written by Wesley W. Coonfare
This is a memoir on file at the Edgewood Museum written by Wesley Coonfare (1925-2018), born in the Edgewood area, but who lived most of his life in and near Manchester. He was a member of Edgewood American Legion Post #512. The memoir describes his experiences in the US Navy during World War II. Among other postings from 1943-1946, Coonfare was a gunner’s mate aboard the destroyer USS Grayson serving in the South Pacific.
The 22-page memoir recounts his decision to enlist, and personal observations and descriptions of wartime events. From the text it is inferred to have been written in 2003.
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In July of 1943, after finishing shocking oats, I took a day off from Ward Walston’s farm west of Manchester, Iowa, and went to Dubuque, Iowa, to enlist in the Navy. I first went to my mother at 95 Valley Street, Dubuque, and asked her to sign for me to get into the Navy. She refused, saying I was too young (17) and she wouldn’t sign because she was afraid I wouldn’t return in one piece or might not get back at all. I then went to my grandmother and, after begging her to sign for me, she finally agreed, but not too enthusiastically. We went to the Court House thinking that was the place to go. They, in turn, sent us to the Dubuque Post Office. Getting Grandma to sign as my guardian was about a ten-minute deal, she was smiling and excited. She had to tell them what a nice young boy I was and how much the Navy would gain by letting me enlist. She finally convinced the recruiting officer what a nice boy I had been in the eight years she had raised me and thanked them for giving me a chance to grow up. And I grew up in a hurry believe me!
I had to return to the farm and wait about two weeks to receive my greetings from Uncle Sam into the military. I went by bus to Camp Dodge in Des Moines, Iowa, for my physical and was sent back to the farm for about ten days. I then went by train with some 35 or 40 others, some drafted and the rest of us enlisted, to Farragut, Idaho. Arriving in boot camp, Camp Waldron, Company 838, we were stripped of our civilian clothes and given navy gear. Shirts were too large and dungarees too long. Shoes, socks and leggings were the only things that fit. Hats were large enough to cover your ears, in case it would rain, I guess. Finally to the barbershop and we were asked if we wanted to keep our sideburns. I answered, “Yes,” and was told to hold out my hand. He cut them off and dropped them in. During boot camp training I was very homesick – wished I had stayed home and helped thresh those oats. I had met some very nice people, Ashley and Nicenah Fergesen. They had two sons, LeMoine and Frank. LeMoine was married, but Frank was two years younger than I, still at home, and going to high school. Frank and I clicked and I missed him and his parents. They had given me a new slant on life. During boot training we had to learn to march, keeping in step. I had no problem but a lot of fellows did and the drill sergeants really gave them a rough time of it. The really slow to catch on were made to march around the grinder (which was a half mile black top), double-time with a wooden rifle held with both hands over their heads. If you think this is easy, try it some time. When their arms would to start to sag from aching, the drill sergeant was right along side of them with a shore patrol club to touch them and yell obscenities at them. Some, of course, didn’t make it all the way around. They would draw extra duty of some sort. They had a smoking area, but you could smoke only when it was allowed. There was also an area to wash your clothes. We washed them on a steel table with a floor scrub brush, soap and water, then rinsed them and hung them to dry – leggings and white hats along with all the other clothing. The water was always cold.
We had a navy band, which marched in perfect form. They not only played military marches, but big band music as well. We had a sailor in our company who had been in World War I. At one time we were all taken out to the grinder (marching arena) for volunteer duty. We were asked who wanted to be the fire truck driver. I thought that would be great. I was standing along side of this World War I sailor. He told me, “Don’t volunteer for anything in the Navy. Be cautious.” I didn’t raise my hand. Those who did wished they hadn’t. The fire trucks were the horse-drawn type and wooden-wheeled with all the hoses, fire axes and buckets. It took several recruits to pull them and they went all the way around the grinder.
We finally finished boot training and on the morning of Thanksgiving Day in 1943 we were put on a troop train to go to our homes for a ten-day leave. At every train station along the way that day, we were greeted by women who had cooked Thanksgiving dinners and brought them to the stations. If the train stopped very long, we could jump off and get a lot of food to bring back on the train to share with each other. We had the seats full of turkey, dressing, pie, cake, cookies, bread and butter – everything for Thanksgiving dinner. We were told at some stops not to get off the train so we opened the windows and the women would hand the food up to us. We didn’t dare get off because we had both Navy Shore Patrol and Marine Military Police aboard. That day will never be forgotten. The blessing we received from those women will always be remembered. Riding down those mountains on those twisted curves, you could look out and see the train winding behind you. The coal cinders would blow into the rail cars. After eating all that food, breathing the cinders, and rocking around, I got sick and lost it all. And I mean I was sick! An SP (Shore Patrol) came along with part of a bottle of Jim Beam whiskey and told me to take a drink. I told him I couldn’t keep anything down, to go away and let me die. He got a little rough. I wasn’t very big and he probably weighed between 190-200 pounds. I told him I never drank any liquor. He said, “You will before you get out of this outfit” (and I did). I finally took a small drink and it burned all the way down. From the fire it had, I couldn’t think how it was going to help me, but it did. The next day I couldn’t eat for most of the day. Finally, at a stop, I got off the train and got a bowl of tomato soup. That did it.
After coming home from boot camp, Nicenah Fergesen told me, as I was preparing to go to Bremerton, Washington, to write and tell her where I was at all times. I said, “Are you kidding? They won’t allow that.” So she said, “We’ll have a code. You write the name of Betty preceding the place you are or are going to be, then spell that place backwards.” Such as Hawaii – I would write, “I received a letter from Betty Iiawah in the mail a couple of days ago.” It worked on every island, Brisbane and all, clear up to Mindanao, Philippines. I wrote that Betty Oanandnim wrote me a few days ago that she would like to see me when I come home if I would. This was 30 days before we invaded the Philippines. On the day that Nicenah got my letter, the lady from Masonville who wrote the news for the Manchester Press was at the farm to write about something Nicenah was involved in. She had just arrived as Nicenah opened my letter. Nicenah said, “Oh, my goodness, Wesley is in the Philippines,” to which the newspaper correspondent asked, “How did you get that news?” Nicenah just said, “We have a code,” without explaining. The newspaper correspondent sent this to the Manchester Press. I received the article in one of the letters Nicenah wrote to me telling me about having it put in the paper. When I opened her letter, the article fell on the deck and one of my shipmates picked it up. After reading it, he asked me how I wrote that to her. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him so he told me I’d better not tell her any more places we hit or, if he found out that I was still doing it, he would report me to one of the officers. So I quit writing code letters about our campaigns. Of course, she wrote wanting to know where we were or was I coming home. I couldn’t write and tell her anything more for the next nine months. Anyway, after my leave after boot camp, I was to report to Bremerton, Washington to go aboard the USS GRAYSON, DD435 (Destroyer Division). The GRAYSON was laid down the 17th of July 1939 by the Charleston Navy Yard, Charleston, South Carolina. She was launched on the 7th of August, 1940, and christened by Mrs. Grayson Harrison, widow of Rear Admiral Grayson, but was not commissioned until St. Valentines Day, 1941. Lt. Commander T. Murray Stokes was the first to command the GRAYSON. This ship went through World War II without getting a scratch from the enemy. The only damage and one fatality was from our own five-inch gun, which exploded just outside the barrel, killing one sailor and injuring seven others, one being the new commander of our ship, E. A. Trickey. This all could have been avoided had he listened to our gunnery officer. The gun captain had already reported two premature explosions, farther out from the ship, to Lt. Zackery, gunnery officer. Lt. Zackery told the captain of the gun to cease firing and to secure his gun, which he did. This was done without the skipper, E. A. Trickey knowing about it. Only minutes after the gun was secured, the skipper noticed that only three of the five-inch guns were firing so he called the gun captain on the phone and inquired why the gun wasn’t firing. The gun captain explained that the gun had had two premature bursts and the gunnery officer had ordered him to secure the gun. The skipper asked, “Who do you think is running this ship, the gunnery officer or me? I order you to match up and shift to automatic,” which he did. Then the skipper went out on the bridge of the ship to make sure the officer followed his orders. That’s when it happened. If he hadn’t been leaning over the bridge rail, he might not have been hit, but a piece of shrapnel struck him on his throat, causing it to bleed profusely. He survived only to make life hell on the GRAYSON from then on. Commander Trickey was just out of Anapolis and he was going “by the book.” Our previous commander, Pratt, had been through many campaigns and was more lenient with the men under him. Trickey was a disciplinarian to the core. This gun incident almost caused mutiny. Several of the crew came topside to show their disapproval of his decision, shaking their fists while he looked down from the bridge. What did he do? He told the crew that he would break every man in rank that he found to be against his decision. He wracked us thoroughly and damaged a lot of good records. Years later he would apologize, in tears, for the way he had treated his men. This was at one of our ship’s reunions and the only reunion he came to. There were some awful remarks made at our table of the bitterness that would never leave. We were told later that he had been put before a navy commissioning board for ramming the GRAYSON into several piers and several other incidents unbecoming a naval officer. He was to be demoted, but he had someone with rank in the Navy who came to his defense. He was given a desk job with no authority over anyone so he was able to retire from the Navy and receive his pension, which he really didn’t deserve. Almost anyone else would have been dishonorably discharged.
I went aboard the GRAYSON as a gunner’s mate, thinking that I was going to have duty firing the guns. That’s not the case. I cleaned the barrels, tore them down and reassembled them – just kept them clean – more or less a janitor of the guns (O Division – ordinance).
After a few liberties from the ship (from 4:00 PM – 6:00 AM) we would leave the United States for Hawaii. On the night before we were to get underway, we had orders to be aboard ship by 12:00 midnight. Well, the old shellbacks (salts) knew that meant we were going to get underway the next morning by 4:00, so they said, “We are going to get drunk tonight.” “Not me,” I said. “Oh yes,” they said. I did not drink because Fergesen’s didn’t allow it. I had drunk a shorty beer on occasion when I was in high school in Dubuque, but that night the ‘lights went out.’ I don’t remember getting aboard ship and we were out to sea the next day when I came to, still dressed in my Blues (dress uniform). Sick! Oh boy, was I sick! – hung over from the night before and sea sick until we got to Hawaii seven days later. After leaving Hawaii, we crossed the equator and were initiated. And how! The old salts saved all the left-over garbage for about eight days, then put it in a long canvas chute along the starboard side of the ship, tying each end up in the air so the garbage (mostly pancakes and syrup) would stay inside. With a fire hose at each end of the chute, you would be made to enter from the fantail of the chute with water forcing you to the front or bow-end. About the time you thought you could crawl out, they would open the fire hose at that end and wash you back into the chute until you didn’t know which end you were coming out. They finally would help you out. All wet, you would be sat on a wooden box with metal straps on it to get your hair cut. At that time you could just begin to put a part in your hair after boot camp haircuts. Well, guess what! This was worse! Those metal straps were for a purpose. They were connected to electricity. About the time the barber (any old salt shell-back) would start to cut your hair, someone else would turn the juice on. With wet clothes, it was quite a shock and each time you jumped up, you would be pushed back down. Think what you would look like. The ‘barber’ would always put a little grease on your hair – axle grease – and to dust off loose hair, a little powder – bread flour. After all this, we met King Neptune, an officer with a crown, a sheet for a robe and a bare knee covered with axle grease that we had to kiss. Of course, you didn’t get any closer than necessary to keep from getting your mouth all grease, but a shell-back would pop out of nowhere to push your head down and hold it for a second or two, grease all over your face, even your teeth. After the initiation, we were no longer pollywogs, but shell-backs (old salts) and were given a certificate, which I still carry in my wallet.
We then joined the screen in a task group of four fleet tankers sailing to meet with a fast carrier task force west of the island of Kwajalein. That February in 1944, the carrier task force was an impressive sight when it finally came into view and formed into complete formation around the four tankers. After refueling, the task force reformed into cruising formation and sailed toward Truk Island. There, on the 16th of February 1944, I saw the first heavy air strike. I don’t have to tell you how nervous I was. After the first attack, we watched the dog fights in the sky. If a fighter plane dipped his wings, we knew the enemy plane was shot down. If it dove at a ship, you started firing the anti-aircraft guns to defend your task force. Sometimes there were too many and some would get through, but after a while it became routine. I was a second loader on a 40mm gun. I handed a clip with four rounds of ammo (about 16″ long and 3″ in diameter) to the first loader. During February of 1944 we made strikes in the Marshall Islands of Majura Atoll and Kwajalein. Then we had patrol duties in Tarawa and Makin Islands and escort duty in Funafuti, Ellice Island and Tarawa in the Gilberts. Somewhere along the way we lost one of our anchors. It was retrieved by the naval shore facility and returned to the GRAYSON in time for us to join three other destroyers with orders to sail to the Southwest Pacific across reclaimed ocean.
In March of 1944 we met with the seaplane tender USS TANGIER, with orders to escort it to Brisbane, Australia. While there, we took on more supplies, a lot of mutton and goat butter. We were told that the meat was horsemeat. It was very salty. Now I think it might have been kangaroo since I have seen so much about Australia on TV. We were told by our government a lot of things that they wanted us to believe. We couldn’t eat the goat butter. It came in gallon cans and smelled rancid. We did learn to like rice, though. While in Brisbane, we had a little excitement. A group of us went on liberty in town. We consumed several beers, of course, and we had to get something to eat afterwards. We were in a rather swanky place when I asked the waitress for a napkin. She slapped me in the mouth with a wet dishrag. Of course, I got mad and called her every curse word in the navy vocabulary. She took off running to the kitchen and three guys from the kitchen came running at me. All fifteen of our navy bunch jumped up to meet them, when one of the cooks asked me to take it easy, there was a misunderstanding. I said, “All I did was ask her for a napkin and she hit me in the mouth with a blankety-blank dish rag.” He said, “You haven’t been here very long?” I said, “No, and I’m not going to be here very long, either.” Then he explained: in Australia, a napkin is something a woman wears, and I should have asked for a dinner cloth.
When we left there, we went roller skating. I skated with a girl who asked me to marry her. I told her I was too young to get married. She said that didn’t make any difference, that all she wanted was to get to the United States and then I wouldn’t see any more of her. I said, “No, thanks.” Well, the night wasn’t over yet. After leaving the skating rink, we had some more beer and then returned to the pier where the ship was tied. It looked like they were celebrating Christmas -flashing lights all over the place. There were Brisbane police and half of the military police in the navy yard. We were asked what ship we belonged to. When we said the USS GRAYSON, we were told to stand off to the side where we couldn’t see what was going on. Of course, it was dark except for the flashing lights. There is very dim lighting during wartime. Finally, at about 6:15 we were let go to board the ship. By this time, there were over sixty of our ship’s crew standing there. Not until we went aboard did we find out that some of our shipmates had hired a taxi to take them to the zoo (after it was closed). Of course, they didn’t tell the driver where they wanted to go until they were all in the taxi. They were drunk, so he wasn’t sure what else he could do. They held him outside the taxi at the zoo while some of them climbed over the fence, kidnapped a young kangaroo, loaded him with the rest of them into the taxi and took it to the pier. They kept the taxi and driver at the fantail (rear) of the ship while the chief bo’s’n’s mate went on board, over the gangway, which is in the middle of the ship. That way, the OD (officer of the deck) couldn’t see what was going on. The bo’s’n’s mate got a heaving line, which is a clothesline-like rope with a lead ball braided onto the end, making it possible to heave it to the pier. This is used to pull up a larger line (rope) that they use to tie the ship to the pier. Anyway, the rest of the shipmates held the cabby in the dark until the bo’s’n’s mate threw the heaving line to them. They tied the line around the kangaroo’s neck and threw him into the water. The bo’s’n’s mate pulled him to the ship and held him until the rest of his group came aboard. They hurried back to the fantail to help him haul it aboard. In doing so, they choked the kangaroo and it had passed out by the time they had it on deck. The bo’s’n’s mate immediately started artificial respiration. The kangaroo finally came to, kicked the bo’s’n’s mate into the air, knocking the wind out of him, and started jumping around on the deck. A hatch, that goes below deck where we slept, was open. You guessed it. The kangaroo slipped through the hatch and continued jumping up and down between the bunks. The bunks hung from chains, the top one fastened to the overhead with hooks, and each bunk on down fastened to the one above it, so if the top bunk gets unfastened, they all drop and that’s just what happened. The space between the two rows of bunks was just wide enough for one sailor to walk and when that kangaroo started jumping, he hit the bunks so hard that down they came, sailors rolling out on each other, four on each side – eight sailors dumped on the deck, half asleep, some of them half drunk from having been on the beach, with a scared-to-death kangaroo fighting to get away, and the sailors thinking a Jap had come aboard in the night. Trying to fight something they couldn’t see, they came up out of the hole all scratched, bleeding and scared, yelling “There’s a gook (Jap) aboard.” Some had their shorts torn so badly that they might as well have had nothing on. During all of this the cabbie left the pier and called the authorities. They, in turn, called the zoo and the navy shipyard, and then came to the pier. That was the reason for all the lights. The Brisbane newspaper had a big write-up about how the American destroyer, the USS GRAYSON, with some it its crew, landed and invaded the Brisbane Zoo. It will go down in history as the only navy vessel to invade a zoo. Being in the Navy was beginning to be a lot more fun. But after the fun was over, we left Brisbane, Australia for Milne Bay, New Guinea, carrying infantry troops north across the Coral Sea without escort of any kind, no surface or air cover, which is very dangerous. Of course, we weren’t told of the dangers involved at the time.
We had a great skipper, Commander Pratt. He was a very understanding leader of men (and boys). A little later in WWII we grew up fast. After shelling beaches, with a lot of success, we would finally get return fire from the enemy, with a lot of damage done to the ships that were with us. However, we were lucky – not a scratch. No damage done to our ship, but my underwear didn’t fare so well. You can believe I didn’t do any washing. I just threw them over the side. After a few more campaigns, I became more relaxed and it became more of a game. We would actually cheer for our planes, when they dipped their wings to let us know that they were the winner and the one going into the sea was an enemy plane. War is Hell on both sides. What a waste.
The water off the China Strait was so clear we could see the bottom while we were underway. We could see sharks, some as long as seven or eight feet, below the keel of our ship, which took seven feet to float it. We left Milne Bay for Sudest and Lae, New Guinea. We were now under the command of General Douglas MacArthur. Known as the “MacArthur Navy,” we joined a tender, the USS DOBBIN, a World War I vessel last seen in San Diego harbor in 1937. They had brought in all the World War I ships that could be of use, since most of the Pacific fleet had been sunk at Pearl Harbor. Our ship also joined her new “Division 24” companion ships, the USS WILKES DD441, USS NICHOLSON DD442, and the USS SWANSON DD443. We were issued army gear, including army shoes, and left for Manus Island in the Admiralty Islands. It was here that the NICHOLSON was hit by Japanese guns that were positioned to guard the entrance to the island. The army troops were carried to the off-lying island of Rambutyo, via Seeadler Harbor, which became a major base for the entire military. From here we went back along the New Guinea islands, Oro Bay, New Guinea, and Tanamerah Bay. Under the command of MacArthur and Admiral Nimitz, we carried army troops to several small islands to clear pockets of Japanese who were holed up in the hills and jungles. At Hollandia, Humbolt Bay, New Guinea, the GRAYSON received a citation from Admiral Nimitz for our ship’s performance of radar picket mission. We continued on north and west to Wadke Island and then up to Biak Island, New Guinea. We created an airfield on the island of Mios Woendi off the coast of New Guinea because the Japanese navy was attacking Biak Island under serious threat, with a large force including battleships for shelling as far away as 16 to 18 miles out to sea. The airstrip would enable our planes to reach the enemy ships a lot easier and to drop parachute troops in support of Biak Island. This happened in May 1944 when the United States forces were preparing for the invasion of Saipan, while Biak Island was being shelled by the Nipon (Japanese) Navy. When Admiral Yamamoto of the Nipon Navy was notified that Saipan was to be invaded by US forces, he cancelled his attack of Biak and sailed to meet the US fleet. This was the first naval battle of the Philippine Sea in WWII.
On the 4th of July 1944, we helped take the island of Noemfoor, New Guinea with more army landings and a drop of parachute troops. During this same month, July 1944, we gave support for the landing and as radar picket of the beachhead of Cape Sansapor, New Guinea. In August of 1944 we left the New Guinea area and the command of General Douglas MacArthur to join the Third Fleet. We arrived at Eniwetok Atoll on August 27th. We were now back in the Navy under the command of Rear Admiral McCain. It took a few days for our ships to change from the Army Communication Network to Navy. We were now with a carrier task force about to get into some real war campaigns by way of the Palao Island group. From the Island of Palao, the GRAYSON joined two more destroyers, the USS FARENHOLT and the USS MCCALLA, in a successful bombardment to destroy radar targets on Cape San Augustin, Mindanao, Philippines, September 14, 1944. In October 1944 we met with three more carrier forces – now four in all – and were assigned to screen for this group. In the morning of October 10, 1944 we launched the first strikes against Okinawa and Iwo Jima. Only one enemy plane shot over us at this time, but several bogeys (enemy planes) showed up on the radar screen. On the 11th of October our fighter planes made attacks against Appari in the Philippines. We were then sent to southern Formosa, where we rode out a three-day typhoon while under air attacks, usually at about 2:00 in the morning. We stayed at GQ (General Quarters) battle station the entire three days, leaving only to eat or go to the head (rest room). Just a few were allowed to leave at a time. The one wearing headphones would be called and told who would leave to eat and when. The commander of the task force warned all ships that our position was known to the enemy and that we could expect to be attacked at any time. During the day, small groups of enemy planes would come into sight. Maybe only one would be brave and come within range of the task force, but at night and early morning they would be much more brave. That was when they would do the most damage. It was during that time that our entire Pacific Air Force, Army, Navy and Marines wiped out 450 Japanese planes – in the air and on the ground – in one day. They were pushing to get this conflict over.
On the 13th of October 1944, the cruiser USS CANBERRA reported that it had been hit. A torpedo had hit amidships and on her starboard side. There were a total of twelve planes that made the attack and seven were shot down. Three destroyers, the USS WICHITA, USS BROWN and USS CONNER remained with the CANBERRA and the WICHITA took her in tow. The next day the USS HOUSTON, another cruiser, was hit by a torpedo in her engine room spaces, causing her to lose control, endangering the nearby ships of the task force, but they were maneuvered clear of her. The USS COWELL and the GRAYSON were directed to stand by to aid in picking up survivors as the HOUSTON was abandoning ship. The waves were 15 to 20 feet high and the power had to be cut to stop the screws (propellers that move the ship), so as not to draw the men under the ship. A lot of survivors from the HOUSTON were in the water drifting toward our ship, as well as those helping to pick them up. The GRAYSON dropped all of its starboard life rafts and the survivor search went on all night and into the next morning, October 15th. Five more men were picked up by 8:00 that morning. The MCCALLA, engaged in rescue operations about six miles west of the GRAYSON, was ordered to proceed to the area of the towing group. The HOUSTON was being towed by the USS BOSTON and screening for submarines. Besides the GRAYSON and COWELL were the USS BOYD and the USS MCCALLA. The GRAYSON picked up 198 survivors and we had room for only a 165 man crew. We were a “little crowded” for about three days until we got to the island of Ulithi. On October 16, while the HOUSTON was being towed, it took another fish (torpedo). I was topside and actually saw this fish dropped from a plane. The water was so choppy that the fish skipped across the top of the water and landed on the fantail (rear) of the HOUSTON, blowing up a seaplane that was on deck. The torpedo blew away the entire deck of the fantail, but the HOUSTON didn’t take any more water. Navy ships are built with compartments. Each compartment has a hatch on each end. As you go from one compartment to the next, someone on each side closes their hatch and blocks each side of the hatch with a 4″ x 4″ so neither side can open if water floods any one compartment. That is why it takes more than one torpedo to sink a ship unless it hits where ammunition is stored. When the HOUSTON was attacked, it was cut loose from the BOSTON and was dead in the water. Forty men were left aboard the HOUSTON to guide it while in tow, so some of them manned the 40mm guns and shot the plane down. It flew low to the water and right across the HOUSTON’S fantail. Some of the men saw it coming and jumped overboard. They were picked up later. After leaving the two crippled ships at the Island of Ulithi, we rejoined Task Force 38 and were given orders to take command of screening out front. This was on the 20th of October 1944. On the 21 we transferred our empty brass casings to the ammunition ship, the USS SCHUYLKILL (AO-76) and at the same time took fuel from her. We had developed a leak in one of our fuel tanks and had to take fuel more often. Most of the time we would take it from a cruiser or a tanker, as the GRAYSON was a very small, all steel ship (1650 tons). When we returned to Task Force 35 we had a lot more destroyers in our screen, which made us feel safer. On the morning of the 23rd, the GRAYSON took fuel from the carrier USS WASP, two days after the last fueling. That’s how bad the leak was. Usually we could go about 30 days before refueling. Of course, the engine crew knew of the leak, but they were told to keep it from the rest of the crew to prevent panic. In fact, I didn’t know about it until I recently read about it in A History of the USS GRAYSON.
In the morning of October 26th, the crippled cruiser CANBERRA put a sea-float plane (plane with pontoons) over the side, but as it was taking off, it capsized. Two officers, Lieutenant N. E. Westphal, USNR and Lieutenant JG (Junior Grade) J. D. Gordon, USNR, were in the plane, but were able to extricate themselves and the GRAYSON picked them up. The plane was sunk by gunfire from 20mm and 40mm guns and the pilots were returned to the CANBERRA.
Message from the USS CANBERRA:
“The efficient manner in which your units have functioned have contributed to our success. Many thanks for the good work.”
On the 27th of October 1944, the task force group returned to Ulithi Atoll and was dissolved. The GRAYSON went alongside the USS CASCADE for voyage repairs, provisions and general upkeep. We spent the rest of October at Ulithi, then were ordered to the island of Saipan and assigned as radar picket. Saipan was our advance base in November and December and into January 1945. We would pick up Japanese prisoners whose submarines had been sunk – as many as we could. Many of them would commit suicide, considered an honor to their emperor. A B-29 bomber (the largest bomber at that time in the Pacific) had been hit over Okinawa, ran out of fuel and landed about 300 miles short of Saipan. We were given the task of finding the plane and its crew if we could. We searched for three days before we found it – floating, which in itself was a spectacular sight to us. But there was no sign of the crew. The chief bo’s’n’s mate put on a life jacket and, with a line the size of a clothesline tied to him, went down the side of the ship on a rope ladder. He swam to the plane and went inside to see if there were any records that might have been left inside. None, but he found an inflatable life raft and fire ax, wrote the number of the plane, and brought them aboard.
The GRAYSON radioed Saipan to see if it was the plane we were to find. They confirmed that it was. Of course, we had to tell them there were no survivors, but to our surprise the pilot and co-pilot were in a raft on the horizon hoping we wouldn’t see them because the GRAYSON class of destroyer looked like Japanese destroyers and they thought we were Japanese. We were given orders to sink the plane. The water in the southwest Pacific is as smooth as glass except when there is a storm and at this time it was very calm. We proceeded to try to sink the plane. We fired 20mm and 40mm guns at it to no avail. It stayed afloat. Finally, we threw a depth charge and that did it. So when we came back to the states, the paintings on the director’s deck, showing our war records, included not only a Japanese plane we shot down, beach-heads we bombarded and submarines we sank, but also a partly submerged US B-29 bomber that we sank in waters off Okinawa.
Early the next morning after we sank the B-29, the two survivors, pilot & co-pilot, drifted close to the GRAYSON. We steamed up to them and went dead in the water to pick them up. They informed Commander Pratt that there was an eleven-man crew aboard each B-29. When they were hit with ack-ack fire over Okinawa, they turned out to sea and tried to get back to Saipan. But their fuel tanks had been hit so they ran out of fuel. As they started to descend, the pilot ordered the crew to bail out. Each man had a one-man inflatable life raft fastened to his foot. As they dropped through the air, and were getting close to the water, they would inflate the raft. The nine other airmen had bailed out, one at a time, stretching from where we had picked up the two survivors. Whether they were found, we don’t know.
None of the one-man rafts we picked up were from that plane. Reports were made from other ships of having picked up one-man raft survivors and sometimes just the empty rafts. The thought was, if the airman had drifted very long, two or three days in a one-man raft, he probably fell asleep and, in the night, rolled out of the raft. Unable to gather his senses quickly, along with the darkness, his raft may have drifted away. At this stage in the war, if an enemy submarine would find them, they would surface, shoot the survivor, and take the raft out of the water. However, we picked one up who had floated for eight days in only his Mae West (life jacket). He had lost his voice. He would open his mouth and move his lips, but no sound came from him. We lifted him out of the water and carried him to the officer’s quarters. When we got back to Hawaii we were told that he had recovered and was discharged. He had lost all but his thumb on one hand. I did notice when they took him from the water that one hand looked like a piece of rotten meat. When he had jumped from the plane, it either lurched or dropped, causing him to catch his hand and tear it apart. When he landed, he kept dipping it in and out of the water to keep the blood from drawing sharks. It worked to a certain extent. However, when we took him out of the water there was a school of small sharks following him. They were 15 to 20 inches long, so they probably weren’t very old. In fact, they could have been newborn at that length. During the rest of January and through May 1945, we picked up downed pilots and their crews between Saipan, Okinawa and Iwo Jima. After Germany surrendered on May 8, 1945, a lot of the Atlantic fleet came to the Pacific. This force of ships covered a lot of water. All we could see around us were ships, ships, ships. It was a spectacular sight.
We were finally sent to Hawaii, then on to Bremerton, Washington for repairs and a two-week leave home to Masonville, Iowa. After returning to Bremerton, we were in port from June until August 1945. We would have left in July, but someone dropped a ball-peen hammer head into the reduction gears of the ship. When we went out for a shakedown cruise, before going back to Okinawa, the GRAYSON broke down and had to be towed back into port by a tugboat. We were put into dry dock with machine-gun-armed Marines standing all around our ship. Everyone was restricted aboard ship until it was repaired, then we went out for another shakedown cruise. We left Bremerton the last day of August to return to combat-area duty. We were about to enter Pearl Harbor on September 1, 1945 when it was announced that Japan had unconditionally surrendered and many lives were saved. They kept our ship out to sea for another five days before entering Honolulu. On hearing of the surrender, there was a lot of destruction wherever American troops were stationed. In Hawaii, they burned cane fields and destroyed everything they could. You can imagine why sailors were restricted to ships and ground forces to their barracks. We took on fuel and sailed immediately for the states. The peace treaty was signed during that time.
The atomic bomb did a lot of destruction, but if it hadn’t been used we would have lost a lot more lives than we did and Japan would have too. They would have continued to commit suicide by diving planes and killing as many as they could for their Emperor. Near the end, while we were still out there, during the last months until May 1945, they were flying little biplanes, seaplanes, anything they had, loaded with explosives and diving them into carriers, battleships and cruisers if they could. The bigger ships carried four to five thousand men, so all in all, it saved a lot of lives on both sides.
The first stop in the states was San Diego, then on to Panama. Entering the Panama Canal is quite dramatic. The ship has to cut her engines and is pulled into the locks by two small rail cars, called mules, with cables that are attached to both sides of the bow. Panama was a lot like Hawaii – narrow streets, taverns one right after the other, and houses of prostitution everywhere. And in Panama there were little kids pimping for their mothers and sisters. That’s what the song is about that says, “Both mother and daughter working for the Yankee dollar.” Unbelievable, but it is true. Sometimes sailors would buy parrots and bring them aboard, only to have them taken away by the OD (Officer of the Deck) and released to fly back to the jungle.
We were in Panama for about ten days, then continued on through the canal to the Atlantic Ocean and on to Charleston, South Carolina. We tied up to a pier in the Charleston Navy Yard in October 1945. While there I had a four-hour watch about every third day. The rest of the time we would clean guns, break then down, oil them and put them back together. There was a lot of time to kill so we kept out of sight. This would be a hard thing to do in today’s Navy. In the fall of 1999 my wife, Dolly, and I went aboard a modern destroyer that was twelve years old and it had the monitors at the bridge where we were able to see all over the ship. The bridge is also where the Captain is when he gives orders and where the helmsman steers the ship. The helm is a wheel that controls the rudder. This ship was the USS FIFE, a very famous ship of the Gulf War. It will be decommissioned soon and replaced by a larger destroyer, even though it was as large as a cruiser that we screened for in WWII. It was tied at a pier in Everett, Washington, where there is a street named Grayson Boulevard, named after the famous WWII destroyer that I served on for my country for fifteen months. I am proud to have had that chance and to have served on such a ship. You see, the USS GRAYSON was one of eighteen ships that were in the “Secret Mission.” On April 2, 1942, before I came aboard, the carrier USS HORNET with Captain Marc Mitcher sailed from San Francisco on a highly secret mission. She carried sixteen of the Army Air Force’s medium bombers (Mitchell B-25’s) and flight crews that were trained by the Navy. They were led by Lt. Col. Jimmy Doolittle. The carrier, USS HORNET was escorted into the Central Pacific by cruisers USS VINCENNES, USS NASHVILLE, and Destroyer Division 22 consisting of the sister ships, USS GIVEN, USS MEREDITH, USS MONSSON & USS GRAYSON. Fleet oiler USS CIMARRON also sailed with the group. Later this group was met by the USS ENTERPRISE group (another carrier) at a point about halfway between Kamchatka and Pearl Harbor. The two groups made up Task Force 16 and was under the command of Admiral F. “Bull” Halsey. Included in the USS ENTERPRISE group were two cruisers, USS NORTHAMPTON and USS SALT LAKE CITY; four destroys, USS BALCH, USS BENHAM, USS ELLET, USS FANNING, fleet oiler USS SABINE; and two submarines, USS THRESHER and USS TROUT. During the next five days Admiral Halsey led this fast-moving task force to a launch point within 700 miles of Tokyo. On April 18th, 1942, the famous “Doolittle Raid on Tokyo” was launched, taking the war to the enemy’s own land. A week later, Task Force 16 returned safely to Pearl Harbor. The GRAYSON then came to the US for repairs but soon returned to the Pacific for combat.
This “Secret Mission” didn’t go exactly as planned, which was to get within 500 miles of Tokyo before they sent the B-25 bombers aloft, but at 700 miles they came across a Japanese fishing boat. Thinking that it might have a radio, and report seeing Task Force 16, the order was to sink the boat and take flight for Tokyo. By leaving 200 miles early, they didn’t have enough fuel to reach the bases in China where we were helping the Chinese fight the Japanese. Therefore, if they weren’t shot down, they landed in the sea or crash-landed on the China coast, where some were saved by Chinese peasants. Admiral Doolittle landed in the sea and drifted until he was picked up.
During a liberty in Hawaii, I got my first tattoo. A few shipmates and I had a few drinks (too many) and they decided to get tattoos. I said, “Not me,” but they said, “Oh yes you are.” That meant unless I went along with their wishes, there was no way I would get back to the ship, so I did. Even though I was quite inebriated, I knew I wanted it to show as little as possible, so I had it put as high on my shoulder as she could. Of course, the Navy has, or did have at that time, a “No Tattoos” rule, but everyone got one anyway. The only modern building I saw was the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, no high-rise buildings and, except for the main street, which was hard surfaced, most of the others were dirt streets like a small farm town in Iowa. We rode to town in an open-sided Model A station wagon with planks for seats. While we were out to sea, the men were allowed to let their beards grow if they kept them trimmed. We had quite a few with beards, even one officer, Lt. Cobb, a great guy who got along with everyone.
We came across a floating mine one day. We were almost ready to pick it up when the bo’s’n’s mate called out, “It’s a mine!” I was standing right next to him looking down in the water. We could reach down with a boat hook and touch it and almost did, when he called out. The captain ordered the ship’s engines to reverse and the waves washed it away from us. We were lucky that it wasn’t a magnetic mine. We wouldn’t be here now if it had been. It took a lot of shots from a 30.0 6 rifle before a sailor from Missouri finally hit one of the points. When it exploded, the water went into the air 350 to 400 feet. With the sun shining on it, the water was as green as grass, but the ocean was a pretty blue. This was quite an experience for all of us.
Another experience was when, coming into an island, the sharks would follow us because we would drop garbage off the fantail of the ship to draw them along so we could see them. They were smooth, sleek, beautiful, quiet animals and I just loved to see them. They would come up from the deep and their fins would cut the top of the water just as smooth and neat as could be, never splashing the water as you would think. We would drop just enough garbage for one shark at a time, then wait until it left and drop more to give the others a chance.
A not so pleasant experience happened when we were in Brisbane, Australia. We called a group of British sailors a “bunch of rotten limies.” That was more than we could handle and we got whipped bad\ From then on, we stayed away from them when we were drinking. They were OK otherwise.
When the war was beginning to turn our way, we had sunk almost everything the Japanese had afloat, both under the water and on the surface. They had only a few one-man subs left, so the Navy loaded their torpedo planes with bombs instead of torpedoes to bomb Okinawa, Iwo Jima, and other islands around Japan. Torpedoes were a lot lighter than bombs, so the planes were loaded too heavy and when they would take off from the carriers, they would drop down to the water and go for a long way just skimming the water before they could get up enough speed to rise into the air. Once in a while a plane would hit the water and flip upside down, losing both plane and crew. I saw this happen three different times. How many others there were, I don’t know, but there had to be more.
Well, I was in Charleston from October until March 1946. I was 21 on the 6 of March and was discharged from the Navy at Charleston Navy Yard. I stayed in Charleston for a very short time, as they were still fighting the Civil War. Me, being from the North, I didn’t fit in very well.
Being home helped, but I found it very hard to adjust to civilian life. Having been with a crew of sailors for two years and three months, I had a very dirty mouth and continued to talk that way around everyone except Nicenah. She had told me when I first went to live with them in 1939 that she would not allow me to stay if I continued to use vulgar language. Before I went to Fergesen’s I lived with my grandparents who made and sold whiskey. From that environment I became a filthy-mouthed brat. Four years later I went into the Navy and picked it up again -a tough habit to break.
I was very jumpy too. In June 1945, while home on leave after being out to sea, I went to church with Nicenah and Frank. Sitting directly behind us was a fussy little girl. To quiet her, her parents gave her a sack with flashlight batteries as the sermon was going on and everyone was listening intently. She stood up in the pew and then it happened – she spilled the batteries onto the seat, making a sound like a gun going off (rat a tat tat). I jumped up and yelled (blankety-blank). The sermon stopped and I froze. Nicenah grabbed my hand and said, “Wesley, it’s all right. Sit down.” But I couldn’t. I left the church, so she sent Frank to be sure I was alright. It is now 2003 and I’m still jumpy, like when someone drags a chair behind my back at Hardee’s I may not jump up, but I jump.
Though they are not as severe, I still have nightmares from seeing parts of bodies lying all over the shore of islands where the Marines invaded. I would wake up in the night drenched in sweat as if I had just stepped out of the bath tub and the bedding taken right out of the washing machine. As I said, the nightmares aren’t as severe, but sixty years later the night sweats I have with them are just as bad and the sight of blood makes me sick sometimes to the point of passing out.
In the Navy, nearly everything we did included standing in line. At chow-time if you wanted to eat you stood in line and, of course, we wanted to eat. By the time I got out of the Navy I just hated to stand in line. I wouldn’t go to cafeterias to eat or stand in line to go to the movie. It took a lot of years to get over it. I was close to re-enlisting, not being able to adjust. Being married to Dolly helped me a lot. She was the best thing that happened for me. This coming August 28th, 2003, we will have been together 57 years. She got me to see the light. I am very lucky.