The Roll - I Survived the "45"
by Richard Alexander

In early 1985, in March, I think, the USS Yellowstone, AD-41, completed her refurbishment in the Portsmouth, Virginia, drydock. Ever since I had reported aboard her, she had been in drydock. Now, she was finally going back to her element.

All enlisted men, E-3 and below, are routinely assigned a month or so of mess deck duty soon after they first report aboard their new command. Most of the temporary mess cooks on my ship were sent to the main decks, where the crew ate their meals. Fireman Ferguson was sent to the Officer's Decks. I was sent to the Chief's Mess Decks. Thus, I was working in the upper decks of the ship, up in Chief's Country, when my ship finally returned to the sea from drydock.

My 2nd Class mess deck supervisor had been increasingly critical of my work in Chief's Country. That morning when my ship set sail across the Chesapeake Bay, he was expressing his dissatisfaction as I followed him around the port side chief's compartments. My job was to clean the port side head, straighten out the laundry room and perform limited duties in the chief's berthing compartment. Another mess deck worker was with us as the 2nd Class began his inspection in the head. We 3 were walking from the chief's portside head (that I had cleaned) to the chief's portside compartments (that I serviced) when the roll began.

We had just entered the locker area. I didn't think much about the deck gradually gaining an incline to my left. I thought the other two guys were goofing around when they shuffled backwards into the lockers against the bulkhead. They laughed briefly in mild amusement. I resisted the growing incline, climbing up the sloping deck, eventually grasping the fan room hatchstop on the portside bulkhead. I hung on tightly as the deck angled ever higher. I heard one of the guys, the 2nd class, I think, exclaim, "His feet aren't touching the deck!" I looked down, and could see about an inch or maybe 3 inches of space between the deck and the back of the heel of my boondockers. The 2nd class and E-3 were lying with their backs against the lockers and the soles of their feet on the deck. If I had let go of the hook, I would have dropped right on top of the 2nd class. Don't think I wasn't tempted.

I hung there, watching my feet to see how far they would get from the deck--but, they separated no farther. I was too ignorant to know that I was actually in grave danger. I thought it was fun! The rate of incline had slowed to a stop, and for several seconds, I hung, watching to see what would happen. Then, to my regret, the incline gradually subsided. When we could, the three of us walked into the Chief's Mess Deck. The ship was running on emergency power and was mostly darkened from the loss of the main overhead lights.

Soon after gaining a level deck, the ship's intercom announced, "Stand by for heavy rolls." There then followed a rapid series of medical emergency announcements for locations throughout the ship. One man in the starboard material handling passageway, behind the Chief's galley, had been on a folding ladder, with his feet about 6 feet in the air, replacing lights when the roll took him off the ladder. I think he was seriously injured by his fall. Two of my mates (who were supposed to have been cleaning the mess decks) had been loafing on the boat deck when the roll came: they said that if there hadn't been a cargo net on the side of the ship, they would have been swept overboard. One of the two often spoke of his legs hanging out over the side of the ship, his feet nearly skimming the water.

Several days after the incident, as I was in the Chief's Mess, I listened to a chief who was wearing a neck brace, explain that he was higher than a kite, due to the pain killers the doctor had him taking due to his broken neck. Several crew members (maybe five, maybe seven, maybe thirteen - I can't remember the number) had to be medivacted by helicopter off the ship. One man died; I think it was the man whose intestines had ruptured out of his body when he was crushed. Another man had a leg bone sticking through his skin.

I don't recall anyone from my division, Engine Room, being injured, though Machinist's Mate 3rd Class Skillman often mentioned that he had been hanging spread eagled in the escape hatch when a portable lantern came loose and fell directly towards his crotch. Some of the large 36-inch lathes down in the machine shop had broken from their deck welds, sending at least one man running to get out of their way. I think the guy who died had been struck by a lathe.

None of us in the Chief's Country were hurt. One of my coworkers, Seaman Hawkins, had been washing dishes, so, when the roll came, he was dodging ceramic plates. The mess decks were really a mess. I remember particularly the coffee pots having been strewn and shattered.

The crew was informed that the ship came within a few degrees of her main cranes falling off, which presumably would happen before she capsized. Of course, she was only a few degrees from capsizing, too. The Captain announced over the 1MC that there was no truth to the rumor that the cranes had explosive bolts. He emphasized that the cranes had only break-away bolts - that would not have detonated.

Someone informed the crew that none of us were allowed to talk to the press about what had happened. Some people did, but the report that came out in the newspaper (the Virginia Ledger-Star) still managed to get some facts wrong. I remember two of the errors being the claim that the boilers had not gone offline (the boilers certainly did go offline) and the claim that the ship only righted itself when the helmsman regained control of the ship. The newspaper had a picture of the "Yellowstone" in the Chesapeake Bay included in the article.

There was also a rumor that the Throttleman had saved the ship by shutting the throttles. This rumor was flatly denied by the LPO, MM1 Gibson. Gibson had been sitting at the usual command station, over by the Engineering phone booth, directly behind the throttleman. When the roll began, Gibson had smiled, because he thought he knew what was happening. He didn't smile very long, according to MM3 Stout. The throttleman, himself, went slidding across the deck, finally stopping over by the Ship's Service Turbo Generators, with his sound-powered headphone cable extended its full 15-foot length. It was impossible for anyone to reach the throttles during the roll.

The explanation for the roll that eventually reached Engineering is that our ship, lightly loaded with minimal fuel and no cargo as it was fresh out of drydock, had been engaged in a high-speed (for the Yellowstone) run in choppy water with brisk wind when the Captain ordered a hard port turn. The helmsman had hesitated, asking the Captain, "Are you sure?"

The Captain said, "Don't argue with me. Make the turn!"

When the helmsman complied, the wind caught the side of the ship, flipping the ship up like a sail in high wind. Everyone on the bridge slid to the starboard bulkhead, where they could not reach the ship's controls. No one had expected the roll to be nearly what it was. It appeared that the only reason the Yellowstone did not capsize is the force of the water passing over the side (now the top) of the rudder held the ship at the critical angle, and her boilers went offline, reducing her speed as the steam pressure bled off. No personnel had any control over the ship during those seconds near the maximum angle.

It is worth mentioning that the angle of the roll that the crew was given was low. Engineering knew it was low, because one of the men in Damage Control Central (DCC) looked at the tilt gauge during the roll; it was over 50º, though I don't remember exactly how much over (somewhere around 53°). I do know that I stood 75 inches tall barefooted, and, with my arms raised over my head, I would stretch about 90 inches. My boondockers (half-inch heel) did not touch the deck as I hung from the fan room doorstop, meaning that my body would have been part of an hypotenuse slightly longer than my body length. I don't remember the height of the doorstop, but I believe it was about 4' 6". Some trigonometry (I joined the Navy as a Nuke; what can I say?) gives me an approximate angle slightly greater than 53° (very close to the value I recall from Engineering).

In theory, the Yellowstone was not supposed to be able to recover from a roll greater than 53° or 55°. Someone (I think it was my Lead Petty Officer) pointed out that the Navy would not accept my estimated value, because I could not be certain that the floor in my area was perfectly level, and there was no guarantee that the gauge in DCC was accurate (it hadn't been calibrated in a long time). Even so, here were two angles that were very close to each other, and significantly different than the official 45° angle reported to the crew.  

The Captain was eventually permitted to retire. I asked my Lead Petty Officer what kind of job someone could possibly get after such an incident, but the LPO didn't think that would be a problem. He was sure that the Captain would get a job as a consultant for a shipyard, where he would still make more money than any of us in the Engine Room.

Richard Alexander is a wondering common man. He has lived in or passed through eight countries and forty of the states of the U.S. He has held jobs ranging from security guard, warehouse worker and eggroll maker to laser and computer technician. He spent over three years serving as an enlisted man in the U.S. Navy. His literary occupation is an incidental consequence of his need to communicate his ideas. He can be found on Usenet with the user name of "Pooua." His personal Website currently is Richard's Electronic Kingdom.

Image of the US Yellowstone, AD-41, courtesy of Jeff Croy and Peter Borreggine, at ussyellowstone.org.