Franklin (CV 13) - Naval Cruise Book

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(. H A V T E R FOUR ... tve saw the Arizona and Oklahoma, bedded down for good in that mud on Pearl Harbor s floor. But some xcay, when tve left them, those gallant hulks were farthest from our thoughts . . . we were heading west, farther west than we had ever dreamed; somewhere out there in front of us ivas a war ... WESTWARD Ii w s April 15th, 1944, when Big Ben dropped her 15- ton anchors in the roadstead off Annapolis, the first stop since Trinidad. There was shore leave that evening, little of uhich has — or ever will — creep into the pages of history. The next morning the Naval Academy ' s Board of Visitors inspected Big Ben. Midshipmen, admirals, congressmen, educators, were shown every department of the latest major warship to join the mightiest Navy in the world. Senator David 1. Walsh, of Massachusetts addressed the crew over the puhlic address system and told his own feeling of Frank- lin ' s im])ressiveness. He then assured the crew that the greatest of all the country ' s weapons was her youth — such as made up the crew of Big Ben. The pause was not for long. The next day Franklin moved into Hampton Roads, moored at the Norfolk Naval Base, and 15U0 of her sailors scattered on their first real Big Ben, icith a deckload ready, swings into the wind to launch

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mk Miraculously uninjured, i ' s pilot and gunner escaped . . . the plane sank in 45 seconds newer four-bladed ones. They carried more equipment than design had provided for. The carburetors required re- adjustment to meet tropical flying conditions. Pilot tech- nique was a factor; experienced pilots lost fewer planes. But what was the answer? There were serious talks in the ready rooms that evening: Boys, said Comdr. Howerton, for the last three days we have been putting on the aquatic act — let ' s give them an aerial show! Now this is the way . . . And into the night mechanics toiled feverishly. Next morning at flight quarters, a thousand eyes were on the first Helldiver that rolled up to the take-off spot. Mechs, grimy but confident, watched with tired eyes as the big plane went storming up the deck. Before it reached the forward elevator the wheels were in the air and she soared up so powerfully the mechanics could have wept for joy. The gunner in the rear seat, anxious a moment before, clasped his hands over his head in triumph as the Helldiver climbed away. Big Ben never lost another plane on a deck take-off. Sunshine Howerton had been named by sailors. Al ways a kind word or understanding smile as he passed the little guy ' sweating over his bench or straining under his load oi bombs. They swore by him, though no one ever thought he was soft. There was the time in Trinidad when he alone of all the fliers had some difficulty in finding his way back to the Franklin. When he finally returned aboard he delivered himself wrathfully of the remark: If you can ' t find the ship, boys, just head for the biggest rain cloud you can see. Big Ben will be right in the middle of it. ' ' Throughout the long months of combat flying in the oft- times rainy Pacific the pilots of Air Group Thirteen counted this as reliable advice. Only one fatal accident occurred during the cruise. Dur- ing the afternoon of March 31st, Charles Van Camp, 18- year-old ordnanceman, was fatally wounded when the 50- caliber machine guns of the Hellcat he was de-arming acci- dently discharged. He was buried at sea, the first of many who gave their lives at their posts on Big Ben. On the more placid side, it was at Trinidad that the first issues of Radio Press News, six pages a day ungarbled from the static by Radioman George Jarrett, made its ap- pearance. Edited by Dick Hand and Joe Haile, mimeo- graphed by Chuck Greshko, the 600 copies were distributed in the early hours of the morning watch — Big Bens own newspaper, bringing news from home and the world. It was prized by the men ; the captain had a private copy with his morning coffee. And the Franklin Forum, Big Ben ' s monthly paper, ar- rived through the efforts of Chaplain C. A. Chamberlain and Chief Printer Blair. There are no copies left in the ofEcial files but they are treasured all over the world today, in many scrapbooks. It was here, too, as much needed light relief, that the Franklin Frolics were born. Nick Kenny ' s songs; Honey- boy, who was none other than the fabulous Lt. Red Har- ris, in blackface. Honeyboy Harris was with Big Ben a long time, but fair weather or stormy, his skeptical thoughts reminded men that they, too, would ruther be home, Mistah Shoemaker. Tom ' Kelly ' s golden voice and the old Irish ballads he used to sing — they still ring down the hangar deck in the evenings. So shakedown ended. Taps came, clear and sweet, to seaman and to captain. The officer of the deck looked up at the Southern Cross. The quartermaster sounded eight bells and alls well. Big Ben bulked huge and grim against the dark-shrouded horizon.

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Chief Boatswains Mate Bog Gregg (center) with two of his assistant policemen , . . Gregg iised to walk 15 miles a day on Big Ben, in his Chief Master at Arms post liberty in more than a month. Not even wartime censorship can defeat the intuition of a Navy wife or sweetheart; there were many happy reunions on shore that evening which might mystify Naval Intelligence. Monday, April 19th, Big Ben moved to the huge drydock at Portsmouth. Urgent voyage repairs must be made; acres of bottom must be scraped clean of barnacles, even on so young a ship. Final supplies were taken aboard — for the next destination was no doubt the Pacific Ocean and Admiral W. F. Bull Halsey ' s Third Fleet. Every man would have four days ' leave before sailing; those not on leave must work double time. For three days and nights the duty sections labored heroically to clean and paint the bottom. After two days ' barter with the sup- ply department extra rations were promised for the men on the third night. There was many a sardonic jest when this extra ration turned out to be a solitary candy bar per man. But in high spirits, though weary, the herculean task was finished in record time and the drydock flooded. By May 4th all yard work was done — but those words are woefully inadequate to describe what went on aboard and ashore before the last leave party returned and the last freight car on the dock had been relieved of its burden. Aboard, f or just one example, the catapult had been re- moved from the hangar deck to the flight deck, a colossal task in itself; ashore, one lad was stretching his four-day leave into thirty because he had met a young lady school teacher and had been in constant attendance in the First Grade of a Norfolk public school. A sense of finality hung over these last days. The spring weather made even the drab streets of Portsmouth attractive. In the warm evening air the lads went ashore in gay little groups, to lose themselves in heedless crowds. The war was real, grim, and near; men thought of the distant Pacific and wondered when, if ever, they would see another State-side spring. The warrant officers honored Captain Shoemaker at a party which was to bid farewell to the States . . . and to Norfolk, which has been described by an Army wag as the perfect Port of Embarkation — no matter what the destina- tion, it is a pleasure to go, if Norfolk can be left behind. New faces were aboard Big Ben before she departed. Tall Lt. Walter Kreamer became Communications Officer, reliev- ing Lt. Comdr. Mather. Ens. Stanley S. Graham, possessor and uninhibited user of a foghorn voice which earned him the name of Steamship, leaped the rail in these final moments. Much to the sincere regret of all hands of the Engineering Department, as well as a host of others, Comdr. Agens turned his Chief Engineers post over to his aide, Lt. Comdr. Greene, bid everyone a perfunctory good-bye, and disappeared over the side before anyone could see the tears in his eyes. Chief Boatswain ' s Mate Anthony Wayne was called to shore duty and Chief Bob Gregg became head Master-at-Arms. Gregg, jovial but efficient, was known in a week as the only friendly Master-at-Arms in the United States Navy, a man with only one vice — Copenhagen Snuff. Big Ben, fueled to capacity, stood out through the channel on the morning of May 5th, to be joined by three new destroyers, the Tiviggs, Leary, and Cashing. A year later, locked in mortal combat with suicidal Jap planes off Oki- nawa, the Twiggs would go down in glory, guns blazing. Off Cape Henry, Franklin and her escorts turned into the wind. Air Group Thirteen landed aboard, to take up per- manent residence, or as permanent as such hazardous resi- dence can be in time of war. With all watches set, air pa- trols in the sky. Task Group 12.1 steamed southward through the mists toward Panama. May 11th, 100 miles from the approaches to the Panama Canal, the Thirteenth Air Group, in all its roaring, low- flying splendor, hurled itself in mock assault on the great waterway to test the Army ' s defensive strength, and as a spectacular announcement that Big Ben was on her way to the war. Half the crew went on shore leave in Cristobal, then by evening of the next day she had squeezed through the westernmost lock and was berthed in Balboa. One day here, with liberty in Panama City, was one . . Comdr. Ttwnuis ]. Greene, USN, Engineering Officer, Mar. 1944 hi July l ' )45. Acting Executive Officer to May, 1946.