Saying Goodbye to a Victim of Success

Courtesy of Navy Times Publishing
&
Steven L. Turner, Capt. (ret), Former Commanding Officer, USS Yellowstone (AD-41)

Note from site management:

As former Navy servicepersons, we all must share the feeling of loss when confronting the decommissioning of our former duty stations. Regardless the time we've been away from our stations, the memories are renewed, and the sounds of the sea passing by refreshed. It was our duty to maintain our stations to the best of our ability, to carry on the traditions set forth by our predecessors. This duty is maintained in the article below, which not only takes you to the decommissioning of the USS Yellowstone (AD-41), but in this websites opinion, salutes all decommissioned United States Ships.

I would like to thank Capt. Steven L. Turner and Navy Times Publishing for there permission to post the following article on the USS Yellowstone website.

Saying Goodbye to a Victim of Success
Written by: Steven L. Turner, Capt. (ret)

In a quiet moment before her decommissioning ceremony began, I went down to the waterfront to see my old ship, USS Yellowstone, to say a private goodbye and to make sure that the uniform I was about to don for the first time in five years was correct.

From a distance, everything appeared normal, except the ship was noticeably trimmed down by the stern. As I got closer, something appeared out of place, and eventually the problem became obvious: The ship was blind. Gray-painted plywood covered the bridge windows. The radar and radio antennas were all gone. The boats and life rafts were missing, and the cranes had no arms. Although the ship was bedecked with flags and bunting, its hull number had been oversprayed with gray, blurring the ship into the mist that enveloped the morning. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the scene still more. I felt angry at the decision that had reduced this great and capable ship to such a state of helplessness, and I was surprised at myself for feeling this strong emotion. I turned away and went back to the BOQ to dress for the ceremony.

Rear Adm. Edward K. Kristensen, the speaker at the decommissioning, explained what had happened: Yellowstone and many other ships of the Navy were the victims of their success. The Cold War was over — won — and now the nation’s resources were being channeled to other ends. It was sad, he said, but a logical thing to do. America’s needs did not presently include, as a priority item, preparations to fight a seafaring enemy. This mandated the maintenance of a smaller fleet.

The day was bitterly cold, with wind and rain, the kind of day when it had been good to have this ship for a home, because it was strong and secure in any weather, and never lacked for human warmth in its high steel sides. It was a good and lucky ship, and a generous one.

I’ve known some mean ships; Yellowstone was not one of those. Now she was cold, wet, and dark, awaiting a long sleep in some river where no foot would tread her decks, no smell of hot metal from a lathe would perfume the air, no spark from a welder’s torch would insistently flash through the dark, no voices would call out in greeting, no smell of coffee and breakfast would greet a crew member on a morning such as this.

Decommissioning is a funeral, and the funeral of a young person or a young ship is doubly sad.

Capt. Ronald C. Bogle told of his reaction to the distressing message last summer, canceling Yellowstone’s impending deployment, advising of her coming de-commissioning while still a mere teenager of 15 years. He talked of her many accomplishments and one by one, her old captains and crew together stood and were recognized during his remarks. Four of her past captains came, many of her crew. One of her final crew members, Master Chief Electrician Zahratka, was a plank owner — a member of the original crew — and he stood manning the rail.

Many nice touches by Capt. Bogle marked the ceremony. He presented the ship’s flag and bell to the Assistant Superintendent of Yellowstone National Park, Marv Jensen, who will put the articles on display there. Eryn Elizabeth Moore, the daughter of a Service Group 2 staff officer embarked in Yellowstone, had been christened aboard the ship in 1986 as a newborn with water from the inverted ships bell. Ten years later, she was here for the ship’s swan song. She took a bow, an act of courage for a 10-year-old.

I remembered another exceptional young person, who as a high school boy in 1986 had made a family cruise and a tiger cruise to Mayport in Yellowstone. His father had been a Yellowstone warrant gunner. Alton Grizzard eventually became an outstanding quarterback at the Naval Academy, and a promising young SEAL officer, but he had died tragically on a terrible day in San Diego. I remembered many, many shipmates.

As I considered those other moments, this ship’s final hour was nearing an end; there would be no reprieve. The executive officer undoubtedly expressed his true feelings — and was not totally incorrect — when he said, "Captain, the ship is ready for commissioning."

They hauled her commissioning pennant down, and struck her colors while a lone bugle played. Then the chaplain, who had been chastised by his admiral for not successfully praying for better weather offered a thoughtful prayer in benediction, a prayer of simple thanks for the blessings from God that had flowed to the ship, to her country and to those fortunate individuals who had made up her crew over the years. With the conclusion of "Eternal Father, Strong to Save," it was over, the life of USS Yellowstone ended with grace and dignity.

She will await the beating of the next war drum, the throbbing of the tocsin. It will likely come, and her fate may be resurrection. Douglas MacArthur, who is entombed in Norfolk only a few miles from the pier where USS Yellowstone left the fleet, once said; "Only the dead have seen the end of war."

By Steven L. Turner. Steven L. Turner is a retired U.S. Navy Captain.

Turner, Steven L. "Saying Goodbye to a Victim of Success." Navy Times Vol. 45, 11 March 1996: 31