#us fleet

[lonestarbattleship]

USS TEXAS (BB-35) departing New York City with the Fleet.

Note: at the 45, 1.43 and 4.38 mark, you can hear her whistle.

Photographed and filmed on May 19, 1930.

University of South Carolina: MVTN_6-235_Mez1_CMS_1196_Acc, MVTN_6-248_Mez1_CMS_1136_Acc

source

[portablefrailty]

June 1, 1925

100 Years Ago Today

(according to the files of Edward R. Cuthbert, USMC)

"Tried to sleep a little but couldn't. Stood another 12 and 4, 8 and 12. Got all the coal on about 2:30. 1600 tons full up."

--Dick Cuthbert, June 1st, 1925

Coaling was arguably the most hated and unpleasant duty sailors had to perform in pre-World War I navies. By 1925 nearly every ship in the US fleet had converted to oil and thus their crews were spared the ordeal but not the Seattle boys. Though impressive in appearance, swift and powerful in action, and though she enjoyed the prestige that came with being the flagship of the entire United States fleet, the Seattle was one of the last coal burners remaining in active service and on coaling day all hands who served aboard her--sailors and marines, officers and enlisted men--had to do their part.

Essentially the work entailed shoveling coal massive piles of anthracite coal from a dockside, barge, or the deck of a refueling collier into massive sacks which were then hauled aboard the ship's main deck by winch and pulley rigs. From their the coal was shoveled through purpose-built hatchways down chutes into the storage bunkers that served the engineering plant. Standing knee deep in the stuff with black dust filling the air, men in the bunkers carefully repositioned the coal as it came in until each bunker was stacked from front to back, floor to ceiling. Finally, the crew had to scrub down every surface of the ship followed by their uniforms, skin, and hair until the only remaining trace of coal dust was the coating in each of their lungs.

The photos I inherited from Dick include many images of him and his shipmates performing this dirty chore. The subjects in these photographs usually seem cheerful, despite the drudgery of their task. They were, after all, strong young men born of a more stoic era. Coaling or no, they loved America, the navy and the ship on which they served. Their faces also convey a sense of camaraderie born of shared suffering, a cheer that belies the arduous conditions of their task: a full day's hard labor under a merciless tropical sun with dust got in their eyes, under their fingernails, in their mouths and between their teeth. Apart from their smiles, each man is a Dickensian caricature: shirtless, muscle-bound and caked with soot and sweat.

---

In other parts of the world:

On June 1st, 1925 Babe Ruth made his season debut at Yankee Stadium after missing two months with a mysterious abdominal ailment. He went 0-2 in a 5-3 loss to the defending champions, the Washington Senators--a disappointing result that presaged a lost season in the Bronx.

Lost in the shuffle of the otherwise unremarkable game was the 8th inning substitution of shortstop Paul Wanninger for a 21-year-old Lou Gehrig. Despite flying out in his lone at bat, Gehrig’s appearance would mark the first of a string of 2000+ consecutive games played that would go on until 1939 when terminal illness would tragically cut short his career.

Meanwhile, the Maw family of Mendham, New Jersey welcomed a baby girl. She had been due in May and her parents had planned to give her that name but a hard delivery postponed her arrival until the new month and so she was christened June Maw. She would go one to live another 87 years, long enough to attend the marriage of this author with one of her lovely granddaughters, to mail countless packages of rice crispy treats and, in her final hours, knit the first piece of a quilt that would become my son's baby blanket.

Thank you for reading. This is the second of a series of 100 years ago today posts I plan on publishing inspired by the photojournals of my great-grandfather, Edward Richard (Dick) Cuthbert, a US marine who served from 1924-27 aboard the USS Seattle. In inherited the books when I was 13. Five years ago I decided to restore Dick's photographs and transcribe his writings to preserve them for all time--a project that ultimately spurred me to write a full account of what is often overlooked period in American cultural and military history. You see, Dick was a poster marine--a handsome, imposing, paragon of military virtue--and the ship on which he served was the flagship of the entire US Fleet. His travels took him through the Caribbean and Panama Canal, up and down both costs, and across the equator and international date line to the far corners of the South Pacific. Along the way he lived and worked in close proximity to a senior admirals who were heroes of the Spanish American War and WWI and up and coming junior officers (like Chester Nimitz) destined for greatness in WWII. He stood honor guard during diplomatic visits by foreign heads of state, governors, and military brass. He witnessed the dangerous and awkward birth of naval aviation and took part in vast war games that were dress rehearsals for the war against Japan. Dick and his fleet mates were fed, feted and entertained all over the world. They were treated to vaudeville and orchestral performances, horse races, air shows, Samoan dances, and Panamanian bullfights. They swam at Waikiki and Lahaina Roads, played baseball against Australian cricket clubs and golf with Maori caddies in New Zealand. They bought beaded necklaces, grass skirts, and Tahitian pearls. And they met girls. On piers thronged with cheering crowds, at YMCA balls waiting with their dance cards and tiny pencils, along beaches in frumpy bathing costumes, in flapper frocks and pearls at speakeasies from Brooklyn to Honolulu. If I can provide but a glimpse of the fun, excitement and fascination of Dick's experiences, my efforts will not have gone to waste.

[portablefrailty]

So sad to hear about Lahaina! I've never been but I just wrote a whole chapter of my book about it and feel like I know the place. My great-grandfather, Dick Cuthbert, spent three weeks there on maneuvers in 1925. The old pier where he landed was later destroyed by Hurricane Iniki (and is now one of the best diving spots in Hawaii) but otherwise it looks the same or, sadly, did.

In case anyone is interested, here's some Lahaina history I learned during my research.

Lahaina Roads, the calm water basin sheltered by the islands of Maui, Lanai and Molokai is the best natural anchorage in the Central Pacific. During the 19th century it was Hawaii's royal capital as well as the preferred rendezvous of the Pacific whaling industry.

Above is a picture of Front Street, 1925, Lahaina's main drag. Until yesterday Front Street was conspicuous for its plantation-style houses and commercial buildings from the 19th century. Back then whalers (including Herman Melville) kept the bars and brothels in business but ran afoul of the local missionaries. The culture clash grew so bad the whaling fleet actually shelled the town after a bloody bar fight.

By 1925 the industry had long since died out and the capital was in Honolulu. Most of the time it was a sleepy town of 2,000 surrounded by sugar plantations. Occasionally, though, it got invaded by men in uniform.

After US takeover, Lahaina Roads became the navy's official advanced base of operations in the Pacific (Pearl Harbor was still too small and shallow).

There were 45,000 men with the fleet that year. To keep from overwhelming the place, the navy only allowed a few thousand ashore at any one time. Dick ate a whole pineapple every time it was his turn to go. He also took in the intra-fleet baseball championships, held on the town's brand new ballfields. For 50 cents admission, the men could visit the hula tents. Dick griped in his journal about the price but admitted it was worth it.

After three weeks, the fleet left Lahaina, embarking soon after on a transpacific cruise to Samoa, Australia, New Zealand, and Tahiti. Though Dick never saw Hawaii again, I'm sure he'd be sorry to hear that this charming historic town on the edge of paradise, where he spent a few breezy weeks of his youth, has been reduced to ashes.