Dangers at Sea - The Collision of the USS Belknap

In November 1975, I was a nineteen-year-old Operations Specialist Seaman in the OI division on the USS Belknap (CG-26). We had just finished nearly three weeks of operational readiness training exercises in the Mediterranean. As I recall, the Belknap had scored highest on Naval Gunfire Support, Anti-Aircraft Warfare, and Anti-Submarine Warfare exercises. The mood was upbeat, and there were rumors that we would be rewarded with some R&R in Barcelona. Then the collision happened. Any student of history knows that November 22 is an auspicious date in US history. In 1963, that was the day that our 35th president, John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. It is a cruel irony that it was 12 years later, to the day that we collided with the USS John F. Kennedy (CV-67)
 
It was near 2200 hours, local time, and I was preparing to go on watch in CIC. I believe we were still on port/starboard working hours. We felt a shudder as I was on the ladder up from the OI Division berthing area. As a young Seaman, I looked to more experienced shipmates for reactions. They did not look unconcerned. We all hastened to the passageway under the main deck. Smoke began to fill the passageway and someone had sealed the hatch to the main deck. We all started putting our shirts over our faces in order to get some relief from the smoke. At that point, I knew that there was a major emergency underway.
 
It wasn't very long before the hatch to the main deck was opened and we all scurried up to the main deck, were my eyes were opened to what looked like daylight. But it wasn't daylight. It was fire. Fire for as far and high as the eye could see. As a result of the collision with John F. Kennedy's overhanging deck, JP-5 fuel lines were ruptured spraying fuel over an adjacent catwalk, and fires ensued aboard both ships.
 
My group was on the forward part of the ship where we immediately put our damage control training to work. It became clear that there was a collision as we could see the Kennedy drifting away, dead in the water.
 
We immediately started the P-250 and P-500 pumps and trained seawater on the blazing inferno. Before long, the USS Claude V. Ricketts pulled alongside and transferred many of the injured, via Stokes litters, over to the Ricketts. The 3 inch and 5-inch magazines were exploding, but the Ricketts was undeterred and accepted our wounded.
 
We didn't know the fate of our shipmates that were aft of the superstructure and didn't find out until much later, what seemed like hours later, that the crew on the fantail was doing the same thing: fighting the fire toward the center.
 
After a long night of fighting the flames, and with the sun beginning to come up, we witnessed the smoking, burned-out superstructure of the once-majestic ship.
 
Now the really hard work began: finding the bodies of our dead shipmates. I remember being with a group that discovered the body of DS3 Gerald Ketcham, a shipmate and I enjoyed playing cards with during off time. I could tell other stories about other shipmates who lost their lives that night. FA David Messmer joined the crew the same day as I did in April of that year. STG3 Brent Lassen was a fellow Operations Department member. My other fallen shipmates, MM1 James Cass, EM2 Mike Kawola, MM2 Doug Freeman and DS2 Gordon St. Marie were all good men with whom I had the pleasure of serving. The name of the sailor that perished on the USS John F. Kennedy was PO 2nd Class Yeoman David A. Chivalette
 
The history books will tell the rest of the story. They will tell how we were towed to Palermo, Sicily to await orders; how we were flown back stateside a short time after the collision. What they may not tell is how ordinary sailors, put in a position of saving the ship that night, were up to the task.
 
I witnessed people, officers whom I looked up to, reduced to tears; and I saw some of my enlisted shipmates, perform heroic deeds, all night long. That night at sea, with the fires raging, and explosions rocking the ship, rank meant little. But actions spoke volumes about the character of the fine men I was proud to stand next to as we successfully doused the flames so that the Belknap could sail again. 

My next duty station was in the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, where my next ship, the USS Tattnall (DDG-19) was in dry dock. It was January 1976 (I think), when I was chipping paint very high on the Tattnall's superstructure. That height offered a bird's-eye view of a very strange sight. It was a U.S. Navy destroyer, with a compact, sealed-up superstructure being towed up the Delaware River. Could it be? It was. The Belknap had just finished its long journey across the Atlantic to be repaired and refitted at the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard.
 
These are my recollections, 35 years later. I'm sure others could tell other stories about the Belknap and about that night. As a nineteen-year-old Seaman, I felt like I grew up a lot and learned a lot about myself and about life, as a result of being involved in this incident. I finished my tour in 1978, but no other duty station ever came close to the experiences I had on the 'Bonnie B', as we used to call her. No other duty station ever compared with the great bunch of men with whom I was privileged to serve.
 
Before I finish, there is one more coincidence I will share. In October 2003 (I think), I was camping at Hanna Park near Mayport, Florida. I looked out across the bay and saw a large '67' painted on what looked like a building. After getting some binoculars, I realized it was the hull number of the USS John F. Kennedy. This was the first time I had seen that ship since the fateful night in '75. I took the ferry over to Mayport and talked my way into the berth where the Kennedy was. It was a strange experience for me, but I felt like I had now come full circle. I was able to talk to the ship's Public Information Officer and tell her the story of the Belknap and the Kennedy. I also told her that there was a Belknap reunion about to take place in a few weeks and that it might be a nice gesture to send a letter and a flag to the men of Belknap. She and the CO of the Kennedy agreed. I arrived at the reunion just in time to see several grown men (much older now) in tears, as the letter was read and the flag presented. It seems, after the accident, the Kennedy permanently installed, what they called a 'Belknap pole' as a reminder and a remembrance of what happened so long ago in the Mediterranean.
 
I have attended three reunions, in Pensacola, Charleston, and Norfolk. I have had a chance to speak with Capt. Shafer, our commanding officer at the time. And I am lucky to have been able to thank him for his leadership that night. Both the Belknap and the Kennedy have been decommissioned now, but hopefully, the story will live on.