We’ve been having ongoing, seemingly impossible-to-resolve tech problems with this site. I’m gonna blame it on Covid. Anyway, hopefully we’re past the issues, and we can keep posting from time-to-time.
Let’s set the “WAY-BACK MACHINE”, Mr. Peabody, to March of 1945.
On March 6, The crew of CA-69 Bostom weighed anchor and pulled out of Ulithi Lagoon. The ship badly needed repairs. They began heading home (to San Pedro, CA) for major repairs and retrofits to radar and navigation systems. They would be docked in the Navy Yard at San Pedro until June 1st, at which time they weighed anchor and headed back to Japan.
March 11, 1945 This morning we entered Pearl Harbor, every member of the crew was in white uniform. We were at quarters streaming our pennant, tomorrow we will get liberty.
March 12-21, 1945 This morning two-thirds of the crew went on liberty, which was from 0900 to 1800 hours. We all came back feeling pretty good, some people feeling pretty bad, from too much drinking. We will be here for ten days. I am spending my liberty in Waikiki Beach, there are some good restaurants here. We also get dungaree liberty and go over to the sub base. They have a large ship, stores and restaurant over there. We also visit the ship stores at the Navy Yard. (Frank Studenski)
Every time I use entries from Frank’s incredible diary, I think about how little we would know about the ship, the action and the men without his diary. We’re forever grateful.
96 year-old Pat Fedele, the “ship’s tenor”, passed away today. I got to know Pat when I was working on my “Baked Beans” series about CA-69 in WWII. I am deeply saddened by his passing, as he and I developed a nice friendship over the years. He knew my father, and he had lots of great stories to tell. He and his wife Sandi welcomed me into their home and their lives, and I am enriched because of them.
Pat was a plankowner, and like my dad and hundreds of others, spent months in Boston waiting for the ship to be finished before mustering aboard and heading for the Pacific. Pat worked hard to earn promotions while on board, and rated COX in January of ’45. I have lots of stories to share – another time.
I’m pretty sure a while back I wrote in one of my posts that I was taking a detour for a while so I could focus on a long-delayed project (involving Colonial New England.) Then we slid into covid.
So, I have finished first and second drafts of my story, and after input from friends and family, I am in the middle of a “third rewrite” – this time with some significant new paths and bends in the road. Looking at my emails over the last year, I found that some submissions from readers got back-burnered.
Here’s one (from Joe Green – dated Nov. 20, 2019 [yikes!!] ). He submitted two pictures of some of his dad’s papers. Here’s his message to Bill: Attached a couple of relevant documents of my dad’s – his discharge from the naval reserves in 1954, and a commendation from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. I think by the time he was discharged he had acheived the rank of Lt Colonel.
One interesting story he told – there was a crewmember who was generally disliked and notorious for welshing on his gambling debts. One morning roll call in the middle of the Pacific, he just didn’t show up. The ship was searched, but he was gone. It was presumed he was tossed overboard in the middle of the night. Spooky story. Joe Green.
Ninety-five year-old USS BOSTON plankowner Thomas R. Williamson is visiting his son David at his home in the Boston area.
David reached out to me. During several email back-and-forths, David ordered a set of books for his dad.
(Not meant to be a shamelss marketing ploy. It’s the only picture of Thomas that I have.)
Mr. Williamson mustered onto the Boston on Commissioning Day. If you look at his crew record, you will see that he was transferred off the ship on August 19, 1944. He was assigned to ComCruDiv10 (Admiral Thebaud). You may remember that the ship was anchored in Eniwetok lagoon for the month of August, during which time there was a change of command in the cruiser division (Admiral Wiltse replaced Admiral Thebaud.)
Last month I posted about Cloyd Fair, one of the ship’s barbers. He mustered onto the Boston on Commissioning Day, along with a full crew of mostly fresh-out of – boot-camp sailors. But Cloyd saw some duty before coming to the Boston; he was a barber on the Arizona. He survived the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor and the sinking of his ship.
Today I want to tell you about another plankowner who mustered onto the Boston on Commissioning Day: Victor K. Conner of Pleasant Plains, Illinois. Like Cloyd Fair, the Boston wasn’t Victor’s first ship. He was a machinist mate on the USS Wasp (CV-7) as she plied the South Pacific. CV-7 was escorting troop transports to Guadalcanal when she was torpedoed on Sept. 15, 1942.
Victor’s son Vic reached out recently, sending me a picture of his dad. He shares his and his siblings’ memory of their dad’s experience: “he spoke about the time the USS Wasp was torpedoed. He worked in the boiler room as a machinist mate with secondary training as a fireman. When the first Japanese torpedo hit he was thrown to the ground and the second one stood him back up again. As the ship was severely damaged, all the sailors began exiting the ship anyway they could-all except the boiler men who had to remain below deck to back the ship out of oil leaking from the damaged ship.
When Vic and the other men could leave, it was the USS Duncan that came along and swept them out of the water on ropes catching the men like fish. When he was aboard the Duncan, he and the other men that were rescued sat together on canvas tarps. The tarps were sticky, and sadly he found out that they were actually sitting on the bodies of fellow shipmates that had been covered by the tarps. He also spoke of the horrors he saw in the water as they pulled away from the burning vessel.”
(If you want to read about another Boston guy whose ship was sunk, check out my post from 2 years ago about Lester Zook. Type in “zook” on the search icon on the main page.)