Africa of around 108,000 British and American troops in November 1942, about 34,000 of whom originated in Hampton Roads, had been a success.  By early 1943, the Allies had a springboard from which to launch further amphibious operations into  Nazi-occupied Europe.  The island of Sicily off the Italian coast made the most sensible next target for invasion planners, but that fact wouldn't be lost on the thousands of German troops occupying the island who would be expecting the invasion.

Enter Ian Fleming, a British naval intelligence officer who would one day achieve worldwide fame as the author of the original James Bond novels.  It is widely believed that it was he who conceived of the idea to plant misleading plans on a dead body that would then be found by the Germans. The plan was actually inspired by a detective novel he had read.

The essence of what became known as "Operation Mincemeat" was a simple idea, but in order for it to work, elaborate measures had to be taken.  Just as intelligence officers commonly assume a false identity in order to conduct their work, an identity was created for an unfortunate Welsh laborer named Glyndwr Michael, who was transformed by British intelligence officers from a dead itinerant laborer into Captain (acting Major) William Martin of the Royal Marines.

The false identity card of Captain (Acting Major) William Martin, one of the notional documents that established the bona fides of the dead officer for Axis agents, who then passed the deceptive information he carried to Berlin. (Wikimedia Commons)

When "Major Martin" was found floating off the coast of Spain by fishermen on April 30, 1943, ostensibly as an air crash victim, he had ticket stubs, letters from his fiancee, and even unpaid bills in his pockets, but the real intelligence bait came from the secret plans contained in a briefcase chained to his trench coat that purported to show that the British were planning to surprise the Germans in Greece and Sardenia, and not Sicily. 

The decision to deposit the counterfeit major into the sea off Spain via the submarine HMS Seraph was a practical one.  Spain was officially neutral during World War II and thus its waters would not be patrolled quite as vigorously as those of occupied France or other areas under Axis control.  Dictator Francisco Franco owed his victory in the Spanish Civil War in part to Adolf Hitler's Condor Legion and the Luftwaffe, however, so it stands to reason that any important intelligence Spanish authorities found would be passed to the Nazis. 

File photo showing the prepared body of "Major Martin" 
before it was deposited into the Atlantic Ocean in April 1943. 
(National Archives of Great Britain via Wikimedia Commons)

Of course just one body washing literally out of the blue bearing supposedly secret information was not going to fool everyone in the Abwehr, and it didn't.  What Operation Mincemeat succeeded in doing, as successful disinformation operations have always done, is to inject uncertainty into an adversary's decision making process.  This sews confusion and undermines confidence in enemy leadership, wastes their resources, and chips away at their ability to make war.  

In this case, the Germans, who had lost a quarter of their strength on the eastern front by February 1943 at Stalingrad, followed by the evisceration of their Afrika Korps later that spring, could not afford to reinforce the troops they had in the Mediterranean.  They could only shuffle them around.  The spurious information imparted by the notional British major forced the precious few troops the Germans had left to be moved from Sicily to Greece and Sardinia.  Whether Operation Mincemeat alone proved detrimental to the German effort to retain Sicily when Operation Husky began in July 1943 will never be known, yet casualties during the operation were lighter than expected.  

And so it was that hundreds if not thousands of Allied Soldiers and Sailors owed their lives to an officer who wasn't even recruited until after rigor mortis set in.  

Fittingly, his final resting place was not the sea, but the grave where he was placed not long after being found by the Spanish. There he remained under his assumed name, literally, until 1997, when his true identity was finally added. 

(Wikimedia Commons)