438th AAA AW BN
APO 527 % Postmaster, N.Y.
England
18 February, 1944 1030
Dearest darling Wilma –
Well this makes a run of 3 days of bleak wintry days – and yet it never gets as cold as our own dear New England. Today we are having snow flurries, but it hasn’t amounted to much. Nevertheless I’ve been sort of reluctant to do much traveling about in an open jeep, so here I am again at the Dispensary, getting off an early letter to you, dear.
Last night we spent another nice quiet evening in our quarters. Thursday is ration day and we got our allotment of gum, soap, chocolate bars, matches and tobacco. One of the boys had received a box of chocolates – Apollo, I didn’t know they were still making them. They came in rather good condition and we gorged ourselves. All of us had some reading material, and we just sat around and took it easy. I received 2 copies of the Boston Herald yesterday, January 4th and 8th. Despite the age, dear, you’d be surprised at what good reading they make. Just to see a familiar picture or read the name of a street you know – is very satisfying. And the sport page keeps you up to date on home activities. In addition – I got my first copy of the Pony Edition of Time Magazine. It was the January 31st copy – and reading a magazine here that is only 2 weeks old or so is something. I’m glad my brother sent me it.
Anyway you can see, darling, that I had plenty to read. I came across an old physiology and anatomy book down here and I think I’m going to review a bit of the stuff I’ve become rusty on.
Gee – one item in the news this morning was on the morbid side. No doubt you got it before this. I refer to the 100 soldiers missing after the sinking of a troop ship in European waters. I guess I'm lucky to be safe on land. I’m glad more for your sake and the sake of my folks – and I’m glad you didn’t have to worry about me when you heard of that sinking. It must have been a terrible shock to a good many families at home. I guess most of us thought that our troops were safe from that hazard.
I got a letter from you yesterday written January 18th – which is a way back. Every now and then we get older letters, but I don’t mind very much. Enclosed was a clipping – or rather cartoon from the Traveler which was very cute. How is your driving coming along, darling? Don’t worry though – if you want to put the car in that way, why that’s the way you’ll put it. On second thought, we’ll limit that just to your car. I see by the various additions that you have a good imagination, sweetheart. I like that, because I have one too. Blotting out of the clouds and drawing in the sun – is very symbolic, and I’m sure it will be that way for us. The dog is assuredly a Scotty, if you like them, too.
I guess you’re going to be a very practical wife, darling. Very few girls know much about the value of money and very few girls know much about loans, interest – etc. It will be nice to have a wife who knows about money, what we’re doing with it and how it’s being saved or invested. I assume of course that we’ll have money to save and invest, dear. After the war, sweetheart, and as soon as we’re married – we’ll go over all that together. We’ll appraise what insurance I have, see if it’s enough and the right kind, plan for the future etc. I have a little money in savings which perhaps could be used to better advantage, although when I last heard, it was still bringing about 3% interest, compounded quarter-annually. I also have a little money invested in cooperative shares which seemed to me to be the thing to do – at one time. We’ll use a good part of it getting a car, starting our home, getting clothes, etc. – but hell – with any kind of break, I’ll make more, I know – because I did reasonably well without any particular incentive. I’ll really have something to work for with you as my wife and the prospects of a family. Gosh – I get a big kick out of thinking about such things, darling.
I’ll stop now – but continue dreaming, if you don’t mind, sweetheart. I feel very close to you when I think and plan of the future. We’re going to have a grand time together, dear, and to say that I’m looking forward to it is to utter the world’s greatest understatement. So long for now, darling and you have all my love
Well this makes a run of 3 days of bleak wintry days – and yet it never gets as cold as our own dear New England. Today we are having snow flurries, but it hasn’t amounted to much. Nevertheless I’ve been sort of reluctant to do much traveling about in an open jeep, so here I am again at the Dispensary, getting off an early letter to you, dear.
Last night we spent another nice quiet evening in our quarters. Thursday is ration day and we got our allotment of gum, soap, chocolate bars, matches and tobacco. One of the boys had received a box of chocolates – Apollo, I didn’t know they were still making them. They came in rather good condition and we gorged ourselves. All of us had some reading material, and we just sat around and took it easy. I received 2 copies of the Boston Herald yesterday, January 4th and 8th. Despite the age, dear, you’d be surprised at what good reading they make. Just to see a familiar picture or read the name of a street you know – is very satisfying. And the sport page keeps you up to date on home activities. In addition – I got my first copy of the Pony Edition of Time Magazine. It was the January 31st copy – and reading a magazine here that is only 2 weeks old or so is something. I’m glad my brother sent me it.
CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE
The Apollo Chocolates Box
F.H. Roberts Co., Boston, MA Since 1898
The Apollo Chocolates Box
F.H. Roberts Co., Boston, MA Since 1898
Anyway you can see, darling, that I had plenty to read. I came across an old physiology and anatomy book down here and I think I’m going to review a bit of the stuff I’ve become rusty on.
Gee – one item in the news this morning was on the morbid side. No doubt you got it before this. I refer to the 100 soldiers missing after the sinking of a troop ship in European waters. I guess I'm lucky to be safe on land. I’m glad more for your sake and the sake of my folks – and I’m glad you didn’t have to worry about me when you heard of that sinking. It must have been a terrible shock to a good many families at home. I guess most of us thought that our troops were safe from that hazard.
I got a letter from you yesterday written January 18th – which is a way back. Every now and then we get older letters, but I don’t mind very much. Enclosed was a clipping – or rather cartoon from the Traveler which was very cute. How is your driving coming along, darling? Don’t worry though – if you want to put the car in that way, why that’s the way you’ll put it. On second thought, we’ll limit that just to your car. I see by the various additions that you have a good imagination, sweetheart. I like that, because I have one too. Blotting out of the clouds and drawing in the sun – is very symbolic, and I’m sure it will be that way for us. The dog is assuredly a Scotty, if you like them, too.
This cartoon was included in the letter of 18 January, 1944.
I guess you’re going to be a very practical wife, darling. Very few girls know much about the value of money and very few girls know much about loans, interest – etc. It will be nice to have a wife who knows about money, what we’re doing with it and how it’s being saved or invested. I assume of course that we’ll have money to save and invest, dear. After the war, sweetheart, and as soon as we’re married – we’ll go over all that together. We’ll appraise what insurance I have, see if it’s enough and the right kind, plan for the future etc. I have a little money in savings which perhaps could be used to better advantage, although when I last heard, it was still bringing about 3% interest, compounded quarter-annually. I also have a little money invested in cooperative shares which seemed to me to be the thing to do – at one time. We’ll use a good part of it getting a car, starting our home, getting clothes, etc. – but hell – with any kind of break, I’ll make more, I know – because I did reasonably well without any particular incentive. I’ll really have something to work for with you as my wife and the prospects of a family. Gosh – I get a big kick out of thinking about such things, darling.
I’ll stop now – but continue dreaming, if you don’t mind, sweetheart. I feel very close to you when I think and plan of the future. We’re going to have a grand time together, dear, and to say that I’m looking forward to it is to utter the world’s greatest understatement. So long for now, darling and you have all my love
Greg.
* TIDBIT *
About the Sinking of the USS Leary
and the Loss of 100 Men
CLICK ON PICTURE TO ENLARGE
The USS Leary (DD-158)
About the Sinking of the USS Leary
and the Loss of 100 Men
CLICK ON PICTURE TO ENLARGE
The USS Leary (DD-158)
From The blog of Jerome Prophet comes this incredible story of the tragic sinking of the USS Leary by Lt. Scott Robinson, H Division, USS North Carolina Historical Detachment.
The captain, James Ellsworth Kyes, was born in Everett, Washington on 16 April 1906 and had graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1930. He was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously for "extraordinary heroism" during this action. There is a memorial to James Kyes erected by his Annapolis classmates at the site of the abandoned mining town of Monte Cristo in the Cascade Mountains in Washington where his family ran a hotel. The memorial sits under a large tree he planted as a young boy. There are no buildings left at the town site, only the memorial and the tree. It is a 4 mile hike to reach Monte Cristo. The road is not open to automobiles.
Also awarded posthumously was the Navy and Marine Corp Medal to Lt. (JG) Anthony Kerasotes, for heroism in connection with operations while serving as Doctor aboard USS Leary on 24 Dec. 1943. When Leary was struck and heavily damaged, Lt. Kerasotes immediately initiated medical procedures on the scores of wounded personnel. When the word was passed to abandon ship, he helped ensure the injured were transported over the side. When the final, fatal torpedo struck Leary, he was continuing his medical attention to the injured and was one of the last personnel to enter the water. While in the cold water, he helped ensure the men were all taken care of and continued to swim between groups encouraging and assisting them until he himself drowned.
In April 1937, USS Leary had become the first United States naval vessel to be equipped with search radar, which was installed by the Naval Research Laboratory. The radar set included separate antennae to send and receive in the VHF band (1.5 m). Now Leary became the third (and last) American destroyer to be sunk by a German U-boat.
On 17 December, 1943, CTG 21.14 commanded by Captain A.J. Isbell aboard the USS Card (CVE-11), left Casablanca and steamed in support of convoy GUS-24. Orders from Washington detached the Card group, Leary (DD158), Schenck (DD159), Decatur and Babbitt, to track down a U-boat concentration around latitude 45N, longitude 22W. The Card was one of the "jeep" (escort) carriers and the destroyers were old WWI vintage four-stack destroyers.
Just before dusk on the 23rd, the seas were so rough that a Wildcat and her crew were lost from the deck of the Card. An additional sailor was swept off her flight deck. While the air crew was recovered, the sailor was nowhere to be found in the rough seas. Decatur's steering gear room was flooded and she was being steered by hand.
Captain Isbell had no way of knowing that group Borkum (13 subs) had rallied and lay in waiting for their prey 85 miles dead ahead. With the rough seas and the stricken Decatur, Isbell could not evade the group and decided to press ahead. The die was cast.
At 2200, U-305 sighted Card and ordered the wolfpack to close. At 2230 Card's radar picked up her first surface contact. Soon, there were too many to track. Card, with Decatur in close proximity had to make best speed dead ahead to outrun the wolfpack. Leary and the stricken Decatur followed the Card and took evasive action. Things began to happen in rapid succession. The heat was on and the ships were in the middle of a cauldron of war and Mother Nature's fury.
Several subs pursued Card through the night. At 0630, she was able to launch her first aircraft and a sub was immediately spotted 7000 yards on her port quarter. The subs dove under the safety of the waves and Card was spared. Meanwhile, the two destroyers, Schenck and Leary, were engaged in battle with the remainder of Group Borkum. Torpedoes were seen in the water heading for Schenck. The closest was one that went right under her bow. A wave had crested just in time and the Schenck was spared. She steamed towards Leary to join in a systematic search of the region.
As Leary moved out to chase the more distant, Schenck made a 4th contact and lost it at about 2500 yards. She sighted a U-boat diving and evaded a torpedo to port. She closed to 800 yards and at 0145, began a nine depth charge pattern. The U-boat was damaged and surfaced at 0215. Schenck closed for the coup-de-gras. The boat dove. At 0229, secondary underwater explosions were heard and a brief surface contact was made. A distress signal was intercepted. As Schenck closed on the stricken U-boat, she slipped under the waves with no survivors. An oil slick surfaced. This was the end of U-645. The U-boat sank with 55 men and group Borkum's Doctor.
A series of mishaps were rapidly occurring aboard Leary. At 0158, Leary commanded by Commander James Kyes, made radar contact and fired a star shell to illuminate the target. This only illuminated her own position for the shadowing subs. As the sub submerged to periscope depth, there was a misunderstanding and Leary's guns continued to fire. At 0208, when sound contact was gained, the squawk box between the sound room and bridge failed to function and almost two minutes elapsed before Commander Kyes got the word, and, too late, ordered right rudder.
U-275 had been watching Leary for almost ten minutes. At 0210 as Leary commenced her turn, Oberluetnant Bork fired two well aimed Zaukoning torpedoes. They hit Leary in rapid succession. One in the after engine room, and one in the after hold. All power was lost. The crew in the engineering spaces were killed outright by severed steam lines. She listed to starboard by 25 degrees and settled rapidly. The torpedo men barely had time to safe her depth charges. This action undoubtedly saved many lives. The entire aft section of the destroyer became a tangle of twisted metal and human lives extinguished. Leary began to break apart and settle. RT Butch Hauer started the auxiliary generator and called to Schenck for assistance. As Schenck was taking an oil sample, Leary five miles distant, had reported that she had just been torpedoed. U-275 's fish had hit their mark. Schenck headed at flank speed to aid her sister.
Three or four minutes after the explosions, the Executive Officer, Lt. Robert Watson, concluded a quick inspection. He reported to Commander Kyes. Kyes ordered abandon ship. BM Walter Eshelman directed men to jettison all floatable gear and abandonment was professional and orderly as if a drill. Watson reported that everyone except himself and the skipper had left and obtained permission for one more look around to see if any wounded men had been forgotten. U-382 had moved into position and launched a third torpedo. It struck at 0241 in the forward engine space. Leary broke apart and went down fast. Commander Kyes ordered Watson and Hauer over the side and handed his life jacket to a black mess attendant who had none. Commander Kyes was never seen again.
As the ship slipped beneath the waves, her bow rose high in the air. The steam escaping from the spaces and the constant blowing of her distress horn made an eerie, haunting sound. Men swam away from her as fast as they could, dragging the injured and weak behind them. They had to escape the suction of the ship, and any secondary explosions from unsafed depth charges. Over 60 men were killed instantly by the explosions, and about 100 were now in the 43 degree water. As Schenck arrived on the scene, she could not pick up survivors. The water was infested with Group Borkum. A rain squall developed and pounded the waters. In a bold move, Commander Logsdon slowed Schenck and dropped her gig in the water with four men aboard. He gave the order to a young Lieutenant (jg), "Save as many as you can. I don't know when we'll be back. Good luck and may God be with you." With that, the gig was in the water among the survivors. Schenck pressed on to chase Borkum out of the area.
In the water, there was no officer, no enlisted man, no black, no white. They were all sailors fighting to stay alive. Afraid that, at any moment, a U-boat would surface and machinegun them all. Not only were they fighting the enemy, they were now fighting the cruel sea. One by one, they slowly succumbed to their injuries and slipped beneath the waves. The strong fought to hold on to the wounded, but their hands and arms ceased to function.
Four hours later, when day broke on Christmas Eve, Schenck returned to the site. She slowly steamed among the debris and bodies. Her crew tried to identify the dead from the names stenciled on their clothing. She pulled 59 hypothermic and injured men from the water. 97 United States sailors perished on Christmas Eve of 1943 in the icy North Atlantic.
Just before dusk on the 23rd, the seas were so rough that a Wildcat and her crew were lost from the deck of the Card. An additional sailor was swept off her flight deck. While the air crew was recovered, the sailor was nowhere to be found in the rough seas. Decatur's steering gear room was flooded and she was being steered by hand.
Captain Isbell had no way of knowing that group Borkum (13 subs) had rallied and lay in waiting for their prey 85 miles dead ahead. With the rough seas and the stricken Decatur, Isbell could not evade the group and decided to press ahead. The die was cast.
At 2200, U-305 sighted Card and ordered the wolfpack to close. At 2230 Card's radar picked up her first surface contact. Soon, there were too many to track. Card, with Decatur in close proximity had to make best speed dead ahead to outrun the wolfpack. Leary and the stricken Decatur followed the Card and took evasive action. Things began to happen in rapid succession. The heat was on and the ships were in the middle of a cauldron of war and Mother Nature's fury.
Several subs pursued Card through the night. At 0630, she was able to launch her first aircraft and a sub was immediately spotted 7000 yards on her port quarter. The subs dove under the safety of the waves and Card was spared. Meanwhile, the two destroyers, Schenck and Leary, were engaged in battle with the remainder of Group Borkum. Torpedoes were seen in the water heading for Schenck. The closest was one that went right under her bow. A wave had crested just in time and the Schenck was spared. She steamed towards Leary to join in a systematic search of the region.
As Leary moved out to chase the more distant, Schenck made a 4th contact and lost it at about 2500 yards. She sighted a U-boat diving and evaded a torpedo to port. She closed to 800 yards and at 0145, began a nine depth charge pattern. The U-boat was damaged and surfaced at 0215. Schenck closed for the coup-de-gras. The boat dove. At 0229, secondary underwater explosions were heard and a brief surface contact was made. A distress signal was intercepted. As Schenck closed on the stricken U-boat, she slipped under the waves with no survivors. An oil slick surfaced. This was the end of U-645. The U-boat sank with 55 men and group Borkum's Doctor.
A series of mishaps were rapidly occurring aboard Leary. At 0158, Leary commanded by Commander James Kyes, made radar contact and fired a star shell to illuminate the target. This only illuminated her own position for the shadowing subs. As the sub submerged to periscope depth, there was a misunderstanding and Leary's guns continued to fire. At 0208, when sound contact was gained, the squawk box between the sound room and bridge failed to function and almost two minutes elapsed before Commander Kyes got the word, and, too late, ordered right rudder.
U-275 had been watching Leary for almost ten minutes. At 0210 as Leary commenced her turn, Oberluetnant Bork fired two well aimed Zaukoning torpedoes. They hit Leary in rapid succession. One in the after engine room, and one in the after hold. All power was lost. The crew in the engineering spaces were killed outright by severed steam lines. She listed to starboard by 25 degrees and settled rapidly. The torpedo men barely had time to safe her depth charges. This action undoubtedly saved many lives. The entire aft section of the destroyer became a tangle of twisted metal and human lives extinguished. Leary began to break apart and settle. RT Butch Hauer started the auxiliary generator and called to Schenck for assistance. As Schenck was taking an oil sample, Leary five miles distant, had reported that she had just been torpedoed. U-275 's fish had hit their mark. Schenck headed at flank speed to aid her sister.
Three or four minutes after the explosions, the Executive Officer, Lt. Robert Watson, concluded a quick inspection. He reported to Commander Kyes. Kyes ordered abandon ship. BM Walter Eshelman directed men to jettison all floatable gear and abandonment was professional and orderly as if a drill. Watson reported that everyone except himself and the skipper had left and obtained permission for one more look around to see if any wounded men had been forgotten. U-382 had moved into position and launched a third torpedo. It struck at 0241 in the forward engine space. Leary broke apart and went down fast. Commander Kyes ordered Watson and Hauer over the side and handed his life jacket to a black mess attendant who had none. Commander Kyes was never seen again.
As the ship slipped beneath the waves, her bow rose high in the air. The steam escaping from the spaces and the constant blowing of her distress horn made an eerie, haunting sound. Men swam away from her as fast as they could, dragging the injured and weak behind them. They had to escape the suction of the ship, and any secondary explosions from unsafed depth charges. Over 60 men were killed instantly by the explosions, and about 100 were now in the 43 degree water. As Schenck arrived on the scene, she could not pick up survivors. The water was infested with Group Borkum. A rain squall developed and pounded the waters. In a bold move, Commander Logsdon slowed Schenck and dropped her gig in the water with four men aboard. He gave the order to a young Lieutenant (jg), "Save as many as you can. I don't know when we'll be back. Good luck and may God be with you." With that, the gig was in the water among the survivors. Schenck pressed on to chase Borkum out of the area.
In the water, there was no officer, no enlisted man, no black, no white. They were all sailors fighting to stay alive. Afraid that, at any moment, a U-boat would surface and machinegun them all. Not only were they fighting the enemy, they were now fighting the cruel sea. One by one, they slowly succumbed to their injuries and slipped beneath the waves. The strong fought to hold on to the wounded, but their hands and arms ceased to function.
Four hours later, when day broke on Christmas Eve, Schenck returned to the site. She slowly steamed among the debris and bodies. Her crew tried to identify the dead from the names stenciled on their clothing. She pulled 59 hypothermic and injured men from the water. 97 United States sailors perished on Christmas Eve of 1943 in the icy North Atlantic.
The captain, James Ellsworth Kyes, was born in Everett, Washington on 16 April 1906 and had graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1930. He was awarded the Navy Cross posthumously for "extraordinary heroism" during this action. There is a memorial to James Kyes erected by his Annapolis classmates at the site of the abandoned mining town of Monte Cristo in the Cascade Mountains in Washington where his family ran a hotel. The memorial sits under a large tree he planted as a young boy. There are no buildings left at the town site, only the memorial and the tree. It is a 4 mile hike to reach Monte Cristo. The road is not open to automobiles.
Also awarded posthumously was the Navy and Marine Corp Medal to Lt. (JG) Anthony Kerasotes, for heroism in connection with operations while serving as Doctor aboard USS Leary on 24 Dec. 1943. When Leary was struck and heavily damaged, Lt. Kerasotes immediately initiated medical procedures on the scores of wounded personnel. When the word was passed to abandon ship, he helped ensure the injured were transported over the side. When the final, fatal torpedo struck Leary, he was continuing his medical attention to the injured and was one of the last personnel to enter the water. While in the cold water, he helped ensure the men were all taken care of and continued to swim between groups encouraging and assisting them until he himself drowned.
In April 1937, USS Leary had become the first United States naval vessel to be equipped with search radar, which was installed by the Naval Research Laboratory. The radar set included separate antennae to send and receive in the VHF band (1.5 m). Now Leary became the third (and last) American destroyer to be sunk by a German U-boat.
