USS William D.Porter (DD-579)

There are many stories from WW-II that have not been told and some out there have gotten limited circulation by order, neglect or lack of detail to do the story justice. The story about the ill-fated USS WILLIAM D. PORTER (DD-579) is one of those. Kit Bonner, Naval Historian, researched and wrote this story in the mid-nineties about the Willie Dee.

From November, 1943 until her bizarre loss in June 1945 the American Destroyer USS WILLIAM D. PORTER (DD-579) was often met with the clever greeting, “Don’t shoot, we’re Republicans!” when she entered port or joined other naval ships. The significance of this expression was almost a cult secret of the United States Navy until the story resurfaced and received publicity after a ship’s reunion in 1958.

Almost 64-years ago, the “Willie Dee”, as the WILLIAM D. PORTER was nicknamed, accidentally fired a live torpedo at the Battleship USS IOWA (BB-61) during a practice exercise on November 14, 1943. If this wasn’t bad enough, the IOWA was carrying President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Secretary of State Cordell Hull and all of the country’s highest WW-II military brass to the “Big Three” conference in Cairo and Tehran. President Roosevelt was to meet Stalin of the Soviet Union and Churchill of Great Britain and had the PORTER’S successfully launched torpedo struck the IOWA at the aiming point, the last 64-years of world history might have been quite different. Fortunately, the PORTER’S warning allowed the IOWA to evade the speeding torpedo and historic events carried on as we know them.

The PORTER was one of 175 war built assembly-line Fletcher Class Destroyers. Although much smaller than modern-day destroyers, they were powerful and menacing in their day. They mounted a Main Battery of five dual-purpose 5-inch 38-caliber guns and an assortment of 20-MM and 40-MM anti-aircraft guns, but their main armament consisted of ten 21-inch torpedoes that carried 500-pound warheads.


The PORTER was placed in commission on July 6, 1943 under the command of Lieutenant Commander Wilfred A. Walter, a man on the Navy’s career fast track. In the months before she was assigned to accompany the IOWA across the Atlantic in November 1943, the PORTER’S crew learned their trades, but not without experiencing certain mishaps that set the stage for the “big goof”.

The mishaps began in earnest with the order to escort the pride of the fleet, the big new Battleship USS IOWA (BB-61), to North Africa. The night before it left Norfolk, Virginia the PORTER successfully demolished a nearby sister ship when she backed down the other ship’s side and, with her anchor, tore down railings, a life raft, the Captain’s Gig and various formerly valuable pieces of equipment. The “Willie Dee” suffered merely a slightly scratched anchor, but her career of mayhem and destruction had begun.

The next event occurred just 24-hourd later. The four-ship convoy, consisting of the IOWA and her secret passengers, the PORTER and two other destroyers, was under strict instruction to maintain complete radio silence, since they were going through a known U-boat feeding ground where speed and silence were the first defense. Suddenly, a tremendous explosion rocked the convoy and all the ships commenced anti-submarine maneuvers. The maneuvers continued until the PORTER sheepishly admitted that one of depth charges had fallen off the stern and detonated in the rough sea. The safety had not been set as instructed. Captain Walter’s fast track career was fast becoming sidetracked.

Shortly after this incident a freak wave in the heavy seas inundated the PORTER, stripping everything that wasn’t lashed down and washing a man overboard who was never found. Next the Engine Room lost power from one of its boilers. During all these events Captain Walter had to make reports almost hourly to the IOWA on the “Willie Dee’s” difficulties. At this point, it would have been merciful for the Force Commander to detach the hard luck ship and send her back to Norfolk.

But. This didn’t happen. The morning of November 14, 1943 dawned with moderate seas and pleasant weather. The IOWA and her escorts were just east of Bermuda when the President and his guest wanted to see how the big ship would defend herself against an air attack, so the IOWA launched a number of weather balloons to use as anti-aircraft targets. Seeing more than 100 guns shooting at the balloons was exciting and the President was duly proud of his Navy. Just as proud as the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Ernest J. King, large in size and by demeanor, a true monarch of the seas. Disagreeing with him meant the end of a Naval career. Up to this time no one knew what firing a torpedo at him would mean.

Over on the “Willie Dee” Captain Walter watched the display with admiration and envy - thinking about career redemption and breaking the hard luck spell. He sent his impatient crew to battle stations and they began to shoot down the balloons that, missed by the IOWA, had drifted into the PORTER’S vicinity.

Down on the torpedo mounts the PORTER crew watched, waited and prepared to take practice shots at the big battleship, which, even at 6,000-yards, seemed to blot out the horizon. Torpedoman Lawton Dawson and Tony Fazio were among those responsible for the torpedoes and for ensuring that the primers (small explosive charges that launched the torpedoes) were installed during actual combat and removed during practice. Dawson, unfortunately, forgot to remove the primer from Torpedo Tube Number Three.

Up on the bridge a new Torpedo Officer ordered the simulated firing and commanded, “Fire One”, “Fire Two” and finally “Fire Three”. There was no “Fire Four”. The sequence was interrupted by a whoooosssshhhh----the unmistakable sound made by a successfully armed and launched torpedo.

Lieutenant H. Seward Lewis, who witnessed the entire event, later described what hell would look like if it ever broke loose. Just after he saw the torpedo hit the water on its way to the IOWA, where some of the most prominent figures in world history stood, he innocently asked Captain Walter, “Did you give permission to fire a torpedo”?

Captain Walter uttered something akin to, “Hell, no. I, I, I, iii, aaa, iiiii ---- what???? Not exactly in keeping with some other Naval quotes, like John Paul Jones’s, “I have not yet begun to fight”, or even Civil War era Rear Admiral David Glasgow Farragut’s, “Damn the torpedoes----full speed ahead!” although the latter would have been appropriate.

The next five minutes aboard the “Willie Dee” were pandemonium. Everyone raced around shouting conflicting instructions and attempting to warn IOWA of imminent danger. First, a flashing light attempted a warning about the torpedo, but indicated the wrong direction. Next, the PORTER signaled that she was going in reverse at full speed.

Despite the strictly enforced radio silence, it was finally decided to notify the IOWA by TBS (Transmission Between Ships). The radio operator on the PORTER yelled, “Lion, (code word for the IOWA) Lion, come right -- Lion, come right!” The IOWA operator, more concerned about improper radio procedure, requested that the offending operator identify himself first. Finally, the message was received and the IOWA began turning to avoid the speeding torpedo.

Meantime, on the IOWA’S bridge word of the torpedo firing had reached President Roosevelt. He only wanted to see the torpedo and asked that his wheelchair be moved to the railing. The IOWA began evasive maneuvers and trained all guns on the PORTER. There was some thought that the PORTER was part of an assassination plot. Within moments of the warning a thunderous explosion occurred behind the IOWA. The torpedo had been detonated by the wash kicked up by the battleship’s increased speed. The crisis was over and so were some careers. Captain Walter’s final utterance to the IOWA was in response to a question about the origin of the torpedo. His answer was a weak, “We did it”. Shortly thereafter, the new state-of-the-art destroyer, her ambitious Captain and seemingly fumbling crew were placed under arrest and sent to Bermuda for trial. It was the first time in the history of the United States Navy that an entire ship and her crew had been arrested. The PORTER was surrounded by Marines when it docked in Bermuda and was held there for several days as the closed-session inquiry attempted to find out what happened.

The outcome was delayed a couple of days until Torpedoman Dawson finally confessed to having inadvertently left the primer in the Number Three Torpedo Tube, which caused the launch. Just after the torpedo left its tube Dawson had thrown the primer case over the side to conceal his mistake. The truth was eventually pried out of him and the inquiry drew to a close. The whole incident was chalked up to an incredible set of circumstances and placed under a cloak of secrecy.

That is not to say the Navy took no action. Captain Walter and several PORTER officers and sailors eventually found themselves in obscure shore assignments and Dawson was sentenced to 14-years at hard labor. President Roosevelt intervened, however, and asked that no punishment be meted out as the near disaster had been an accident.

The PORTER next found herself in the upper Aleutians on patrol. It was probably thought that the Aleutians was as safe a place as any for the destroyer and those around her. But, before being reassigned to another area in the Pacific, she accidentally lobbed a 5-inch shell into the front yard of the local American Base Commandant.

When the PORTER later joined other ships off Okinawa the destroyer did distinguish herself by shooting down a variety of Japanese aircraft and, reportedly, three American planes. She was generally greeted by, “Don’t shoot, we’re Republicans” and the crew of the “Willie Dee” had become accustomed to the ribbing. However, the crew members of a sister ship, the USS LUCE (DD-522), were not so polite in their greeting after the PORTER accidentally riddled her side and superstructure with gunfire.

On June 10, 1945 the hard luck ship met her end. A Japanese “VAL”, constructed almost entirely of wood and canvas, slipped through her defenses. As it had very little metal surface the plane was not unlike our present-day stealth planes. It did not register on radar. A fully loaded Kamikaze, the plane headed for a ship near the PORTER, but at the last moment, veered away and crashed alongside the unlucky PORTER. There was a sigh of relief as the plane sank out of sight without exploding. Unfortunately, it then blew up underneath the destroyer and opened up the ship’s hull in the worse possible location.

Three hours later the last man, the Captain, jumped to the safety of a rescue vessel, leaving the ship that almost changed the face of the world and national politics to slip stern first into 2,500-feet of water. Miraculously, not a single soul was lost in the sinking. It was almost as if the ship that had been so unlucky chose to let her crew live. The saga of the USS WILLIAM D. PORTER (DD-579) was over.

Ever so often the crew of the hapless “Willie Dee” gather in reunion and remember their ill-fated ship. They remember the good times, and now, some 64-years later, the notorious torpedo incident elicits amusement rather the heart-wrenching embarrassment it caused in November 1943.

(Thanks to Kit Bonner, Naval Historian)