Veterans that we expect to be at the reunion in Manchester

Current as of May 8th.

Anyone from 1st Division 1954-1957?

Marines Visit Local Veterans During Fleet Week

Combat Camera: A Few More Images from UNITAS Gold

Flags Waved to Greet USS Ashland (LSD 48)

Most were still fairly agile, but as you see in the picture, some required the use of a wheel chair. Our
club secretary also was in a wheel chair as the result of a broken leg from falling in a snow storm
in March.

Here's a picture of the group. Click Here

Ed Bolen

They'll do amphibious assaults with troops from Mexico, Colombia.

Ernfred "Ernie" Harrison, age 77, of Cedar Lake, IN passed away on Friday, February 20, 2009 at St. Anthony Hospital in Crown Point with his loving family by his side. Survived by his loving wife of 38 years, Evalynne (Dee); two children: Susan (Donald) Stam II of Cedar Lake and Patrick (Kimberly) Harrison of Cedar Lake; seven grandchildren: Andrea (Harley), Donald (Julie), Michael, Joshua, Nicholas, and Emily. A funeral service will be held on Monday, February 23, 2009 at 10:00 am at Burdan Funeral Home. Burial will follow at German Methodist Cemetery, Cedar Lake. Friends may meet with the family on Sunday, February 22, 2009 from 2:00-8:00 pm at Burdan Funeral Home 12901 Wicker Ave (corner of Rt 41 & 129th Ave) Cedar Lake. Ernie served with the U.S. Navy on the USS Ashland during the Korean conflict. He was a member of the Cedar Lake American Legion Post 261. He was retired from NIPSCO after 28 years of loyal service. Ernie will be greatly missed by his loving family and many friends. Donations to the Kidney Association of NW Indiana or the Diabetes Foundation will be appreciated. www.burdanfuneralhome.com

Dock Landing Ship LSD-1 Ashland

Coast Guard medevacs Navy sailor off Virginia

Subject: Destroyer William Porter/ Iowa secret


From November 1943, until her demise in June 1945, the American
destroyer 'William Porter' was often hailed - whenever she entered port
or joined other Naval ships - with the greetings: 'Don't shoot, we're
Republicans!' For a half a century, the US Navy kept a lid on the
details of the incident that prompted this salutation. A Miami news
reporter made the first public disclosure in 1958 after he stumbled upon
the truth while covering a reunion of the destroyer's crew. The Pentagon
reluctantly and tersely confirmed his story, but only a smattering of
newspapers took notice.

Fifty years ago, the Willie D as the Porter was nicknamed, accidentally
fired a live torpedo at the battleship Iowa during a practice exercise.
As if this weren't bad enough, the Iowa was carrying President Franklin
D. Roosevelt at the time, along with Secretary of State, Cordell Hull,
and all of the country's W.W.II military brass. They were headed for the
Big Three Conference in Tehran, where Roosevelt was to meet Stalin and
Churchill. Had the Porter's torpedo struck the Iowa at the aiming point,
the last 50 years of world history might have been quite different.

The USS William D Porter (DD-579) was one of hundreds of assembly line
destroyers built during the war. They mounted several heavy and light
guns, but their main armament consisted of 10 fast-running and accurate
torpedoes that carried 500-pound warheads. This destroyer was placed in
commission on July 1943 under the command of Wilfred Walker, a man on
the Navy's fast career track. In the months before she was detailed to
accompany the Iowa across the Atlantic in November 1943, the Porter and
her crew learned their trade, experiencing the normal problems that
always beset a new ship and a novice crew. The mishaps grew more serious
when she became an escort for the pride of the fleet, the big new
battleship Iowa.

The night before they left Norfolk, bound for North Africa, the Porter
accidentally damaged a nearby sister ship when she backed down along the
other ship's side and her anchor tore down her railings, life rafts,
ship's boat and various other formerly valuable pieces of equipment. The
Willie D merely had a scraped anchor, but her career of mayhem and
mishaps had begun.

Just twenty four hours later, the four-ship convoy consisting of Iowa
and her secret passengers and two other destroyers was under strict
instructions to maintain complete radio silence. As they were going
through a known U-boat feeding ground, speed and silence were the best
defense. Suddenly, a tremendous explosion rocked the convoy. All of the
ships commenced anti-submarine maneuvers. This continued until the
Porter sheepishly admitted that one of her depth charges had fallen off
her stern and exploded. The 'safety' had not been set as instructed.
Captain Walker was watching his fast track career become side-tracked.
Shortly thereafter, a freak wave inundated the ship, stripping away
everything that wasn't lashed down. A man was washed overboard and never
found. Next, the fire room lost power in one of its boilers. The
Captain, by this point, was making reports almost hourly to the Iowa on
the Willie D's difficulties. It would have been merciful if the force
commander had detached the hard luck ship and sent her back to Norfolk.
But, no, she sailed on.

The morning of 14 November 1943 dawned with a moderate sea and pleasant
weather. The Iowa and her escorts were just east of Bermuda, and the
president and his guests wanted to see how the big ship could defend
herself against an air attack. So, Iowa launched a number of weather
balloons to use as anti-aircraft targets. It was exciting to see more
than 100 guns shooting at the balloons, and the President was proud of
his Navy. Just as proud was Admiral Ernest J King, the Chief of Naval
Operations; large in size and by demeanor, a true monarch of the sea.
Disagreeing with him meant the end of a naval career. Up to this time,
no one knew what firing a torpedo at him would mean. Over on the Willie
D, Captain Walker watched the fireworks display with admiration and
envy. Thinking about career redemption and breaking the hard luck spell,
the Captain sent his impatient crew to battle stations. They began to
shoot down the balloons the Iowa had missed as they drifted into the
Porter's vicinity.

Down on the torpedo mounts, the crew watched, waiting to take some
practice shots of their own on the big battleship, which, even though
6,000 yards away, seemed to blot out the horizon. Lawton Dawson and Tony
Fazio were among those responsible for the torpedoes. Part of their job
involved ensuring that the primers were installed during actual combat
and removed during practice. Once a primer was installed, on a command
to fire, it would explode shooting the torpedo out of its tube.
Dawson, on this particular morning, unfortunately had forgotten to
remove the primer from torpedo tube #3. Up on the bridge, a new torpedo
officer, unaware of the danger, ordered a simulated firing. "Fire 1,
Fire 2," and finally, "Fire 3." There was no fire 4 as the sequence was
interrupted by an unmistakable whooooooshhhhing sound made by a
successfully launched and armed torpedo. Lt H. Steward Lewis, who
witnessed the entire event, later described the next few minutes as what
hell would look like if it ever broke loose.

Just after he saw the torpedo hit water on its way to the Iowa and some
of the most prominent figures in world history, Lewis innocently asked
the Captain, 'Did you give permission to fire a torpedo?' Captain
Walker's reply will not ring down through naval history... although
words to the effect of Farragut's immortal 'Damn the torpedoes' figured
centrally within. Initially there was some reluctance to admit what had
happened, or even to warn the Iowa. As the awful reality sunk in, people
began racing around, shouting conflicting instructions and attempting to
warn the flagship of imminent danger. First, there was a flashing light
warning about the torpedo which unfortunately indicated it was headed in
another direction. Next, the Porter signaled that it was going reverse
at full speed! Finally, they decided to break the strictly enforced
radio silence. The radio operator on the destroyer transmitted "'Lion
(code for the Iowa), Lion, come right." The Iowa operator, more
concerned about radio procedure, requested that the offending station
identify itself first. Finally, the message was received and the Iowa
began turning to avoid the speeding torpedo.

Meanwhile, on the Iowa's bridge, word of the torpedo firing had reached
FDR, who asked that his wheelchair be moved to the railing so he could
see better what was coming his way. His loyal Secret Service guard
immediately drew his pistol as if he was going to shoot the torpedo. As
the Iowa began evasive maneuvers, all of her guns were trained on the
William D Porter. There was now some thought that the Porter was part of
an assassination plot. Within moments of the warning, there was a
tremendous explosion just behind the battleship. The torpedo had been
detonated by the wash kicked up by the battleship's increased speed.
The crisis was over and so was Captain Walker's career. His final
utterance to the Iowa, in response to a question about the origin of the
torpedo, was a weak, "We did it." Shortly thereafter, the brand new
destroyer, her Captain and the entire crew were placed under arrest and
sent to Bermuda for trial. It was the first time that a complete ship's
company had been arrested in the history of the US Navy. The ship was
surrounded by Marines when it docked in Bermuda, and held there several
days as the closed session inquiry attempted to determine what had
happened. Torpedoman Dawson eventually confessed to having inadvertently
left the primer in the torpedo tube, which caused the launching. Dawson
had thrown the used primer over the side to conceal his mistake.

The whole incident was chalked up to an unfortunate set of circumstances
and placed under a cloak of secrecy. Someone had to be punished. Captain
Walker and several other Porter officers and sailors eventually found
themselves in obscure shore assignments. Dawson was sentenced to 14
years hard labor. President Roosevelt intervened; however, asking that
no punishment be meted out for what was clearly an accident. The
destroyer was banished to the upper Aleutians. It was probably thought
this was as safe a place as any for the ship and anyone who came near
her. She remained in the frozen north for almost a year, until late
1944, when she was re-assigned to the Western Pacific.

Before leaving the Aleutians, she accidentally left her calling card in
the form of a five-inch shell fired into the front yard of the American
base commandant, thus rearranging his flower garden. In December, 1944,
she joined the Philippine invasion forces and acquitted herself quite
well. She distinguished herself by shooting down a number of attacking
Japanese aircraft. Regrettably, after the war, it was reported that she
also shot down three American planes. This was a common event on ships,
as many gunners, fearful of kamikazes, had nervous trigger fingers.
In April, 1945, the destroyer was assigned to support the invasion of
Okinawa. By this time, the greeting "Don't Shoot, We're Republicans" was
commonplace and the crew of the Willie D had become used to the ribbing.
But the crew of her sister ship, the USS Luce, was not so polite in its
salutations after the Porter accidentally riddled her side and
superstructure with gunfire.

On 10 June, 1945, the Porter's hard luck finally ran out. She was sunk
by a plane which had (unintentionally) attacked underwater. A Japanese
bomber made almost entirely of wood and canvas slipped through the
Navy's defense. Having little in the way of metal surfaces, the plane
didn't register on radar. A fully loaded kamikaze, it was headed for a
ship near the Porter, but just at the last moment veered away and
crashed along side the unlucky destroyer. There was a sigh of relief as
the plane sunk out of sight, but then it blew up underneath the Porter,
opening her hull in the worst possible location.

Three hours later, after the last man was off board, the Captain jumped
to the safety of a rescue vessel and the ship that almost changed world
history slipped astern into 2,400 feet of water. Not a single soul was
lost in the sinking. After everything else that happened, it was almost
as if the ship decided to let her crew off at the end.