Memories of the Fru Dee Roo

When the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt (CV A-42) was towed toward the oblivion of the scrap yard in 1978, she consisted of some 65,000 tons of obsolete steel and equipment--but she left many more tons of memories with the tens of thousands of Navy men who had served aboard her during her 32 years of commissioned service.

Ensign Tracy Connors during a bridge watch aboard USS F. D. Roosevelt (CVA-42) in 1963.

The "Rosy" or "Fru Dee Roo" or “Rusty Bucket” to those of us who alternately cussed her amongst ourselves and who fought for her honor with outsiders, was more than just a ship. She was home for some 4,000 men--a floating "town" some 1,000 feet long with over 500 miles of wiring, 150 television receivers, 111 storerooms where some 81,000 items were kept in readiness, and with 12 oil-fired steam boilers that drove it at speeds up to 32 knots. A bit of a "gas hog," the ship's boilers burned some four million gallons of fuel per month on average. This "town" carried over 70 warplanes of many types and could launch them at a rate of two per minute.

The busy flight deck of the USS F. D. Roosevelt (CVA-42) during a deployment with the Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean in 1964.  A4C fighter-bomber aircraft are lined up on the port bow.

When I last saw her in 1978, the Rosy was almost a ghost town, waiting at the Mayport Naval Station piers to be towed away. That final visit brought back some of the many memories she had left in my mind from my three years of sea duty aboard her in the early Sixties. They came tumbling back as I walked through the deserted hangar bays that used to be packed with air craft, and stood on the now empty bridge (smaller than I remembered), where I had spent so many action-packed hours as the Officer of the Deck-launching and recovering aircraft, coming alongside to rearm or replenish stores, or pulling into port. That bridge navigation table had even served as a diaper changing station for our daughter Karen, during a “Med Cruise” in 1964 when the Rusty Bucket was anchored off Cannes, France.

The memories of that proud old ship seemed even sharper somehow as we walked the almost deserted decks and passageways for the last time…

It was when we first deployed from Mayport in September 1962, steaming resolutely eastward to relieve the Saratoga, that I was introduced to the "Sea Bat."

Walking up the hangar deck to go on watch, a crowd of sailors was hunched over something in the center of the group and there was a lot of “Wow, look at that…Jeez, I’ve never seen one THAT big…”

Unwary, uninitiated shipmates—enlisted and officer—would be allowed to push themselves into the middle of the group where they would see a bucket…with “something” at the bottom.

“It’s a Sea Bat,” one of the sailors would exclaim, breathlessly.

The greenhorn would push forward, lean over the bucket to get a glimpse of the “Sea Bat”—to be stunned by the “Whack” of a fraternity paddle or a sawed off "swab" handle, on his too tempting backside…accompanied by gales of laughter.

 Of course, the sailors had to grab the “initiated” crewman to keep further mayhem from taking place, but somehow they were always able to convince the “initiate” to help become an “initiator” by luring the next victim, ahem, “initiatee” to see a “Sea Bat.”

Then, there were the initiation rites accorded new Sailors on their first "cruise"-being sent by their petty officers over to the spaces of another ship's division asking to borrow a "pie stretcher," "a left handed monkey wrench," some "relative bearing grease," or even to ask for the "sky hook." An especially gullible new Sailor might be asked to assume watch--with binoculars--in the forward part of the ship to keep an eye out for the "mail buoy."

I also remembered during my days in Navy Hospital Corps School, fledgling Corpsmen being sent—by our head nurse—from ward to ward asking other nurses for “a pair of Fallopian tubes, Stat!” The nurses were always “fresh out,” and told the gullible Corpsman that some of the much needed supply might be found over on ward 77 South of the Naval Hospital.

... Standing on the Bridge during the cacophony of a live "firing exercise" with the five-inch gun mounts banging away at a target sleeve being towed down the starboard side of the ship by an aircraft at the end of a long wire.

As the guns tracked and fired automatically-boom-(pause )-boom¬(pause )--the barrels following and leading the target--boom.

They finally followed the target over the ship and to my shock I realized the barrels were pointed directly at and into the bridge. At the last instant, with their muzzles smoking and my heart pounding, the guns stopped firing, as they pointed directly at me. I realized, finally, that I had stopped breathing. That's when I understood the importance of having the "cut out cams" on the guns working properly.

An A3B bomber aircraft is moved into position for launch aboard USS F.D. Roosevelt (CVA-42) in 1964 during a Sixth Fleet deployment in the Mediterranean.  The forklift remains on the bottom somewhere off the western coast of Corsica.

...En route from Naples to a rendezvous in the Western Mediterranean and behind schedule or "PIM," position and intended movement. Steaming at a fast 25 knots through pea soup fog and navigating only by radar.

The Navigator mistook for the entrance of the Straits of Bonifacio what turned out to be a cul de sac--stark cliffs were waiting at the end of the sac.

"Right full rudder," came his yelled command to me, the Officer of the Deck. A glance at the Captain and his nod told me to follow the order.

"Right full rudder," I told the helmsman and ordered the Boatswain's mate to announce

"Stand by for hard turn to starboard," over the ship's IMC or general announcing system.

Consternation on the bridge as a $45,000 forklift--unchocked--rolled slowly across the light deck and disappeared over the side and into the grey waters of the Mediterranean. Loose gear heard clattering allover the ship as it heeled hard over into the unexpected tight turn.

Then, after making a 270 degree turn, out to sea again as the sheer cliffs of Corsican rock showed up much too close astern on the radar screens.

Five miles south, the correct entrance is identified and the ship threads its way between cliffs in the deep but narrow S-shaped passage only a mile or so wide. The cottony air clings wetly to your face as you peer down to the bare patch of grey water visible from the “wing” of the bridge.

A fisherman's dory suddenly pitches into view out of the cottony mist. In the instant before the ship's huge bow wave sends the little boat tumbling end over end, the Corsican fisherman stands up and shakes his fist at you standing alone on the "starboard wing" of the bridge.

Just as swiftly, the boat blinks from view.

You wonder, did this just happen or did I imagine it? The Rosy reached her rendezvous on time. I’ll never know if the hapless fisherman survived.

USS F. D. Roosevelt (CVA-42) underway in 1964. The Roosevelt was the second of the Midway Class air craft carriers, the other being USS Coral Sea.

...Other memories crowded in as well, such as the time the air group let loose stray cats and dogs on the flight deck of the USS Saratoga as a departing gesture when they relieved us from our Sixth Fleet duties, after sending a clandestine group of sailors over that mingled with our crew in the hopes of stealing our ship’s wheel. They were not successful.

...Steaming through the Straits of Gibraltar at midnight doing 25 knots and the power to all the bridge instruments fails for over 15 minutes.

...A tragic image of an aircraft dribbling over the bow after a "cold cat" shot sent the doomed aircraft and LTJG Williams down the catapult without enough power to get the plane air borne. At breakfast that morning, I had read the message alerting him that was the proud father of a new son.

...On the way from CIC to the bridge to stand yet another watch...looking up at two A4C "Skyhawk" aircraft flying at low speed up the starboard side of the ship prior to landing, when they merged into a large cloud of dirty red-gray smoke with flashing pieces of wings and tails falling out of the cloud…a moment of heart-stopping

"Oh my God," followed by a sigh of relief as two small parachutes floated down out of the bottom of the cloud.

Joining from “Vultures Row” in applauding the pilots and rescue helicopter crew as they were redeposited on the flight deck, skaky, wet and very glad to be alive.

...Endless games of Acey-Duecy in the Wardroom--Junior officers griping about the chow, the duties to which they were assigned, and the ship in general.

...Endless cups of black coffee that was bad--I mean really bad.

But whatever the memory—good or not so good—a bottomless sense of pride in my ship, in my shipmates, and in my country even as it sent us in harm’s way as a potent outpost of Freedom.

We were “the stick” in case the “talk softly” part was not successful. At the end, of course, is the happiest memory of all, if we really admit it about any ship board duty--the day you get the long awaited set of orders off the ship and on to shore duty.