USS Jacob Jones (DD-130)
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| Career (US) |  |
|---|---|
| Namesake: | Jacob Jones |
| Builder: | New York Shipbuilding Corporation, Camden, New Jersey |
| Laid down: | 21 February 1918 |
| Launched: | 20 November 1918 |
| Commissioned: | 20 October 1919 |
| Recommissioned: | 1 May 1930 |
| Decommissioned: | 24 June 1922 |
| Fate: | Sunk in battle, 28 February 1942 |
| General characteristics | |
| Class & type: | Wickes class destroyer |
| Displacement: | 1,090 tons |
| Length: | 314 ft 5 in (95.83 m) |
| Beam: | 31 ft 8 in (9.65 m) |
| Draft: | 8 ft 8 in (2.64 m) |
| Speed: | 35 knots (65 km/h) |
| Complement: | 113 officers and enlisted |
| Armament: | 4 × 4" (102 mm), 2 × 3" (76 mm) cal. mg., 12 × 21" (533 mm) torpedo tubes. |
USS Jacob Jones (DD-130), named for Commodore Jacob Jones USN (1768–1850), was a Wickes-class destroyer.
Jacob Jones was laid down by the New York Shipbuilding Corporation at Camden, New Jersey on 21 February 1918, launched on 20 November 1918 by Mrs. Cazenove Doughton, great-granddaughter of Commodore Jones and commissioned on 20 October 1919, Lieutenant Commander P. H. Bastedo in command.
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Service history [edit]
Jacob Jones was decommissioned on 24 June 1922 and placed in reserve until recommissioned on 1 May 1930, and was assigned to Neutrality Patrol duties out of Charleston, South Carolina on 4 April 1940.
Inter-War Period [edit]
After fitting out at Philadelphia, Jacob Jones sailed 4 December for shakedown in the Atlantic. She arrived at Pensacola, Florida, 22 December to continue her training and departed 3 January 1920 for the Pacific. Arriving San Diego 26 January, she operated along the California coast on antiaircraft and firing exercises. She entered Mare Island Navy Yard 17 August for repairs and overhaul and assumed a reserve status. Returning to duty with Destroyer Force, Pacific Fleet, 18 June 1921, she operated out of San Diego until decommissioning 24 June 1922.
Recommissioned 1 May 1930, Jones trained in coastal waters from Alaska to Mexico as a plane guard for the Navy's budding aircraft carriers. Following Battle Fleet maneuvers during August, she entered Mare Island in November for repairs. The destroyer sailed 4 February 1931 for Panama, where she resumed plane guard duty for Langley. Jones transited the Panama Canal 22 March, and sailed for maneuvers in the Caribbean. She sailed for the United States 1 May and took part in joint Army-Navy maneuvers in the Chesapeake Bay 26 to 29 May. During the remainder of the summer, she operated with Destroyer Division 7 along the New England coast before retiring to the Boston Navy Yard 2 October for overhaul.
Jacob Jones steamed from Boston 1 December for maneuvers off Haiti. On 13 February 1932 she departed the Caribbean to begin 13 months of plane guard duty and torpedo practice along California. She returned to Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, 1 May 1933 for general drill and battle problem exercises, and on the 26th she sailed for Norfolk to undergo self-upkeep on rotating reserve.
Following 2 months of overhaul at Charleston, Jones returned to Guantanamo 29 November for scouting and firing exercises. She interrupted her maneuvers 29 June 1934, and sailed for Port-au-Prince, Haiti, where she served as an escort during President Franklin D. Roosevelt's "Good Neighbor" visit to Haiti. She resumed Caribbean operations in July and participated in landing force exercises at Guantanamo Bay during September. She retired from the Caribbean late in November and entered Norfolk Navy Yard 3 December 1934 for several months of upkeep.
In May 1935, Jones embarked midshipmen from the Naval Academy for an Atlantic training cruise. She returned to Norfolk 7 June for 3 months of coastal patrols and maneuvers. She steamed to New York in September to participate in destroyer maneuvers and operated out of New York until entering Brooklyn Navy Yard January 1936 for upkeep and inspection.
On 15 June 1936, Jones departed New York with reserve officers on board for training cruises in the Caribbean which continued through September. In October, she participated in joint Army-Navy coastal maneuvers; and, following her annual inspection at Norfolk, she participated in minesweeping training during February 1937. In March, she trained officers of the 5th Fleet Reserve and in June she resumed training cruises for midshipmen. She continued to operate as a practice ship for reserve officers until 15 January 1938, when she departed Norfolk for fleet landing exercises and battle maneuvers in waters off Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. Jones returned to Norfolk 13 March for overhaul. In June she resumed operations out of Norfolk, serving as a carrier plane guard and conducting torpedo and gunnery practice.
After attending the Presidential Regatta in September, Jones prepared to sail for Europe to join Squadron 40-T in the Mediterranean. Organized in September 1936 to protect and evacuate Americans from Spain during the civil war, the squadron remained in the western Mediterranean. Departing Norfolk 26 October, Jones reached Gibraltar 6 November, and arrived Villefranche 17 November. She operated out of that French Mediterranean port on patrol until 20 March 1939. She visited Algiers 24 to 25 March 1939 and, during the next 7 months, steamed to various Atlantic European ports from Rotterdam to Lisbon. Departing Lisbon 4 October, she sailed for the United States and anchored at Norfolk the 14th.
Resuming her coastal operations, Jones conducted plane screening patrols from Norfolk to Newport, and in December she escorted Seadragon during its Caribbean shakedown.
World War II [edit]
After 2 months of upkeep and inspection at Norfolk, Jacob Jones sailed for Charleston 4 April 1940 to join the Neutrality Patrol. Organized in September 1939 as a response to the war in Europe, the Neutrality Patrol was ordered to track and report the movements of any warlike operations of belligerents in the waters of the Western Hemisphere. The basic purpose of the patrol "was to emphasize the readiness of the United States Navy to defend the Western Hemisphere." In June, after 2 months of duty with the Neutrality Patrol, Jones returned to training midshipmen.
In September, Jones departed Norfolk for New London, Connecticut, where her crew underwent intensive ASW sound school training. Returning briefly to Norfolk 6 December, she sailed to Key West for further ASW training. She resumed her operations with the Neutrality Patrol in March 1941, patrolling the waters from Key West to Yucatan Channel. In May, she joined the ships which guarded the waters of Vichy-controlled islands, Martinique and Guadeloupe in the Lesser Antilles. Jones maintained her Caribbean operations throughout the summer.
On 30 September 1941, she departed Guantanamo with Destroyer Division 54 to prepare for escort duty in the North Atlantic. Jones received 2 months of upkeep and inspection at Norfolk and on 1 December 1941, departed for convoy escort training along the New England coast. Clearing Boston Harbor 12 December, she sailed to NS Argentia, Newfoundland, to begin her escort duty. On 16 December she escorted Mackerel and S-33 through heavy seas to Boston and returned to Argentia the 24th. Jones once again departed Argentia 4 January 1942 escorting Albatross and Linnet. While steaming to join Convoy SC 63, bound for the British Isles, Jones made an underwater contact and commenced a depth charge attack. Losing contact with the submarine, she escorted her ships to the convoy and returned to Argentia 5 January.
Sailing from Argentia 14 January 1942, Jones joined Convoy HX 169, which was headed for Iceland. The convoy encountered a violent storm; heavy seas and winds of force 9 scattered its ships' convoy. Separated from the convoy, Jones steamed independently for Hvalfjörður, Iceland. Though hampered by a shortage of fuel, an inoperable gyro compass, an erratic magnetic compass, and the continuous pounding of the storm, Jones arrived on the 19th. Five days later, she escorted three merchant ships to Argentia. Once again heavy seas and fierce winds separated the ships, and Jones continued toward Argentia with one Norwegian merchantman. She detected and attacked another submarine 2 February 1942, but her depth charges yielded no visible results.
Arriving Argentia the 3rd, she departed the following day and rejoined Convoy ON 59, bound for Boston. Reaching Boston 8 February, Jacob Jones received a week of repairs. She sailed on the 15th for Norfolk and 3 days later steamed from Norfolk to New York.
In an effort to stem the losses to Allied merchant shipping along the Atlantic coast, Vice Admiral Adolphus Andrews, Commander of the Eastern Sea Frontier, established a roving ASW patrol. Jones, Lieutenant Commander Hugh Black in command, departed New York 22 February for this duty. While passing the swept channel off Ambrose Light Ship, Jones made a possible submarine contact and attacked immediately. For 5 hours, Jones ran 12 attack patterns, dropping some 57 depth charges. Oil slicks appeared during the last six attacks, but no other debris was detected. Having expended all her charges, Jones returned to New York to rearm. Subsequent investigation failed to reveal any conclusive evidence of a sunken submarine.
Fate [edit]
On the morning of 27 February 1942, Jacob Jones departed New York harbor and steamed southward along the New Jersey coast to patrol and search the area between Barnegat Light and Five Fathom Bank. Shortly after her departure, she received orders to concentrate her patrol activity in waters off Cape May and the Delaware Capes. At 1530 she spotted the burning wreckage of tanker R. P. Resor, torpedoed the previous day east of Barnegat Light; Jones circled the ship for two hours searching for survivors before resuming her southward course. Cruising at a steady 15 knots through calm seas, she last reported her position at 2000 and then commenced radio silence. A full moon lit the night sky and visibility was good; throughout the night the ship, completely darkened without running or navigation lights showing, kept her southward course.
At the first light of dawn 28 February 1942, undetected German submarine U-578 fired a spread of torpedoes at the unsuspecting destroyer. The deadly "fish" sped unsighted and two "or possibly three" struck the destroyer's port side in rapid succession.
According to her survivors, the first torpedo struck just aft of the bridge and caused almost unbelievable damage. Apparently, it exploded the ship's magazine; the resulting blast sheared off everything forward of the point of impact, destroying completely the bridge, the chart room, and the officers' and petty officers' quarters. As she stopped dead in the water, unable to signal a distress message, a second torpedo struck about 40 feet forward of the fantail and carried away the after part of the ship above the keel plates and shafts and destroyed the after crew's quarters. Only the midships section was left intact.
All but 25 or 30 officers and men, including Lieutenant Commander Black, were killed by the explosions. The survivors, including a badly wounded, "practically incoherent" signal officer, went for the lifeboats. Oily decks, fouled lines and rigging, and the clutter of the ship's strewn twisted wreckage hampered their efforts to launch the boats. Jones remained afloat for about 45 minutes, allowing her survivors to clear the stricken ship in four or five rafts. Within an hour of the initial explosion Jones plunged bow first into the cold Atlantic; as her shattered stern disappeared, her depth charges exploded, killing several survivors on a nearby raft (as had happened to the Jacob Jones (DD-61) in 1917).
At 0810, an Army observation plane sighted the life rafts and reported their position to Eagle 56 of the Inshore Patrol. By 1100, when strong winds and rising seas forced her to abandon her search, she had rescued 12 survivors, one of whom died en route to Cape May. The search for the other survivors of Jones continued by plane and ship for the next two days, but none were ever found.
First Hand account of ships fate [edit]
THE “JAKIE” -by Albert E Oberg, Chief Radioman USN
The USS Jacob Jones (DD130) was an old World War One destroyer, 314 feet, 4 inches long, (almost as long as a football field) by 30 feet 6 inches wide. She was one of a class known to sailors as “Four Stackers” for the four big smoke stacks each had. Started some nine months before the end of World War One, she was not completed and commissioned until October 1919, eleven months after that war ended. Mothballed only three years later, she was decommissioned in 1930 and served continuously until the last day of February 1942.
As a seaman 2nd class with a total of less than six months in the Navy, I joined the crew of the “Jackie” in New London, Connecticut in September 1940, transferred with ten others from the USS Doran (DD185), a similar ship, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The Doran had just been turned over to the British Navy as a part of the trade of fifty US destroyers in exchange for the use of a number of British bases in American waters. As a British ship she became the HMS St. Marys.
The “Jakie” was in New London to learn submarine detection and destruction techniques while a U.S. submarine developed evasion techniques. In December we headed south, stopping briefly December 6th at Norfolk and then on to Key West, Florida for further Anti-Submarine-Warfare training. As we passed the coast of the Carolinas and Georgia the reason for our training became obvious; masts of ships, sunk in the shallow waters could be seen along the coast. In January I was temporarily transferred to Elementary Radio School in Key West for ten weeks of training, and started standing radio watches immediately on my return to the ship. My advancement to Radioman 3rd Class came June 1st.
In late March we started neutrality patrol in the Caribbean, first based in Key West and patrolling between Key West and Yucatan. This was ideal duty with a lot of shore leave in Key West and while at sea, cruising slowly is warm, calm waters. The fishing was good and our ship’s cook had been a chef at The Greenbriar, the famous resort hotel in West Virginia. We enjoyed several gourmet seafood dinners.
In June we were transferred to the base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and patrolled near Martinique and Guadaloupe. This was for me, the worst duty of my entire time in the navy. Fortunately it lasted only about three months. On radio watch twelve hours a day, I also had four hours of other duties. The rest of the time was free for eating, washing, sleeping and recreation. Unfortunately, a very loud poker game near my bunk many nights kept me awake when I was not on duty. After one afternoon of beer and baseball at Guantanamo we returned to the ship about five PM and I was faced with a long radio watch. Each hour of watch consisted of fifty minutes of copying Morse code and a ten minute break. After struggling through the first fifty minutes, I got a towel from my locker, soaked it in cold water and wrapped it around my head like a turban. Every few minutes I’d give it a slight squeeze so water would trickle down my face and neck. During each ten minute break I refreshed the water and managed to survive for five long hours.
On the 30th of September 1941 we headed north to spend the winter in the North Atlantic. After two months upkeep in Norfolk, and now based in Boston we were having gunnery practice off Cape Cod and I was on radio watch when the news of the Pearl Harbor attack reached us. The news was soon followed by the message, “Execute war plan ---- against Japan.” It was followed later by “Execute war plan ---- against Germany.” A few days later we were on our way to our new base in Argentia Bay, Newfoundland, for North Atlantic convoy duty.
Our first escort duty, on December 16, took us back through heavy seas to Boston. We returned to Argentia on the 24th. Our second job, on January 4th, 1942, was to escort two merchant ships to rendezvous with an England bound convoy. An underwater echo was received before we were out of sight of Cape St. Mary’s and a depth charge attack started. Contact with the submarine, if there was one, was lost and the only result was acres of dead herring and within a few minutes, a cloud of hungry, squawking seagulls looking for a free meal. We delivered the ships to the convoy and returned to Argentia the next day.
Our next duty, starting January 14th, was to help escort a convoy of merchant ships, headed first for Iceland and thence on to England. Before we got to Iceland a violent storm overtook us and scattered the convoy. Waves were about as long as the ship and so high that as we rode over the crest of a wave, our bow and stern were completely out of water at the same time. From that vantage point, sometimes we could see only the masts of the ships we were escorting. They were riding in the troughs of waves that were high enough to hide them. Occasionally when riding down a wave, the bow would dig into the next wave, burying the foc’sle deck under tons of water. On one such occasion, standing on top of the after- deck house, I was able to look forward and see the yardarm lower than the horizon. In the chief’s quarters some of the stanchions which supported the foc’sle deck buckled, allowing the deck to sag and making many of the chief’s bunks unusable. We limped into Hval Fjördur, Iceland alone on the 19th of January.
Traveling from the aft sleeping quarters forward to eat or go to the radio shack in that kind of weather required some agility and careful timing. We had to wait inside a watertight door, listening to up to a foot of water washing over the deck. When it stopped we would step outside, quickly secure the door and jump up a few steps of a nearby ladder (stairway). There we would wait for the next wave to pass. When it was gone we would run to the searchlight tower about fifty feet farther forward, and go up steps again while the next wave passed. Our next dash was to safety in an enclosed space next to the galley. All of this had to be done while the ship was pitching up and down as we headed into the waves or rolling, sometimes as much as 45 degrees each way as we ran parallel to he waves.
Once inside the radio shack, we had other problems. When the bow pitched high as we neared the crest of a wave the carriage of our aged typewriter would slide to the left (toward the stern) so that most of our typing piled up on the right edge of the paper. We finally solved that problem with a system of rubber bands but were never able to correct another problem. As the bow descended rapidly after cresting a wave the typewriter carriage would descend more slowly than the body of the typewriter and the keys, resulting in lines of type that curved and printed only part of each letter typed. When the bow hit the next wave the carriage would return to normal. We learned to remember what was coming in through our earphones and type quickly while the carriage was in its normal position. When the ship rolled, as it did most of the time in the North Atlantic, we had a different problem. Chairs in the radio shack were not secured to the deck. In order to stay in place we screwed a screw eye into the edge of the desk on each side of the typewriter. A short piece of rope with a halyard clasp spliced into each end was passed around the back of the chair and hooked to the screw eyes. By bracing our feet against the bulkhead (wall) behind the desk it was possible to tighten the rope so we could stay in place no matter how much we rolled.
Meals were a problem for everyone. In the galley the ship’s cooks had to avoid falling against the hot range while contending with sliding pots and pans and while spilling caldrons of boiling soup and coffee made the deck wet and slippery, adding to the danger of serious burns and other injuries. Mess cooks (usually apprentice seamen) had to prepare tables in our quarters, then carry the food down two decks and clean up after we finished eating. In retrospect, eating was probably the easiest part. We quickly learned to brace ourselves in place and hang on to our plates as we ate. In the very worst conditions we were given only sandwiches.
We left Iceland five days later (Jan. 24th 1942) in much better weather, heading for Argentia, escorting three merchant ships. Again heavy winds scattered the ships and we continued on to Argentia with a lone Norwegian merchantman. After one probable submarine contact on Feb. 2 and unknown results of our attack we arrived at Argentia the next day and went on with another convoy to Boston for a week of much needed repairs. It was during this time that a group of us in a restaurant, found ourselves, each with our feet alongside the back legs of our chairs, ready for quick adjustment in case the restaurant rolled or pitched and hanging tightly onto our plates to keep them from sliding.
We were sent to Norfolk on the 15th and were immediately sent back north again, this time to New York to join a roving Anti-Submarine-Warfare Patrol that was being established to attempt to reduce the devastating losses of shipping along the east coast. I have learned since that that patrol consisted of one destroyer: “Jakie.”
On our first patrol, on the night of February 22nd we made an apparent submarine contact before we were fully out of New York Harbor and attacked. An oil slick was our only indication of success. German records do not show any U Boat lost at that time and place.
We departed New York again on February 27th on our 2nd and last patrol to search and patrol the area between Barnegat Light and Five Fathoms Bank. A change of orders sent us to Cape May and the Delaware Capes. Enroute we encountered the burning wreckage of a torpedoed tanker, the R.P.Resor. We searched for two hours but finding no survivors we continued toward our assignment. I tried repeatedly to call radio New York to report but could not make contact. Finally the Navy radio station at Balboa, Canal Zone called and told me to give them my message and they would relay it.
Before dawn, the next morning, off Cape May, New Jersey, we were hit on our port side by two torpedoes from the German submarine, U-578, commanded by Korvettenkapitän Ernst-August Rehwinkel. The first hit just astern of the bridge, exploding the ship's forward magazine and destroying everything and everybody forward of #2 stack which was left tilted back over the galley. Gone instantly were the bridge, the radio shack, the chartroom, the forward fire room and the quarters for the officers, the chief petty officers, the right arm rates and the seamen. If I had been on duty I would have been in the radio shack. There were no survivors from the forward portion of the ship.
The second torpedo, only seconds later, hit astern, perhaps a few feet forward of the bulkhead that separated the steering engine room from the aft sleeping quarters, where left arm rates and firemen slept. Everything aft of the point of impact was blown away. The port side of the ship forward of the point of impact was blown inward and forward until it was stopped by an upright locker about 15 inches from the stern end of my bunk and my head. I was aware of a blast of heat blowing past my face but I do not recall the sound of the blast. The blast also ruptured the high pressure steam line to the steering engine and the diesel tank that was the forward bulkhead (wall) of the sleeping quarters and the forward end of my bunk. Tons of TNT in the torpedo warheads and depth charges stored under the deck fortunately did not explode. I was thrown from my bunk and through the escaping steam. I received what I was told was a third degree burn on my back but I was immediately covered with diesel oil from the ruptured tank which cooled it and sealed it from air so it was never very painful. It was several hours later, after we were brought to the Navy Section Base at Cape May, NJ, that I learned that I had more than just a slight bruise.
What had been below deck sleeping quarters was now a junkyard open to the stern and the port quarter. From my position amid the rubble I could dimly see the submarine off our port quarter. They very briefly turned a light on us and apparently decided that we were harmless. They disappeared into the dark. I was the only survivor in that part of the ship and didn't know if anyone else was alive until I heard voices from the main deck. The man in the bunk above mine was not protected by the locker and died there. The man who slept in the bunk below mine was on watch in the radio shack. When I realized what had happened and what was likely to follow my first thought was, "The folks at home are sure going to feel bad about this."
It was warm for the last day of February and we were under strict orders to sleep with our clothes on, so cold was not a problem. The ladder (stairway) to the main deck was on the starboard side and not badly damaged so I was able to go top-side. The aft deckhouse was almost completely gone. I went forward and found a life jacket in an overhead locker in the passageway near the galley. The aft fire room and the forward and aft engine rooms were all that remained of the hull. It stayed afloat for about forty five minutes until daylight.
On deck I joined about twenty to twenty five shipmates trying to get lifeboats off. We were unable to move them and so cut at least one of them loose, hoping that when the ship went down it would drift free and possibly someone might be able to use it. The ship that eventually rescued us saw it but it was empty. With the deck getting closer to water level, a shipmate and I cut loose a life raft, pushed it overboard and jumped into it. We paddled forward along the port side calling others to join us, warning that there wasn't much time left. One other shipmate finally joined us. Near the forward end of what remained of the ship we became caught on jagged metal. In the struggle to get off we lost our paddles and drifted in a semicircle around to what was left of the stern.
Just before it sank the stern end started to rise and we drifted toward it. The propeller shafts stuck out above us like giant drumsticks. A piece of the hull came up under our raft and started to lift us. We got free a few minutes before it went down. As it went down, the wash pushed us out and free of the wreckage. The propellers were the last to go under.
There were still a few men aboard moments before it went down, even as the stern was rising before the final plunge. I don’t know if they got off in time. As far as we knew at that time, the three of us on our raft were the only survivors. We did not see anyone else until hours later. Anticipating the explosions of the depth charges still on board when the ship reached their preset depths, I raised my feet to the top of the ration boxes in the center of the raft and so was entirely out of water when they went off. Actually it was an unnecessary precaution. The danger is water forced with brief but great pressure into any submerged body opening. Others we learned later, were less fortunate. Two survived with internal injuries and others died.
An Army Observation plane spotted our rafts and reported our position to USS Eagle (PE56) of the Inshore Patrol. We were in the water about 4 to 5 hours, twelve men on three or four rafts, before they picked us up. One man died just as the rescuers were about to pick him up. We were at Cape May for about ten days of debriefing and rest. On March 10, 1942, sufficiently recovered to return to duty, I was given orders to report to the Navy Receiving Station at Boston by March 25th for reassignment. On my way home to Vermont I had the unique thrill of seeing my name and home town in lights circling the NY Times Building in New York City. The news of the sinking had just been released.
The German submarine that sank us was sunk by allied bombers October 10, 1942 off Cape Ortegal, Spain. All hands were lost. The Eagle, the ship that rescued us, unfortunately suffered a fate similar to ours. Off the coast of Maine shortly before the end of the war it took a torpedo from the Uboat 853 with 49 lives lost.
Awaiting reassignment in Boston after two weeks at home was one of the loneliest times of my life. My next assignment was aboard the USS PC477, a patrol craft which I boarded in April 1942 at Key West, Florida. After a few weeks along the east coast we headed through the Panama Canal and up the coast to San Diego and on to The Hawaiian Islands where we did several months of inter-island escort and patrol duty. From Hawaii we traveled southwest via Palmyra, Samoa and New Caledonia to our new assignment in the Southwest Pacific. We were in the New Hebrides and in the Solomon Islands where we saw some action. After a short visit to Noumea, New Caledonia and an extended R & R in Auckland, New Zealand, we were reassigned to duty under Gen. Mc Arthur, based in Cairns, Australia, and teamed up with a couple of New Zealanders, we did escort duty in the Coral Sea, along the Great Barrier Reef and along both the north and south coasts of New Guinea. I left the PC477 as a Chief Radioman in November 1944 in the Solomon Islands, hitch-hiked a ride on a flight to the Admiralty Islands and there caught an ammunition ship headed for Hawaii. Another ship took me to Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. There I was given two weeks leave, traveled by train to Vermont and return.
Back at Treasure Island, I was assigned to the USS ‘Presidio’ (APA88), an attack transport, in San Pedro, CA. We crossed the Pacific carrying a load of Seabees [Navy construction workers], the 3rd crossing for me. We had just left the Philippines en route to the coast of Japan when the war ended. We continued on to Tokyo Bay and had liberty in Yokosuka, Yokahama,and Tokyo before returning to Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. There I was given 39 days delayed orders to report to Boston for an honorable discharge after 73 months of service.
References [edit]
- This article incorporates text from the public domain Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships. The entry can be found here.
