With more than $30,000 on hand the committee decided to arrange for the dry-docking of U-505 on August 5, but the date was bumped back one week because the Navy needed the space for emergency repairs to an active vessel. The dry-docking milestone finally arrived on August 12 when the U-boat left the sea for the first time since it was put into dry-dock in Bermuda in 1944. Five days later 20 committee members flew to Portsmouth to inspect the progress of the work and figure out how to haul the mammoth craft across dry land to the museum—assuming they could get it to the beach along Lake Shore Drive in the first place.
The initial work on the boat began with the removal from the hull of a thick layer of barnacles and seaweed, the sealing of every exterior opening—including hatches, drains, torpedo tubes, and tank openings—and the reinforcement of the boat’s towing cleats. The forward and aft diving planes that had ripped a hole in USS Pillsbury in June 1944 were removed to allow tug boats room to safely maneuver and stuff the boat into the very tight dimensions of the locks along the St. Lawrence waterway. The sheer magnitude of the project, which was now rapidly becoming reality, hit the team when it got their first view of the boat out of the water. So, too, did the U-boat’s deterioration, which was now plainly visible for all to see. Eight years of neglect “had left deep scars on the hull. In addition, sea water has been sitting inside the vessel, creating a coat of rust,” recalled one observer. (The water was actually in the external tanks, which were not supposed to have water in them.) “You’d be surprised at the creatures we pumped out of that boat,” added a Navy spokesman.51
The reality of the boat’s condition was not immediately made public, and indeed was played down to keep in check additional and potentially embarrassing questions about the viability of the project. Admiral Gallery and others prevaricated a bit, telling members of the media how impressed they were with the condition of the boat. “It’s in much better condition than I had been led to believe,” fibbed one member of the committee. “There is more of the original gear than I expected to find,” stretched another. “All the essential things are here, and the rest can be replaced easily. With a good cleanup and a coat of paint, it will be ready for visitors.” Not quite. In addition to the deep exterior rusting problems and rotted decking, the interior had also been roughly handled. The radio and sound rooms had been stripped, as had the quarters for the officers and men, while the fire control equipment had been removed.52 The Navy promised all removed equipment would be returned—a promise it would not be able to keep. The crew bunks were present, though in piles on the floors, and the galley was a shambles. The cramped interior made quite an impression on one committee member, who told the media it was little more than a maze of engines, gauges, and dials.53
During this inspection trip Gallery added another catch phrase to the growing list liberally used by the media. “It was a rough mission,” he said of the effort to capture U-505. “But it’s been almost as tough a fight to bring the sub to Chicago.”54 The going was about to get a lot tougher.
While laborers unpacked their tools and Gallery wooed reporters with war stories, Seth M. Gooder, a civil engineer from Gooder Hendrichsen Company in Chicago was already seriously at work. Gooder had come out of retirement by special request to join the project and lend his unique expertise to the adventure. His company had almost 50 years of experience underpinning and moving hazardous buildings. Among its many successful projects was the shoring of the floating foundations of a 70,000-ton building and the successful transfer of a 150-foot tower balanced vertically on barges to a location one-half mile distant. When asked to comment on the current scope of the task before him, Gooder noted dryly, “[it] looks like a large order.”55 Gooder, like Earl Trosino 10 years earlier, would be credited as one of the most critical people in helping save U-505 and getting it to Chicago and on to dry land next to the museum.
Repairs to the dry-docked boat were completed by the first week of September 1953. Once released back into the water U-505’s ballast tanks were checked, the boat passed several stability tests, and to the delight of everyone was pronounced fit for an open ocean tow and passage through the St. Lawrence and Great Lakes. Remaining work consisted of fitting the craft with running lights and the installation of towing pads, chocks, and eyes, all of which were to be directed by the towing company doing the actual work. The fitting of an auxiliary anchor and other handling details were also accomplished at this time. Previous assumptions about the condition of the outer hull turned out to be overly pessimistic. The earlier estimate of $40,000 to prepare the hull had dwindled to only $15,000—a savings of $25,000.56
By now the U-505 fund had some $55,000 tucked away and a submarine ready to make the long journey. That is, until an obscure law was raised dashing any hope U-505 would be in Chicago by year’s end. Federal law stipulated Congress had to be in session for 60 days after the Navy Department informed Congress of its intention to transfer title of a Federally-owned vessel. Congress, however, had only been in session 58 days—two days shy of the required total. A last-ditch effort by the museum to avoid further delay with a proposal to lease the boat from the Navy failed when the creative solution was ruled illegal.57 Crestfallen, officials announced their plan to have the boat in the city by June 4, 1954, in time for the 10th anniversary of the boat’s capture. U-505 would have to spend one final winter in Portsmouth.
Efforts to raise money, however, continued unabated. Gallery visited Milwaukee to speak with that city’s council of the U.S. Navy League. His visit came on the heels of the recent acrimonious letters published in the Chicago papers calling into question, among other things, the merits of the Windy City to host the submarine. The president of the council was none other than B.T. Franck, who had attempted to rally Milwaukeeans to support an application requesting the Navy send U-505 to their city rather than Chicago. Franck had also made a trip to Portsmouth to inspect U-505 and report on the feasibility of bringing the boat to Milwaukee. Shortly thereafter Chicago’s U-505 committee began reaching out to Milwaukeeans to convince them of the advantages it would bring to the entire Midwest should the prestigious Museum of Science and Industry land the U-boat.
Gallery’s speech was well received in the once-antagonistic city. He described the project and its appeal to the greater good of the Midwest Navy veterans, outlined the steps for how the boat would be towed to Chicago, and described how it would be carefully displayed outside the museum. He continued by making a direct plea for cooperation between the cities and promised that when U-505 was towed through Lake Michigan, Milwaukee could display it for a one week period before U-505 made it to Chicago. In typical Gallery flair, he described the dedication ceremonies and concluded, “we think [it] will be the biggest whoop-de-doo on the lake front since the Fort Dearborn massacre.”58
Although disappointed by the delay imposed by federal law, Chicagoans were delighted by an announcement in November that Moran Towing and Transportation Company, Inc., offered to tow U-505 one-third of the distance—free. The company was based in New York City and headed by Edwin J. Moran, a rear admiral in the Navy Reserve who had responsibility during World War II for planning temporary harbors for the Normandy invasion and who later helped plan invasion operations in the Pacific. Moran’s offer was to tow U-505 during the open ocean portion of the trip from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to the mouth of the St. Lawrence River—a distance of approximately 700 miles.59 The offer was seen as a challenge to other companies. Only a few weeks later a “Great Lakes shipping firm that prefers to remain anonymous” offered to tow the boat 1,000 miles from Port Colborne, Ontario, at the eastern end of Lake Erie, through Lakes Erie, Huron, and Michigan, to Chicago.60
By the end of 1953 everyone was confident the fundraising would be complete by the following spring and the boat would be safely in Chicago before the summer heat wave enveloped the city.61 The collection coffers were already bulging with $150,000 which, when coupled with the donations of two legs of the tow and the “unexpected savings on the or
iginal estimated hull and tow preparation costs,” made a spring arrival feasible.62 The final and thus far unclaimed portion of the tow through the St. Lawrence and across Lake Ontario was estimated at less than $10,000.63
July 4, 1954, was finally set as the date for the dedication ceremonies for U-505. The 10th anniversary of the capture (June 4) was more desirable, but because of the normally rough seas in the early spring, the middle of April was the earliest anyone believed a safe tow could be undertaken. After 30 days on the water (during which several exhibition stops were planned along the way), it would take weeks of preparation once in Chicago—in addition to the hauling overland of the boat from the lake’s shore to the museum. A dedication on June 4 simply did not leave enough of a margin for error. The Fourth of July, however, added enough extra time and was in keeping with the patriotic theme surrounding the whole project.64 Indeed, patriotism was being injected into the project almost as fast as money was pouring into the collection fund. After pleading with readers to dig deeply, the Chicago Tribune concluded an article with a direct play on emotions: “Anyone who contributes to this cause will be long and gratefully remembered in the community for service to a patriotic cause.”65
One donation is especially worthy of mention. On January 21, 1954, USS Nautilus was launched. The world’s first atomic submarine made headlines all over the world while simultaneously making every other submarine obsolete. General Dynamics Corporation, the builder of Nautilus, presented the U-505 committee with a $500 check to help bring U-505 to Chicago.66 Although it was likely intended for publicity purposes, someone, somewhere, surely realized the era of the submarine represented by the Type IX U-505 was now conclusively at an end, and boats of the past would survive only as exhibits in museums like Chicago’s Science and Industry. Also left unspoken was another message: our submarine forces had to remain strong and technologically superior to our potential enemies. Ironically, USS Nautilus would also become outdated, and when retired was utilized as a museum ship in 1986—a link between the submarine forces of yesterday and tomorrow at the site of her construction in Groton, Connecticut, where the revolutionary boat remains today.67
With a date targeted for U-505’s arrival, tentative plans coalesced for the dedication ceremonies to mark the opening of the boat as an exhibit. The first thought was to invite President Dwight D. Eisenhower. His presence as both the country’s commander-in-chief and former commander of Allied forces in World War II would offer an authoritative and meaningful statement about the significance of preserving U-505 for posterity. The committee, with all of its connections in Washington, D.C., was confident the President might see fit to accept the invitation and were encouraged by news he had plans to be in the Midwest around the July Fourth holiday.68 Plans were also made by the Chicago Council of Boy Scouts, which planned to provide thousands of members to act as color and honor guards at the dedication ceremonies.
“This was the first time I ever gave away a ship.” Secretary of the Navy Robert B. Anderson’s quip accompanied the long-awaited transfer of title from the U.S. Navy to the museum in front of a delegation of interested parties—a dream finally realized when he signed the requisite documents on Tuesday, March 9, 1954.69 With 40 newsmen, photographers, and navy personnel in attendance Anderson recounted the boat’s history, which he labeled as “one of the great outstanding achievements in U.S. naval history.”70 Also present was Means Johnston and Dudley Knox, the former commanders of USS Chatelain and USS Flaherty, respectively. Both men had been present with their ships during the seizure of U-505 and both had played important roles in the capture. Illinois Republican Senator Everett Dirksen, who had made it politically possible to transfer the title to the museum, was also on hand, as were prominent members of the committee and many others who had labored so hard to see this day arrive.
In March of 1954 Dan Gallery wrote Earl Trosino to inquire if he would be interested in commanding the U-505 “convoy” on its last journey to Chicago. “Are you kidding about the convoy?” an excited Trosino responded. “You made me responsible for ‘Junior’ way back when, and I certainly would like to accompany her to her final resting place.” Enclosed with his response was a $500 check for the U-505 fund. Gallery’s reply was not long in arriving: “I’m not kidding a bit on that convoy deal and nothing would be finer, in my opinion, than to have you bring U-505 to Chicago. It would add a hell of a fine dramatic twist, with a lot of human interest angles to have the first Commanding Officer of the sub after she joined the U.S. Navy deliver her to the Museum! So it’s a deal.”71
Gallery’s selection was as obvious as it was perfect. Earl Trosino had served as the chief engineer on the carrier USS Guadalcanal during the capture of U-505. When the U-boat was forced to the surface by depth charges and boarded by sailors from USS Pillsbury, Trosino was put in charge of the salvage effort and instructed to take his crew aboard the disabled submarine and save it. “I want that boat!” declared Gallery. Once U-505 was secured by the Pillsbury boarding party, Trosino led two salvage parties aboard about 70 minutes later and played a critical role keeping it afloat and towing the boat across the ocean to Bermuda. Who better to “bring” the boat to Chicago’s premier museum than the man chiefly responsible for keeping it above water across a hostile Atlantic Ocean while under tow? In 1954 Trosino was the chief engineer on the oil tanker S.S. Maryland Sun. His employer graciously granted him leave for however long it would take to complete the transportation of U-505 to Chicago, allowing Trosino to become, in effect, the submarine’s “last commander.” The museum also conducted a search for other members from Gallery’s Task Group 22.3 so they could be present for the ceremonies, and in particular those men who had participated in boarding U-505.72
With the major arrangements complete, anxious Chicagoans had little more to do than wait for a break in the weather to begin the arduous and dangerous towing process. The committee hoped to begin the move by May 1, but the threat of ice in the Gulf of St. Lawrence pushed the date back. The new target date was set for May 15.73 The delay was important because it meant the U-boat could not reach Chicago any earlier than June 15. Another six weeks would be necessary to haul the boat to the museum and prepare it for visitors. Holding the memorial dedication ceremony on the Fourth of July weekend now appeared very unlikely.74 The dedication date was pushed back once again, this time to mid-August, while a dedication sub-committee was formed to work out the final arrangements for the ceremonies.75
Journey to Chicago
With all the pomp and fanfare one might expect, on May 12 the diesel-powered luxury yacht Airbanas, owned by Ulises A. Sanabria, left the Chicago Yacht Club and headed for Montreal, where it expected to meet U-505 on May 26. Sanabria had volunteered Airbanas as a general utility boat for the towing operation. It would also act as a moving office for reporters and photographers and serve as the sleeping quarters for four sea scouts selected to assist in the operation. The scouts, who had been organized into two groups of four to bring U-505 to Chicago as a training exercise, had departed earlier by train to meet the boat. The trip was a highpoint for the scouts, some of whom had never been on the water.76 For many, Airbanas’s departure was the first tangible evidence U-505 was really coming to Chicago.
Airbanas was crossing Lake Michigan on its way to Montreal on May 14 when two Navy tugs in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, edged into position to take U-505 under tow from her dockside station. White draft marks had been painted on the boat’s bow and stern to help handlers keep an eye on its trim as final preparations were made to take to the seas again for the first time in a decade. The plan was to move the boat down the Piscatauqua River from the Portsmouth yard to the Atlantic, where Captain Rodney M. Jones and the tug Pauline L. Moran would take over. The tug arrived on the morning of the 14th to begin the tow but encountered rough water and strong easterly winds which made moving the U-boat dangerous. Instead of proceeding downriver the Navy tugs guided U-505 approximately one mile to the harbor at Kittery, Maine, where they tied
off the submarine to a buoy for the night and hoped the weather would subside enough to allow towing operations to resume the following day.77
Fortune smiled on May 15 when the winds died down and the seas smoothed out. A reporter for the Chicago Tribune recorded the details of the transfer:
At 8:35 a.m. the tug tied up to the buoy where the submarine had been tied up overnight and the tug crew began the tricky job of fastening the nylon tow line to the submarine’s heavy tow chain. At Captain Rodney Jones’ order, a seaman leaped 10 feet down to the buoy, shackled the towline to the sub’s tow chain, and cut the sub loose from its moorings. Pushed by a strong tide the U-boat drifted free and astern the tug, dragging the tow-line along. When some 200 feet had paid out it was made fast, and Captain Jones started for the open sea.
“Jones,” the reporter explained, let out the full 1, 200 feet of line once the boat reached the mouth of the harbor because, as he explained it, “she’ll ride smoother that way.” Once the line was fully extended Jones “headed thru the open sea for Nova Scotia.”78
Assuming the weather cooperated, U-505’s first stop would be on May 19 in Baie Comeau, Quebec, the hometown of the McCormick Paper Mill, an important publicity stop because the mill supplied its product to the Chicago Tribune, one of the most important backers of the project. Thereafter U-505 would stop in Montreal on May 20 or 21 to prepare to enter Lake Ontario around May 23, again at Port Colburn on about the 25th, and then on to Chicago with stops in Buffalo, New York, Cleveland, Ohio, Detroit, Michigan, and Milwaukee, Wisconsin.79 With U-505 finally on the move the national media picked up the story and ran with it in virtually every major news market across the United States.
Hunt and Kill Page 25
