White Christmas
I have previously sent you my rememberances of Sky 1 Computer and the Canal Passage. The next day after the Canal Passage I went into the sickbay with pneumonia, to my recollection there were nineteen of us with pneumonia, this was before penicillin, so I was given sulfadiazine and sulfathiazole, I really don't think they had ever used them before, because after a while I broke out with a rash, and this Doctor, called all the corpmen to take a look at the rash. In retrospect I believe we may have viral pneumonia and the drugs were useless unless maybe prevent bacterial pneumonia.
After many days, I don't remember how many, they let me out of the sickbay,to light duty ( I couldn't beat my way out of a paper bag) and they let me bunk in the sickbay because it was air conditioned, we were at this time operating out of Noumea, New Caledonia. I remember one night we were out in the Coral Sea and they were fireing the 5 inch guns, but I never knew if it was practice or they were shooting at a Jap plane, the Japanese liked and were proficient in night operations.
When we returned to Noumea, the Doctors decided to put me in the hospital on the beach, Mobile Hospital #5, called White Poppy, because I had lost so much weight, down to 107 lbs. from probably 130 to 135.
Most all of the patients in the hospital were from 1st Marine Div. or 1st Marine Raiders from Guadalcanal and Tulagi with non-life threatening wounds and almost all had malaria also. I heard a lot of tales which reinforced my desire to get back on the Indiana. I ate chow when they brought food to the ward, then slipped out and got in line at the mess hall and ate again. I was told to get back to my ship, I had to be requested by my division officer. When some of the guys from my division came to visit, I got soap for them from ship service, there was a shortage aboard ship. I asked that they talk to Lt. Holden and ask that he request that I return when I got out of the hospital.
Well Christmas came and they played Christmas songs on the PA system, one of the songs they played over and over was Bing Crosby's White Christmas I believe it to be the first time I had ever heard it, now this was 1942, the first Christmas I had ever been away from home and it looked like I would never see home again. Gee Whiz did that make you homesick.
Christmas eve came and some nurses enroute to New Zealand stopped over and the officers in the ship's company at the hospital had an all night party with the nurses and kept all the patients awake. Christmas morning the nurses came through the ward giving out Red Cross packages, mine had some kind of salty tasteing candy and buttons and thread for British or Australian uniforms, anyway nothing of use to us sailors or marines.
Then one day, I guess about the 3rd or 4th of January they loaded some of up in a 2 ton truck and took us to the receiving station, they called it. A tent city, I had a tent of my own. The ships were at sea and I still did not know if I was going back to the Indiana. They put us on working parties unloading supply ships, we worked all day and when you got loose you were ready for the sack. One night there was something like a typhoon hit, I slept through it, when I awakened the next morning half of the tent had collapsed but not on me. The place was a sea of red mud about a foot deep.
About the morning of January 9 or 10 someone who had been to the head up on the hill said some big ships were entering the channel to the harbor, I went up to the top of the hill to see and sure enough the Indiana and the Saratoga and I think maybe the North Carolina, I took a long time for them to weave in and out around the little islands, nearly all day it seemed like. Well the next day I got back to the Indiana, my dungarees so caked with mud you could stand them up in a corner. I was sure glad to get back to that ship.
I have recently discovered Christmas of 42 was when the record WHITE CHRISTMAS was introduced, it still gives me cold chills to hear it.
Whitner Livingston Griffin Jr., Fire Controlman 1c, FA Division

I Remember
I joined the Navy in February 1942. After boot camp, I was supposed to go to Chicago Aircraft Mechanic school, but instead was assigned to the Indiana as a GM Striker. We went through the Panama Canal on Friday November 13, 1942 and went to Tangatabu. The South Dakota was there, next day South Dakota left for the states and we left to join the fleet at New Caledonia. From the time we left the states til we got to New Caledonia, we were still in our training exercises.
When we had that collision with the Washington, my cleaning station was the starboard catapult, which was ripped off. Everything from just forward of turret 3 was ripped off except one bit and one chock. The aft quad 40 on the fantail on the starboard side. Two barrels were gone the other two was knocked loose in their cradle. The quad on the starboard side by turret 3 was pushed off of its mount and that's where we lost a Marine and a Sailor. The Marine was operated on all day on his legs and he died after they got him ashore. The Navy man who was sleeping under the catapult was also killed.
During the typhoon, part of the shield off the 40mm that was on the main deck near turret 3 (my cleaning station at the time) was broke. The shield from the trainers side over was broke off. My two strikers and my gun crew were standing watch on the 40mm on top of turret 3. I sent the two strikers down to get that piece of shield that was down on the fantail and they held up their hand for two more men. It finally took six men to put it on a dolly to take it back to the mount it broke off of.
The ship made the first bombardment of Honshu in 1945. I do not remember the date. The Indiana dropped back to a fueling area and I was transferred at sea. I was later transferred from an island to the Carlos Carilly, a Merchant Marine ship that didn't go fast enough to leave a wake. Run by Army and loaded with all kinds of passengers (mainy soldiers from the Phillipines that had been on the ship for 2 weeks when I was tranferred aboard). Thirty-three days later, the ship arrived in San Francisco on September 3, 1945. I went to school in San Francisco for sixteen weeks and then was transferred to the Fetchler (also commissioned). In Bathe, Maine I took advantage of the all NAV 5-12.
In 1949 I started working at the Post Office, but in 1951 I was called back in to do Testing and Development at Chincoteague Island, Virginia for 13 months and 13 days and got out in December 1952.
Harry Edward Grumbach, Gunners Mate, 3c, 4th Division

I Was a Sailor Once

I like the Navy

I like standing on the bridge wing at sunrise with salt spray in my face and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four quarters of the globe - the ship beneath me feeling like a living thing as her engines drive her through the sea.

I like the sounds of the Navy - the piercing trill of the boatswains pipe, the syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on the quarterdeck, the harsh squawk of the 1MC and the strong language and laughter of sailors at work.

I like Navy vessels - nervous darting destroyers, plodding fleet auxiliaries, sleek submarines and steady solid carriers.

I like the proud names of Navy ships: Midway, Lexington, Saratoga, Coral Sea - memorials of great battles won.

I like the lean angular names of Navy 'tin-cans" Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy, -mementos of heroes who went before us.

I like the tempo of a Navy band blaring through the topside speakers as we pull away from the oiler after refueling at sea.

I like liberty call and the spicy scent of a foreign port. I even like all hands working parties as my ship fills herself with the multitude of supplies both mundane and exotic which she needs to cut her ties to the land and carry out her mission anywhere on the globe where there is water to float her.

I like sailors, men from all parts of the land, farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England, from the cities, the mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life. I trust and depend on them as they trust and depend on me - for professional competence, for comradeship, for courage. In a word, they are "shipmates."

I like the surge of adventure in my heart when the word is passed "Now station the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters for leaving port", and I like the infectious thrill of sighting home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting pierside. The work is hard and dangerous, the going rough at times, the parting from loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the 'all for one and one for all' philosophy of the sea is ever present.

I like the serenity of the sea after a day of hard ship's work, as flying fish flit across the wave tops and sunset gives way to night.

I like the feel of the Navy in darkness - the masthead lights, the red and green navigation lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence of radar repeaters - they cut through the dusk and join with the mirror of stars overhead.

And I like drifting off to sleep lulled by the myriad noises large and small that tell me that my ship is alive and well, and that my shipmates on watch will keep me safe. I like quiet midwatches with the aroma of strong coffee - the lifeblood of the Navy - permeating everywhere.

And I like hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze-gray shapes racing at flank speed keeps all hands on a razor edge of alertness.

I like the sudden electricity of "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations", followed by the hurried clamor of running feet on ladders and the resounding thump of watertight doors as the ship transforms herself in a few brief seconds from a peaceful workplace to a weapon of war - ready for anything.

And I like the sight of space-age equipment manned by youngsters clad in dungarees and sound-powered phones that their grandfathers would still recognize.

I like the traditions of the Navy and the men and women who made them. I like the proud names of Navy heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut, John Paul Jones.

A sailor can find much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms, pride in self and country, mastery of the seaman's trade. An adolescent can find adulthood.

In years to come, when sailors are home from the sea, they will still remember with fondness and respect the ocean in all its moods -the impossible shimmering mirror calm and the storm-tossed green water surging over the bow. And then there will come again a faint whiff of stack gas, a faint echo of engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright bunting of signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty laughter in the wardroom and chief's quarters and messdecks. Gone ashore for good they will grow wistful about their Navy days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was ever over the horizon. Remembering this, they will stand taller and say, "I WAS A SAILOR ONCE. I WAS PART OF THE NAVY, AND THE NAVY WILL ALWAYS BE PART OF ME."

Reflections of a Blackshoe by Vice Admiral Harold M. Koenig, USN (Ret)

Webmaster's Note: Although Admiral Koenig was never part of the Indiana crew, this remembrance is included because it so beautifully describes what we once were, and will always be.

The Cruise of the Mighty "I"

A few of us would start the story way back in February 1942 when the first small pre- commissioning detail reported to the Supervisor of Shipbuilding, Newport News Shipbuilding an Dry Dock Company, for "duty involving the construction and fitting out" of what was then an inanimate object known as Hull No. 378. But the real beginning came on 30 April 1942 when the first entry in the log recorded the Commissioning of the USS Indiana.

Three years have produced a great many changes in the group that massed aft for the ceremony of commissioning that morning. Of course, many have been detached to new construction or other duties, and we've met some of our old shipmates again when they brought their new ships out to fight in the same task forces. But many remain -- those "boots" are now petty officers; the experienced seamen and ratings who came from the fleet at Pearl Harbor are CPO's and Warrants, a few are lieutenants; and officers have been promoted from ensign to lieutenant commander. Many miles of water have passed under the keel but only thee trail remaining is a litter of broken hearts and beer bottles from Portland to Mog Mog.

Immediately after commissioning most of the new men returned to the Norfolk Training Station "concentration camp" leaving only a nucleus crew aboard. Some said this was to relieve the congestion at Buckroe Beach and the Newport News beer joints and USO, but it may have been done to allow more ship yard workers aboard to finish the ship in record time.

Finally came the momentous occasion of getting underway for the first time. On 21 May 1942 we cast off the mooring lines and stood out of the James River for 13 days of cruising in Hampton Roads and the NOB area, coming to anchor each night and weighing again next morning. We returned to Newport News throughly salt-encrusted, if still slightly land-locked.

Through June, July, and part of August we remained at Newport News completing the fitting out process, and then we moved into dry dock at the Norfolk Navy Yard, which much to our surprise turned out to be in Portsmouth instead. All hands were issued wire brushes and allotted a portion of that terrific expanse of shell plating. Safety belts were provided for moral support, and gaskets to hold between the teeth to prevent one's heart from slipping out of his mouth the first time he climbed out on those stages. It's a long way down from the main deck to the concrete floor of a dry dock.

The first of September 1942 we were underway again and for 25 days shared with the COLUMBIA and CHARGER the arduous task of keeping the Chesapeake Bay swept clear of the German and Jap fleets. At the end of this time we considered ourselves competent seaman -- well, most of us could find our battle stations, anyway; so on 27 September we stood out between Cape Charles and Cape Henry for Casco Bay and a deepwater shakedown.

Casco Bay turned out to be 20 days of almost continuous gunnery practice, with all-too-few liberties in Portland. By the time we returned to Norfolk, we considered ourselves a sharp shooting ship and about the trimmest craft afloat. We were to find out all too soon that, while others might not agree whole-heartedly with our opinion, those in high places had entered in the little black book "Ready for Sea" after our name.

It took less than three weeks for Norfolk Navy Yard to dry dock us again and complete the post- shakedown overhaul and last minute alterations; then we moved to NOB where we fueled and loaded stores and ammunition. On the evening of 08 November before going ashore the liberty party read ..."1000 - Be prepared in all respects for getting underway to shift berths, all hands evolution." ... in tomorrow's Plan Of The Day. What an understatement that was! Four days later we went through the Panama Canal, and after two weeks arrived in Tongatabu. Our first South Pacific Island completely dispelled any notions of g-LAMOUR-ous, sarong-clad maidens we might have had. The few men who got ashore brought back stories of a native queen seven feet tall, who transported all her feminine subjects under 40 years of age into hiding in the hills whenever an American ship was sighted.

En route we were boarded in latitude 0ø by an all-powerful potentate, NEPTUNUS REX, and his suite. In appropriate ceremonies the shellbacks on board entertained both His Majesty and themselves, and at the end of the riotous day over a thousand ex-pollywogs could truthfully say, without partiality and only slight prejudice, that they had "crossed the Line".

Early in December 1942 we anchored for the first in the Great Road at Noumea, New Caledonia -- then referred to in press dispatches by the anonymous designation of "An Advanced South Pacific Base". For eight monotonous months we operated in this areas, but after an even dozen sweeps of the Coral Sea all we could claim about our Jap-hunting exploits was "no hits, no runs, no errors". During these cruises we covered the capture and defense of Guadalcanal, Rennell Island, and New Georgia Group Operations, but saw nary a single enemy ship or plane except a few stray snoopers who took care to fly just outside gun range.

Our best memories of Noumea consist principally of Shangri-La with its beer parties, swimming, and softball and Triangle Gardens with more beer, band concerts, and our boxing squad whipping all comers. A few hardy souls experimented with the local anisette (no mamma, it's a drink) much to their sorrow, and the intelligensia tried out their high school French on the mademoiselles des sandwich shoppes et souvenir counters, who already had learned sufficient english phrases (such as "five dollars") from the army.

In August 1943 we returned to civilization, such as it was, and took our first look at Pearl Harbor and Honolulu. We didn't stay long in less than two weeks we were off on the Marcus Island Raid. But still the only Japs we had seen were four POW's when we returned for the first overhaul at Pearl Harbor which occupied us until October.

Honolulu turned out to be only a 5 & 10 cent store, slightly tarnished variety of the Pacific paradise described in travel folders. But at least the Chinese-Hawaiian-Portugese-Japanese girls wore bobby sox (if they weren't barefoot) and the other accoutrements of the young American female. And if you hurried ashore when liberty commenced at 0900 and got a place in line, you might be seated at a table in one of the Hotel Street Bars in time to down a few drinks concocted of the delectable "Five Ulcers" imitation bourbon or gin. There were other lines to stand in if one were so inclined, as well as gift and souvenir stores from River Street all the out to the end of Kalakaua Blvd., whose proprietors were eager to exchange flimsy baubles of exorbitant price for the hard- earned greenbacks that lined every Navy pocket after months at sea, Waikiki Beach beckoned the athletic sun worshipers to enjoy the sweeping expanse of garbage-strewn surf, almost unmarred by the presence of sand. Aloha Oe! I want to go back to my little grass shack in Kealakua, Hawaii, and watch the Humahumanukanuka .... like hell!

On 21 October 1943 we left Pearl Harbor in company with what we felt sure must be the greatest convoy of warships ever assembled. Only a few months later we were to see this force literally dwarfed. American sea power was a growing giant. Incidentally, after nearly a year in the Pacific, a quotation from John Paul Jones could still be applied with equal truth to ourselves: "We have not yet begun to fight!" But now came the real beginning of the American offensive in the Pacific.

Heading South we renewed acquaintance with NEPTUNUS REX, a swarm of particularly slimy pollywogs having sneaked aboard in Pearl. Early in November we anchored on the west side of Viti Levu in the Fijis near the twin cities of Nandi and Lautoka. Those who made the effort to go ashore, fight for a place on the truck, and stand up during the long dusty ride were awarded by seeing the sights of a well-ordered little British colonial town: an amazing, shiny brass-fitted, narrow-gauge railroad to haul the sugar cane; the Hindu laborers in their white robes; and the Hindu merchants with their tourist stock in trade of tapa cloth and intricate Indian silver filagree work.

Leaving the Fijis we operated for over a month with a carrier task force during the Gilbert Islands Operation. Under enemy air attack the night of 25-26 November 1943, we drew our first blood -- one Jap torpedo plane shot down. On 08 December we participated in the bombardment of Nauru Island, and then continued on to Efate in the New Hebrides where we celebrated Christmas and the New Year, our second holiday season away from home.

As we look back now Havannah Harbor came nearest to being the island paradise we were seeking. There was a fine baseball diamond where the newly-organized INDIANA nine swept the field, winning nearly all their games. It must be mentioned that on two occasions our team "defeated" that of ALABAMA, but was beaten by Bob Feller; at least, we could claim a moral victory. The beer was plentiful, there were good beaches for swimming, the recreation areas were only a five or ten minute boat ride from the anchorage, division picnics were organized, and mail delivery was regular -- what more could a weary sailor require? Well some of those would have been nice to have around also.

Leaving Efate in mid-January 1944 we stopped over-night in Funafuti and then went on to the Marshall Island Operation. INDIANA was part of the Battleship force that subjected Kwajalein to a terrific pounding on 30 January prior to the amphibious assault. That ranks No. 1 among several shore bombardments.

Shortly thereafter a turn of bad luck forced us to put into Majuro which had been captured only the day before we anchored. After a few days delay we continued on to Pearl Harbor for our second repair and overhaul job. We remained there until the middle of April, and then returned to Majuro and then on to Seeadler Harbor, Manus Island, in the Admiralties. We arrived on 26 April 1944. Here we Joined other fleet units and took part in the 29-30 April raid on Truk, supporting the carriers. The Following day we bombarded Ponape, and then retired to Majuro where we spent a month making ready for the attack on the Marianas Islands.

The Marianas Campaign kept us at sea longer than any other cruise we had yet made -- 66 consecutive days. We fired a shore bombardment against Saipan on 13 June, and during a night air attack oh the 15th, shot down two planes. Later we anchored offshore twice, but only for a few hours to refuel, and each time could see and hear the gunfire as fighting continued for possession of the island. In the first Battle of the Philippines Sea on 19 June INDIANA accounted for five of the remnants of the Nip air force that managed to get past our fighter cover, bringing our total of planes splashed to eight

During the latter half of August we remained at Eniwetok, and then sortied with a carrier task force which bombed the Palaus and Mindinao. We proceeded to Manus Island again. Upon our arrival in Manus, which lies just below the Equator NEPTUNUS REX paid us his third and last official visit. Since that time INDIANA has operated only north of the line and now her decks are crowded with insignificant pollywogs who, heedless or careless of their awful day of reckoning, are observed frequently to jostle or speak disrespectfully to patient but watchful shellbacks. Here we awaited and at last received the long-anticipated orders -- INDIANA would return to the States for a forty-five day overhaul! The course was north and east and Pearl Harbor was only a two day stopover en route.

We made our landfall on Cape Flattery Light at sunrise 22 October 1944. It was just 18 days short of two years since we left the United States. Running through Juan de Fuca Straits we could be sure we were home -- those were pine trees that covered the mountains on either hand, not palm trees on a coral beach. Before nightfall we cast anchor in Sinclair Inlet, and a ferry was along side taking off the hilarious first leave party. Needless to say, leave and Stateside duty was all too short. Any attempt to describe it only aggravates the pain of home-sickness. Let all hands join in a rousing chorus of TAKE ME BACK TO NEW CONSTRUCTION.

By mid-December we arrived back at Pearl Harbor where we spent our third Christmas, cursing and swearing that we could have prolonged our time at home over this very special season. In another month we were steaming south and west over the old familiar route via Eniwetok and Saipan with a short side trip to bombard Iwo Jima thrown in as an "extra"on the 'Tourists Special'. Then on to a newer and bigger base, Ulithi, closer to the Japanese homeland.

Now we were operating in an area that a year before would have seemed fantastically impossible, but it appeared nothing could hinder or stop us. For days at a time we stood by our battle stations, and even when we did secure from General Quarters, the bugle call for "Air Defense" might call us back several times during the day or night. Joining a fast carrier task force we covered the air strikes on Tokyo of 16-17 and 25 February 1945, and the landings on Iwo Jima.

It has been our misfortune never to meet opposition in the form of Japanese warships, hence we have been denied the opportunity to prove our valor and skill in the battleship's primary mission to slug it out with enemy capital ships. We can, however, take pride in the accomplishment of our assignments to guard the Navy's potent striking force of carriers and pave the way for amphibious operations by bombardment of enemy shore installations. We're a cocky, healthy kid -- we're three years old today -- we're the roughest, toughest, meanest, cleanest, snappiest, happiest ship in the fleet!

Writer Unknown

Webmaster's Note: I found this entry in the USS Indiana Reunion Association archives without an authors name. Apparently, it was written to commemorate the third anniversary of commissioning, 30 April 1945

Last Updated 29 April 2002

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