She came by her name honestly. The orders assigned her seemed most often to be solitary dashes at high speed between task groups, or long tedious patrols without a friendly ship in sight. A talented admirer painted Lil' Orphan Annie's likeness on the after stack with a guard mail pouch over her shoulder. Our call name from other ships soon became Orphan Annie.

After a year of almost continuous steaming Annie received orders to head for Mare Island Navy Yard, via Bora Bora, Tahiti for a facelift and much needed rejuvenation. Again, we made a solitary trip from Noumea, New Caledonia to Mare Island.

The time in the "States" passed quickly, and soon the crew was making preparations to head out again. Little did we know that soon, the officers and crew would be tested to the limit of their endurance.

Many of Annie's long time admirers were sent to other ships that were being readied for deployment. Most left with a heavy heart, but at the same time grateful for a few more weeks in the "States". Just prior to our departure a bus pulled up to the dock and unloaded thirty or more brand new sailors fresh from boot camp. As the last mooring lines were about to be cast off, a truck pulled up and unloaded cases of heavy cold weather clothing. We all knew then that we were heading back to the Aleutians.

Annie and her crew left Mare Island Navy Yard November 27, 1943 bound for Adak, Alaska, again all by ourselves. The seas were moderately rough, and our new crewmen were very sick and miserable. During the second day out, somewhere off the Oregon coast, the ship began to encounter increasingly high winds and rough weather. What then ensued was a terrifying ordeal for all hands, but especially so for the recruits that had just reported aboard. Everybody who was aboard must have their own version of what then ensued, but all would agree that the prospect of facing a watery grave was very real.

Sometime during the 2000-2400 watch as the ship pounded through increasingly violent seas and hurricane force winds, it rolled over on it's starboard side more than 45 degrees. The ship had taken rolls like that before, but this time the ventilation blower that supplied air to the after part of the engine-room became submerged. This allowed sea water to gush through the ducting, spraying the main electrical distribution panel. The panel literally exploded, with shimmering balls of electrical energy shooting from the gaping holes that were burned in the structure. Electrician's Mate Tony Caporaso was on watch at the main board. With him was Cecil Hardisty who was being instructed on it's operation. The force of the blast of electrical energy stunned both the watch standers. When they were able to orient themselves, Hardisty was on the other side of the engine room, laying on the deck plates missing his shoes.

All electrical power was immediately lost and the entire ship was plunged into total darkness. This meant no radio or navigational equipment, no ventilation, but most importantly, no electro-hydraulic steering engine. The engine-room and forward fire-room immediately shifted to all steam auxiliary machinery and continued to operate, but the ship had lost it's ability to steer, navigate and the loss of ventilation in the engine-room caused the temperature in that space to soar to 135 degrees. Below deck, in the berthing compartments, mess hall, storerooms, and engineering spaces; all were plunged into total darkness.

Because the ship was unable to steer it began to wallow in the troughs between the gigantic waves. An attempt was made to steer manually, but it was impossible to do with the rolling of the ship and the mixture of hydraulic oil and sea water more than a foot deep on the deck of the steering compartment.

Two sailors assigned this task were injured, and one of the men who was trying to do this suffered broken ribs and abrasions when thrown against machinery by the violent rolling and pitching of the ship. Unable to use the rudder the captain tried to control the ship by varying the speed of the propellers; sometime reversing one while going full speed ahead on the other. This tactic, for the most part, was futile, and the ship continued to take a pounding as waves in excess of thirty feet crashed down upon the struggling ship.

Up on topside the force of the waves began to tear away ladders and handrails, lifelines and reels of mooring hawsers. The motor whaleboat, that was secured on the starboard side at the break of the forecastle deck, was shattered and disappeared, leaving only the block and tackles dangling from the boat davits.

The new recruits that had never been to sea before were totally traumatized. They huddled together on the compartment deck and tried to hang on to anything that was within their grasp.

It was during this time of uncontrolled rolling and wallowing that the Case (Annie) took her record rolls; 64 degrees to the port and 58 degrees to the starboard. These rolls were measured and recorded in the engine-room by an instrument called an inclinometer. Consider for a moment: a 45 degree roll is halfway over !!. The ship didn't just roll over and roll right back. She lay on her side and struggled like a wounded animal trying to get up.

With every roll water started pouring down the after fire-room stack and out of the fireboxes of number three and four boilers. The ship was taking on water at an alarming rate, and with every roll she was slower in righting herself. In the rush to get Annie out to sea again, some seemingly minor tasks were overlooked or perhaps ignored. In normal times it was routine after a navy yard overhaul to clean the bilges in the engineering spaces to remove debris left by the yard workmen. This was not done, and when the bilge pumps were started the intakes were promptly plugged with rags and trash. This oversight proved to be almost fatal. The hatch cover that opened onto the main deck from the engine-room was torn off by the force of the waves, and with every roll of the ship to the port side huge quantities of water poured into the engine-room. Soon the lower level of that space was knee deep with water.

Below decks sailors tried to hang on to whatever was available, but in the pitch black darkness they soon became disoriented. What had been the deck had now become the bulkhead, and visa-versa. Men hanging onto valve wheels or handrails on the starboard side of the ship faced a 35 foot fall when the ship rolled over on it's port side. Some lost their grip and fell, and several men were injured. Men prayed who had never prayed before. The racks on the main deck that depth charges were stored in were torn loose by the force of the water. Depth charges were heard crashing back and forth; 600 lbs. of T.N.T. threatening disaster. Finally, a courageous seaman at the risk of his own life, ventured out on deck and cleared debris so the depth charges could roll over the side.

Most of the credit for saving the ship must be given to the ship's electricians led by Harrison Shedd EMC. Working with flashlights and battle lanterns in 130 degree heat, they jury rigged cables from the control panel for the emergency diesel generator, around the burned out main control panel, to energize circuits for the steering engine, radio transmitter, navigational equipment, and a ventilation blower for the engine room. This was accomplished in about six hours in spite of the violent motion of the ship and the debilitating heat. The emergency diesel generator was then started, and was soon laboring at full load. It faltered a few times, but it's doubtful that any emergency generator was tested as long or as hard as that old Fairbanks-Morse was. With the ability to steer restored the ship was able to set a course back to San Francisco. A muster of all hands found two men to be missing: a fine Petty Officer 1/c, J.A. Mitchell and Warrant Officer R.W. Evans who had just reported aboard at Mare Island. They were presumed to be lost. With a heavy heart, Annie returned to the safe harbor of San Francisco Bay the evening of December 1, 1943 and anchored for the night. Early next morning we proceeded on to Mare Island for repair of the extensive damage that had been done by the storm. It took a little more than two weeks to get everything done. The crew was grateful for two more weeks in the States. In the interim our orders were changed and December 16 saw Annie at sea again, this time bound for Hawaii. The only plus was that we had avoided another tour of duty in the Aleutians.

Orphan Annie had many hair raising episodes during the course of the war. She traveled the Pacific Ocean from the Bering Sea to the crystal clear blue waters of the Coral Sea. Name any island in the South pacific and chances are Annie had visited there.

Annie faced danger many times during the war, but for those of her crew who were aboard her those four days in late November, 1943 will agree that nothing tested the metal of her crew to the extent that the "Mother on All Storms" did.

Joseph E. Goffeney