I joined the Naval Reserve in 1954, while still in High School. It assured me of being in the Navy if I were called up in the draft for the Korean War. I completed boot camp that summer, and Radar school the next summer. I was ready to start my training as a Radarman, on a real Navy ship. I had no idea what adventures lay ahead for me that summer when I shipped out on the Willett.
After you read this account there is now an update to this writing with more information.
USS Kenneth M. Willett (DE-354) in (1956). She was built in 1944, 300 feet long, 37 feet wide, and mounted 2 x 5-inch/38 dual purpose guns, as well as 2 x twin 40mm guns, and 10 x single 20mm guns. Her main duty was escort for fleets of merchant or naval war vessels. Guarding them from submarine attacks with her 2 x depth charge racks, 8 x depth charge projectors, and 1 x Hedgehog (24 bombs). But to me she was just a training ship on a training cruise in the Caribbean Sea.
It was a hot June morning when the Willett made its way down the Mississippi river from the New Orleans Naval Station to the Gulf. We were scheduled for two weeks of training with a short stop at one of the ports in Central America. We also visited Dry Tortugas for a couple of hours on the way.
The ship was on a war time training schedule. There were drills going on every day and some nights. General quarters or “Battle Stations” were sounded at least once a day. Along with gunnery practice, chasing imaginary submarines and plotting zig-zag courses.
Myself and another reservist, I didn’t know, were the only ones in radar training. There were two seasoned radarmen to train us. The watch schedule was 4 hours on, and 4 hours off. We were trained separately except for the “dog” watch which was 12midnight to 4am, when we were put together by ourselves. I can understand why the regulars didn’t want to do that watch.
Besides radar we learned to plot courses, run the DRT, fire control radar, fathometer, and read charts. The days were full of things to learn and not much time for sleeping and eating. But I loved the schedule, I felt important learning all these things.
The days passed quickly and we soon reached our Central America port to do some sight-seeing and stretching our legs for the day. It was fun, but not long enough. Again on the ship we started back to New Orleans, to do more training along the way.
Two days out, during the dog watch, I was manning the radar while the other reservist was reading a manual. It was a boring night, with no “blips” on the screen to chart, just empty ocean all around us. I started to play with the controls on the radar and switched the search range out to two hundred miles. On the left upper quadrant was the largest blip I had ever seen. I showed it to my partner, and we started to wonder out-loud what it could be when the OD (Officer of the Deck) walked over and asked us what was going on. Not being able to tell him, he ordered us to go wake the Chief Radarman to come take a look at the large blip slowly becoming larger.
When the Chief arrived, he peered over my shoulder at the screen, his face became an ashen white when he remarked: “Oh my God.” He asked me the ETA of the blip, to which I said “about 40 minutes.” He quickly turned to the OD and said “that is a Hurricane bearing down on us, I recommend going the General Quarters, Sir.” The OD asked him to wake the Captain, then stepped to the ship’s loud speaker.
“General Quarters, General Quarters, man your battle stations, man your battle stations, this is not a drill, this is not a drill.” All hell broke loose.
The next few minutes were controlled chaos. All water-tight doors and hatches were shut then locked down. All boilers were put on line. After steerage was activated. Damage control teams were alerted. All guns were loaded and locked, the crews looking for a target. The captain announced the approaching hurricane, told the gun crews to empty their weapons into the ocean and, if they were not in a protected mount, to get below deck. In less than 15 minutes the ship was ready to do battle with the storm.
Radar is no good in a storm where the ship is rolling and plunging up and down. Myself and the other radarman where ordered to report to the bridge for lookout duty. We were given full-length rain gear and hats, then tied with rope to the railing on the bridge. I was the port lookout and he the starboard lookout. The bridge was covered except for the far ends which were partially open to the sea. Sometimes called the flying bridge. I could see the full length of the ship on the port (left) side. My job was to locate and report any ships that were within eyesight. I was then tied in place for safety. When they tied me to the railing (stanchion) I was given a large knife in a holster. This was to be used to cut myself free in case the ship capsized. A frightening thought.
On the bridge were six of us. The captain who manned the ship’s radio; the helmsman, a career navy man; a backup helmsman, another old salt; a communications officer; and us two neophyte lookouts. From my position I could hear the radio communications, and the orders being sent and received on the bridge. This was somewhat of a mixed blessing, I knew what was going on, but some of the things I heard were not pleasant to my ears.
With all boilers on line and full speed ahead the ship was turned into the direction of the hurricane. The fastest way out of a storm is straight through it. There was no course to take, only to keep the bow of the ship headed straight into the waves coming at us. To get broadsided by a big wave would mean going over, then under.
The wind was becoming stronger and the waves higher as I watch intently for other ships. Soon the wind was howling, and the waves growing larger by the minute. Ten, twenty, thirty, even forty-foot waves were washing over and crashing down on the Willett. This was just the beginning of the perfect storm. The worst was yet to come.
As the waves became larger, I saw the other lookout untie himself and run below deck. I don’t know if he was ever disciplined for deserting his post or not. The first main concern was flooding. The waves now fifty-feet high were sending large amounts of water into the ship. The air vents, stacks, and uncovered stairwells were being flooded with water making its way into the bilges of the ship. I heard the bilge pumps start earlier, but they were not pumping enough water, there was more water coming in than being pumped out. I was listening to the communications from damage control. The helmsman yelled “use the fire hose pumps.” The pumps used to fight fight fires onboard the ship were put into action pumping water overboard through the fire hoses. This stabilized the amount of water in the bilges, for now.
The Captain was radioing our position to the Coastguard every five minutes, so if we capsized they would know where to look. I heard the Coastguard radio back to ask if we could help another ship floundering about 15 miles from our position. Our Captain yelled into the microphone: “hell no, I can’t help myself.” Then he turned his eyes upward and said: “God help us through this,” something he would say over and over through the duration of the storm. At this time in my life I was agnostic, but praying like a preacher, it was the common thing to do that night for all.
Being a lookout was impossible, I was staring into the oncoming wave one moment, the total blackness of the sky the next moment. If there were anything in between I couldn’t recognize it. The ship would plunge into a wave, roll and wallow down into the trough and then slowly rise up again to plunge into the next wave. The maximum number was 35 degrees, if the ship rolled as much as 35 degrees it would capsize. I could watch a roll meter close to me, I could see we were taking 25 degree rolls regularly with an occasional 30 degree roll. The time between when the ship rolled, to the time it righted itself seemed endless. It was a breathless time, a time for intense faith.
The waves, now sixty-feet high, were causing havoc below deck in the crews quarters. The heavy rolling of the ship was throwing sailors off their racks (bunks) into the bulkheads and onto the steel deck. The injuries were mounting. Those that could were using sheets, rope, anything they could find to tie themselves into the racks, or onto pipes running through the quarters. Most of the sailors were seasick by now, and the decks of the crew’s quarters was awash with vomit.
I heard a loud crack, like an explosion. I turned just in time to see a wave of water crush our motor whale boat.
The motor whale boat can be seen amidships hanging from the davits in the full picture of the Willett. It was used to take officers and crew ashore when docks were unavailable.
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Continue reading My Perfect Storm
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