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Subject: USS DOUGLAS H. FOX Bill, I was sitting here looking at this letter of commendation I got from our CO along with about 13 others from USS Robert L. Wilson. It concerns the boiler room fire on USS Fox in 1968. I also seen the email from "Doc Harter". I was Scene leader, Repair 5 on Wilson. I recall us arriving on Fox by small boat. I was at the interior hatch first in line pulling up a stokes with a victim and the rope burned thru and the stokes released. I remember that day well. After all was calm the XO asked for someone to go down and take a temp reading. We were on deck having oranges and liquid. I went down with this huge hand held thermometer. The air temp was over 200 degrees. I remember seeing the victims. I went down to the lower level and behind the boiler on the deck plate was a pr of shoes and a green notebook. I opened the book and there was a family picture. It was very tough. I was very surprised to see this web site after all these years of wondering exactly who it was that lost their life that day. I still work for the Navy as a civilian in the Engineering Division at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, Bremerton Wa. I would appreciate any other info you may have. Take care,
D Bass
12/03/04: Dear Sir: My name is L. Joe Loy my father served on The USS Fox during the Second World War. His name was Lester Jerry Loy,( L.J.L. also). I have been looking for info concerning my father' service off and on for years. Thank God for the internet and folks like you. your site is wonderful. I would ask you to help me find my way to some of dads old shipmates. I would love to here some stories about his tour. His service number on his ID card is 7235951 he was a boiler operator. I believe he was on board when the ship was hit in may of 1947.He never talked about this with us. he passed away in 1979, when I was 19. I never really got to know him as a man a would like to find out more now. Anything you can send me will be greatly appreciated. Respectfully ,
by: Patty Hudson Malloy I noticed his jacket the minute he walked over to our table, a soft gray leather with lambs wool lining, well worn, but still handsome. He smiled. How little did I realize that jacket was a gate to a whole life experience. I had been at church with Tom and Mary Vellani, and we had agreed to go to Sunday dinner at a small oriental restaurant after the service. We'd almost finished our meal when the handsome man in the jacket stepped up to our table. Tom commented, "That's a good looking jacket you're wearing, Glenn." Glenn smiled. "It was my father's," he explained, "he was a bomber pilot in World War II, and he flew some pretty exciting missions. I am a bit of a history buff and I've written about his experiences." "My father was in that war, too," I said. "He was killed in 1945 in the South Pacific." "What was the name of his ship?" Glenn asked. "USS Douglas H. Fox," I replied. "It was a destroyer," Glenn commented, "all the destroyers were named after famous men in those days." Glenn talked with us a little longer and then he left. Tom and Mary and I finished our meal and drove home. Two weeks later I met Tom for dinner so we could talk about a Sunday school class we were going to teach together in a few weeks. As I pulled my chair up to the table, Tom said, "Before we get started with our business, I have something for you from Glenn." Tom handed me a large yellow envelope. I thanked him, and we proceeded with our meeting. I never opened the envelope until the next day, and that's when I discovered its surprising contents. Glenn had found a website about my father's ship, and had printed out a lot information I had never seen. Among the papers was a complete, moment by moment account of the kamikaze attack on the USS Douglas H. Fox on May 17, 1945, the battle in which my father was killed. As I read it, tears welled up in my eyes and I felt a strange ache in my heart. Even though I was reading about events that had taken place nearly 58 years before, the reaction was deeply powerful. The "Fox" as the men affectionately call her, was off the coast of Okinawa as part of a radar screen set up with ships surrounding the island. Daddy's destroyer was part of a small company of ships that included the Van Valkenburg and several troop ships. During the daytime our planes patrolled the area, protecting the destroyers and troop ships, but at night when our planes were forced to return to base, the destroyers were left to defend themselves. On the night of May 17, 1945, the company of ships at Picket Station #9 (including the USS Douglas H. Fox) was attacked shortly after dark, by eleven or twelve kamikaze planes. The gunnery crews shot down all of twelve. Even the one that hit the "Fox" had lost its tail due to machine gun fire. However, as it descended from the rear of the ship toward the front, one of the wings got caught in the radar tower of the destroyer. The plane's trajectory changed and it released the bomb that was attached to it. The bomb penetrated the top and back of Gun Mount 52 and the deck between the two gun turrets. It detonated, penetrating the deck and starting numerous fires. What was left of the aircraft demolished Gun Mount 51, as it exploded against it. It laid the gun turret open much the same as a box that is split down the corners and the sides laid down. The top of the turret was completely blown off and apparently went overboard. All the gun crew in Mount 51 was either killed outright, or seriously wounded. My dad was in that Gun Mount and as was killed. Ten men lost their lives that night and many were wounded. Also in the materials Glenn sent, was a list of men who had been members of all the crews of the USS Douglas H. Fox from 1944 when the ship was commissioned until 1973, when it was retired from the US Navy and sold to Chile. I read through the list carefully and found the name of a man who was aboard from 1944-45. I took the email off the listing and wrote to him, asking if he could have possibly known my father. I got an answer the next day from the man's grandson. He said he didn't know if his grandfather had known my dad, but he could connect me to a man who could help me. That is when I "met" Tom "Windy" Sherman. Windy's e-mails were friendly and compassionate. He was determined that I should make contact with some of the men who were still living, who knew Daddy on board the "Fox." I felt a thrill in realizing what this would mean. I could rediscover what my father's final weeks and months of life had been like. Tom Sherman is the commander of the USS Douglas H. Fox Association. This is an organization for all crewmembers and their families. Tom was excited to "meet" me and he began to do some research for me. Before long he sent me a huge list of 68 men who were on the ship with my Dad, and I, in turn, wrote a letter with a picture, my address, phone numbers, and e-mail address enclosed, asking if they had known my father. Then the true adventure began. I got a series of phone calls - - - sometimes as many as four or five a day. One day, on my voice mail, a man said, "This is William Bornemann. I live in Stuart, Florida. I got your letter about your father. Yes, I knew him. He was my best friend. We'd go on liberty together. He is truly a man I will never forget." My heart nearly stopped. I had just walked back into history and found someone back there who was alive and could talk to me. Here was a man who knew my father, remembered their experiences together and was willing to share those with me. Bill is writing me a letter about his experiences with Daddy. I haven't received it yet , but hope it will arrive soon. Milton Flanagan sent me six books about the "Fox," so I could give one to each of my children. It's a beautiful book with pictures of the ship and a complete ship's log of the days before, during and after the battle of May 17, 1945. Gordon Hanner called to tell me he remembered Daddy, too. He worked with him and was below deck when the plane hit the ship. He proceeded to explain that he had found my father's body after the battle ended. "I don't know how much you want to know." he said kindly. I assured him I wanted to know everything he could tell me. "Your father's body didn't have a mark on it," he replied, "but his head was crushed when the kamikaze hit the gun mount." I breathed a sigh of relief. I had pictured much worse after reading the account of the kamikaze attack. I thanked Gordon over and over again. Later Gordon sent me three chapters from his own life story. They tell about his experience aboard the "Fox" in May of 1945. I have learned many fascinating details about the days on board from him. The days unfolded in a kind of strange "unreality" as I heard from more and more of Daddy's shipmates. One shipmate explained that he had helped Daddy deliver mail to a neighboring destroyer. "On one of the trips in the small boat that we used to take mail to the other destroyer, the sea was very rough!" he related. "Your dad got pretty sick, but I never told anyone because I knew he would be embarrassed. I guess he wouldn't care if I told you." I smiled. Here was another little piece of the story in the final days of Daddy's life aboard ship. Norman Handley wrote me a long hand-written letter. Norman was on board the "Fox" when it was commissioned on December 26, 1944. (That exact date happens to have been my eighth birthday!) A man who is part of the first crew of a ship is called a "Plank Owner." Daddy didn't come on board the ship until March of 1945. According to the itinerary Norman sent me, the ship arrived in San Francisco on Saturday, March 24, to go to Pearl Harbor. It was escorting a slow ship. The crew arrived in Pearl Harbor on Saturday, March 31 for more training. On Saturday, April 21 the USS Douglas H. Fox left for Ulithi During the night of April 20, Norman reports, a whale boat returned to the ship with six twin mount 50 caliber machine guns. There is an interesting story connected to these guns. Gordon Hanner writes about it in his book called, This Has Been My Life.
In desiring to recreate the final weeks and days of my father's life on board the USS Douglas H. Fox, I read with deepest interest the chapters Gordon Hanner sent me from his life story. I have pieced together the dates of Daddy's letters and the dates from Gordon's story. Here is a letter Daddy wrote to my aunt and uncle on March 25 - a Sunday.
Well, here it is the second out and water, water everywhere. Consists of large waves and swells causing a swaying motion of intense annoyment. You brace yourself one way then reverse the procedure, and so on endlessly. Write with one hand, hang on with the other. Hope you received my night letter with the five-dollar money order so you could purchase an Easter lily for that amount. If it cost more let me know and I will gladly forward the balance. The thought of Easter just struck me last night. I had liberty at 1 a.m. in the morning. Thanks a lot!! The day's routine consists mostly of watches, drills, instructions, and hitting the sack. Now that we're out to sea, the mail business isn't thriving, just selling an occasional stamp. Myrna said she was going to work for you, Louis, thanks a lot and hope she can help you out. Sorry this wasn't so interesting but just wanted you to know I was thinking and wishing. 'Til next elbow bending time. ------ Love, Chet Daddy wrote one other letter prior to May 17th (at least that I have) on April 8, 1945. It simply says, "Sunday - at sea." It talks about wishing he was home and then he says, "But that time will come soon." That never happened. In five months time, the story has moved from a black and white blur to a clear, full-color view. Letters and e-mails came from Archie Applegate of Olney, MD; Calvin Campbell of Tallahassee, FL; James Davis, of Norman, OK; Gordon Earl, Plymouth, MN; Kenneth Edstrom of Plymouth, MN; Melvin Flanagan of Denver, CO; Herbert Frantz of Kingsville, MD; Harry Holtsclaw of Salt Springs, FL; Owen Morgan of Wilton, ME; Henry Seegers of East Hartford, CT; Gilbert Handley of Auburn, CA; Gordon Hanner of Oceanside, CA; James Richart, West Milton, OH; Dr. Otto Stegmaier of San Diego, CA; Archie Thigpen of Battleboro, NC; the son-in-law of Ralph Vachal of Vancouver, WA; and Fletcher Wiley of Sherborn, MA. In the letter I received from James Richart was a photograph of a plague the men created and mounted on the ship in memory of those who gave their lives aboard the USS Douglas H. Fox. The plague says, "Lest We Forget - killed in action 17 May 1945 Ens. Leo Fay USNR, R.M. Peed Gw2/c USN, J.T. Askew GM 2/c USN, W. W. McKInley SC2/c USN, C. E. Hudson MaM3/c USNR, J.C. Pilafas S1/c USNR, P. B. Hodges S1/c USNR, S.T. Strock S1/c USNR, R. M. Franklin S2/c USNR, W. A. Thiessen S2/c USNR. Now that the Fox is no longer a part of the US Naval force, this photograph is a real treasure. I got phone calls from: Bill Bornemann, Stuart, FL; Buel Keen, Kansas City, KA; Thomas Kerns, Randallstown, MD; son of Samuel Lavine, Rosedale, NY; Harrison Levy, Phoenix, AZ; Chuck Lyle, Lowell, MA; the daughter of Philip John Masters, Elyria, OH; Verlin Meiling, Norfolk, VA; Louis Ressman, Yorktown, TX; the wife of Charles Schwartz, Jr. Middlesex, NJ; and Ted Sypolt, Santa Barbara, CA. One day I got a postcard from Kenneth Johnson. He told me he knew Daddy well. Kenneth's postcard was mailed from Ft. Walton Beach, FL. where he and his wife live during the winter months. He said their Minneapolis home was very near me and he'd contact me when he returned north. In April I got a call and Kenneth and I met for lunch and talked face to face about my Dad. He told me that he was on duty near my father's little mail office aboard ship. This was news! I had no idea that Daddy actually had an office of his own where he sorted the mail. Kenneth showed me where the office was located in the ship, because he brought me a very beautiful picture of the USS Douglas H. Fox at sea. I listened intently, transfixed by the reality of what was taking place. And that wasn't all. Kenneth and Daddy talked a lot, and Daddy's office had a door on it, so they could chat undisturbed. He told me my father was a quiet, gentle, mild mannered man. He said he couldn't imagine him raising his voice. When he said that, a funny scenario my mother had shared with me at some point, popped into my memory. It seems she and Daddy had a disagreement, and Mom, in her customary manner, began to raise her voice to express her opinion. Next thing she knew, Daddy was gone, out the front door. In a little while, the front door opened, and in sailed Daddy's hat. She giggled….and he said from outside the door, "Well, if my hat stays in, it must be safe for me to come in." Kenneth went on to tell be about the fateful day of the kamikaze attack from his point of view. He and Daddy were on the same gunner crew, and had been assigned to Gun Mount 51 that day to do some repairs. When the surprise attack came they assumed battle stations in that gun mount. Kenneth's job was to go below the gun mount and hand the ammunition up through the floor to the men who were firing the big 20-millimeter guns. After the plane hit the gun mount, Kenneth was trapped in the base of the mount, and had to crawl up a narrow ladder to escape. When he set his feet on the deck, it was covered with grease and oil from the gun mount and the plane, and it was too slippery to stand up. So he crawled on his hands and knees until he could get below deck. He told me he collapsed on his bunk. He was badly burned, but alive. We turned to the picture of the gun mount that was in the book about the battle. It was taken the next day and revealed how the gun mount was split open like a cardboard box. Kenneth pointed to the seat on the left side. "Your father was sitting right there," he said. I gasped, stared at the picture for a long time. How remarkable that this detailed information should be discovered 58 years after it happened. Gratitude flooded my heart and there were many other emotions to deal with that afternoon with Kenneth, as well. An unforgettable, life-changing adventure and I cannot express adequately the gratitude in my heart. Each man has been so kind, so respectful, so willing to share all the information possible. I have been allowed to see my father through the eyes of heroes.
From :
Doc Bill, I just happened across this site on the destroyers on line website. I found the account of the boiler room fire in Sept '68, something I have been trying to find details of for many years. I was serving on your sister ship at the time, lUSS Robert L. Wilson (DD-847) when the explosion happened. The HM1 and I were hi-lifted to the Fox to render what aid we could to the victims of that tragedy. One of the men died in my arms...burned over more than 90% of his body...quite an ordeal for at the ripe old age of 20. I also remember working on Billy Burkhalter, BT2, although I surely didn't know his name at the time. I guess I just wanted you and your shipmates to know that someone else remembers those brave souls who were lost in that fire. Thank you for your time,
Doc Harter
Subject: USS Douglas H. Fox DD 779 I was on the Fox from 1968 to 1969. I was a SH. Most of my time I was the ship's barber. My GQ station was in one of the forward gun mounts. I was on board when we had that boiler room fire. I was assigned to that fireroom when I checked aboard in Feb. 1968. I didn't like the boiler room. I hated "fire sides and water sides." I wanted to be the barber. The other BT's told me, "once a BT, always a BT." Most barbers came from the deck division, not the engineering divisions. I kept those request chits flying. I turned one in every week. Finally one day when I was down in the bilge's cleaning up oil. John Hobbs shouted down to me to go see the supply officer. The supply officer told me go change into my whites I was going to the barbershop. No doubt about it, I was the happiest sailor in the Atlantic Fleet. My first week in the barbershop was when that sub went down off the coast of the Azores. The Fox and several other ships were sent out to search for surveyors or debris. We were out for about 30 days. My first customer was John Kubber (sorry if I spelled it wrong John). The longer we were out the more the customers started dropping by. I cut those guy's hair that died in that fire. I really enjoyed cutting hair. I got to know all the men on the ship. Rarely did I ever have to stand in a long chow line. Someone would let my in front of them. I would work guys in for haircuts who didn't have their name on the morning list. When I worked the laundry I would press some of guys dress blues. There was this one first class "A" gang fellow who worked on the washers and dryers in the laundry. Twice while we were on "water hours" and had to manually operate the washer I got busy pressing and accidentally let the water over flow and burnt out two motors. He took care of me and said he would tell the chief they were bad motors. I wish I could remember that guy's name. I was assigned to two other ships, a DDG, and a DLG. in Norfolk. The Fox was the best. Bill Boone SH3
Subject: USS D.H. Fox DD779 Radioman 3rd class, served aboard fox, 1962 thorugh March 1965. Boarded Fox when she was in Portsmouth Naval shipyard going through a fram job. First cruise was a shakedown to gitmo bay Cuba, returned to Norfolk, Va. Think we did a few Carribean cruises and a few to Med., Sea; discharged honorably March 1965. Served under Commander Vallery. Looking for shipmate William Connoly RM3 from New york, been a long time. Nice site, Thank You.
Andrew McGiley RM3,
Subject: Picket Duty at Okinawa/ USS Douglas Fox My uncle, David O. Turvey was in one of the two forward mounts when it was hit by the Kamikaze. Critically injured, he was almost put over the rail as he was thought to be dead. He survived and spent the rest of the war in the hospital. He died in September of 1993, in Eugene, Oregon.
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