1940-1949 Torpedomen Part 2
HAL H. DUPUY
Sailor Rest Your Oar
May He Rest In Peace
Torpedoman 3rd Class Hal H. Dupuy served aboard the submarine USS Shark (SS-314). The Shark failed to return from her third war patrol. She was officially listed as missing in action on November 7. 1944.
The Shark 's last contact was made with the USS Seadragon on October 24th, when she stated she had made contact with a single freighter and was preparing to attack. A short time later the Japanese Hellship Arisan Maru, carrying 1800 American Prisoners of war, was sunk by a torpedo from an American submarine. No other submarine reported this attack, and it can only be assumed that the Shark made the attack on the Arisan Maru, and perished during or after the attack.
Dupuy was from Duncan, Oklahoma.
Torpedoman’s Mates James Francis Peder Cahl and Joseph Lia
Torpedoman’s Mates James Francis Peder Cahl and Joseph Lia (the latter of whom, by one account, had not even been assigned to the little task force but had gotten permission to go on deck for fresh air and tagged along ) had gotten to the anchor gear at the nose of the boat when an officer on the deck called the group back. Cahl and Lia didn’t hear him. The other men were headed back toward the conning tower when a huge wave broke over the bow. Lia managed to maintain his grip on the cable safety railing. Cahl, who had only one hand free for that task — he’d been carrying a wrench in the other — and Seaman Clyde Gerber were swept overboard.
Sailor Rest Your Oar
May He Rest In Peace
Midway, true to its name, sits about halfway between Asia and North America....
...In 1935 Pan American Airways moved in. Midway became a refueling stop, complete with a 45-room hotel on Sand Island, for Pan Am’s Flying Clipper service to Asia.
As war clouds loomed, construction of a naval air base began at Midway in March 1940. It was commissioned August 1, 1941. Japanese destroyers shelled Midway on December 7 while the bulk of their fleet was raining destruction on Pearl Harbor. Midway was a sideshow that day, but six months later the Japanese were back, and this time Midway was their primary objective.
Midway, within a year or so before the battle. The view is from the east, with Eastern Island in the foreground, Sand Island in the background, the channel between them, and surf breaking on the encircling reef....
...Paul Burton had been to Midway three times in the thirteen
months before the Macaw arrived there, in December 1942 and January and February
1943, all three times in the capacity of executive officer aboard the USS Tarpon
(SS-175), a submarine under the command of Lt. Cmdr. Thomas Lincoln Wogan.
The first of those visits had not gone entirely smoothly. The Tarpon arrived there amid rain squalls and rough seas on the morning of December 10, 1942, at the end of an already disappointing war patrol, her fifth, and ran aground by the mouth of the entrance channel.
She did not run hard aground. She was able to back herself off with minor damage — nothing expected to delay her return to action.
Burton handled navigation duties aboard the Tarpon, but if he
played any role in the December 10 grounding, Wogan, in an addendum he wrote to
the fifth-patrol report, made no mention of it. The bigger setback of that
patrol was a botched attack on a Japanese convoy. Burton was off duty when they
encountered it, so it seems unlikely he bore any of the blame for their failure
to inflict any confirmed damage on it.
Tarpon’s sixth patrol, from January 10 to Feb 25, 1943, was far more successful. By tonnage, it was the second-highest-scoring submarine patrol of the war to that point. For Burton, it was his last.
Thomas Lincoln Wogan
Burton and Wogan had much in common. Both were Naval Academy graduates — Wogan was class of 1930, Burton 1933 — both from the Philadelphia area, both married, both fathers, and both of their fathers had been career military officers, Wogan’s in the Navy, Burton’s in the Marines.
But apparently they had differences as well. Two weeks after the patrol ended — again at Midway — Wogan wrote to Rear Admiral Charles A. Lockwood, Jr., commander of the Pacific fleet’s submarine force, taxing Burton with “lack of judgment, indecision, inaccuracy, and an unfortunate personal manner which does not inspire confidence in either his superior officers or his subordinates” and recommending that his designation as qualified for command of submarines — and for service aboard them in any capacity — be revoked.
It was. Within another two weeks, on March 21, Burton was detached from the Tarpon and assigned to the command of the USS Macaw, then being fitted out at the shipyard of her builder, Moore Dry Dock Company, at the foot of Adeline Street in Oakland.
That was how Paul Burton came to the Macaw. As an officer of a submarine rescue vessel, he was still technically in the submarine force, but in all but that technical sense he’d been thrown out of it. Submarine rescue vessels have more in common with tugboats than with submarines. Despite the theoretical step up in the chain of command, from second in command of one vessel to command of another, his new assignment was in fact a humiliating demotion. He had been banished. At the end of his reply to his notice of revocation, he wrote:
After all is said and done I feel toward my submarine duty as
the little lad must feel whose ice cream cone slips into the filth of the street
on a hot summer day. Nothing was more cherished, and yet spoiled with such
• • •
The Macaw arrived at Midway without incident January 8, 1944, and was in the lagoon there about 0230 on the afternoon of January 16 when she received word that a submarine, USS Flier (SS-250), Lieut. Cmdr. John Daniel Crowley in command, had run aground about where the Tarpon had thirteen months before, by the entrance to the harbor channel. Within about fifteen minutes, the Macaw was under way, Capt. Joseph A. Connolly, the commanding officer of the Naval Operating Base at Midway, on board, on the bridge alongside Burton. As she emerged from the channel, they found that the Flier had run aground backward, with her stern pinned to the coral reef about 100 yards east of the channel entrance and her bow pointing more or less south, out to sea.
It was standard procedure at Midway, foul weather or fair, for a harbor pilot to board an incoming submarine and guide the craft through the narrow entrance channel, which is lined with coral and subject to currents, including one that typically sweeps across the entrance from west to east. As the Flier approached that day, a harbor pilot started out toward her aboard a motor launch, but whoever was in charge of it apparently thought better of tempting fate amid the swells and turned back. A yard tug, YT188, then came out in its stead and, after trying and failing to get a message to the Flier by bullhorn, signaled by semaphore, “Follow me.”....
....It was a dangerous position to be in. On the Navy’s 0-to-7 State of Sea scale, on which 0 represents calm, conditions at Midway that day rated a 6. The seas were rolling in from the southwest. The Flier, about the length of a football field, pivoted on her perch on the coral near her stern and swung at her bow through an arc of about 50 degrees as the huge waves smashed into her and Crowley and his crew fought to keep her heading into them. If they failed — if she turned broadside to the surf — she could roll, entombing her crew.
The Macaw dropped anchor about 200 yards windward of the Flier and set about trying to get a messenger — a line with which to begin hauling successively bigger lines and ultimately a towing wire — to the submarine.
A motor launch (apparently the same one that had reconsidered the wisdom of delivering the harbor pilot) was pressed into service — Connolly summoned it — to tow the buoyed messenger toward the submarine and release it close enough to float it to the stricken craft. The Macaw managed to get the messenger to the launch by means of a line-throwing gun, but the launch lost steerageway amid the huge seas and almost capsized. Connolly called for YT188, the yard tug, to convey the line, but when she approached, or tried to, and he saw how badly the tug and various other smaller craft on hand were struggling amid the enormous swells, he decided using them any further would be courting disaster and retracted his order.....
...They drew in what remained of that chain, weighed the port
anchor and proceeded back up the channel at 15 knots, the ship yawing badly amid
heavy following seas. About 1612 the ship rose on one such swell and landed on
the reef at the entrance to the channel, on the east side of it, about 75 yards
west of the Flier. William A. Dunn, the gunnery officer, later recalled the ship
bouncing three distinct times before settling. After the first bounce, Burton
ordered full speed ahead, left full rudder, hoping to clear the reef. About two
and a half minutes later, that strategy having failed, he ordered full speed
astern. That failed too. The ship was stuck.
USS FLIER and USS MACAW JAN 1944
USS Flier and USS Macaw aground at Midway, January 1944. The current from the entrance channel is clearly visible beyond the Macaw....
On Saturday afternoon, as black clouds loomed in the
southwest, the Flier was hauled free at last by the USS Clamp (ASR-33), a
salvage and rescue vessel not unlike the Macaw but a little smaller, and the
Gaylord, a privately owned derrick barge, inspected, deemed seaworthy and taken
under tow by the USS Florikan, one of the Macaw’s sister ships, for Pearl
The Macaw remained stuck. She would stay that way for four weeks, during which the Clamp made three attempts to free her. The weather, the coral or a combination of the two defeated every one. Hauling wires snagged on coral heads or carried away. Pumps failed. The McCann submarine rescue chamber — a ten-ton, roughly pear-shaped diving bell designed to be lowered over the hatch of a sunken submarine and brought back up with her crew — tore loose from its deck mount amid a gale shortly after midnight on January 25 and floated off toward Eastern Island, leaving a five-inch gash in the deck and flooding in the crew’s quarters....
Raymond Russell Reilly
Sailor Rest Your Oar
May He Rest In Peacehttp://www.hnn.navy.mil/Archives/010126/seabeemem_0126.htm
Photographs of the Nissan Island cemetery show far more graves than we have accounted for. Most of those listed below died in plane crashes over water or enemy territory and their bodies were never recovered. On the other hand, there are no listings of those who died of natural causes: malaria being a common predator of troops and natives alike. Interesting, there is also no mention of the inevitable results of some 20,000 men and an arsenal crammed onto a steamy island.
The Seabees saw their second airstrip christened in blood; even as they were completing it, a heavily damaged Liberator attempted a landing, but crashed and disintegrated.
The number of Japanese who died in the Green Islands is unknown. Many leapt over the cliffs to avoid being captured and their bodies were washed out to sea. Bob Conner saw remains along the beaches during his roamings.
Many of those buried on remote islands were transferred to
Punchbowl cemetery in Hawaii after the war.
Raymond Russell Reilly USNR, torpedo man’s mate second class (MISSING)
USS Shaw (DD-373)
Sailors manning the ship's forward quad torpedo tubes, at Naval Air Station, Alameda, California, on 8 July 1942.
Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives.
Howard Marion Bullard
Sailor Rest Your Oar
May He Rest In Peacehttp://www.oneternalpatrol.com/bullard-h-m.htm
On Eternal Patrol - Lost Submariners of World War II
Rank/Rate Torpedoman's Mate, Second Class
Service Number 610 27 79
Birth Date October 18,1920
From Manette, Washington
Submarine USS S-28 (SS-133)
Loss Date July 4, 1944
Location Off Hawaii
Circumstances Foundered during training
Remarks Howard was born in Chicago, Illinois.
USS Hadley Memorial Website
Sailor Rest Your Oar
May He Rest In Peace
Killed in Action
“When you go home, tell them of us and say For their tomorrow, we gave our today”
Shipmates killed in action on 11 May, 1945 (Exceptions as Noted)
Worley S. Markland
Torpedoman Second Class Burial at Sea
Service No. 640-41-15
Joseph Negri, torpedo man aboard USS Alywin
Joseph Negri, of Groton, was a torpedo man aboard USS Alywin, moored at Pearl Harbor.
“At 8 a.m., the coxswain came over the bo’s-wain pipe and said, ‘We’re being bombed by the Japs and that’s no bull.’ We went straight to the depth charges and disarmed them before we got blown up. (The shrapnel) was so heavy, it was like rain.”
Torpedo Man's Mate Boston Is Honored in Pearl Harbor for Saving Ammunition With Grouphttp://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9F04E5DE123CEE3BBC4852DFB0668388659EDE&legacy=true
By Telephone to THE NEW YORK TIMES. ();June 10, 1943, Section , Page 5, Column
PEARL HARBOR, June 9 -- While Bataan and Corregidor were fighting desperately during their last days a band of Navy torpedo-men from the submarine tender Canopus braved bombs and shell fire to transport the ship's torpedoes to a tunnel in Corregidor. One of their number, a 42-year-old former cowboy from Elizabeth, Col., told the story of these heroes here today.
Honolulu, Oahu, Hawaii Surnames G