Final Patrol (17 page)

Thomas considered the offer but decided to stay with the safety and security of his naval career. After a distinguished tenure, including command of a couple of surface ships, he retired in 1966 and promptly became a high school math teacher. Hollywood's loss was a definite gain for the U.S. Navy and high school math students in the San Diego, California, area.

Thomas passed away in February 2004, and his ashes were scattered in the Pacific Ocean by the U.S. Navy, just as the former sub skipper had requested.

His last sub, the
Croaker
, steamed back through the Panama Canal after the war was over, headed to her birthplace in Connecticut. There she eventually served as a school ship, based in New London, only a few miles from where she was built. Later she was taken up the coast, around Cape Cod, to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for what proved to be an interesting makeover.

Not only did she get a new hull number (SSK-246) and intriguing designation (“hunter-killer submarine”), but a completely different look as well. Gone was the distinctive sail that was so familiar on her
Gato
and
Balao
sisters. Some said the new sail looked more like a stack of garbage cans or that she most resembled some weak copy of Jules Verne's famous submarine, the
Nautilus
.

The
Croaker
got a nose job, too, to conceal powerful, new long-range sonar equipment. And she became a “guppy,” too, after being fitted with a snorkel so she could run her diesel engines, even while submerged. Her six bow torpedo tubes were removed to make room for the sophisticated new gear, and many of her other systems were given special silencing treatment. The navy had secret plans for this old warship, but she needed considerable cosmetic surgery to prepare for the new and mysterious job she was about to undertake.

Over the next dozen years, the
Croaker
traveled the world in her new role, sailing to England for NATO exercises, through the Mediterranean and the Suez Canal, and to exotic ports like Karachi, Pakistan. Much of what she was called upon to do was kept top secret for years but involved plenty of Cold War exercises and truly frightening what-if scenarios.

By 1968, the navy had decided that the future of submarining lay in the nuclear boats and that the old, tried-and-true fleet boats had limited viability. They simply lacked the range and stealth of the nukes, which could be gone from port as long as need be, and which could stay submerged until the food aboard the submarine ran out. Otherwise there were few limitations on the new generation of subs.

The
Croaker
entered semiretirement as a training vessel in New London.

There she served for three more years, until it appeared she would end up in the scrap yard, just as so many of her sisters had done. That's when a group of sub vets rescued her and fixed her up so we could visit her, learn more about her, and appreciate what she and her crew did for us.

 

 

 

After six successful war patrols
in World War II and almost twenty-six years of additional service during the Cold War, the
Croaker
deserved a better fate than some of the other historic submarines. Many of them were cut up for scrap. Others were donated to foreign navies. More than a few were used as target practice in ASW (antisubmarine warfare) drills. It was the Submarine Memorial Association in Groton, Connecticut, that stepped in and saved the
Croaker
.

There, in a city so closely associated with submersible vessels, they took custody of the boat, did what they could to restore her, and opened her to the public in memory of those fifty-two subs that did not return from the war, as she had been fortunate enough to do. The veterans did what they could to make her safe to visit and to equip her with enough actual period equipment to properly show off her war trim. It was a tough go keeping the aging vessel shipshape enough to allow people of all ages and physical conditions to come aboard and look around. And it was a constant battle against the elements, vandals, and the inevitable action of oxidation on steel.

The old girl's future was once again in doubt.

In 1988, the city of Buffalo, New York, stepped in. They offered to move the historic submarine to what is now called the Buffalo and Erie County Naval and Military Park. Opened in 1979, the park was intended to pay homage to the navy in particular, but to all branches of service in general. It was also designed to draw the public's attention to the Erie Canal Harbor, a multimillion-dollar project to develop a section of the city's waterfront as a tourism destination. The addition of a real World War II submarine fit right into the boosters' plans, so the
Croaker
took one more voyage before she could rest for good.

Today, the park is also home to the guided missile cruiser USS
Little Rock
(CLG-4) and the destroyer USS
The Sullivans
(DD-537) as well as the
Croaker
. It is interesting to note that
The Sullivans
is named after the five Sullivan brothers from Waterloo, Iowa, who all served together aboard the light cruiser USS
Juneau
(CL-52) during World War II. The navy had a firm policy against having more than one member of a family fighting in the same place, but the Sullivans insisted they wanted such an arrangement. The brothers were eventually allowed to serve together aboard the
Juneau
. Their smiling faces appeared in newsreels and in magazines all over the country and became symbols of the dedication and sacrifice families were making to help win this war.

Tragically, the worst happened. All five brothers were killed near Guadalcanal when their ship was first struck by a torpedo from a destroyer, then cut in two by a Japanese submarine's torpedo. The navy named one of its new destroyers
The Sullivans
to commemorate their loss.

Today, the
Croaker
and the other museum vessels are maintained by the City of Buffalo and Erie County with the help of volunteers from the Buffalo Base of the United States Submarine Veterans.

Besides the ships, other exhibits include Marine Corps memorabilia dating from World War I, donated items from prisoners of war, a display on contributions of African-Americans and women to our country's military history, military aircraft, and memorials to those who fought in both world wars, Korea, or Vietnam.

Courtesy of the U.S. Navy

 

Launched:
December 7, 1942, on the first anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor

Named for:
the hard-fighting, aggressive, voracious breed of fish found in fresh water from the Great Lakes and southward, a species dating back to the Jurassic period. It can use its swim bladder as a primitive lung and thrives in water with low oxygen content, surviving for days at a time in little or no water.

Where:
Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, New Hampshire

Sponsor:
Mrs. Jane Gawne, wife of U.S. Navy Captain James Orville Gawne

Commissioned:
May 1, 1943

 

Claim to fame:
Christened on the anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack, she was dubbed “the Pearl Harbor Avenger,” but despite her stellar record and insatiable appetite for destroying enemy vessels, she may go down in history as much for her inadvertent part in one of the saddest occurrences of the war. Appropriately enough, “the Pearl Harbor Avenger” returned to and now awaits visitors in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

E
very fighting vessel is christened with high hopes for her future success. Prayers are said, speeches are made, bands play patriotic songs, and, as the sponsor crashes the champagne bottle across the bow and the chocks are released to allow the boat to slide down into the water, everyone is assured that this may well be the boat that changes the course of history.

As we know, fifty-two boats just like the
Bowfin
never returned triumphantly to home port, flying their battle flags, a broom strapped to their masts to signify a successful patrol, and bragging of their accomplishments. That is why everyone involved with launching a new vessel—from builders to sponsors to the naval brass—was looking for good omens with each submarine they sent steaming away from their yards.

The
Bowfin
seemed to carry the ultimate good omen—her birthday.

Only eight days after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, the order came down from BUSHIPS (the navy's Bureau of Ships) to immediately begin construction on a new class of submarine, the
Balao
, whose blueprints were already complete. Though these boats did not look that much different from their
Gato
predecessors, they offered one major advantage: their hulls were thicker, allowing them to safely descend over a hundred feet deeper to escape enemy bombs, torpedoes, and depth charges.

The first of these boats to be built were at the Portsmouth Navy Yard, on the Piscataqua River, which served as the border between New Hampshire and Maine. The third
Balao
boat to have her keel laid was the
Bowfin
. Her launch ceremony was deliberately scheduled on December 7, 1942.

The new warship was immediately dubbed “the Pearl Harbor Avenger.”

Her first skipper, Commander Joe Willingham, Naval Academy class of 1926, was not daunted by the hefty hopes being placed on his brand-new boat. He had already seen his share of action as captain of the USS
Tautog
(SS-199), aboard which he and his crew claimed credit for sinking eight enemy vessels. That included six on their second patrol. Among those was the German submarine
I-28
, sent to the bottom with her eighty-eight hands. It was extremely difficult for one submarine to sink another, but Willingham did it twice on the
Tautog
. He earned two Navy Crosses for his good work before he ever set foot on the new
Bowfin
.

The skipper had also had his share of close calls. Only a couple of days before sinking the enemy submarine, he and the
Tautog
launched an attack on one of the Japanese ships that was returning from the Battle of the Coral Sea. In the assault, his torpedomen fired two torpedoes.

One of them hit the target vessel and exploded. The other did a truly dangerous trick.

For some reason, the fish inexplicably circled and headed right back toward the
Tautog
. Willingham ordered his boat deep to attempt to avoid the errant torpedo. They managed to do so, but only by a whisker.

The
Bowfin
's commissioning party was held on April 24, 1943, at the Pannaway Club in New London. As usual, there was much drinking, dancing, and tall tale telling. By the end of the celebration, most of her crew was convinced they would win the war by themselves, if they could only finish fitting out the boat, training new crew members, and running sea trials on their magnificent new submarine. A week later, on May Day, the official commissioning ceremony was finally held on her deck. The crew lined up in formation in their dress uniforms while navy higher-ups had their say behind a podium, and then they formally put the
Bowfin
into service. On July 1, she departed New England for the Pacific.

The impatient crew had no clue what a colorful tour they and their new boat would have. They would eventually receive credit for sinking sixteen enemy vessels, accounting for close to seventy thousand tons. On one patrol alone, in November 1943, they claimed to have sunk a dozen vessels, but, true to form, they only received formal credit for five. Still, Rear Admiral Ralph Waldo Christie, commander of the U.S. Submarine Force, Southwest Pacific, became the
Bowfin
's biggest fan, praising the crew for their efforts on that run.

“They fought the war from the beginning to the end of the patrol,” he gushed during the award ceremony.

By then the submarine was under the command of Lieutenant Commander Walter Griffith. Captain Willingham had done so well on the
Bowfin
's first patrol that he was promoted to squadron commander.

The boat was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation for that patrol and Griffith received the Navy Cross. There were rumblings of an even higher award for the
Bowfin
's second skipper. Admiral Christie, in collusion with General Douglas MacArthur, had been awarding army medals for exceptional valor to navy personnel, simply because he was so proud of the job they were doing against incredible odds. Walt Griffith may well have been in line for the Medal of Honor for his cool leadership aboard the
Bowfin
, but Christie's boss nixed the whole cross-branch award thing.