At 7:08am last Saturday, I pulled into the Washington Navy Yard in Washington, DC. I normally don’t report to work for another hour, but today was special, today was the day that the former USS Barry was scheduled to depart the yard. The construction of a new, non-moveable bridge to replace the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge hastened the decision to get the Barry out of there; either she floated out now or she would be forced to leave in pieces. The ship had been closed to the public for some time now, but people still came to see her.
And on this beautiful Saturday morning, a crowd watched as Forrest Sherman-class destroyer DD-933 was pulled away smoothly with the assistance of three tugboats. The event reminded me of the significance of an artifact in plain sight. Those people watching might not have known there was a museum on the Navy Yard, or much about naval history, but they could see the Barry, they knew the ship was there, and they were sad to see her go.
Now we stand a week later, a navy yard without a ship; her absence is noted. Visitors express their frustrations, wondering how we dare not replace her, lest we be just Navy admin. But the Washington Navy Yard is more than just an administrative headquarters for a branch of the Department of Defense, it is a living representation of American history: from the burning of Washington in the War of 1812 to the last visit on President Lincoln’s itinerary before heading to the Ford Theatre, these buildings have witnessed history, and they keep watching.
And they watched as the Barry moved out of sight, as did I. I reminisced on the short time I had known her, and felt saddened. “They’re turning her into razor blades” was the common line being tossed around the yard, referencing her disposition to be scrapped in Philadelphia. Fortunately some objects were removed from the ship and added to the Naval History and Heritage Command’s collection. It will be fascinating years from now to see how these objects tell a story. They won’t just tell a story of Vietnam or of the Cuban Missile Crisis, but instead they will tell her story, the story of the USS Barry, which became “Display Ship Barry”, who taught millions of visitors about Naval history. And maybe they’ll end this future hypothetical exhibit with a razor blade, or a piece of scrap metal, to talk about her disposition and how people in the community, military and civilian, came together on Saturday 7 May 2016 to watch her go.
