Hunt and Kill

by Theodore P. Savas

  The Immediate Post-War life of U-505

  Once U-505 reached Bermuda in June 1944, representatives from several offices of Naval Intelligence arrived to inspect their new prize. Of particular interest were code materials and any new technologies found aboard the boat. The code books, publications, and two enigma machines were rushed off to Washington aboard a Navy plane with Lt. J. W. Dumford from the USS Jenks acting as courier. Dumford would provide many eager ears in Washington with their first eyewitness account of what took place during the attack and capture of U-505.

  The U-boat was tied up at the Navy Yard in Bermuda and the remaining contents of the boat inspected in detail. Fourteen torpedoes, together with their detonating pistols and any other related parts, were inventoried from the boat. Two were T-5 accoustic homing torpedoes (a third had been fired from the #5 tube in the stern) and five were air powered. The torpedoes were sent to Washington on several ships to ensure at least one of the shipments arrived safely. Tests were conducted on the T-5s to discover the frequency upon which they operated. This helped ASW technicians in their quest to make existing foxing gear more effective as a decoy against them.

  U-505 was moved into dry-dock for a hull inspection and any repairs necessary to return it to operation. The Navy wanted to get U-505 on the water with an American crew in order to determine the capabilities of its new prize. The U-boat’s forward diving planes had been lost in the tangle with USS Pillsbury during the first effort to take U-505 under tow. New dive planes, an operating shaft, and bearings were constructed and fitted to the boat. The hull had sustained almost no damage whatsoever other than a 20mm shell hole on the water line of Dive bunker #7. It is curious that no problems were reported with the rudders, which supposedly had jammed hard to starboard because of battle damage. Since the rudders were returned to amidships with the emergency steering gear several days after the capture, one must assume they were not actually “jammed to the right” in the literal sense, but merely put at hard right somehow when the Germans abandoned U-505.

  Once U-505 was repaired, its batteries charged and air tanks refilled, the boat was returned to water with an American crew for trials. Very little has surfaced regarding these tests, but they must have been quite thorough. Thereafter it is believed U-505 was utilized to help train destroyers and other surface units preparing to go to sea to hunt U-boats.

  Once VE day arrived the secret of U-505’s capture was finally made public. On May 16, 1945, the US Navy put out a press release detailing the capture. The men who had received medals for their role in the capture could now replace their citations that up until that time read “…for reasons which cannot be revealed at this time,” with full citations detailing their accomplishments.

  U-505 was sent to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to join other surrendered German U-boats berthed there. Ironically, it shared pier space with U-858 whose commander, Thilo Bode, had once served as U-505’s First Watch Officer. U-505 did not remain in Portsmouth for long. The 7th war bond drive was underway and its organizers were looking for an attraction to encourage citizens to buy more bonds. The story of U-505 was exactly what they were seeking. Initially the Navy had no interest in the idea but a decision was eventually made to support the effort and an itinerary was put together to have the boat visit ports up and down the Eastern seaboard. The story of how the boat was captured and its pending arrival was announced in advance to drum up interest. The boat stopped in each city for about one week, during which members of the public could tour it if they purchased a war bond. An American crew was on hand to answer questions and assist with the tours. U-505 was a smash hit. The lines waiting to board were oftens hours long, and people were often turned away at the end of the day. Millions of dollars were raised in New York City alone. When the surrender of the Japanese in August 1945 eliminated the need to sell war bonds, U-505 was deactivated at Portsmouth and its crew dispersed. Most in the Navy assumed the boat would end up at the bottom of the Atlantic like most of the other surrendered U-boats. No one realized what was in store for the luckiest submarine in the Kriegsmarine.

  U-505

  Legend has it U-505 eventually ended up in Chicago because of a chance lunch meeting in late 1947 between Father John Ireland Gallery and Lenox Lohr, director of the Museum of Science and Industry. Father Gallery, after explaining to Lohr the story of U-505’s capture, asked if the museum would like to have the German submarine captured by Captain Daniel V. Gallery in June 1944. In response, Lohr produced the museum’s Project 356 file, a one-inch thick folder documenting the institution’s various unsuccessful attempts to land an underwater boat for exhibit. Plans had evolved to the point of identifying how to tow a boat to Chicago, how to move it onto land, and where and how to display it. Not only are we interested, Lohr responded, but efforts have been underway to get a boat since the late 1920s! Although the meeting between Father Gallery and Lohr did indeed take place, and plans on bringing U-505 to Chicago were discussed, the initial effort to bring the U-boat to Chicago preceded that famous luncheon by almost one year.

  U-505 first came to the attention of the museum in a letter written January 13, 1947, by Captain Daniel Gallery to Frank Hecht, President of the Chicago Council Navy League of the United States. Would the council, inquired Gallery, be interested in sponsoring an effort to turn U-505 over to the city of Chicago? Accompanying the letter were three enclosures: an official Navy press release of the capture dated May 16, 1945, a copy of the Presidential Citation, and an issue of the Saturday Evening Post with Gallery’s compelling account of its capture. Hecht’s reply has not yet been found, but discussions were opened as to where to install the submarine should it actually arrive in the city (which coincidently was Gallery’s hometown). Several locations in the city were discussed, but the museum was always considered the location of choice.

  The man who had originally fought to prevent the Germans from sinking U-505 was now fighting to keep the boat from being sunk by the American Navy, which had too much surplus war materiel on its hands. Gallery was working several alternatives to install the boat somewhere—anywhere—as a memorial first and later as a museum. Initially he waged this battle outside his official duties, but gradually it became part of his unspoken “official” duties. In September 1944, three months after his spectacular capture, Gallery was transferred from USS Guadalcanal to the Pentagon, where he spent 10 months of logistics duty before finally returning to sea in June 1945 as the commanding officer of USS Hancock (CV-19), an Essex-class carrier. Hancock was anchored in Tokyo Bay in August 1945 for the Japanese surrender ceremonies. Gallery participated by piloting one of the 1,500 planes that took part in a massive fly-over to mark the event. After the war he became commander of Carrier Division Sixteen in San Diego, where it remained for a full year undergoing demobilization. Thereafter the captor of U-505 was called to Washington to serve as Assistant Chief of Naval Operations for Guided Missiles (OP-57). Gallery was responsible for (or his work contributed to) several important navy missile projects. His Pentagon duties kept him busy both politically and socially. Gallery was in demand as a public speaker and enjoyed discussing U-505’s capture. Thereafter he was transferred to command the Great Lakes Naval Training Center, a new assignment that would prove most helpful in getting the boat to Chicago.3

  It was about eight months after Gallery mailed Hecht at the Navy League looking for a home for U-505 that his brother John Gallery phoned the museum on September 25 to arrange a meeting the following day with Director Lohr. Father Gallery and Lohr met on a Friday at 11:00 a.m., sitting down for that legendary meeting. Since Gallery was still working in Washington, D.C., at this time it is reasonable to assume that Father Gallery’s role was to act as his brother’s representative, and thus assess whether the museum was seriously interested in the boat. He would also be free to lend his own considerable influence among civic leaders and help move the project forward. Together, the brothers worked hard to lay the groundwork to save U-505 from the scrap heap.4


  E. R. Henning of the New York-based American Society of Mechanical Engineers had met with Lohr to discuss the project before Lohr’s meeting with Father Gallery. Henning visited the Navy on the museum’s behalf to discover whatever he could about U-505’s physical condition and how to make a formal request for the boat. “From the [Navy] policy angle there appears no objection. Indeed…the idea had much to commend it, particularly from the standpoint of naval publicity,” reported Henning. The submarine, he continued, had been scheduled for sinking, but the order had been rescinded “for further study of its disposition. Some tentative consideration has been given to placing it at Annapolis.”5 Henning reminded Lohr the Navy was already planning to bring the famous WWII fleet submarine USS Silversides to Chicago to serve as a training ship for the local Naval Reserves. While not intended to serve as a museum per se, there were plans to open the boat for short periods of time to the interested public as a way to encourage civic interest in the navy and attract potential recruits. That would mean, of course, U-505 would not be the only game in town. Still, he concluded, there were no technical or policy objections to bringing U-505 to Chicago, and a formal request to the Secretary of the Navy was in order.6

  Knowing time was of the essence, Hecht and Lohr dispatched a telegram on October 6 to John Sullivan, Secretary of the Navy:

  We understand Germany submarine U505 captured June 4, 1944 by Task Force under command of Admiral D. V. Gallery USN is to be destroyed. We feel this craft should be preserved as monument to spirit of the USN and inspiration to youth of our nation. The Navy League joins with the Museum of Science and Industry in requesting the USN to install this submarine at the Museum for public display.

  A copy of the telegram was also sent to Chester W. Nimitz, Chief of Naval Operations. “Due to our understanding of the time urgency involved we are sending it [this copy] to you for your information.”7

  U-505 was due to be scrapped soon, and both Hecht and Lohr were doing everything they could to cover every base to avoid that eventuality. To their pleasant surprise Nimitz responded the next day: “Your message to the Chief of Naval Operations quoting your telegram to SECNAV regarding preservation of the captured German submarine U-505 as an historic relic has been received. Your interest in this matter which is now under study is appreciated and it is hoped that it may be found practicable to carry out your suggestions.”8

  The Navy was now aware of a serious interest in U-505 but the cost of actually getting a large German submarine to Chicago remained the stumbling block to success. The Navy insisted the city pay all the costs, including all the preparation, the tow itself, and display. Funds would have to be raised, and that could take years. The museum, city, and groups like the Navy League believed their combined influence in Washington would draw enough Congressional support to have the Navy foot most of the bill. Gallery did nothing to disabuse the parties of this fallacy and indeed innocently fostered this false assumption. He tried to sell the project by claiming the Navy would pay for it; an interested party—like the museum, for example—would simply have to supply the display arrangements. “The important thing is to ask the Navy to tow the submarine to Chicago,” explained Gallery. “To do this, they will have to put it in shape for the trip, which would cost the Museum a substantial amount of money, but it could be handled by the Navy under their budget without any difficulty.”9 This attitude kept false hopes alive by implying that a payment demand from the Navy was nothing more than a way for it to gauge the seriousness of the request. As Gallery explained it to one interested party, “the first letter from the Navy was more or less of a standard form…they always tried to make the other fellow assume the expense.” Gallery went on to suggest “that if some pressure could be put on…it might be helpful.” The Navy, however, never looked at the project in this manner. Although it always professed support for the move, it consistently reminded everyone it would not foot the transportation bill.10

  And so the dance over expenses began. The early negotiations to land the boat raised the museum’s awareness of the potentially high costs involved and, more important for the institution, what it could do to minimize the risk of loss if the project never came to fruition. The museum was justifiably reluctant to launch a major fundraising campaign if there was still a threat of the boat being scrapped. Lohr wanted some assurances the offer of U-505 would not be withdrawn in the midst of the difficult preliminary investigations required to assemble a budget and begin a broad-based fundraising effort. He shared his thoughts on the matter with Gallery and discussed the idea of having a donor underwrite the project. After all, the cost just to move the boat from the lake shore to the spot along the east side of the Central Pavilion of the museum was estimated at $80,000. An effort was made to find an underwriter and Lohr had Gallery approach Chicago chewing gum magnet William Wrigley. After the effort failed Gallery all but assured Lohr an underwriter was unnecessary. “A move is being started here which I believe will result in the Navy reconditioning and delivering U-505 to Chicago,” Gallery told his eager comrade. “It is too early to say definitely that this will be done, but so far it looks promising.” Gallery hedged his bets, however, by telling Lohr steps should be taken immediately to begin raising funds to install the boat at the museum. “In the meantime, you can be assured that the Navy will hold the offer of U-505 open for you.”11

  The Navy also needed some assurances. It required, among other things, that the new owners assume all costs of transfer, future maintenance and upkeep, and that the boat would always be presented so as to shed a positive light on the U.S. Navy.12 Lenox Lohr had his work cut out for him. He had been recruited by the museum board in 1940 and tasked with reversing the declining finances of that institution, a matter so serious as to threaten the closing of the museum. Determined to keep the doors open, he fired curators to stem the red ink and set about changing the way the museum conducted business. As the director of exhibits for the Chicago Century of Progress World’s Fair in 1933-1934, Lohr knew the right venue would attract exhibitors, who in turn would gladly pay a fee for exhibition space. In exchange, the exhibitor received wide exposure and a positive connection to the venue’s mission. The Century of Progress had been the showcase for a century of technical and industrial progress in America. The Museum of Science and Industry’s mission was much the same—to exhibit the technical ascent of mankind and how the fruits of science and technology impacted the daily lives of society and their potential impact on the future. Lohr knew the institution’s mission was a powerful selling tool to industry, and as an outstanding public relations man, rarely found it difficult to sell his ideas. Now he had to sell the institution, the city, and its citizens on U-505.

  The Navy already had a presence in the museum with permanent and temporary exhibits in the first of what would be to this day a long series of displays highlighting that branch of the service. Lohr looked upon U-505 as simply an extension of these naval exhibits for which the navy was already paying a maintenance fee. As he saw it, the challenge was to get the Navy to think of it in the same way. About one-third of all naval personnel came from the Midwest and went through the Great Lakes Naval Training Station for their introduction to the service. What better way to cast a positive light on the Navy than to highlight the heroic achievements of the Navy’s capture of an enemy submarine? Having 1.6 million annual visitors see and touch the tangible result of that remarkable wartime success would be an enormous publicity coup for the Navy. When looked at in that light, reasoned Gallery and Lohr, why would the Navy not want to help the cause by covering the costs for transporting U-505 to Chicago? The Museum of Science and Industry was not the only institution forced to cut corners. After World War II, the U.S. Navy was ordered to look for ways to cut its costs. The search for ways to trim the branch’s budget was what had set in motion Gallery’s pursuit to find “his” submarine a permanent home. And he had an little-known bureaucrat to thank for it.

  Maintaining enemy equipment or obsolete weapons was not
a priority for the Navy, and once these items outlived their usefulness they were destroyed. Enemy ships were usually used as target practice or sunk outright and stricken from the inventory lists. John F. Floberg, Assistant Secretary of the Navy for Air and its Controller, was busy signing orders for scrapping obsolete or overstocked items when he came across an unusual nomenclature: “U-505.” He was used to seeing “DD” for Destroyer, “DE” for Destroyer Escort, “F4F” for Wildcat fighters, and so on, but “U-505” was unlike anything he had seen before. Curious, Floberg inquired and discovered U-505 was “The submarine that Dan Gallery captured.” Thinking it would be a shame if the old German U-boat simply disappeared without notifying the man who had brought it into port, Floberg notified Gallery of its pending demise.

  Gallery knew how the Navy operated and the last thing he wanted was for the monument to his wartime success to be used as an inglorious target and sent to the bottom. He had no qualms about making his apprehensions known, both inside the Navy and out. As one of the men with whom he corresponded put it, “Dan is afraid that if nothing happens [about making the boat a memorial] the Navy will sink it some afternoon when no one is looking.” However, nothing of substance seemed to flow from the initial discussions: months and years slipped past, U-505 remained unclaimed, and the city and museum remained without funds to finish the task.

  On January 20, 1950, Chicago Alderman Clarence P. Wagner introduced a resolution to the council setting in motion the machinery for Chicago’s acquisition of title to the war prize. For some reason no action on the resolution was taken but the resolution helped focus the citizens of Chicago on the importance of the project. The Chicago Daily Tribune warmed to his plan, eventually running an article on March 8 explaining why U-505 would make a worthy trophy for the city. One reason was obvious: Gallery, its captor, was a Chicagoan. The museum was considered the prime recipient for the boat, and many organizations, including the Navy League, the Irish Fellowship Club, naval reserve units, and others began signing on as official backers of the project. The newspaper reported the museum wanted the submarine as an outdoor exhibit, but other proposals were floating about that included placing it on a concrete platform in Grant Park near Buckingham Fountain, or alongside the naval reserve armory at the foot of Randolph Street. Seabee Unit 9-3 had also worked up plans to place U-505 near the Lake Shore Drive extension north of Foster Avenue.