Photo provided by Len Gordon Conyngham Reunion Committee
Source:  NavSource.Org

Source:  NavSource.Org

Official Bath Iron Works Inc. Photo. Post Overhaul Sea trials. Undated
Source: NavSource.Org

USS Conyngham DDG-17    09/66 - 09/68      Voice:  Privateer

Conyngham, a Charles F. Adams DDG-2 Class guided missile destroyer, was in line for a yard period a short time after I came aboard.  (For the non-navy reader), part of the yard routine then was to remove all spares from the storerooms to a shipyard location and while the yard work progressed the material was inventoried.  Those ships systems and equipment which were being removed had their parts-peculiar segregated and removed.  As the work progressed and new systems or equipment were installed their repair part support was folded into the supply system.  All of this, then, was loaded aboard toward the end of the yard period.  The name of this process was then known as SOAP.  The object of the SOAP was to ensure that the proscribed range and depth of repair parts and other support for the current (newest) ship configuration was aboard, the tolerance being somewhere around 2 -3 %.  I was assigned to the SOAP team and with the team's hard work and attention to detail it met the criteria.

After the yard there was the inevitable shakedown at Gitmo and a change of command.   CDR Harry Train II became CO toward the end of the shakedown.  He was soon to show us both his command philosophy and his patience with things new.  Among other events, the last day of underway training included a graded berthing.  Well, Gitmo has both berths and wind and some berths get more wind - crosswind actually.  Kind of trying to land that J-3 in a crosswind at Rockport (but much more so, huh?).  Anyway, the O.O.D. had a bad moment, wind and all, and missed a passing grade.  CDR Train, new to the ship or not, had the ultimate responsibility for the safety and fitness of the ship and its crew, and the thought of possibly slamming the pier with all that that could mean ... well, I had just entered the Pilot House for a repeater trouble call when the landing was missed - CO standing  behind the O.O.D. said quietly words like "That's okay Mister - back her down and try again".  With that tone set, I just knew that this was a man to go to sea with.  And ... he was.

Just prior to that final day I had had the 2000 - 2400 quarterdeck watch while anchored out.  Quiet - routine, no big deal.  OPS came out looking to go ashore and asking about the motor whaleboat.  I offered him a deal - I'd get him a boat if he'd get me to driving the ship.  At first he didn't think it serious, but as we bantered he saw that I was, in fact, serious.  I told him though that this was me asking and not the Chief's Quarters.  I wanted no "ramifications" where suddenly other CPOs were put on the bridge underway watch bill.  He agreed to look into it.

The landing missed, the ship backed down and made the berth - long enough to drop off the underway observers and reclaim some crew members still ashore - then again backed down and we departed for Norfolk.  I had no Sea Detail station so I was in the CPO lounge when the underway watch relieved the Sea Detail.  A bit later the phone rang - the Messenger of the Watch saying that the O.O.D. wanted me on the bridge.  Assuming it had to do with the repeater (which had been fixed) I asked what the problem was.  I heard a loud voice behind the kid but couldn't make out the words; the messenger stammered a bit, then the voice of CHENG boomed over the phone with "Senior, where are you?  You've got the watch - get your ... up here right now!"  Well, I bolted up those ladders and into the Pilot House.  There, CHENG was grinning ear-to-ear while I was catching breath and trying to look "professional" ... well, cool, okay?  The cruise home started the appeasement of my destroyer-CO-wannabe syndrome.

We left for the Med in early January.  Across that six months, in the role of J.O.O.D, I conned the ship at plane guard, changed station, came and held alongside during refueling and stores transfer, maintained screen station and participated in other situations of the underway watch.  During this cruise, the captain issued me a letter of qualification as J.O.O.D. Underway.  Needless to say it was a moment of pure personal pride.  I truly appreciate both the opportunity the CO allowed me - and the careful eye of the officers and men of my watch section who provided the safety net while I learned the ropes.

Thank you all.

With your help, I didn't scratch your ship.

I left the ship in August as a participant in Project Transition, a program set up to assist retiring navy personnel to work in the civilian world while phasing out a naval career.  My last official act - walking from the personnel office at Norfolk Naval Base to my car several blocks away, I saluted a young ensign in passing.   It hit me immediately - spinning on my heel I called out loudly "Mister!"   The officer stopped and turned to me.  I approached and told him he had received the last salute of my career.  He thanked me, we shook hands and parted company.

Intriguing story about The Man Conyngham as published in The Retired Officer, May 1998 and re-published in July issue of The Privateer, the USS Conyngham Reunion Group newsletter. (Contact Len Gordon for info.)

A few events along the way:

a. Leaving Norfolk for the Med, we first went to Rosie Roads for a missile shoot.   Enroute we were screening Gator Navy ships in a task group - there was another task group astern also with a screen.  Darken ship, occasional emissions only, zig-zag, we watched for the phosphorus off the bow wave to determine where other ships close aboard were.   Learned a few things that night.

b. CO once had me on the flying bridge conning the ship by sound powered telephone while "defending" against air attacks.  The object was to keep the incoming "enemy" aircraft somewhere between the bearings of the launcher cut-out switches.  We had some wooly course changes for sure - and there was wind burn.  Glorious!

c. Port Mahon, Minorca.  It was a bright, sunshining, blue sky'd Saturday morning.  The channel approach to our berth was quiet, clear blue water - an absolutely beautiful day.  As we stood in and made our way to harbor, the far hills became walls ultimately, taller than our main mast - the channel narrowed and the walls became closer.  There were homes up there - and people watching us, waving and calling out.  I thought  "I can almost reach out and shake hands."   Then all at once it widened and fell off to sea level - almost a hole in the wall.  And there was "Little Toot" - a one lung tug boat of about 30 foot.  We stopped, passed a line across and the little tug helped us pivot about 180 degrees in that very tight basin.  It then backed off to our midships and nudged us to our berth.

Off I went on permanent shore patrol - a room on the beach, yet.  The folks here were very friendly and I learned that many were American and British armed services retirees.  Port Mahon was (is) the location of an American National Cemetery.  A 19th century navy ship had sunk in a storm; the recovered, and those who stayed on, were (are) interred there.  I believe we were the first US ship to visit (at least in many years).

Port Mahon, Minorca

d.  I acted as EMO for a period until a new ensign reported aboard and was assigned the billet.  Young and eager, he was my training task for the cruise, and thankfully a fast learner.  He also stood J.O.O.D. watches.  One day O.O.D and J.O.O.D watchstanders were queuing up for man overboard drill, each taking a try at saving Oscar.  Well, as a young radarman, I'd done the CIC part of the drill many times - you know ... popping the DRT to the 200 yard scale, tracking the Williamson Turn back to the man overboard datum and passing any recommended course and speed changes along the way.  But I hadn't done "the real thing" - until now.  Somehow, when the ship stopped, "Oscar" was midships, two feet off the hull. Now you and I know that this was absolute luck, but in passing my new "boss" as I left the bridge, I said something like "that's how it's done - your turn".  I do believe he was impressed; I certainly was.  It was and is, a cherished moment - even if it was luck.

e.  USS Bache DD-470.  While anchored at Rhodes, an island off Greece, Bache grounded in a high wind during the night.  Message traffic alerted us while at Piraeus and we were ordered to Rhodes post haste.  We flew down the chain of small islands to Rhodes.  The CO had me on the AN/SPA-50 in CIC to call out contacts close aboard or closing, those waters being crowded with small boats, big rocks.  We arrived on station about dawn.  A carrier had already made the scene and retrieved the crew, Bache having broken up on the rocks.  After a while SOPA cut us loose and we returned to our duties.

f.  USS Scorpion SSN-589.  In May 1968 we made the Straits of Gibraltar transit, having been directed to participate in the effort to locate Scorpion around the Azores.  No joy, and after several days we were detached to continue our Med duty.  Later we came home.  My source (DANFS) currently holds no history on Scorpion.

There were:

LT Mosher OPS - He set up my bridge shot.

CDR Harry Train II - On smaller ships there can be a closer association with COs, particularly as you reach the higher ranks.  I rate CDR Train as my "most respected". Yes he gave me my shot, but more than that, he instilled confidence and cool demeanor in the face of those inevitable cautions found at sea.  He went on to serve as Admiral Train, CINCLANT/CINCLANTFLT and to wear the NATO hat that goes with that job.

ETC James Lyle and LT Lou Shank EMO - Both were aboard when I arrived.  Both transferred.  And both were working at Q.E.D. Systems, Inc. when I signed in there years later.

History:

DDG-17

Conyngham III

(DDG-17: flap. 4,500; l. 432'; b. 47', dr. 20'; sp. 35 k.; cpl. 354, a. 1 twin Tartar, 1 single Tartar launcher, 2 5"x54 dual purpose, 1 ASROC 8, 2 triple torpedo launchers )

The third CONYNGHAM was built by the New York Shipbuilding Corp., Camden, N.J., launched 19 May 1962; sponsored by Mrs. Carl B. Albert, wife of Representative Albert of Oklahoma, House Majority Leader, commissioned 13 July 1963, Commander Edwin P. Smith USN, in command.

Author's Note:
History incomplete.  Later, Conyngham suffered a
major fire at sea and was decommissioned.

AB

Conyngham's Story

The Tragedy of the Lost Commission

In 1930, the president of the Naval Historical Society ordered an item from a Paris print and autograph dealer's catalog identified only as a document bearing John Hancock's signature dated March 1, 1777.   When item No. 143 arrived, it turned out to be a commission granting the rank of Captain in the Continental Navy to Gustavus Conyngham and appointing him commander of the armed vessel SURPRISE.

It was 104 years too late to save Captain Conyngham from being imprisoned as a pirate rather than a prisoner of war.  Since he was unable to produce his commission when captured, the British refused to recognize Conyngham as an officer of the Continental Navy and subjected him to the harsh treatment reserved for pirates rather than the liberal courtesies extended to commissioned officers.

Poor Conyngham.

Renowned naval historical Samuel Eliot Morrison called him "The most unfortunate".  His exploits rivaled those of his more famous counterpoint John Paul Jones, but his name remains virtually unknown in the annuls of naval history.

Conyngham's troubles began when SURPRISE was seized after capturing two British ships.  Conyngham was arrested and his commission turned over to French authorities in the port where his ship was seized.  They promised to return it, but Conyngham never saw it again.

Negotiations by the American representative in Paris to enlist the support of the French in the war at home gained Conyngham's release.  A new commission was issued and he was soon at sea again, this time in command of the cutter REVENGE.   For eighteen months he terrorized the Royal Navy, taking 60 prizes.

Conyngham's luck ran out on April 27, 1779, when he was captured and, according to his own testimony, a British officer confiscated his second commission and sent to the hold.   Thus, when Conyngham arrived back in England, he could produce neither commission.   The British seized the opportunity to put the rampaging captain out of business, claiming he was a pirate because he could not produce a commission.  Conygham was thrown into prison.

After three unsuccessful escape attempts, Conyngham tunneled his way out in late 1779 only to be captured again four months later.  It would be a long while before Captain Conyngham saw the shores of the new nation for which he fought so valiantly and suffered so grievously, all for the lack of a commission.

Copied from the USS Conyngham newsletter The Privateer July 1999 as published in The Retired Officer, May 1998.  

USN Years
Epilogue