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Lawrence C. Bostic III
RealClear Wire
For sailors, fire is an absolute nightmare. Engulfing ships and choking out the light and air, it has the power to take away everything a sailor needs to survive. Even if the crew manages to put out the flames, the fire may still take the ship, leaving the sailor at the mercy of the sea.
The 57th anniversary of the USS Forrestal fire, one of the worst in American naval history, is July 29, 2024. I volunteer at the National WWII Memorial on the National Mall some Saturday mornings. My duties grant me the privilege of greeting and speaking with the Veteran Honor Flight groups that travel to Washington from all over the country. Meeting every group is an emotional experience as many of the veterans are older, and this trip may be their first, last, or only trip to the capital. Saturday, October 14, 2023 was a particularly busy day, with about six groups in the first three hours of the morning.
That day, I was struck by the arrival of a man who moved with purpose as he approached the monument. I greeted him along the entrance ramp as I do all the veteran groups and immediately noticed his USS Forrestal hat. I mentioned that I have a mug at home that belonged to my grandfather (a navy veteran) from that ship.
He stepped in close to me and asked, “Was he there for the fire?” Embarrassed, I said I didn’t know.
He moved closer still and said, “I was.”
I told him that what I knew of the fire was what I had read in Senator John McCain’s memoir Faith of My Fathers. He replied that yes, McCain’s plane was a major part of the fire. He went on to tell me that the location on the flight deck where the fire began was directly above the berthing compartment where he and his friends from his work section lived. The night before the fire, he was moved from the night shift to the morning one. He remembered having had an angry and colorful response to the change, which meant he would not only have his sleep schedule screwed up, but also miss being on the shift with his buddies. Fatefully, it also meant that instead of being asleep with his pals as the fire began, he would be in his workspace. This isn’t the end of his story, but I want to pause here and briefly discuss the event.
The USS Forrestal (CV-59) was commissioned October 1, 1955, as one of the first “supercarriers.” Named for navy veteran and politician James Vincent Forrestal, this huge vessel had a busy career in the Atlantic participating in several important actions in the Mediterranean and Middle East in the 1950s and 1960s. The Forrestal underwent a transfer to the Pacific to support the war effort in Vietnam in the summer of 1967. It was in the predawn hours of July 29 when things went awry. Sailors and pilots are often superstitious and in this case the bad omen came after a Forrestal crewman fell overboard in the early morning hours. (He was alive, but shaken, and certainly worried about the pending chewing-out he was going to receive.) The ship began the daily business of war by launching combat aircraft to conduct missions over Vietnam.
Shortly after the morning watch turnover, the pilot of one of the waiting aircraft, an F-4B Phantom II, positioned his plane and shifted to internal power, apparently precipitating an electrical surge that precipitated the accidental firing of a 6-½-foot Zuni rocket along the flight deck toward two A-4E Skyhawks waiting to launch.
One of the Skyhawks was piloted by 31-year-old John McCain, who was being attended to by 23-year-old Petty Officer Tom Ott. A “parachute rigger,” Tom Ott had just completed the ritual of wiping down McCain’s helmet visor when the Zuni rocket ripped through the two Skyhawks. The missile landed in the ocean, but it knocked a 1,000-pound rocket from the planes and ripped open the belly of McCain’s plane sending 200 gallons of fuel onto the deck.
“At impact, my plane felt like it exploded,” McCain wrote later. “I never saw Tom Ott again.”
Flight decks are crowded places. The fuel ignited instantly and the fire moved to other planes as well as their bombs, fuel tanks, and 20-millimeter aircraft ammunition. Seven major explosions occurred within four minutes of the first rocket firing. An additional 40,000 gallons of fuel flowed across the deck and sent the fire into a rage as the ship’s fantail was consumed and the explosions opened holes in the decks. Fire and burning fuel poured into the ship, burning as far as three decks below. The crew bravely fought the fire and by two p.m. had it largely under control. But it wasn’t until four a.m. the following morning that the fire was officially declared “out.” Throughout the early morning, the crew searched the affected sections for remaining flames, as well as for the many dead and wounded sailors and aviators.
In the end 134 men aboard the Forrestal died, many of them gruesomely and another 161 were injured. The ship itself nearly sank, as it sustained large holes below the waterline, but the traumatized crew was able to nurse it into Subic Naval Base in the Philippines. She wouldn’t be seaworthy for another two years.
Now, we return to our veteran. He mentioned helping to fight the fire, but said that the searching of the ship had affected him most. Remember, his berth had been only one deck below the fire. Engulfed in the flames and smoke, his friends had all died. He had to help clean their remains from the compartment. Tragically, their injuries made identifying the bodies difficult. Due to his closeness and familiarity with the men, he was brought in to assist in the identification process, using any tattoos or distinguishing features to pick out his friends. His eyes teared as he related this story to me. He had struggled with the guilt of surviving when they had not, with the horror of finding them and cleaning up their mangled bodies. He said he didn’t know how he had made it so long bearing that guilt and pain.
Fighting my own emotions, I was at a loss for words. The best I could do was tell him that none of his friends would have wanted to trade places with him. They would have wanted him to live a full life. He nodded his head and our discussion turned to how much they had meant to him. Many people will never understand how the bond service members share can in some cases be closer than that of family or even a spouse. He shook my hand again, thanked me for my time, and moved off to join his group for their photo.
I don’t know why he chose to discuss the event or his pain with me; I am certainly honored that he did. Especially if it helped him in any way. I moved down into the memorial, closer to the group as they gathered for their photo. Struggling now with my own feelings, I looked down and turned away. When I looked up again, I saw the inscription below.
They fought together as brothers-in-arms.
They died together and now they sleep side by side.
To them we have a solemn obligation.
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz
In that moment, it reminded me that we all have an obligation to the men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for our nation. Just as that sailor carried his friends in his heart and memories, we should all remember that only through those sacrifices are we afforded the opportunities that America provides.
We know the official casualty figures from the Forrestal fire. Countless more suffered from invisible injuries as they carried that trauma throughout life. To honor them, I hope that I can do my best to live life to the fullest and ensure that their stories are not forgotten. I know I will certainly look at my grandfather’s mug differently now.
This article was originally published by RealClearHistory and made available via RealClearWire.
