This is a short history of the USS LST 481, a World War II Tank Landing Ship which had a brief but exciting life lasting from September 4, 1942, when she was laid down at the Kaiser, Inc. Shipyard in Richmond, California, until her final ignominious end in April 1948, when she was sold to the Bethlehem Steel Company to be scrapped. After construction began in September, the ship was launched on December 2, 1942, and officially started her Naval career when she was commissioned on May 15, 1943, Lt. George McGuire, USN, in command. Very little has been written in any detail about the remarkably versatile Landing Ship, Tank (LST), which officially made it's combat debut in June 1943, in the Solomon Islands of the South Pacific, although several were in service in the Aleutian Islands in April 1943. The LSTs served in many capacities until the end of hostilities in August 1945, and after. From the "Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships" I have learned that a total of 1,051 LSTs were constructed during World War II, and even though we jokingly insisted that "LST" was short for "Large Slow Target", only 26 were lost by enemy action, and 13 were lost due to weather, grounding on reefs, or accident, although many LSTs, including the 481, were damaged in varying degrees of severity by enemy planes, guns or ships. Of the 1,051 LSTs built, 113 were transferred to Great Britain under the Lend-Lease act, 4 were turned over to the Greek Navy and 116 were converted to repair ships and tenders of various kinds.To aid me in this project of preserving a part of the past, I have obtained copies of the Deck Log and the Muster Roll of the USS LST 481 from the Military Branch of the National Archives, and microfilm records containing 481's War Diary and Action Reports from the Naval Historical Center. The Deck Log is complete except for the missing month of February 1944. Many of the incidents I have written about are from my own personal recollections, and quite a few items have to do with the engineering section of the ship, which is where I worked. Because my memory grows more hazy with each passing year, there are probably some mistakes and errors in my story, but I have tried to make it as factual as possible. Although the official documents provide most of my information, a substantial portion of this narrative is based on my memories as an enlisted sailor.
In most cases where disciplinary action is mentioned, initials have been used in place of names. The crew listing was taken directly from information given in 481's official Muster Roll.
This history is dedicated to everyone who served aboard the USS LST 481, and in particular to the memory of William J. Phillips, S1c, lost at sea on June 22, 1944; and George Daniel's, OS3c, killed in action at Guam, July 24, 1944.
After five months in the Navy, I first arrived at the Des Base as part of a group from the Machinist's Mate School in Wahpeton, North Dakota. We had just completed four months at the school, and after a trip half way across the country, we finally pulled into San Diego on the night of December 24, 1942, in the midst of a heavy rainstorm. The West Coast was in a wartime attitude in those days and this included the Destroyer Base, which was in a total black-out condition. We had no idea of our exact location until the next day, when we learned we were in the San Diego Receiving Station. In the Navy, a Receiving Station, or Receiving Ship, is simply a place to keep people who are awaiting further assignment, and to keep them gainfully occupied. At San Diego, (called "Dago" by everyone), we were in the General Detail section of the Receiving Station, which meant we could be used for all the odd jobs that had to be done around the base, Keeping us gainfully occupied was very easy since there were all kinds of jobs to be done in the ship repair base, which included dry-docks and all kinds of shops related to ship repair. It was really a very interesting place; however, most of the work was dirty and involved getting into bilge areas and ballast tanks aboard some older submarines and destroyers, and doing a lot of cleaning and paint scraping. Every morning after chow, there would be a muster of all hands in General Detail, and the various jobs would be assigned.
All this was still in the future in early 1943. A recently commissioned LST was used to take a large group of us on an overnight training cruise along the California coast. A memorable part of the training cruise was the greasy pork chop dinner we had for our first meal. This was probably the prime reason for a lot of new sailors being seasick and turning green for a while. Some of the petty officers in the engine room of the training ship, and also some of those in our crew, had attended a diesel engine school in Los Angeles, and part of their training had been a trip on a railroad locomotive pulling a train from Los Angeles to Salt Lake City, Utah. These locomotives were powered by the same V-12 diesels that were in the LSTs, and the trip gave the Navy men some hands-on experience with the engines.
At Mare Island the crews of each new LST were living together for the first time. This is when we learned that our ship was to be the USS LST 481--no name, just a number. The man in charge of our crew was James Lowe, Boatswains Mate First Class, promoted to Chief soon after we went aboard ship. We were in the same barracks with the crews of several other LSTs which were under construction. The ships were being built at the Henry Kaiser Shipyard in Richmond, California, also in San Francisco Bay. This shipyard built LSTs numbered 476 through 488, all of which saw plenty of action before the end of the war. These thirteen ships earned a total of sixty battle stars for WWII service, and three of them; 477, 485, 488, earned Navy Unit Commendations. One ship, LST 480, was lost in a tragic ammunition explosion at West Loch Anchorage, Pearl Harbor, in May 1944. The Kaiser Shipyard was a busy place in 1943, with work going on twenty-four hours a day.
While in Mare Island, we were sent out to the coast to an Anti-Aircraft gunnery school for a day. This was the extent of our formal training in shooting down airplanes. Several times, as construction progressed on the 481, we went to the shipyard to familiarize ourselves with the ship and to stow various stores, etc. in storage compartments. In early May the entire crew finally moved aboard the ship which was to be our home for quite a long time, (in my case, it was to be thirty months).
There were eight commissioned officers; Commanding Officer, Lt. G. McGuire, USN; Executive Officer, Lt.(jg) W.H. Bundy, USN; Engineering Officer, Ens. W.L. Boyer, USNR; Gunnery Officer, Ens. E. Higdon, USNR; First Lieutenant, Ens. M.J. Commer, USNR; Ens. E.M. Hogge, USNR; Ens. G.J. Kuzma, USNR; Ens. J.R. Mooney, USNR.
The original black gang on the 481 consisted of one Motor Machinists Mate First Class, eight Motor Machinists Mates Second Class, six Fireman First Class, seven Fireman Second Class, one Fireman Third Class, and two Electricians Mates Third Class.
The main engine room, about twenty five or thirty feet square, was almost totally filled with the two big diesels and other related equipment. The engines and attached machinery extended for a distance of eighteen or twenty feet from a walkway at the front of the engine room to the bulkhead at the rear of the compartment. In addition to the two engines, each of which had a clutch mechanism and a huge reduction gear which converted the engine speed to a slower propeller speed, there were large lube oil filters and strainers, a big fire main pump, a bilge pump, air compressors which supplied air for the clutches and two banks of large storage batteries used to start the engines. Each engine also had a heat exchanger system consisting of a big horizontally mounted tank containing a large number of tubes through which ran the engine's fresh water coolant. A salt water pump on the front of each engine constantly pumped cool sea water from the sea chest, located in the side of the hull near the bottom of the ship, through the heat exchanger and around the fresh water tubes, thus keeping the engines cool.
The deck plates on which we walked had one section about three or four feet wide reaching across the front of the compartment from side to side, and other sections which ran along both sides of each engine. At each end of the walkway across the front of the engine room there was an escape trunk containing a vertical steel ladder which provided entry and exit for the engine room, and which went up three decks to an escape hatch on the main deck. In each ladder way there were watertight doors leading to the troop compartments on the second deck and to a storage compartment on the third deck in the port side escape trunk and to the boiler room in the starboard escape trunk. The center area between the engines was occupied by the fire and bilge pumps, the heat exchangers and the lube oil strainers.
The deck plates were placed about three or four feet above the bottom of the ship and the area below the deck plates was called the bilge, where all the oil and water leakage accumulated, and which was almost filled with pipes running in all directions. The deck plates were removable, and periodically, someone (a lowly Fireman) would have to go down into the bilge to clean or paint the area. This was not the place for someone suffering from claustrophobia. A fire extinguishing system, with brass horn-shaped nozzles located every ten feet or so, completely surrounded the compartment. The nozzles were pointed down toward the bilge and were meant to put out any fires in that area. The engine rooms were one of the few places aboard that had brass fixtures which were kept highly polished. Each watch on duty during the night had a specific job to do in addition to the normal operation of the engines. One polished all brass fittings, another washed the engines and other equipment with soap and water, and another cleaned and pumped out the bilges.
At the front of the compartment there was a built-in stand-up desk for keeping the hourly log and various other writing chores. In the center, next to the desk, were the two annunciators, or speed indicators, which were connected to similar annunciators in the wheelhouse. These were used to communicate the desired speed of the ship from the bridge to the engine room. The electric throttle control pedestals were adjacent to the annunciators, and I believe there were two RPM indicators and a clock in this area. Also in the front of the engine room, sitting almost on the bottom of the hull and extending to a height of about eight or ten inches above the level of the deck plates were two lube oil filters, each about two feet in diameter.
The two main engines which propelled the ship were big General Motors V-12-567 Diesels (having twelve cylinders, six on each side of the vee). They each powered a propeller shaft and screw through an ingenious pneumatic clutch which allowed the shaft and screw to be turned in either a forward or reverse direction. Before passing through the hull at the stem of the ship, each propeller shaft extended forty or fifty feet back through two compartments, which made up what were called the shaft alleys, aft of the main engine room. The shaft alleys were reached by going through a watertight door on the second deck, and down a ladder way to the bottom of the ship. Since there were two shafts running through two shaft alleys, there was an entry on the port side and one on the starboard side.
In the adjacent auxiliary engine room, just forward of the main engine room , there were three smaller, eight cylinder Superior diesel engines, each turning an electrical generator for all the ship's internal power. Usually, one engine was sufficient to supply electrical power, but whenever extra power was required, two, or even all three could be put on line together. The auxiliary engine room was the site of the main electrical distribution panel, which covered almost the entire aft bulkhead of the compartment. On the forward bulkhead were the ballast tank gauges, which indicated the amount of water in each ballast tank. The high volume ballast pumps, the main fuel oil and fresh water pumps used for transferring fuel or water, and a centrifuge used to remove impurities from either fuel oil or lubricating oil were also to be found in the auxiliary engine room. This space was pretty well occupied by machinery, just as the main engine room was. Access to this compartment was identical to that in the main engine room, through an escape trunk on each side.
The speed and direction of travel of the ship was controlled from the conning tower by the Officer of the Deck, who would instruct a man stationed in the wheelhouse area of the bridge to ring up the correct speed on the engine room annunciators. This method was used for major changes in speed, from stop, to slow, to half, to full or to flank speed, and either ahead or astern. This speed and direction would be indicated on the annunciators in the engine room and the man on the electric throttles would adjust the throttles accordingly, after the command had been acknowledged by a corresponding annunciator ring to the bridge from the engine room. When the ship was traveling in a convoy, the convoy commander set the speed for the entire convoy, and if your ship was first in a line of other ships, it would probably not have to make many speed changes, but if it was not the first one in a line, many minor speed changes were sometimes necessary so the correct position could be maintained, and at this time the bridge would use the phone to call the engine room for changes of a few RPMs up or down. Some officers were constantly calling on the engine room phones for five RPMs up or ten RPMs down, etc., while other officers called for very few speed changes. A man on the bridge and one in the engine room constantly wore a telephone set which consisted of earphones and a mouthpiece which hung by a strap around your neck. This type of phone was also worn at all times by lookouts stationed on the bow and at various other locations topside.
Next morning we got underway for Mare Island Navy Yard, where the ship moored at Dock 21, remaining there until May 20, when we moved down the bay to tie up to Pier 46, San Francisco. While the ship was in San Francisco the crew was given liberty and permitted to go ashore. J.A. Boatman from Tucumcari, New Mexico and I decided we would get a tattoo, so off we went to a tattoo parlor on Market Street and got identical tattoos. He got his on the shoulder and I got mine on my left forearm. The process took some time and was a little painful. The tattoo artist was an older man who was very painstaking in his work. To this day, I never have any trouble knowing my left from my right as long as I can find my tattoo.
On May 24, 1943, LST 481 made her first venture out onto the high seas destination, San Diego.
By 0920 we were underway once more, and at 1046 we headed out under the Golden Gate Bridge into the mighty Pacific Ocean. Any doubts the crew might have had about the ability of the ship to sail out of sight of land and return safely were erased when we successfully sailed into San Diego Bay on May 26.
The 481 had been sent to San Diego to be degaussed, or demagnetized. Inside the ship, completely encircling it in a fore and aft direction, was a big fat cable, containing hundreds of small wires. This was part of the degaussing system which protected the ship from magnetic mines and it had to be activated in a day-long degaussing process. During the process, which took place on May 28, the ship was completely surrounded with large cables running fore and aft and from side to side. These cables were run under the ship and across the deck in a crisscross pattern and were connected to a large barge anchored in the bay. During this process, all watches and clocks were removed from the ship so they would not be affected by the demagnetizing. After an electrical current was passed through the cables for a period of time, they were removed. The ship then cast off from the barge, proceeded out of the bay into the ocean just off the coast, and cruised in large circles for several hours. I don't remember if we went clockwise or counter clockwise, but I think it was always in the same direction. This completed the degaussing and hopefully we were now safe from magnetic mines.
After the degaussing process, 481 moored to a buoy in San Diego Bay until the following day. Next morning at 0730, thirty nine Navy ROTC men came aboard for a training cruise, and 481 cast off from Buoy 16 at 0821, headed for the open waters off the southern California coast. At this point in the log, several discrepancies indicate that some of the ROTC trainees must have taken over the log keeping task since the time which should have been 0821 is shown as 1821. These mistakes continued in the log for the balance of the morning, and were evidently not too favorably perceived by Captain McGuire or Lt. Bundy, because written in very large script at the bottom of the page is the word "rewrite!" After our ROTC training cruise, we returned to port, mooring once again to a buoy in the bay at 1426. The ship and crew now embarked upon a period of training which included our first beaching operation on June 1, 1943. On June 3, 481 got underway for San Francisco, arriving there in mid-morning on June 6.
We spent a day moored to Pier 54 before moving to Hunters Point Navy Yard in San Francisco Bay, south of San Francisco. The log doesn't say why we went to Hunters Point, but we remained there until June 15, when we got underway for the degaussing range. A group of officers had come aboard to calibrate the Radio Direction Finder and to check compass compensation after which 481 returned to tie up at Pier 46, San Francisco. On June 17 at 0825, we were underway to Monterey, California for training exercises with Army troops at Fort Ord. After an uneventful trip, the bow anchor was dropped in Monterey Bay at 1936 the same night.
To get some idea of what this involved, thirty or forty loaded Army vehicles of various types had to be loaded onto two decks, the tank deck and the main deck. The tank deck was around 275 feet or so in length, two decks high, and wide enough for three or four army trucks to fit side by side. The bow ramp opened onto this deck. The main deck was above the tank deck and was the open area forward of the deckhouse and navigating bridge. In order to load vehicles onto the main or upper deck, a large elevator was located at the forward end of the tank deck. A vehicle would back into the tank deck, back up onto the elevator platform, and be raised to the main deck where it would back off and proceed to the assigned parking area to be secured to the deck with chains and turnbuckles. When loading the main deck was completed, the elevator would be locked into place in the raised position, thus becoming part of the main deck. Most vehicles were backed into the ship so they could be unloaded quickly. As the tank deck filled, everything had to be secured with chains and turnbuckles so nothing would move around when we were at sea.
A year or so later, after different parts of the ship had begun to age a bit, the elevator developed an alarming habit of suddenly falling without warning, causing the entire ship to shake as if hit by a bomb. Fortunately, no serious injuries resulted from these unplanned descents. Had anyone been underneath, he would have been flattened and compressed by the tremendous weight .
Sometimes we would be accompanied on these maneuvers away from the Fort Ord area by several LCIs (Landing Craft, Infantry), which were also involved in joint Army-Navy training sessions. On June 26, 481 was called upon to provide assistance to LCI 326, which had broached in the heavy surf on the beach. This was no small job, but required two and a half hours of coordinated effort before the LCI was pulled away from the beach.
481 remained in this area for twelve days, practicing landing, loading and unloading. We had one liberty in Monterey and went on a swimming party on the beach one day. One of our boats took the swimming party ashore, landing on the beach, which was a nice sandy one with large waves breaking on it. We were the only people there, so it was probably part of the Army Base. The salt water caused a slight infection on my still unhealed tattoo, but this cleared up after a couple of days.
We remained in Mare Island until July 5, moored part of the time along side LST 484. On the morning of the 5th we were underway for the Point Orient Oil Dock where the fuel tanks were topped off. That afternoon the 481 dropped anchor in the bay and stayed put until July 8 when we moved in to Pier 45-D, San Francisco to load supplies.
The Administrative Log lists some of the stores which were taken aboard in preparation for our trip. The log entry below is for July 8, 1943:
| 0800 - | Mustered on stations, no absentees. |
| 1800 - | Stores were received aboard and were inspected as to quality and quantity by Ensign E.M. Hogge, USNR. They were as follows: Potatoes, Irish -- 1500 lbs. Orange juice -- 252 qts. Onions, dry -- 400 lbs. Asparagus -- 314 lbs. Lettuce -- 59 lbs. Beans, navy -- 300 lbs. Celery -- 56 lbs. Beans, string -- 480 lbs. Carrots -- 312 lbs. Carrots, can. -- 397 lbs. Tomatoes -- 33 lbs. Corn, canned -- 300 lbs. Pineapple juice -- 252 qts. Cherries, can. -- 400 lbs. Potatoes, canned -- 261 lbs. Coffee, ground -- 500 lbs. Tomatoes, canned 780 lbs. Catsup, tomato -- 90 gal. Vinegar -- 8 gal. Bacon -- 217 lbs. Milk, evaporated -- 100l lbs. Beef -- 3976 lbs. Chili con came -- 4~8 lbs. Butter -- 40 lbs. Mix, ice cream -- 255 lbs. Cheese -- 270 lbs. Eggs, powdered -- 198 lbs. Eggs, fresh -- 300 lbs. Syrup, canned -- 9 gal. Ham, canned -- 314 lbs. Spaghetti -- 280 lbs. Pork, uncured -- 425 lbs. Oil, salad -- 30 gal. Pork, loin -- 501 lbs. Oats, rolled -- 200 lbs. Pork, sausage -- 300 lbs. |
Of course, this is just a partial list of the supplies we loaded. Months later, we often remembered how well we ate on this first trip out of the country, especially when we were down to two meals a day or after eating stew and rice for a week straight. Loading stores was an "all hands" job, as was ammunition loading, and even though we were always glad to see additional stores coming aboard, we were not too thrilled about the work involved. Someone in the black gang always made sure that several cases of canned peaches or something similar was diverted to one of the engine room storerooms for later use by the engineers. When the deck plates at the bottom of the engine room escape trunk were removed, a perfect storage space was exposed for these ill gotten goods.
On July 10, at two in the morning, we began to load one hundred seventy eight Army troops in the troop compartments located along both the port and starboard sides of the second deck, just below the main deck. Embarking the troops was completed two hours later. In order to load the Army's equipment, the ship moved to the Hyde Street Ferry Slip, where the loading was accomplished by way of the open bow doors and lowered ramp. In the tank deck we carried the equipment for a complete Army field hospital, trucks, jeeps, and a great number of bags of coal. All this plus the LCT chained to the main deck gave the ship a good heavy load. We pulled away from the ferry slip at 0505 on July 11, 1943, and at 0705 we were underway as part of LST Flotilla 3, Group 7, bound for Kodiak, Alaska and the Aleutian Islands.
The Japanese had occupied two of the Aleutian Islands, Attu and Kiska, on June 7, 1942, and in May 1943, American Army troops landed on Attu and took it back from the Japanese after a costly and bloody battle. Now we were part of a task force heading for Kiska to put it back into American hands.
The convoy was to get into some very stormy seas on the way north; in fact, the sea became so rough that our ship developed a large crack in a steel plate on the starboard side of the hull, running from the main deck straight down for almost two feet, This resulted from the fact that LSTs, with their perfectly flat bottom, constantly bend in the middle when going through waves of almost any size. Even in a moderately rough sea, if you stood at either the bow of the ship or at the stern, and looked at the opposite end, you could see the ship flex and bend every time it hit a wave. This flexing and bending also caused some disasters in the tank deck, when one of the large pipelines which made up the ship's fire main sprang a leak and sprayed salt water all over the area until the shipfitters were able to make repairs.
One strange thing about all this destruction was that it never happened again after this time. It was almost as if certain parts of the ship had to be loosened up so that everything would bend and flex in time with everything else. We were to discover several other things which evidently resulted from the fast pace involved in building these ships. One of the more serious incidents was when an oil pipeline feeding a centrifuge used to remove impurities from the oil, was found to be blocked by a blind gasket, which had no hole in the center to allow the oil to flow through. We also found old rags which had been left in storage tanks and in the bilges. These problems were corrected as soon as they were discovered and before long we were sailing along pretty smoothly.
On July 15, LST 479 had to leave the formation for Port Angeles, Washington, to make repairs on one of the main engines. I recently received a letter from a former crewman of the 479 who told me that one of the main engines broke a camshaft. After repairs had been made, the 479 sailed without escort to Kodiak.
As our convoy sailed into Womens Bay, Kodiak, on July 21, we passed through some of the most fantastic scenic areas any of us had ever seen. The shore and the mountains were spectacular. From that moment on, I always had a desire to go back to Alaska and see more of it. At the Navy Base in Womens Bay, we tied up to LST 480 at 1150, and repairs were made which consisted of simply welding a large steel plate over the crack in the hull. After loading some additional stores, we were on our way at 1700 for Adak in the Aleutian Islands.
I mentioned above that we were sailing in a convoy. From the time we first left the States, until the end of the war, almost every bit of sailing we did would be in a convoy with other ships and usually with a protective escort. Sometimes the escort would be made up of a couple of small PCs (Patrol Craft), or SCs (Sub Chasers), but quite often it was made up of DDs (Destroyers) or DEs (Destroyer Escorts). Regardless of their size, we were always glad to see the escorts sailing out on the horizon. As I recall, there were about twelve LSTs in the convoy to the Aleutians, and I don't remember if there were any other troop transports or cargo ships with us or not. The convoy probably consisted of LSTs and escorts only, since our top speed was under twelve'knots, and we usually traveled at nine knots or less, much slower than the normal attack transport.
Adak, located about halfway out in the thousand mile long chain of Aleutian Islands, was where the ships of the invasion force were gathering before making the final move toward Kiska, so the harbor was crowded with all kinds of vessels. It was also one of the main bases of operation for the bombers which had been blasting Kiska for some time. It must have been the worse place in the world in which to be flying airplanes, because of the fog and the proverbial Aleutian bad weather in general. We could hear the planes flying, but couldn't see them until they came zooming down through the ever present heavy fog and clouds which always seemed to reach almost down to sea level. I am sure they must have had many plane crashes because of the weather.
July 27 was spent anchored in Kuluk Bay with nothing unusual happening, but on the 28th, the LCT carried on our main deck was launched off the starboard side of the ship at 0838. The launching went off without a hitch; all starboard side ballast tanks were pumped full of water, while all tanks on the port side were pumped dry, which resulted in a very severe list or tilt toward the starboard side. After all securing chains and cables were removed, the USS LCT 320 slid sideways over the side of the ship and into the water with a huge splash. It was quite a sight to see. After the launching, our ship was made level once more and the LCT was ready for duty.
The only problem with the LCT launching took place shortly after the actual launch, when the deck gang was clearing the main deck of the big timbers on which the LCT had been resting. They were pushing the timbers over the side into the water where they could be towed into shore for other use. To keep them from floating away, a line, which was secured to our deck, was tied around the timber, and was coiled up on the deck so it could run free as the timber went overboard. The problem came about when a seaman named James "Bull" Houston accidentally got his foot tangled in the securing line, and as the timber slid neatly off the deck and into the water, "Bull" was yanked not quite as neatly over the side and into the frigid water. It always seemed very funny to us afterward, but it could have had disastrous results because of the cold temperature of the water. Fortunately, one of our boats was able to rescue him immediately, but by the time he got back on deck, his skin had developed a definite blue tinge. The heavy foul weather clothing he was dressed in didn't make rescue any easier. Luckily, the only damage, other than being cold, was to his ego.
Shortly after 4 o'clock in the afternoon of July 28, 481 was underway for the Bay of Islands, which I think was another anchorage at Adak Island. Other than mentioning that several minesweepers tied up alongside, the log shows no activity taking place until we left the Bay of Islands to return to Kuluk Bay on August 4 where we remained at anchor until August 7. At 1000 we got underway at the request of the Captain of the Port, to move to a new anchorage, where the anchor was dropped in six and two thirds fathoms of water at 1150. By 2210 the next night, we were forced to move once again, this time because of strong winds. The anchor was dropped at 2300, but at fifteen minutes after midnight we made yet another move noted in the deck log "because of the presence of rocks". I don't know if this was when the following episode took place or not, but it seems likely that it was.
We had a misfortune of sorts happen one night while we were anchored, and which I recall because I was on a special watch in the boiler room. The ship had a small oil-fired steam boiler which provided steam for the galley and for heat in the living quarters. This boiler had automatic controls which turned it on and off, much like the furnace in a house, but on the night of which I write, the automatic controls were not working automatically, resulting in the need to station someone in the boiler room to manually turn the controls on and off as the steam pressure decreased and increased. It was my turn to be on this watch on the night in question, switching the boiler on and off as needed. I was sitting comfortably on the deck, reading a book between switchings, when in addition to the normal rolling motion, I felt a slight jar and the ship tilted slightly to one side and stayed there. Since the people who stood watches in the engine rooms and boiler room never knew first hand just what was happening topside, we had to wait for someone to tell us that one of the fierce Aleutian wind storms, called williwaws, had blown up, causing the ship to drag anchor and hit some underwater rocks. We learned that the ship had suffered some damage and had a hole in the bottom of one of the forward salt water ballast tanks, It was determined that the leakage was confined to just that tank, so our seaworthiness was not affected and repairs would not be needed until we went back to the States.
Nowhere in the deck log is any mention made of this particular incident, but the fact that we did hit some rocks that night was common knowledge to everyone aboard. Together with many others of the crew, I saw the big gash in the bottom when 481 was on a marine railway in Alameda for repairs.
By 0100 we were once again at anchor in Kuluk Bay, finally staying at one anchorage for the rest of August 9. Next day at 1140, 481 was underway in company with LSTs 480, 69, 20 and 23, bound for the Bay of Islands anchorage, where we dropped anchor in Gannet Cove at 0645. At 0615 on the 11th we headed for the Army Dock where We beached to load more Army equipment. The log states: "2135 Completed loading Army Engineers 184-3 and equipment, and retracted from beach, proceeding to anchorage". Twenty minutes later the ship was at anchor in Gannet Cove once again. This time we had a two day break before the final jump-off late in the afternoon of August 14, when we assumed our position in the formation of the Northern Landing Ship Group on our way to Kiska to "participate in Landing Operations in accordance with Commander Attack Force, Operation Plan 4-43"
As our ship was being unloaded, and since there were evidently no Japanese on the island, we were allowed to go ashore, almost like going on liberty. Looking back from forty some years later, it's surprising that a lot of us were not blown up by booby traps, because we were allowed to go everywhere without restriction. The place looked like the Japanese had just left that morning; some people even found food which had not been eaten. What the Japanese had accomplished in the short time they had occupied the island was amazing. Almost everything was underground, including a full sized hospital. Every place was connected by tunnels, which had been dug throughout the area. Overlooking the water, there were many large artillery pieces in gun emplacements dug into the sides of the hills. Seeing these guns and their locations made us doubly thankful that the island had been deserted. Souvenir hunting was what we got involved in when we went ashore, and some of the things the crew brought back to the ship were out of this world. Some guys had Japanese army or navy fur coats and hats, blankets, mosquito repellent, cigarettes, uniform buttons and various other items of interest. Several of our crew found a Japanese motorcycle which they pushed for some distance before it became hopelessly bogged down in the mud. The weather even cooperated for a change by coming up with a rare fairly nice day. 481 was on the rocky beach until August 24, when we retracted at 0755, and proceeded to an anchorage in Kiska Harbor.
| 1405 - | Anchor aweigh preparatory to getting underway to Adak. |
| 1410 - | Dropped anchor, departure delayed. |
| 1505 - | Anchor aweigh preparatory to getting underway to Adak. |
| 1520 - | Anchor dropped, departure delayed again. |
| 1559 - | Underway for Adak in company with LST 478, being escorted by USS Bancroft with Commander Landing Ship Group aboard escort. |
I have no idea what caused the delays, but we finally started out almost two hours after our initial preparation to get underway. The next delay was caused by the 481 on August 26 at 0323, when the auxiliary engine went out and all engines were stopped until 0342. The little convoy finally dropped anchor in Kuluk Bay, Adak, at 1955 that night. It was sometime while we were at Adak (possibly before we went to Kiska) that we sailed into a narrow fiord and had some gunnery practice, shooting at the side of a nearby mountain which ran straight down to the water's edge. It was really a beautiful area, and we shot a lot of holes in the mountainside. Our armament at the time was that which was on the ship when it was commissioned, and that was very little. It consisted of a three inch gun in a gun tub on the stern, one forty millimeter anti-aircraft gun on the bow, and six twenty millimeter anti-aircraft guns arranged three on each side. We were very lucky no planes attacked us, poorly armed as we were. At the time, not knowing any better, we didn't realize how under gunned we were. When we were sailing out of this beautiful area, we got the word that when we came to a certain area, all hands were to evacuate the engine rooms because of some possible mines. That was the only time in the ship's history that no one was in either engine room while the ship was underway. Fortunately, we hit no mines and emerged safely.
In addition to being woefully under gunned, LSTs at that time had no radar, and no evaporators for making fresh water, thus the only fresh water we had was that which we carried in several storage tanks built into the hull as were the fuel tanks and ballast tanks.
Since the LSTs had no radar, navigating in a heavy fog while in convoy was a tricky business at best. Each ship carried what I seem to remember was called a "fog buoy", which was a piece of equipment that was towed behind the ship far enough so the following ship could see it and use it to maintain the correct interval between vessels. The fog buoy's design caused a spout of water to shoot several feet above the surface of the sea as it was towed through the water. The bow lookout was supposed to keep the OOD informed of the location of the fog buoy trailed by the ship in front of us, but I can remember times when we looked out of the galley passageway and could see the other ship's buoy throwing up a spout of water almost even with the stern of our ship. This meant that either the lookout wasn't too alert, or the OOD had not slowed down the speed of the ship, and was getting too close to the LST ahead of us.
We were in Adak until September 4, when we pulled away from the island at 0715 as first section guide in LST Group 7, headed for good old San Francisco. Originally we were prepared to get under way on the 2nd, and again on the 3rd, but each time there was some kind of delay once again, as there had been when we were leaving Kiska. After finally moving out of Adak, each LST in the convoy was towing an LCT astern, using the large stern anchor cable as the towing cable.
The anchor was securely fastened in its housing at the stern of the ship and the cable was removed from it and led out to the LCT where it was fastened to a bridle looped in front of the bow ramp of the LCT. We were towing LCT 81 about two hundred yards or so astern. The LCTs could not be reloaded onto the LSTs since there was no crane available which was capable of lifting the heavy weight. I have no official information on LCTs being towed by LSTs, but this voyage from Adak in the Aleutian Islands to San Francisco must surely have set a distance record for this type of operation.
Fifteen LSTs took part in the Kiska operation; 20, 23, 69, 169, 205, 451, 466, 476, 478, 479, 480, 481, 482, 483, 484. Several of these were Coast Guard manned LSTs. The Aleutian Island operations were among the very earliest in which LSTs were used. Most of the LSTs left the area after Kiska, but several remained in the Aleutians until December 1943.
Below decks in the crew's quarters, which was also the mess deck, mess table benches were crashing and flying around, as was anything else not securely fastened down. At chow time, for those who were able to eat, it was a question of getting anything to stay in one place long enough to eat it. The mess tables had legs which were permanently bolted to the deck, and the men sitting in front of the table legs had to wrap their own legs around those of the table so the entire bench full of men wouldn't topple over.
The galley was located in the after part of the deckhouse on the main deck, and the food was served over a counter to the men as they passed along the galley passageway from the port side to the starboard, after which they had to go down a ladder or stairway to the mess deck below. Going down the ladder with a full tray of food could be very interesting, depending on how much the ship was rolling. If you got caught at the wrong time, you would have to try to walk down a ladder which was almost straight up and down rather than slanted like a stairway should be. Many a poor sailor lost control of his tray full of chow trying to negotiate that steep ladder. When we had troops on board it was even more chaotic, since they weren't used to the rolling of the ship. The troop mess deck was on the starboard side where some of the troop compartments were located, so they had to go down the same ladder used by the crew in order to get to their mess tables. Without fail, if we were in any kind of rough weather, several chow trays would end up on the deck at the bottom of the ladder. This must have been one of the cleanest areas on the ship, since it had to be swabbed after each meal.
Another nasty thing that happened when the ship hit these huge waves, was that the terrific crash would cause the bunks in the crew's quarters to bounce, sometimes high enough to unhook the chains which fastened the three tiered bunks to hooks on the overhead or ceiling. The bunks were simple pipe frame with a canvas bottom held in place by a line running through eyelets in the canvas and looped around the pipe frame. The inner edge of the bunks were fastened by hinges to two stanchions, or steel pillars, so they could be folded up during the day. The outer edges of the bunks were supported by a chain near each end, fastened to the hooks on the overhead. There were three bunks, one over the other, on each side of the stanchions. The bottom bunk was about eight inches above the deck; the middle one was about two and a half feet over the lower, and the top bunk two and a half feet above the middle one. Each occupant had his two and a half feet of overhead space and about two feet from side to side. The bunks each had a section of railing about two feet long welded to the outer side to keep the occupant from falling out when the ship rolled. During the day the three bunks would be folded up and hooked almost flat against the stanchions, making it easier to clean the deck and also preventing anyone from sacking out in his bunk during the day. Several times, during rough weather, the ship crashed into waves with such force that some of the chains jumped out of the hooks, throwing the occupants out onto the deck. On one occasion, a man suffered a cut over his eye when the pipe frame of the bunk hit him. My bunk was a top one and was located next to the head, almost as far in the stern as you could go, so we got a pretty rough ride in heavy weather. The crew's quarters were directly under the galley, and when we were in heavy seas we could always hear pots and pans falling and rolling around on the deck above us. The amount of noise coming 'from the galley was usually an indication of how rough the sea was.
Earlier, I mentioned that when we watched the LST next to us in the convoy, we could see daylight under part of the ship when it went up over one of the huge waves. This also meant that when the ship went down the other side of the wave, the stern came out of the water so we could see the twin screws churning and making a froth as they came into the air. This made for an interesting situation in the main engine room because the engines would speed up when the screws came out of the water. Since the main engines were equipped with an overspeed trip type of governor, they would automatically shut off if they were permitted to exceed the limits of the governor, placing the ship in an extremely dangerous condition without power and at the mercy of the waves. Normally, the speed of the engines was controlled by a man operating two electric throttle levers located on pedestals at the forward end of the engine room. These levers also controlled the forward or reverse action of the clutch, causing the ship to move ahead or astern. In order to prevent the engines from automatically shutting down in very rough weather, it was necessary to station a man at the manual throttle located on the front of each engine. He kept an eye on the RPM gauge, and as engine speed increased, he was able to adjust the manual throttle in order to slow the engine down.
The storm we ran into on our way home from the Aleutians increased in ferocity until the convoy was unable to make much headway at all, and finally we had to turn and sail with the storm for a time. This made for a little smoother ride since the waves were overtaking the ships from the stern rather than the ships trying to force their way into them.
The LCTs towed by the ships really had a rough time; in fact, one towed by one of the LSTs suffered severe damage from the heavy weather and had to be abandoned by the crew before it sank. I have learned from a crew member of LST 479 that the LCT towed by that ship sank after repeated failure of the towing bridle and tow line. The 479 was damaged in the very rough sea by heavy contact with the LCT when she pulled alongside to remove the crew of that stricken vessel. Mattresses were stuffed into several holes in 479's hull to help stop the sea from flooding the holed compartments. Fortunately, according to my source of information, the damage was confined to sections of the hull which were above the waterline and 479 continued to sail with the rest of the convoy. The LCT towed by 481 was only visible to us when it was up on the crest of one of the huge waves, or when we were on a crest and the LCT was in a valley.
Some strange things happened while we were being overtaken by those big waves. One of the funniest to anyone not involved, was when a wave would break over the stem and flood the main deck to a level high enough for the sea water to flow into the ventilation ductwork leading to the head in the crew's quarters. This duct had vent openings located directly over each toilet in the head, resulting in a free salt water shower for anyone unlucky enough to be occupying one of the seats at the time of the flood. To make matters worse, this surprise cold shower would come as the poor guy was trying to hold on to the john so he wouldn't get bounced off, and could make one's day very miserable. On another occasion, someone was foolish enough to open one of the emergency hatches in the crew's quarters, allowing a deluge of water to come crashing in. He said he was only trying to get a little air into the area, but it turned out he got more salt water than he did air.
As I mentioned earlier, the hole was fortunately in one of the forward ballast tanks, which did not affect the seaworthiness of the ship, but did render that particular ballast tank useless. The ballast tanks were an important factor in the design of the LST. The ships were constructed so that they had an extremely shallow draft at the bow, enabling them to beach in shallow water, yet they also needed stability when sailing on the deep oceans. This stability and weight was provided by a sophisticated system of ballast tanks and high volume ballast pumps. The ballast tanks were also an important factor when we were making a landing on the beach. If we went on a beach to pick up a load, some of the ballast tanks were flooded before we landed, giving the ship extra weight. After we were loaded, the tanks would be pumped dry, thus compensating for the load, and theoretically allowing us to retract from the beach with a full load. Of course, this didn't always work; sometimes the load would be heavier than the water which had been pumped out, resulting in the ship being stuck on the beach, often until a high tide came in. We were always able to back off, although in some cases, not without a mighty struggle. When the repairs were made, a large steel plate about an inch thick was welded to the bottom and covered the entire area which normally hits the beach first when making a landing. As a result of this reinforcement, the ship suffered no further damage to the forward section of the bottom.
I think it was at the same time these repairs were made, that some changes were made to the two bow doors. After a few landings, it was discovered that when the doors were opening, the lower outside corner would drag on the bottom if the beach was a steep one. They tried to correct this by making the lower corner into a hinged section which would fold inward if the doors hit anything while they were being opened. These hinged sections proved to be more of a problem than a solution and eventually were discarded entirely, leaving a large open section at the bottom of each bow door. The open area between the bow doors and the bow ramp, which was sealed with a watertight gasket, was a favorite place for some of the crew to cool off in the tremendous rush of water that came pouring in through the openings when the ship was underway.
We moved away from the drydock on September 26 and were soon underway for the Point Orient oil dock to refuel. About two and a half hours after refueling was completed, the ship was underway as formation guide of a convoy consisting of LSTs 481, 482 and 478, bound for Port Hueneme, California, which was a Seabee base located a bit north of Los Angeles. We remained in Port Hueneme from September 28 until October 2, loading cargo.
At three in the afternoon of the 2nd, we were underway for San Diego as guide for the same group of three ships. We tied up to Broadway Pier, San Diego, on the morning of October 3 and by 1000 had commenced loading a number of LCVPs (36 foot landing boats) on the main deck, as cargo. Along with the LCVPs, we also embarked 192 sailors from the Landing Craft School. Loading was completed on October 4 at 1615, and we were underway out of San Diego at 1758, bound for Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii.
During the ten day voyage to Pearl Harbor, we had to refuel and provision YMS-290 (a small minesweeper) while underway. Because of their small size, they evidently couldn't carry enough food or fuel for such a long trip. Refueling took almost an hour and provisioning took only fifteen minutes.
On October 8 at 1700, a fire was reported in the Metalsmith shop which resulted in minor damages before being extinguished by CO2. The fire started from a torch being used to cut some angle iron.
By 1030 we were tied up alongside LST 482 at the Ferry Slip of the Cooling Plant to take on fresh water. On October 16 the ship moved to Berth [..] 4 to discharge the passengers, completing the disembarkation at 1100, after which we moved back to our previous mooring next to LST 482. On the 17th we got underway for Iroquois Point, where the ship beached at 1145, with LST 478 on the starboard side, to unload cargo from the tank deck. This job wasn't completed until the 22nd, when we retracted from the beach and were underway for Pier K-l to unload the LCVPs from the main deck. Next day at 0545, unloading the LCVPs was completed, and we moved to Pier K-6 to begin loading for our next assignment. At this pier, we moored port side to APA-12 (an attack transport) and commenced loading Army equipment. Late evening of the 24th found us underway for Dog Easy dock, where an unusual mooring arrangement came about. 481 tied up starboard side to 482 and 480 moored to our port side, thus placing the three ships in numerical order: 480, 481 and 482, possibly the only time this happened.
On October 27 we made our way into the Thomas Drydock, where we remained until the 31st of the month. The log doesn't mention it, but this must have been when the pontoon mounting brackets were welded along both sides of the hull near the waterline. After the pontoon brackets were added, four big pontoons were mounted, two on each side of the ship. A crane lifted the pontoons on their sides and lowered them so the bottom of the pontoon rested in the mounting brackets. They were held tight to the side of the ship by chains fastened to the deck. We were to drop them at some future location by removing the chains and allowing the pontoons to fall into the water alongside the ship. Also while in drydock, on October 30, we loaded up with one hundred ninety seven Army enlisted personnel and nine Army officers. On October 31, the ship backed out of the drydock at 1100 and by 1138 we were passing the entrance buoys on our way to Funafuti, one of the Ellis Islands, located not too far south of the Equator.
On November 11, 1943, we pulled into Fongafala Anchorage, Funafuti. Here we waited for the invasion force to form up for our next destination, which we learned was to be a group of atolls in the Gilbert Islands, just north of the Equator and slightly to the northwest of Funafuti. The names of these places were strange to us, but were to become well known in a short time; Tarawa, Makin, and Abemama atolls, with the first named to be more famous than the others. I might add at this time that the crew seldom knew where we were going to end up until we were underway for a day or two; however, most of the time we were able to make a pretty good guess.
While we were in Funafuti we witnessed our first air raid. It was shortly after midnight on the night of November 13 when General Quarters sounded. The log reads as follows:
| 0040 - | Sounded General Quarters. Jap planes overhead. This vessel withheld fire as range was too great. Planes were taken under fire by beach batteries. |
It was also an excuse for most of the ships in the harbor to see how their anti-aircraft guns worked, and soon the sky was a blaze of tracers until it looked like it was raining red rain. As noted in the log, our Captain, George "Mickey" McGuire, would not let us open fire, so we were able to enjoy the fireworks from our ringside seats in the middle of everything. The Captain was correct in not firing, since no one on the 481 saw any planes, which didn't even fly over the area where we were anchored. Incidentally, I believe the plane or planes got away.
These magazines each held sixty rounds of twenty millimeter ammunition and were very heavy. Twenty millimeter shells were designed to explode on contact, therefore, the first round in the magazine was always a sand shell, so called because it fired a non- explosive, sand filled projectile as a safety precaution in case the muzzle cover was accidentally left on the end of the gun barrel. On these occasions, the sand shell would blow the muzzle cover off without the danger of exploding on contact. Every third or fourth round was a tracer shell which the pointer used as an aiming aid, something like squirting a garden hose at an object, and although electrical gun sights were added later in the war, many pointers still preferred to use tracers as an aiming devise.
At every twenty millimeter gun station there were two steel ready boxes which each held eight or ten loaded magazines. The magazines had to have sixty pounds of tension added to internal springs which forced the shells out into the breech of the gun when firing. The tension was put on by means of a ratchet and crank arrangement, and if you weren't careful when cranking up the tension, the ratchet could slip and you would get a hefty whack in the ribs as the crank handle was yanked out of your grasp. The magazines were loaded with greased twenty millimeter shells at a steel loading table in the forward end of the crew's quarters. This was done by the gun crews, usually when the ship was not in a forward area, or whenever the need came up.
Every man in the gun crew had to be able to totally dismantle, clean, and reassemble the gun, and this was done each time the gun was fired. At each gun mount there were two long steel tubes welded either to the side of the protective gun tub or to the side of a ready box if there was no gun tub. One of the tubes contained a spare gun barrel because the barrels were supposed to be changed after firing several magazines, since a lot of heat, which could warp the gun barrel, was generated during firing. The other tube was filled with water which cooled the gun barrel after it was removed from the gun. When a hot gun barrel was placed into the water tube, it looked like a miniature volcano with steam and hot water erupting into the air.
This gun fired what was known as fixed ammunition, which simply meant that the shell and the projectile were a single unit, unlike larger naval guns which used ammunition with separated projectiles and powder bags. The three inch shell weighed twenty seven pounds, and was pushed into the breech by the first loader's right hand, Since the breech lock automatically closed in an upward motion when the shell was inserted, it was most important that the first loader's fingers not be curled around the end of the shell, otherwise he might lose a digit or two.
Because of the weight of the shell, it was a good idea to have a pretty muscular man as first loader, particularly when aiming at a high flying airplane, which could put the gun in a near vertical position, requiring the loader to almost be on his knees in order to shove the shell in an upward direction. The 481 had just the right man in the person of Pete Zolnak, Seaman First Class, later promoted to Coxwain, from Gallitzen, PA. Pete could shove shells into this gun so that it seemed to fire almost as fast as a forty millimeter anti-aircraft gun.
Another gun crew member was the hot shell man, who wore long heat-proof gloves which reached above his elbows, and whose job was to catch the empty shell casings, which were very hot, as they were automatically ejected from the breech after firing. This turned out to be sort of a dangerous job at one point in time when the ejection mechanism got fouled up. Instead of just dropping the empty casings into the hot shell man's waiting arms, something went wrong, and they began to eject with such force that one flew right past the hot shell man, and crashed into the outside bulkhead of the galley, about twenty five feet away, putting a large dent in the steel bulkhead, This gun had a history of unusual things happening to it, such as the time a loader pulled a shell out of the ready box, and discovered that the projectile had fallen out of the shell, probably because of the vibration at the stern of the ship, and then discovered that more shells were in the same condition. Or the time, during target practice, that the gun fired, but no projectile came out it stuck in the gun barrel and had to be dislodged by a gunner's mate with a ramrod. As everyone in the area scrambled for safety, he said it was O.K. to bang it loose by hitting it on the nose, because it wasn't armed until it had made a certain number of revolutions, which were caused by the rifling in the gun barrel. I really don't know how they finally cleared the projectile from the gun barrel, since we all evacuated the area.
All helmets and life jackets for the gun crews were kept at the gun mounts. General Quarters (battle stations) was sounded by means of bells ringing, loud horns blowing, and in the engine rooms, by a flashing light together with the above. In addition to the gun crews, everyone else in the crew had a job to do and a station to go to during G.Q. There were the Damage Control Parties whose job it was to close all the water tight doors and make sure the ship was sealed up. They were also the ones who had to make emergency repairs, and to fight any fires. Both engine rooms had to be fully manned, usually by the more senior rated members of the Black Gang. The Sick Bay had to be manned by the Pharmacist Mates who would care for any wounded people, and the bridge and conning tower had to be manned by the most qualified people in those sections. It might have looked like a madhouse when G.Q. sounded, with everyone seemingly running in all directions, but we were usually able to be fully manned and ready in two minutes or less.
Another duty the Mess Cooks had to perform was to work in the scullery, where all the garbage was ground up and pumped overboard, and where all the trays, cups and silverware were washed. The scullery was a tiny compartment located in a passageway between the crew's quarters and the sick bay, and was equipped with two sinks which were filled with steaming, hot water, and with a garbage grinder that was mounted under a hole in the steel counter top. As people finished eating, they would bring their tray and utensils from the mess compartment, and shove them through a small window located in the bulkhead of the scullery, where the person working in the scullery (the Scullery Maid) would scrape any remaining food into the grinder, stick the tray into the soapy sink, scrub it, rinse it in the other sink, and put it on a rack to dry. Before meals, the trays would be taken to a place at the beginning of the chow line for use. The scullery was a hot, steamy place, and sometimes the combination of heat and the smell of garbage was enough to make the person working there feel queasy, especially if the ship was rolling and trying to stand on end. In those instances, the garbage grinder was a handy thing to have if you were going to lose your meal. It would get all ground up and pumped over the side with the rest of the garbage. Mess Cooking was not all that bad, but we were always glad when our time was up and we went back to our regular duties.
Located in the after part of the crew's quarters was a large square hatch which was placed there so ammunition could be hoisted up to the main deck from the ammo storage compartment located below our living area. This hatch was a major source of fresh air for the crew's quarters during the day when it was kept open, but when it had to be closed at dusk, the crew's compartment was ventilated by a blower circulating air through a system of metal ducts attached to the overhead. Unfortunately, this seemed to blow more hot air than anything else and did little in the way of cooling the compartment. Someone came up with the idea of building a wooden cover for the open hatch, which allowed some air to circulate, and at the same time maintained the light-tight condition required by the blackout. This, together with running one of the big ventilating fans in the tank deck, kept a good flow of cool air coming into the crew's quarters, until a side effect was discovered which involved ship's baker Harold "Red" Ellis.
The bakers always worked at night, baking bread and any other baked goods required for the next day. The range and oven in the galley were oil fired units which burned fuel oil pumped from the engine room fuel tanks to a day tank in the galley, and the oven oil burner turned out to be the problem which messed up our nice fan-driven cooling system in the crew's quarters. One night, not long after the new ventilation system was put into use, the baker was standing in front of the oven when the burner backfired, shooting a large flame out the front, right between his legs, slightly searing him, and scaring the daylights out of him. Eventually, he figured out that the tank deck vent fan was sucking air back through the oil burner, causing the burner to backfire. For his own safety, he shut off the big tank deck fan in the wee hours of the night, causing numerous sweats to break out among the sleeping crewmen. Everyone was waking up totally soaked and overheated. A big to-do took place between the baker and everyone sleeping in the hot compartment, with the baker eventually winning, because of the unsafe conditions under which he had to work. This meant only one thing; we would have to find somewhere else to sleep. Consequently, you could find people sleeping anywhere on the main deck where it was flat enough to lie down without rolling off, This was nice, and seemed to solve the problem; that is, until the nightly rain squalls came along, in which case you got rain soaked unless you had picked a spot under some overhanging protection. We were allowed to sleep anywhere on the deck, but you had to make sure someone knew where you had sacked out so you could be called when it was time to go on watch. Some of us strung up our hammocks, but these had a nasty habit of filling with water when it rained. Some people got so used to the rain that they slept right through all but the very heaviest downpour; at least it was cool.
The heat in the engine rooms, where I worked and stood watches, was ferocious. The Main engine room wasn't too bad since the big main engines sucked an enormous amount of air into the engine room through the escape hatches, thus keeping the heat down to a point where it was tolerable, but the auxiliary engine room was a different situation. Usually, there was only one noticeable amount of air flow into the engine room, so the heat just built up and was retained within the compartment. Around noon seemed to be the hottest, because every day at this time, the engine room thermometer always indicated around one hundred twenty five degrees. When we were on watch or working in this engine room we wore only the bare minimum amount of clothing, and shoes without socks, all of which were soaked by the end of our watch. Just standing watch wasn't too bad, it was when an engine had to be worked on that you really were able to work up a good sweat. Each engine room had four or five air ventilation pipes about eight inches in diameter which blew air in from topside, but you had to stand directly in front of one to feel anything blowing on you. These blowers were turned off during General Quarters, which really made it hot in both engine rooms. The constant heat was something we all learned to live with, especially since there was nothing we could do about it. Eventually the Captain gave permission to move one of the big tank deck vent fans and weld it to the main deck over one of the auxiliary engine room escape hatches, where it did make a lot of difference in the temperature down below. This eliminated one of the escape hatches, but the extra ventilation made it worthwhile. We also cut out a large round opening in the bulkhead between the two engine rooms and installed a big watertight porthole which a man could climb through to get from one engine room to the other. This gave access between the engine rooms in addition to helping the ventilation in the auxiliary engine room.
The heat in the engine rooms probably had something to do with the crazy things that happened down below from time to time. Once one of the auxiliary engines seized up and stopped running, resulting in the need to do a complete overhaul. This meant that the generator had to be separated from the engine and moved back so the engine could be worked on.
Electricians Mate Zeke Nixon was standing down in the bilge using a crowbar to try and move the generator, without much success . He was sweating and swearing and pulling and still nothing would budge. It finally got to be more than he could stand. He Yanked the crowbar out of the space between the engine and generator and with both hands began banging it point down on the bottom of the bilge. We thought sure he was going to punch a hole right through the not too thick steel plate which was the only thing between us and the deep blue sea. Fortunately, the steel was stronger than we thought it might be. At one time this same engine had a valve on it's main salt water cooling line which was inoperative, and could not be closed. Since the salt water inlet for the valve was below the waterline, the valve could not be repaired until the ship was in dry dock at some future time, so whenever any maintenance was needed which required the salt water to be shut off, Chief Earl Svec had a system set up to accomplish it. Because the valve couldn't be shut off, it had to be unbolted at a flange, resulting in a two inch diameter stream of salt water shooting across the engine room. The teamwork began when the bolts were removed and the pipe was taken down. At that time one man quickly jammed a two inch wooden plug into the stream of water and a second man would drive it into the end of the pipe with a heavy hammer. This effectively shut the water off and also gave everyone a chance to cool down in the gushing sea water.
Each division on the ship had their watches to stand; that is, the deck division had lookout watches and bridge watches, the black gang had engine room watches, etc. Previously, I noted that everyone had to make it known where they were going to be sleeping so they could be called in time to relieve their watch. During the night, each division usually sent one man around to wake those people who were to go on duty. The particular night I am thinking of (date and place unknown at this time), Seaman John Casey, from West Virginia, was sent to wake the deck force people, one of whom was Harold "Red" Ellis, who later became ship's baker. For some reason, Ellis didn't seem to want to wake up, so Casey proceeded to bang him on the head with the heavy battle lamp he was carrying. Needless to say, this got an immediate response which also woke up most of the other sleepers in the crew's quarters.
On November 20, 1943, the invasion of Makin Atoll took place without any difficulties for the 481. We moved into Makin Lagoon early in the morning of November 21, and came to anchor at 0940. At 1145 the two starboard side pontoons were launched, and the two on the port side were in the water at 1240.Our first beaching, on November 22, was near two Japanese ships which had been bombed and were grounded in shallow water near the beach. We were told later that there were Japanese snipers on the ships, but we saw no action on either of them while we were beached nearby. The log states that on our first beaching, we came to rest 300 yards away from the beach, which was too far out to begin unloading. Next day, after we retracted to make a better landing, carrier-based planes were sent in to bomb and strafe the two grounded ships. Before we learned that we had to move, the first vehicle, a bulldozer, was driven out of the tank deck, down the ramp, and promptly disappeared from sight into an underwater bomb crater. The only visible part was the cable mechanism which extended over the driver's head, I imagine they pulled it out later.
At 0620 on the 23rd, another attempt was made to get on the beach, this time alongside King's Wharf, with LST 476 on the port side not far away, but we were still unable to do so because of low water. The Captain drove the ship in as far as he could and dropped the bow anchor to wait until the tide came in enough to permit the ship to advance towards the beach. At 1050, the bow anchor was heaved in and the ship moved closer to the beach, but was still unable to make a good beaching, so the bow anchor was let go once again to await a higher tide. At 1304 the anchor was heaved again, and at 1330 in the afternoon we finally made a satisfactory beaching which enabled us to lower the ramp onto one of the pontoons being used as a dock of sorts.
About an hour later LST 477 came in along our port side attempting to beach, and carried away our life raft #10 as she got too close to us. LSTs seemed to be very hard to control as far as steering in close quarters was concerned, and almost all of them had dings and dents where they had made contact with a dock or with another ship at some time in their life.
After 477 was more or less safely beached on our port side, we continued unloading cargo, and at 1700, 250 troops came aboard for transfer to the transport ship USS Leonard Wood. This was another advantage of the LSTs. Since we were on the beach and it was impossible for the transports to get anywhere near the beach, we were able to load a large number of troops and take them out to where the transports were at anchor in deeper water. Otherwise, many small boats would be required to make several trips to carry the same number of people that we did in one trip.
At twenty five minutes after midnight on the 24th, unloading was called to a halt when the unloading officer on the beach requested that we raise the ramp off the pontoon. By 0105, the bow anchor had to be lowered in order to keep the ship from swinging as the tide came in. LST 477 retracted from the beach at 0130 and 481 did the same at 0300. The bow anchor was dropped in 12 fathoms of water at 0330 and we remained anchored until 0930 when we got underway for the USS Leonard Wood to disembark the 250 troops who were still aboard .
By 1015 we were moored port side to the Leonard Wood and began transferring the troops to that ship, completing the job at 1045. After moving away from the Leonard Wood, 481 was underway to an anchorage where both the bow and stern anchors were dropped to hold us in place until our next assignment.
The assignment for next few days was another good example of the adaptability and versatility of the LSTs as they were put into service transferring cargo from the cargo ships anchored in deeper water, and then delivering the entire load directly to the beach. In the late afternoon of the 24th we tied to the SS Island Mail, Taking cargo from the merchant ship until mid afternoon on the 26th. Pulling away from the Island Mail, 481 anchored for a short time in Makin Lagoon before beaching starboard side to LST 78 at Kings Wharf to unload.
We remained on the beach at Kings Wharf until November 28. During this time on the beach, General Quarters was sounded on eleven different occasions. At 1720 in the evening of the 28th we retracted from the beach and were underway to unload another cargo ship, the SS Cape San Martin, undergoing yet another call to General Quarters after mooring alongside that ship. Loading was completed by 1500 on the 29th and we got underway to the anchorage before moving in once again to Kings Wharf, beaching starboard side to LST 482 at 1750.
Makin Atoll was secured in less than a week with relatively few casualties suffered by the Army's Twenty-Seventh division, but many by the Japanese.
Once again, as at Kiska, we were allowed to go ashore and look around. Since the island had only been secured for a short time, the Army had not gotten around to burying the dead, so we saw lots of Japanese bodies, bloated by the heat, and loaded with large green flies. Some of the crew searched the bodies for souvenirs, but most of us just looked around.
The natives of Makin Atoll were Polynesians who still wore grass skirts for the most part. I imagine the Japanese were the first outsiders they had seen in any great numbers. The highest spot on the atoll was probably around ten feet above sea level and looked like a large sand bar with coconut palm trees.
Most of the Central Pacific atolls were similar to the Gilbert Islands. From the deck of the ship in the lagoon, you could see the ocean on the other side of the island.
On December 1, at 0630, we retracted from the beach at King's Wharf and by 0741 we were underway for Abemama atoll in company with LSTs 476 and 477, with Harrison (DD-573) and Whitman (DE-24) as escorts.
Several times, while we were anchored, we were permitted to go swimming and diving from the bow ramp which had been lowered for the occasion. Since up the SS Island Mail, taking cargo from that merchant ship until mid-day most wore no bathing suits and spent a lot of time floating on inflatable rubber life belts, a lot of us wound up with sunburned rear ends, an area of the body which was not used to so much exposure to the sun. Several times while we were on the beach, the tide receded and left the ship sitting high and dry. We could wade through the shallow water at the stern and stand on the rudders and screws. At these times, the engines operated with salt water from a ballast tank providing the coolant for the engine heat exchangers, since the sea chests were now above the waterline.
Our trip in from the ship was almost a shambles since our boat was unable to get in near the beach because of grounding on the shallow coral. As a result of this, we all had to take our clothes off and walk in to shore, holding our clothing above our heads. The same thing had to be done when we were leaving the island. In the process of rolling my clothes up and holding them out of the water, I had taken my wrist watch off and put it in a safe place in the rolled up clothing where it wouldn't get wet. All hands had to push the boat through several areas of coral before we reached water deep enough for the boat to float free, and in the process of getting dressed, the watch plopped out of my rolled up clothes and overboard into deep water, never to be seen again.
Twenty five LSTs took part in the Gilbert Islands invasions of Abemama, Makin and Tarawa.
The rough seas on the way back to Pearl resulted in one of the funniest happenings I had seen in a long time. One afternoon I was talking to Bethel Evans, who was the Cook on duty in the galley, preparing the evening meal, which was to be a big roast of some kind. As usual, the ship was slamming into the waves, causing the stem section where the galley was located, to bounce up and down like a car riding on a very bumpy road. Evans was so proud of the beautiful big roast that he opened the oven door to show me his masterpiece. Just as he opened the oven, the ship hit a particularly big wave and the resulting jolt sent the big chunk of meat bouncing out of the oven and rolling across the deck like a football. Evans, however, was cool under duress, and simply ran it down, scooped it up from the deck, gave it a quick wipe off, and slammed it back into the oven without a word. Afterwards, we both practically rolled on the deck laughing. The roast that evening was very tasty.
The sea on that trip was rough enough for the following note in the log for Dec.28: "Gyrocompass rendered inoperative by heavy sea"
We always knew when we were approaching Hawaii, because for about two or three days before, the ship's loudspeakers would be playing Hawaiian music, picked up on the radio. It was always a welcome sound, even if you didn't like Hawaiian music, because it was a change from the music of the four or five records on the ship, most of which were what was called "hillbilly" music in those days. Two bits from these songs that stand out in my memory were, "I heard the wreck on the highway, but I didn't hear nobody pray" and "on the wings of a great white bird" The Hawaiian music also meant we would be able to go on liberty soon. In those days, liberty in Honolulu was limited to about six hours; from noon until six in the evening, but it still meant we would be off the ship for a short while. Mostly, we would wander the very crowded streets, looking at the sights, and sometimes going to a movie at the Waikiki Theater. Once a group of us went swimming at Waikiki Beach, which was protected by barbed wire, in case any enemy tried to land there. Waikiki Theater was a beautiful movie, with palm trees growing along the walls inside the theater, giving you the impression that you were outside. One day, three or four of us were in the YMCA looking around, when an older man and woman came in and offered to drive some servicemen on a sightseeing trip around the island. We decided to take the offer, and had a nice ride over to the north side of the island to the Pali, which is a tremendous cliff overlooking the ocean. It was a good trip and we were glad we went; although I have often wondered where they got gas enough for a trip like that, since gas rationing was in effect at the time.
Some of the crew always managed to visit a few of the more exotic sections of Honolulu and returned to the ship in various stages of disarray. Moe Lombardi, a seaman, was never able to get back to the ship without sporting a new tattoo somewhere on his body, and always claimed not to remember even visiting a tattoo parlor. He and others had a grand collection of dragons entwined around their legs, bluebirds on their back or chest, "Sweet" and "Sour" inscribed over each nipple, and all kinds of anchors and other naval paraphanalia. Some were regular walking art galleries. Leo "Popeye" Wolfe, Boatswains Mate 1c, was an old sailor who came back into the Navy after having retired, and he had a tattoo of a sailing ship which covered his entire back, in addition to any number of smaller pictures over his arms, chest and other places.
The log for January 1, 1944 has the following entry regarding two of the crew who were transferred to the base hospital:
| 1305 - | Following men transferred this date to USN Hospital, Pearl Harbor: ,T.H. Felsted, Ernest Albert, MoMM1c; diagnosis: Chronic Seasickness. Dupepe, Ray Savois, S2c; diagnosis: Spondylitis. |
We always felt sorry for Felsted because he used to get so seasick he was unable to crawl out of his bunk. This happened every time we went to sea, and after he left the ship we heard that he was eventually transferred to permanent shore duty. After checking in my dictionary I learned that Dupepe had an inflammation of the vertebra.
The deck log indicates that we were in Drydock #2 in Pearl Harbor, from January 5, until January 10, 1944, I remember the ship being in a large drydock together with four other LSTs and a big barge of some kind. It was at this time that some major additions were made to our armament. I mentioned earlier just how lightly armed the LSTs were in the Aleutians--that was about to be corrected. We still had one three inch gun on the stem and one forty millimeter on the bow, but they added two forties on the forward end of the deckhouse, and instead of just six twenty millimeter guns, we now had sixteen.
The log also shows that on January 14th, several of the original crew members, James A. Boatman, MoMM2c, Donald A. Shulz, EM2c, Waiter C. Fredericks, BM2c, and Charles A. Thorson, MoMM3c, were transferred from the 481 to the Receiving Ship, Pearl Harbor for further transfer to new construction.
A couple of interesting notes from the log show that we refueled and watered SC-1033 on the 23rd, and provided the same service for LCI 365 on the 26th. LSTs were often called upon to refuel and re water some of the smaller vessels in a convoy when a long voyage was being made. These services were performed while the ships were still moving with the rest of the convoy. The 26th was also the day a Captain's Mast was held for C.F., S2c, whose offense was sleeping on watch. The punishment was five days solitary confinement on bread and water.
To illustrate the happenings for the next few days, I will include the short daily entries by Captain McGuire in the 481"s War Diary. This is the only document I have which covers the month of February 1944, since the Deck Log for that month is missing.
| Jan 29, 1944 - | Formation executing various zig zag plans. Several times during day went to General Quarters. All contacts proved friendly. Since January 27, ship has been in condition Two. LST 482 left formation and headed for Majuro Atoll. | |
| Jan 30, 1944 - | Underway and zig-zagging. Electric steering gear failed. Handling ship by hand steering. Went to General Quarters several times during day. All radar contacts proved friendly. Task Force 52 passed to westward heading in southerly direction. | |
| Jan 31, 1944 - | Arrived off Porcelian Island, Kwajelein Atoll. Heavy Naval and air bombardment of island going on. Large percentage of shells from battleships seem to be landing on reefs. Task Group designation changed to 52.5.4, A.M. Hurst, Commander, USN, commanding. Remaining LSTs of this group proceeded to load troops from transports, this vessel and LST 31 standing by in Tractor Area. Carlson Island and islands to north and south of Cecil Pass taken by our forces during the day. At 1900 LST 31 and this vessel entered lagoon and anchored. Remainder of Task Group cruised with transports during night. | |
| Feb 1, 1944 - | Departed from lagoon and acted as reference vessel for LSTs in launching LCVs for landing on KwajeleinIsland. Upon completion of mission returned to anchorage in lagoon and transferred five hundred [...] | |
| Feb 2, 1944 - | Anchored in Kwajelein Lagoon off Ennylabegan Island. During day re watered and provisioned LCIs 77, 366 and 437. | |
| Feb 3 through 5, 1944 - | Uneventful except refueled LCI 79 on the 5th | |
| Feb 6, 1944 - | During day went alongside USS Cambria (APA-36) and transferred two light tanks and 100 tons organizational equipment. Returned to anchorage off northwest end of Kwajelein Island. | |
| Feb 7, 1944 - | During day went alongside USS Neville (APA-9) and transferred three light tanks, three wheeled vehicles and 100 tons of organizational equipment. Returned to anchorage off northwest end of Kwajelein Island. At 2135 Red Alert. 2147 Secured. | |
| Feb 8, 1944 - | Transferred 60,000 gallons fresh water to USS LST 42 | |
| Feb 9, 1944 - | Uneventful. | |
| Feb 10, 1944 - | At 1530 commenced sortie from lagoon with elements of T.G. 51.19.9. At 1707 completed sortie and formed column of sections and adjusted course and speed for Pearl in accordance with CTG 51.19.9 orders. |
And so we sailed away from our brief eleven day visit to Kwajelein Island, having suffered no damage other than an electrical steering failure on January 30.
Prior to the landing at Kwajelein, the island was subjected to some of the most intensive bombing and shelling seen in the Pacific up to that time. In some sections of the atoll, all of the coconut palms had the tops sheared off by heavy gunfire from the bombarding fleet, leaving nothing but a lot of stumps sticking up, which gave the island the appearance of having had a crew cut. Because Admiral Spruance was in command of the operation, it was said that the island had received a "Spruance Haircut". Since the Marshall Islands had been in Japanese control for many years, the fortifications were much more sophisticated than they had been on the Gilbert Islands. Heavy concrete blockhouses were common, but the tremendous bombardment had taken their toll of these.
Forty three LSTs were involved in the Marshall Islands invasions. The number of LSTs used in each operation increased as shipyards all over the country launched them in record times.
The trip back to Pearl Harbor was mostly uneventful except for an accident which happened on the 16th of February. The War Diary has the following entry for that date:
"Fired automatic weapons on water targets. During practice Guns #10 and #16 fired into guard rail slightly wounding five members of other gun crews. From personal investigation it is believed that fragmentation of 20mm projectile is not very effective against personnel."
Edwin Dunn was one of those who were wounded at that time, and I think he would dispute Captain McGuire's observation about the effectiveness of 20mm shrapnel fragments, since he told us that when he got hit with a small piece of shrapnel, it felt like someone picked him up and slammed him down flat on the deck. The Pharmacists Mates did patch him up so he was able to continue with his duties, so possibly the Captain was right.
The next assignment for the 481 was to sail to the big island of Hawaii, and from there to Maui Island, so on March 5, we made our way out of Pearl Harbor loaded with one hundred thirty five Navy men, thirteen Marines and one Navy Ensign. The Marines were the crews for some LVTs we were transporting, and the sailors and six landing craft (four 50 foot LCMs and two 36 foot LCVPs) loaded on the main deck were to go to the USS Sheridan (APA-51). Normally, we carried LVTs in the tank deck only, because they were too long to fit on the elevator which raised vehicles up to the main deck, but on this trip, we also had some on the main deck. At Pearl Harbor, they had outfitted the ship with a large steel ramp which could be bolted to the elevator. The tank would drive to the elevator and pull up onto the ramp, which would put the tank at almost a forty five degree angle, allowing it to fit through the elevator opening in the main deck. After the elevator was raised up to the main deck level, The tank would back off the ramp and maneuver to the assigned space, to be securely chained to cleats on the deck for the trip.
On one of the islands, we could see what looked like snow on top of a high mountain, probably one of the volcanoes which are found on these islands. [Haleakala on Maui?]
On March 6, we unloaded the LVTs and Marines at Kawaihae Bay on the big island of Hawaii and headed for Maalea Bay, Maui Island, T.H., where we were scheduled to transfer the landing craft and the Navy crews to the attack transport USS Sheridan. Because of heavy weather, it took two days to unload the six boats. We had to pull away from the transport the first day because both ships were being damaged by banging into each other, due to the rough sea. Transfer of the boats finally completed after two more tries on the second day, 481 headed back to Pearl Harbor, arriving on March 9.
On the day we returned to Pearl, we picked up thirty additional crew members. An interesting note about some of these new crew members is that they came from the brig in Pearl Harbor, where they had been serving time for various misdemeanors. I guess the powers that be figured LST duty was almost as much punishment as being in the brig.
On March 18, the War Diary has the following entry:
| 0900 - | Relieved of command by King Neptune. At 1100 the ship was declared purged of Pollywogs. Resumed command. |
On this date, with the Jolly Roger skull and crossbones flag flying from the masthead, we made our second southbound crossing of the Equator, this time being much more enjoyable than in November, since most of the crew were Shellbacks, and it was our turn to initiate the poor Pollywogs. This was accomplished with much gusto on our part, and with much trepidation on the part of the Pollywogs. For starters, we had saved all the garbage for about a week; this was to go into the garbage chute rigged in the form of a canvas tunnel through which the Pollywogs had to crawl on their hands and knees. As they emerged from the garbage chute, they next had to run a gauntlet of people swinging clubs made from socks stuffed with rags and smeared with thick grease. They were then taken before King Neptune by the Royal Jailer, and sentenced to a series of punishments suitable for uninitiated Pollywogs.
First was the Royal Doctor who administered shots in the rear, supposedly from a huge hypodermic needle he had in his hand. Actually, the "shot" consisted of a metal rod which was touched to the Pollywog's bare backside and which gave a slight electrical shock when the Doctor's assistants cranked a magneto which had been set up for this purpose. They then had to pay homage to the Royal Baby, by kissing him on the belly. Of course, the Royal Baby was one, of the fattest men on the ship, and of course, his belly was smeared with thick black grease. Next, they were taken to the Royal Dog (the ship's dog, Gadget, and before being blindfolded, were told they must kiss the dog's rear end. A piece of fur was substituted for the dog's backside at the last secend, but the Pollywogs were certain it was the dog they had smooched. The final ordeal they had to suffer was the ducking in a water-filled collapsible Japanese boat which we had picked up on the beach at either Kiska or Makin. Some Pollywogs were sent to climb the mast to the yardarm where they maintained a lookout using binoculars made from two toilet paper rolls.
The initiations when crossing the equator were performed on all Naval vessels in the same basic form and were part of a long tradition. All Pollywogs were given a signed certificate showing when they had been initiated as Shellback, and on what vessel the crossing had been made. A good time was usually had by all, both Pollywogs and Shellbacks. These groups, incidentally, were made up of both officers and enlisted men, one of the few times in the Navy when everyone was on an equal footing.
Fortunately, our stay at Milne Bay was a short one, and we left with no regrets on April 1, after refueling and rewatering from the SS Aase Maersk on March 30. While the ship was in the New Guinea area, we were to find that most trips were shorter than those we had been taking in the Central and North Pacific; usually only two or three days or so. From Milne Bay we moved around to the northern coast of the island and west to the village of Buna, arriving on April 2. Here, conditions were somewhat, but not much, better than Milne Bay. We remained in the Buna area until April 15, using the time for two runs out to sea for target practice together with LSTs 469, 474, 181, 482 and 247. Some of the crew got to go ashore for supplies and told us of seeing New Guinea natives who were fierce-looking individuals with very black skin and huge shocks of hair which was sort of an orange color. They also saw Fiji Islanders who were evidently in the Australian army. They were somewhat similar in appearance to the New Guinea natives.