Excerpt from "The Last Gun Ship - History of USS Mullinnix DD-944"
A Historical Novel By Frank A. Wood
At 0858 on the morning of 20 June, Mullinnix was once again underway for Trinidad, British West Indies (BWI) in accordance with USS Ranger CVA-61 movement order 4-58. With a successful score under its belt, the ship started its shakedown cruise. The USS Ranger CV-4, the Navy's newest carrier, was needed in the western pacific but was too large to go through the Panama Canal. The Navy wanted a 'plane guard' ship to tag along for part of the way as Ranger headed to the southern tip of South America. They choose the Mullinnix.
Ranger was commissioned August 10, 1957 at the Newport News Shipbuilding and Dry-dock Company in Newport News, Va. She displaced a hefty 81,000 tons and measured 1,071 feet in length. By the end of the first Persian Gulf War in 1992, Ranger’s air wing's had flown more sorties than any other aircraft carrier in the war (10,542 flight hours). Ranger’s air wing's dropped over 4,000,000 pounds of ordnance, destroyed over 100 Iraqi boats, shot down 1 helicopter and destroyed numerous tanks, armored personnel carriers, bridges and numerous soldiers of the Iraqi elite Republican Guard. She was decommissioned in 1993.
Shortly after passing Old Point Comfort, the fog moved in. By the time Mullinnix reached Thimble Shoals light visibility had plunged to 1000 yards as the fog thickened into a huge bag of cotton balls, smudging the shoreline into nothingness.
Three and half hours after entering international waters, Ranger commenced flight operations. Mullinnix stationed the plane guard detail – another first for her crew. For the next few days, Ranger led the way with all day flight operations with Mullinnix playing her role perfectly. A role that would soon save a life.
The 'easy' way to and from Ranger was via helicopter. A typical run consisted of spare parts, communication documents, or mail. The atypical run consisted of LCDR Murray's special pipe tobacco and a sufficient stock of 'rum soaked crooks cigars' for the Ship's Store.
Chief Boatswain Harold Hughes was a heavyset, pie-faced man, with big half-moon eyebrows and a cranium like a porthole. His voice sounded like wet sand sliding through a firemain. Years of filterless Kools will do that. The Navy was his life. He was not a bad person and meant no harm to anyone, not unless you counted the loss he imposed upon himself. Other than the Navy, he had no life. Talking to Boats' about personal restraint or reasonable behavior was like a meteorologist telling a typhoon it shouldn't come around the Mighty Mux.
When he would get mad, he was dangerous. Not like a half-tamed animal but like a sword - hard, cold, and without feeling - but it will not cut if you don't embrace it. Shipmates stayed on his good side. In spite of all this, Chief Hughes did possess a sense of humor, usually at the expense of an officer as the opportunity presented itself. Though a consumer of Kools since grade school, Hughes enjoyed an occasional pipe, usually in the evening after chow.
As Master Chief of the boat he had free rein to go pretty much were he pleased. He would saunter around the ship, puffing away, chewing on the stem, occasionally stopping and shooting-the-shit with a fellow khaki, but always with the hopes of bumping into the XO, LCDR Murray. Those in first division knew two pieces of information that most of the rest of the crew did not. First, Chief Hughes was always the man in charge when deliveries were made via helicopter for the Ranger, personally taking inventory. Second, the only other place on the ship you could take in that particular aroma from the chief's pipe was when the XO was on the bridge.
Fog found the ships once again early on 23 June, in attempt to interfere with one of the days that are so special to all sailors - mail call! At 0633, with the Ranger's helicopter approaching, the helicopter detail was stationed. After successfully receiving the mail bags, it was back to work - more flight operations, more plane guard duty.
Under a star infested night sky, USS Fox DD-779 joined Ranger and Mullinnix on the evening of 23 June for night flight operations. As dangerous as day time flight operations are, darkness increases the danger exponentially. The successful carrier landing, the "Trap" in Navy Aviator jargon, is the ultimate test of nerve and flying skill. And to crank up the excitement even higher, doing it at night or in bad weather requires perfect skills. In reality, it isn't even a "landing". The pilot flies his aircraft into the deck. There is no long runway to settle onto, with a gentle touchdown after a flair at the appropriate number of feet off the pavement. It's a "Here I come, get the hell out of the way", arrival of tons of aircraft at speeds that allow for an immediate return to the air if a bolter (non-trap) occurs.
The morning of 4 July, Mullinnix' first Independence Day, was indeed special. All of the hard work, the training, the drills, and the strict adherence to Naval policy was about to pay off - in spades! The day, cloudless and still, started like many others recently with the stationing of the plane guard detail as the Ranger commenced flight operations. The crew comfortable with their ship's role and their individual responsibilities.
Then, at 1047, the word that all sailors dread, "Pilot reported down in water bearing 330, distance 43 miles". Mullinnix immediately changed course and with black smoke bellowing from both stacks, increased speed to 30 knots. As some of the crew reported, "as she got up to about 33 knots the masts were shaking like they would fall apart. She backed off speed (to prevent losing the main mast?) and watched the Ranger pull away" as she was designed for 34 knots when commissioned at Norfolk Naval Shipyard on 10 August 1957.
Once Ranger backed off her throttle, Mullinnix covered the distance in sort order with the entire crew lining the life-lines in hopes of spotting the downed pilot as he was picked up by helicopter recovery at 1149. Fortunately the pilot, once back onboard Ranger, was uninjured. The Mux CO 'caught hell' from the Ranger for being on plane guard duty with only two boilers lit. 30+ knots on 2 boilers may have been the cause of the excessive vibration experienced by the ship but the speed was not bad - not bad at all.
As the sun dipped below the horizon on 5 July, the sky exploded in hues of pinks, reds, oranges, violets and purples. The reflected surface magnified the color wheel 100 times as the water's liquid motion infused the colors with a life of their own. Both ships nearing the equator for the first time, a crossing that would enshrine all hands into the coveted fraternity of 'shellbacks'.
In the Navy, a sailor that has not crossed the equator is known as a Pollywog. A sailor having made the crossing is referred to as a Shellback. When a ship crosses the equator it is naval tradition for the Shellbacks to initiate those Pollywogs in a "Crossing the Line" ceremony. Those Pollywogs, often referred to as "Slimy Pollywogs" during the crossing, must endure a variety of initiation events. The specific initiation events vary to some degree from ship to ship and crossing to crossing, dependent largely on the creativity of those Shellbacks on board and the materials on hand.
As a ship crosses the equator, Pollywogs must pay their respect to King Neptune, God of the Seas. The Shellbacks, having been across before and now "Sons of Neptune" (or perhaps something worse from the Pollywog's point of view) play the roles of a variety of characters such as King Neptune, Neptune's Queen, Davey Jones, the Royal Baby, the Royal Cop, and various other "needed" characters of the moment!
Mess cook, and shellback, first class "Bob" Smart and his galley bunch secretly starting collecting raw garbage in late June - in preparation for 'the crossing' on 6 July. Large collections of women's garments, hats, and massacre had been collected for weeks and hidden in the bowels of the ship. The engineers had acquired a three-foot diameter, thirty-foot long piece of flexibly air-duck that looked like a giant translucent slinky.
Shellbacks laid plans, schemed, manufactured pirate-like head gear, and cherished the day that was soon to come. Pollywogs heard grumblings, rumors, and secretive episodes of laughter. Ensigns, including Ensign O'Connell, and most Lieutenant JGs didn't give it a second thought. They should have. The CO and XO smiled with anticipation.
King Neptune was chosen, given his crown, pitchfork, and Jane Russell-size undergarments. Grease was horded. Paddles distributed. Dunk-tanks built. Old dungarees cut off at the knees in Fred Flintstone saw-tooth fashion. Fire hoses cut into 3-ft lengths.
Tomorrow was the 6th of July...finally.
Like scout camp the day the scoutmaster was sick. The inmates took over the asylum...for a day.
Day came on the port beam. The early sun was a burnt scarlet through the gap between MT53 and the aft bulkhead of the superstructure and a lone gull was shadowing the fantail. The Mullinnix lay uncharacteristically dead in the water.
The day started normally enough but quickly turned to lunacy as the traditional change-of-command was tossed aside. On this day, the most holly of navy days, the Mullinnix organizational chart was a very flat one indeed. Shellbacks in the top box, pollywogs in the bottom box – an org chart that corporation CEO’s could only dream about.
A pollywog headcount was taken with a noticeable few of the crew unaccounted for. Men over board? Unlikely. Pollywogs in hiding? You bet your sweet ass. A new man on board ship may think there are an unlimited number of places to hide if one doesn't want to be found for midwatch, head-cleaning or mess-cooking. Today however, the Mullinnix crew might as well been encased inside a Cheerio.
The pollywog-muster was completed. The hard-to-fine ones, including a LTJG and two Ensigns, would be dealt with in short order. The first order of the day was announcing the pollywog uniform-of-the-day. This required dressing 'down' for the occasion. Customary dungarees were replaced with skivvies - worn backwards, and T-shirts for the lucky ones. As covers were not authorized, pollywogs needed assistance with their hair-grooming. Shellbacks had just the correct tonic, 'baby-shit' - the machinist wonder-packing for anything with a rubber component.
Hair-grooming that is, for what hair was left. The 2nd order of the day was fresh haircuts for most pollywogs. And not from the ship’s barbers. These were haircuts performed by 'barber-strikers' - i.e. - shellbacks. A zip here, a swipe there, a crosshatch here and there as the barber shears hummed and the pile of hair on the deck grew to ankle-deep.
The sun was white and hot in the sky, and the humidity felt like damp wool on the skin. As the day wore on, yet unforeseen sights on board Mullinnix became common place. Pollywogs wearing baby bonnets, smeared in grease from their necks to belly buttons and lower for those that were late for muster. Many wore ripped and torn ladies dresses, bras, and panties. As each kissed the Royal Baby’s grease-glazed watermelon-sized belly their faces became like an over-filled zirk-fitting.
Shellbacks had applied zany-looking mascara to their eyes and other body parts, matching their pirate-like costumes. Make shift head gear of all shapes and colors. Arms and legs chopped out of dungarees. Sashes fashioned from torn strips of women's dresses. Captain Jack Sparrow would have been mighty proud. This entire zany tradition-laden scene had been duplicated simultaneously onboard the Ranger just few thousand yards away.
The sun retreated behind the edge of the water. The crew, all 287 shellbacks, watched the sun disappear completely, the ocean going from blue to black. All that was left of their view was the noise of the water kissing the bow as the Mullinnix slowly increased her speed. From that moment forward there wasn't a 'pollywog' within the two visible horizons.
For a day, the Mullinnix crew's organizational flow chart had shrunk to one box. First plank owners together and now shellbacks together. Parallel bonds never to be breached.
On 7 August 1958, all crew members aboard Mullinnix received the following from 'Commanding Officer, USS Mullinnix DD-944':
Subj: Notification of Crossing of Equator
1. Let it be known that on the 6th day of July 1958, the USS Mullinnix DD-944, with you as a member if its crew, crossed the Equator at Latitude 00.00, Longitude 37.00W in route from Port of Spain, Trinidad, British West Indies to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; and that on that date you were duly initiated into Solemn Mysteries of the Ancient Order of the Deep.
Signed by Clyde B. Anderson
Sun-drenched days filled with plane guard duty, flight operations, and helicopter transfers, and star-studded nights filled with steaming, movies on the torpedo-deck, and bullshitting on the fantail ushered Mullinnix to Rio de Janeiro.
The morning of 17 July found Mullinnix steaming for Sao Salvador, Brazil, literal translation, Holy Savior of All Saints' Bay. A city on the northeast coast of Brazil and the capital of the northeastern Brazilian State of Bahia. Salvador de Bahia (aka Sao Salvador) is a major port city and the capital of Brazil's Bahia state. The American consul prevailed on the CO to host an afternoon reception for all the Americans living in the area. The crew rigged up awnings and set up tables on the fantail. The supply officer made arrangements for a bunch of finger food to be provided for the ship's guests.
The skipper must of thought the crew was getting the hang of things as drills were noticeable reduced in route to Gitmo. Besides the occasional general quarters drill and the daily steering casualty drill, the crew focused on their areas of responsibility. There was no pattern to the sky most days - no rhyme, no reason to the shading nor shape, like Mother Nature had thrown her cloud pallet against the heavens. It poured. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. It's easy to be mesmerized by rainfall. You get lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and grit of the Mullinnix. The sky was black and bursting with trees of electric ties. Near dusk it would clear. By nightfall the sky would looked like a black piece of crepe paper that had been poked with millions of needles of light.
At 0825, 31 July found the Mullinnix moored port side to pier Lima, US Naval Operating Base, Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. SOPA was Commander Naval Base, Guantanamo. By 1004 she was heavier by 40,000 gallons of NSFO. Loading an additional 99,879 gallons on 2 August, Mullinnix shoved off for sunny Tampico, Mexico in accordance with COMDESLANT Modified MOVORD 20-58. At 1345 she split out her engineering plant and at 1544 she cross-connected the engineering plant.
The Mullinnix' engineering plant was separated into segments - B1, B2, B3, B4. Two boilers in the forward fire room and two in the aft. Likewise, one engine in the forward engine room (main control) and one aft. Each engine room also housed two generators each. The typical steaming configuration was with one boiler forward powering the forward engine and one boiler aft powering the aft engine. The configuration being spit by two valves, one in the forward engine room the other in the aft fire room. The result was the forward boiler supplying the forward engine and generator, same for aft.
The ship could also run four boilers 'split' with two forward boilers powering the forward engine room and the two aft powering the aft engine room. If one boiler had a problem it would not result in a complete loss of power forward or aft.
When steaming with only one boiler on line and two engines the valves were opened or 'cross-connected'. The same applied to the electrical and fire main supply and other services. In this configuration one boiler supplied all the steam for the entire ship. The ship was said to be cross-connected. Same could be done with the four generators for electrical supply depending on the demand or condition of readiness. Each engine room had a switchboard, manned by the electricians and IC men, to control electrical power.
With the Captain on the bridge, the XO navigating, Captain Bentize as the pilot, and the sun breaking through the thunderheads in the west just above the earth’s rim like liquid fire pooled up inside the clouds, Mullinnix slid past Fado de Tampico Light at 0920. For the first time that sunny day of 6 August the crew could see the Mullinnix' shadow on the water’s surface. By 1002 she was starboard side to Custom House Pier, Tampico, Mexico, using standard class mooring lines doubled fore and aft.
The crew's prayers were answered. Mullinnix found pristine steaming conditions with cloudless skies and star-studded nights. They were closing in on Boston and by 16 August were within spitting distance of mooring stateside when a storm was building. In the south the sky was the blue-black of gunmetal, the waves capping as far as the eye could see. The thunderheads rippled with electricity.
A network of lighting bloomed, all the way to the top of the sky. While brilliance lit the clouds and waves, you could see shipmates on the fantail smoking - like fire flies on a summer night doing a slow burn. The temperature dropped suddenly and chains of dry lighting pulsed inside the clouds, flooding the Mullinnix with a white brilliance that turned the stacks the pale color of old bone.
Fog rolled over Mullinnix smudging out her entire outline. At 1801 she commenced sounding fog signals and stationed lookouts to be the eyes of the ship. For the next several hours ship's speed was limited to 5 to 7 knots. At 0135, the morning of 17 August, all engines were stopped - visibility was zero. The fog so thick, the crew thought they were steaming inside a light bulb. Would they ever get to Boston?
By 0222 visibility had increased to 700 yards and Mullinnix was able to increase her speed to 15 knots. At 0559 she sighted Cape Cod light bearing 291 true distance 2 miles. They could smell the clam chowder.
With the aid of Civilian Pilot McNaughton, Mullinnix maneuvered to moor port side to pier 4E, Boston Naval Shipyard, Charlestown, Massachusetts. SOPA was CO of USS Macon CA-132.
Macon was the first Atlantic Fleet cruiser to fire a Regulus Missile on 8 May 1956 while anchored off the North Carolina coast. In the coming year, her crew would witness Macon to be the first cruiser to enter the Great Lakes region for the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway. A photograph taken during its passage through the locks was featured on the cover of Life Magazine with a cow grazing in a field in the background. She was also the first to be over 500 feet above sea level.
It was good to be back. The crew needed the down time, the ship - a breather. She'd performed beyond all expectations. 22 August saw her unloading ammo, anchored in anchorage #5 Nantasket Roads, Massachusetts. But there was one more thing to accomplish. In three days she would conduct Final Acceptance Trials with RADM R. F. Stout, President, Board of Inspection and Survey on board.
Of all days, the Mullinnix was cloaked in a dense fog that blotted out the sea and everything else more than fifty feet away. Through the sound of fog signals, the ship conducted INSURV Board exercises in Engineering, Sonar, Communications, and Radar. By 1830 the fog seemed impenetrable. Engines all stop, back, stop, ahead were ordered every few minutes. At 1943, the ship managed to test the anchor chain, anchor brake, and anchor windlass.
The fog lifted, Mullinnix appeared out of the haze, and she managed to conduct locked shaft tests. Nightfall did not interrupt the numerous tests that needed to be completed. The 2000-2400 watch witnessed boiler overload tests at 26 knots, followed by full power trials as the sun tried to knife its rays through the morning fog. With visibility hovering around 100 yards, she completed her full power run and commenced full power astern tests. At 1140 the crash stop to design full power ahead maneuver was successfully completed.
The fog still challenging, she backed all engines two-thirds while conducting steering tests. Would anything go right? Just when the crew thought they had caught a break, the order was given to debark the liberty boat to rescue a disabled fishing boat. With the Boston Harbor channel at low visibility, Mullinnix maneuvered port side of pier 8E, Boston Naval Shipyard, Charleston, Massachusetts, using standard destroyer type mooring lines.
Acceptance tests completed. Acceptance test passed. Time to stand down a bit. Someone forgot to tell Mother Nature that fact. At 1533 on the afternoon of 28 August, COMONE ordered Hurricane Condition Two. Hurricanes can produce storm surges, high winds, tornadoes, and heavy rain. Mullinnix prepared for heavy weather, lighting off air and surface search radars. Fires were lit under boiler 2A at 1620. The port anchor chain broke and the crew had to secure the bitter end to a bollard on the pier followed by putting out additional wires fore and aft. She rode out the hurricane in the company of USS Daly DD-519, USS Macon CA-132, and various other units of the US Atlantic Fleet.
The Daly was one of many battle-hardened ships the Mullinnix would serve with. On 16 February 1945, Daly arrived off Iwo Jima in the screen of air support carriers. She rescued 11 survivors of the USS Bismarck Sea CVE-95, sunk by a suicide plane on 21 February. On 27 March she sortied to provide patrol and fire support during the assault and occupation of Okinawa. During a suicide attack on 28 April, she took an enemy plane under fire and splashed it a scant 25 yards off the port beam. The plane’s bomb exploded, killing three and injuring 16 of Daly’s crew.
Twenty-four hours later, the Mullinnix crew secured from Hurricane Condition Two.
From September to December 1958 Mullinnix was in the Boston Naval Shipyard for a Post Shakedown yard period. The most challenging and tedious job was to replace all of the aluminum rivets in the superstructure with steel rivets with rubber sleeves. This upgrade was due to the USS Manley DD-940 accident. Another upgrade to the young ship was the addition of several more expansion joints. During the cruise some the beams had been bowing, an indication of too much stress on the ship’s structure.
To be continued...
A special "thanks" to Richard Giles and Jim Young, a couple of "plank owners", for the video clips below!!
Video Clips
These videos were taken during the 1958 Cruise to South America. CLick on each link to view video clip.
Her First Cruise
Clips
