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This week is the 80th anniversary of the destruction of the S.S. Normandie. On February 9, 1942, the S.S. Normandie, recently renamed the U.S.S. Lafayette, caught fire as civilian shipbuilders were trying to retrofit her as a troop transport. The Normandie was the pride of the French ocean liner fleet. Built in 1935, she was the largest and fastest and most luxuriously appointed of the new ocean liners. But when war broke out in Europe she was in New York Harbor. When France declared war on Germany on September 3, 1939, the Normandie was held by the U.S. government in New York Harbor. Still owned and crewed by the French, she was not allowed to leave. On December 12, 1941, just five days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the Normandie was officially seized by the U.S. government, and on December 27th she was transferred to the U.S. Navy, who re-christened her the U.S.S. Lafayette and began work on converting her to a troop transport. In the first class lounge, where varnished woodwork and flammable life jackets were still in place, sparks from a welding torch lit a stack of life jackets on fire. Sadly, the Normandie's complicated fire suppression system had been disconnected during the process, and the hoses brought by New York City firefighters would not fit the French connections. The blaze aboard the Normandie could not be stopped, and she rolled and sank at dock. Despite an extraordinarily expensive salvage operation in August of 1943, the righted Lafayette had sustained too much damage to be easily repaired, and both war materiel and labor were short. The Lafayette was never repaired and sat in dry dock for the remainder of the war. She was officially stricken from Naval records in the fall of 1945, and the French didn't want her either. Some attempts were made by private individuals to save her, but none were successful. She was scrapped at Port Newark, NJ between October, 1946 and December, 1948. Despite this tragic end, many of her most beautiful interiors and artwork were saved and now reside in private collections and at museums around the world, including at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her whistle eventually ended up at Pratt Institute, and was used in the New Year's Eve celebrations until recently. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
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The winter of 1934 was a particularly bad one for New York and most of the Northeast. We'll be learning more about the record-breaking temperatures in subsequent posts, but check out this footage of the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter "Manhattan" breaking ice up the Hudson River in 1934. There have been several U.S. Coast Guard vessels named "Manhattan," the first of which was built in 1873. It's not clear if the replacement "Manhattan" was built in 1918 or 1921, but that is likely the vessel shown in this film. The second "Manhattan" was decommissioned and sold in 1947, her ultimate fate unknown. The SS "Manhattan" was another famous ice breaker. Originally built as an oil tanker, she was the first commercial vessel to successfully navigate the Northwest Passage in 1969. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published August 14, 1977. Almost from the beginning of steam navigation, there have been shipyards along Rondout Creek. Probably the biggest day in the creek’s history occurred on September 30, 1918, when the largest vessel built along the Rondout hit the water for the first time. Back in World War I, steel was in short supply and the federal government decided to build oceangoing freighters of wood. Four of these were to be built at the shipyard on Island Dock. The first ship to be launched was named “Esopus” and the event, based on estimates made by the Daily Freeman at the time, was witnessed by 15,000 people — more than half the population of Kingston and the immediate surrounding area. In that era of nearly 60 years ago, Rondout Creek was a busy place. In addition to the ocean freighters being built at Island Dock, the C. Hiltebrant Shipyard at Connelly was building submarine chasers and the other yards were busy building barges to carry the Hudson’s commerce. The creek echoed with the sound of caulking hammers, the whine of band saws, and the whir of air drills and hammers. The "Esopus” was the largest vessel, then or since, to be built along the Rondout, and her size, together with the intensity of the war effort, created a great deal of local interest in the ship. It had been rumored the launching would take place in mid-September. When it did not, this only piqued the interest of area residents. Finally, it was announced in the Freeman that September 30 was to be the day. Spectators began to arrive early and crammed all vantage points. Grandstands had been erected and benches set up for the people lucky enough to get on the Island Dock. Up on Presidents Place and in the area known as the “Ups and Downs” at the end of West Chestnut Street, there were large groups of people to get a birds-eye view. Along the South Rondout shore, people were in rowboats and the steam launches and yachts of old. Even the abutment on which today stands the south tower of the Rondout Creek highway bridge, completed just prior to World War I, was crowded with people. It is my understanding there were even some doubting Thomases among the estimated 15,000 spectators. Some were of the opinion the "Esopus” was so big she would stick on the launching ways, while others thought she might tip over on her side when she hit the water, or go right across the creek and hit the South Rondout shore. I have heard there were even small bets among some people that one of these possibilities would occur. As the launching hour approached, the sound of music from the Colonial City Band, on hand for the occasion, filled the early autumn air. The music was punctuated by the sound of workmen’s mauls driving up wedges to remove the last remaining blocks from beneath the ship. The launching ways had been angled with the creek’s course to gain additional launching room. When all was in readiness, Miss Dorothy Schoonmaker, daughter of John D. Schoonmaker, president of the Island Dock shipyard, broke the traditional bottle of champagne on the ship’s bow, and the “Esopus” started to slide down the greased ways. As soon as she started to move, the gentle September breeze caused the ship’s flags and bunting to wave, and bedlam broke loose. It seemed as if every steam whistle along Rondout Creek was blowing at once. The Cornell tugboats “George W. Pratt,” “Rob” and “Wm. S. Earl" were on hand to take the “Esopus” in hand when she was waterborne. The steam whistles of this tugboat trio led the noisy serenade, together with the shipyard whistles at Island Dock and Hiltebrant’s, and the shrill whistles of the small old-time steam launches present for the event. The steeple bells of Rondout’s churches were also ringing and added to the festive air. It was a perfect launching and an impressive sight. It seemed that even nature smiled that day — so long ago that few today remember — for the weather was perfect. Even after the whistles quieted down, from way down the creek where the Central Hudson Line steamer "Homer Ramsdell” lay at her berth near the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue came the sound of her soft steam whistle still blowing a salute of good luck to the “Esopus.” And the ferryboats “Transport” and the little “Skillypot” were joining in. Finally, the “Pratt,” “Rob” and “Earl” had the "Esopus” securely moored at Island Dock, and peace and quiet returned to Rondout. As the crowds of people began to disperse, the band saws and air drills could again be heard as the shipyard workers resumed their work, both on the “Esopus” and on her sister ship that was to be called the “Catskill.” After several more weeks of completion work, the time came for the “Esopus” to leave the Rondout Creek forever. This occasion also drew crowds of people to the creek to witness her departure. The ship was completed at Kingston except for the installation of her engine and boilers. She was to be towed to Providence, Rhode Island, where these components would be installed and the vessel readied for sea. On the day of departure, people had started to gather at daybreak at vantage points along the creek and on top of the buildings along Ferry Street, for the newspaper had said she would leave early. However, it wasn’t until about 9 a.m. that the Cornell tugs “Rob” and “Wm. S. Earl” were seen heading up the Rondout to take the “Esopus” in tow. This pair of tugboats was to take the ship to the river, where the big Cornell tugboat “Pocahontas” was to take her to New York. The “Earl,” in charge of Captain Chester Wells, put her hawsers on the bow of the “Esopus” to pull her, and the “Rob,” in charge of Captain George “Bun” Gage, lay along her starboard quarter to both push her and act as a sort of rudder. As they pulled away from the yard of the builder of the “Esopus,” the steam whistle of the Island Dock began to blow farewell. Over in Connelly, the steam whistle of the Hiltebrant shipyard joined the serenade. As the “Esopus” moved sedately down Rondout Creek toward the Hudson, all the vessels along the creek with steam on their boilers joined in whistle salutes of goodbye and good luck. At the Central Hudson Line wharf between the foot of Broadway and Hasbrouck Avenue lay the big steamer “Benjamin B. Odell.” The “Odell’s” pilot, Richard Heffernan, was on top of the pilothouse as the “Esopus” passed, pulling on the cable connected to the large commodious whistle and he kept pulling it to the whistle’s full steam capacity. Even the trolley cars along Ferry Street were ringing their bells. At that time, Rondout Creek sort of resembled a home for old steamboats. At the foot of Island Dock lay the big sidewheel towboat “Oswego” built in 1848. At the Abbey Dock, east of Hasbrouck Avenue, lay the old Newburgh-to-Albany steamer “M. Martin,” which at one time during the Civil War had served as General Grant’s dispatch boat. Farther down the creek at the Sunflower Dock lay the old queen of the Hudson, the “Mary Powell.” Now, on all three, after over half a century of service on the Hudson, their boilers were cold and their whistles were silent. As the "Esopus" neared Ponckhockie, the large whistle on the U.& D. Railroad shops and the whistle of the old gashouse blew long salutes of goodluck and happy sailing. Finally, as she approached the mouth of the creek, Jim Murdock, the keeper of Rondout lighthouse, rang the big fog bell in a final farewell to the “Esopus." When she reached the Hudson, the “Pocahontas” took the “Esopus” in tow and started the trip to New York. Years later I was pilot on the “Pocahontas,” and her chief engineer, William Conklin, told me about the 1918 trip down the river. Chief Conklin was a great man for detail. He said that when they got to the Hudson Highlands, between Cornwall and Stony Point, it was the time of evening when the nightly parade of nightboats made its way upriver — the passenger and freight steamers bound for Kingston, Saugerties, Catskill and Hudson, Albany and Troy, as well as tow after tow. That was when the Hudson River was really busy with waterborne traffic. Bill went on to tell me the “Esopus” towed like a light scow, following the “Pokey” without any trouble at all. They arrived in New York in the early morning and a big coastwise tug was waiting for them at Pier 1, North River, to tow the “Esopus” out Long Island Sound. The orders from the Cornell office were for the “Pocahontas” to stay with the tow up the East River through Hell Gate and then call the Cornell office for further orders. After passing through the Gate, the "Pocahontas” let go, saluted the "Esopus" three times and returned to the Hudson. After that, I never knew for sure what became of the “Esopus.” It would be nice to be able to say she had a distinguished career in war and a long, profitable one in peace. Ships like the “Esopus,” however, had been an emergency measure. World War I was over before she saw much service and apparently they found little use in the years that followed. It is my understanding the “Esopus” was the only one of the four to be built on Island Dock that was completed. Her sister, the “Catskill,” was launched but never finished, and construction of the other two was stopped and they were dismantled. In the 1920’s and early 30’s there used to be ships like the “Esopus” in the backwaters of New York harbor lying on flats and abandoned, but I never saw any names on them. Gradually they rotted away with only a few watersoaked timbers remaining. If one of these should have been the bones of the “Esopus,” it would have been a sad end for a ship that was cheered by some 15,000 people when she was launched on Rondout Creek nearly 60 years before. AuthorCaptain William Odell Benson was a life-long resident of Sleightsburgh, N.Y., where he was born on March 17, 1911, the son of the late Albert and Ida Olson Benson. He served as captain of Callanan Company tugs including Peter Callanan, and Callanan No. 1 and was an early member of the Hudson River Maritime Museum. He retained, and shared, lifelong memories of incidents and anecdotes along the Hudson River. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Today's Media Monday post is a fun one! In 1962, "News of the Day" with Peter Roberts issued this short newsreel about Theresa Scozzafava of Jones Point, NY, who was suing the federal government for rent for the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, also known as the "mothball fleet." Check out the newsreel below, then keep reading for the whole story! Theresa Scozzafava did, indeed sue the federal government and her court case was featured in the New York Times and the Kingston Daily Freeman. Here's what the Times had to say on March 14, 1962: “U.S. Is Sued Over a Fleet in ‘Front Yard’ – Grandmother Seeks $10,000 Rent for Mothball Ships” A 77-year-old grandmother will have her day in court soon in an effort to collection $10,000 from the Federal Government. She contends the Government has been parking a fleet of ships in her front yard on the Hudson River. Mrs. Theresa Scozzafava, who lives in a gray, wood-shingled house in Jones Point, a hamlet in Rockland County, N.Y., says the Government owes the money for anchoring its mothball fleet in the Hudson in front of her property. In her suit, filed in the Federal court for the Southern District of New York, Mrs. Scozzafava claims underwater rights extending 250 feet into the Hudson along 365 feet of the shoreline. The suit, filed in February, 1960, contends that Mrs. Scozzafava, who is the mother of ten children, all of whom are living, acquired the underwater rights by becoming the successor of grants made by the State of New York dating back to 1814. In May, 1960, the Government entered a challenge against the suit, arguing that the court had no jurisdiction in the matter and that the ships, known formally as the Hudson River Reserve Fleet, were in a navigable river. The Government’s challenge was denied by Judge William B. Herlands, who said the issue would have to be settled in court. The reserve fleet numbers about 190 ships, of which about fifty are used for the storage of grain. The number of ships varies because periodically tugboats pull the grain ships down to New York Harbor, where the grain is transferred to elevators or blown into barges for eventual export. When the grain ships are emptied, they are tugged back to the reserve fleet. The spry, white-haired grandmother has been collecting $25 a month rent from the Government since March 20, 1946. The rent was for the use of a dock and for parking privileges for Government workers’ automobiles. Rent Increase Sought When the Government’s lease expired in 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava, who had by then acquired additional property when her husband, Bernardo, died in 1950, sought to increase the rent. “They offered me $25 a month and told me to ‘take it or leave it,’” she said yesterday. “I told them to take their ships away.” In late June of 1960, Mrs. Scozzafava said, several tugboats were used to pull the ships away from her underwater property. “That proves,” she said, “they knew I was right.” However, she contends, the ships are still infringing on her property. Mrs. Scozzafava was joined in the suit by her daughter, Mary Springstead, and her daughter’s husband, Wesley, who also owns property along the Hudson River. Mrs. Springstead, 53, describes her mother as a “very active woman.” “She did the Twist last New Year’s Eve and she has a few scotches every once in a while,” the daughter said. Sadly, Mrs. Scozzafava and her daughter did not get their day in court. According to a New York Times article published April 14, 1962, the case was dismissed by mutual consent. Mrs. Scozzafava and Mary Springstead did not want to engage in a long, drawn out court case, and so dropped the suit due to health reasons. The Hudson River Reserve Fleet was removed from Jones Point less than a decade later. Most of the fleet was moved to the James River Reserve Fleet in Virginia, in close proximity to the Naval base at Norfolk, VA. The last of the ships left in the Hudson River were towed away for scrap on July 8, 1971. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Today is Memorial Day. And although the real meaning of the holiday often gets lost in all the sales and barbecues, we thought we'd take some time to remember some of the unsung heroes of wartime - the U.S. Merchant Marine. This WWII-era newsreel highlights the important work of the Merchant Marine during the war: The Merchant Marine refers to all U.S. flagged cargo ships and freighters. During wartime, these civilian vessels - and their civilian crews - were crucial to moving war materiel and maintaining supply lines across the oceans. Because these men were not officially enlisted in the military, despite their hugely important wartime work, they have not traditionally been celebrated on Memorial Day. In fact, National Maritime Day, held on May 22nd, is often referred to as the Merchant Marine Memorial Day. But merchant mariners had a higher wartime casualty rate than any branch of the military during the Second World War. One in 26 merchant mariners died in the war, a higher rate than even the U.S. Marines. During WWII, approximately 243,000 merchant mariners served, and over 9,500 died as a result of enemy action, nearly 4%. In contrast, the U.S. Coast Guard, in which 242,000 served, lost 571 men to enemy action, or about a quarter of a percent. Despite these high casualty rates, because they were not enlisted in a branch of the military, the Merchant Marines were not eligible for Purple Heart medals. In 1943, Congress attempted to rectify that lack with the establishment of the Merchant Marines Mariner's Medal. Over 6,000 medals were awarded before it was discontinued in 1956. It was not awarded in subsequent conflicts, but in 1992, the US Department of Transportation announced several new medals which were retroactively awarded to merchant mariners who served in Korea, Vietnam, and more recently wartime engagements, including Operations Desert Storm, Iraqi Freedom, and others. To get a taste of the dangerous voyages that merchant mariners made in wartime, there are a couple of movies to check out. The first is "Action in the North Atlantic," a 1943 film starring Humphrey Bogart. Bogart stars as a hero of the wartime merchant marine in "Action in the North Atlantic." During World War II, the United States has been supplying its ally, the Soviet Union, as that country valiantly fights the invading German Army. But the supply lines cross the frigid, treacherous waters of the North Atlantic. When his ship is torpedoed by the Germans in mid-ocean, first mate Joe Rossi (Bogart) rallies the survivors of his crew to navigate their tiny lifeboat to land. After their harrowing journey, the brave seamen have only a brief time ashore before they set out to sea again, daring another crossing through submarine infested waters to supply the desperate Russians. Another, more recent film also highlights the dangers of the Battle of the Atlantic to merchant mariners: "Greyhound," released in 2020 and starring Tom Hanks. Although it focuses on the captain of the lead naval destroyer escorting a convoy across the Atlantic, you get a feel for the extreme danger posed to merchant mariners by U-boats, and how many ships and lives were lost attempting to keep the supply lines open and running. Based on the real events of the Battle of the Atlantic, "Greyhound" makes for good, if nerve-wracking, watching. “If you’re a merchant sailor, you don’t know if the ship you’re on at any moment will suddenly explode. You don’t know if it is hit and you have to go in the water, will you be found? … If you’re a survivor, you hope to God you get in a lifeboat, and then you hope that somebody picks you up. Otherwise, you’re done.” To learn more about the real life counterparts of the Greyhound, check out this article from the Smithsonian Magazine. As we remember all those who lost their lives in military action this Memorial Day, we hope you'll remember the Merchant Marines, too. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Are your shad bushes blooming? The large shadbush (also known as juneberry or serviceberry or shad blow) in the museum's courtyard is getting ready to bloom - that means the shad run is starting!
In this story, Port Ewen commercial fisherman Frank Parslow describes restrictions on fishing in New York Harbor during WWII and the impact on Hudson River fishermen. This audio clip is part of the Hudson River Maritime Museum's Hudson River Commercial Fishermen Oral History Collection. You can listen to a selection of the museum's full oral history interviews on New York Heritage.
If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Editor's Note: From the February 20, 2015 New York Times article by Tatiana Schlossberg. http://nyti.ms/1vsvP7x Under Thick Coating, an Icebreaking Ship Uncovers the Hudson HUDSON, N.Y. — As the sun came up on Friday morning, the Sturgeon Bay, a 140-foot Coast Guard icebreaker, creaked and lurched through a frozen river, sending cracks scattering as dark water rose to the surface in pools, spraying beads of water that hit the ice like marbles, solid by the time they landed. From New York Harbor to Albany, the Hudson River wends, ebbs and flows over 120 miles, except when it doesn’t. Right now north of West Point, the river is captive to the wind and weather, a field of ice up to 1.5 feet thick. At least once a day lately, the Sturgeon Bay has been crunching and crashing up and down the Hudson, clearing paths through the crystallized expanse so that boats carrying supplies can reach the communities counting on them. Barges on the Hudson transport 70 percent of the home heating oil in the Northeast. In 2014, barges brought 20 million barrels of it northward, as well as 100,000 tons of dry goods, like salt and cement. It is not exactly news that this winter is cold. But it is very cold. On the once-water in Hudson, N.Y., the temperature floated around 1 or 2 degrees, with a wind chill of minus 20 degrees at times. Lt. Ken Sauerbrunn, the commanding officer of the Sturgeon Bay, said this winter was the worst he had seen since 2004, when Coast Guard boats were dispatched to New York Harbor to clear ice for the Staten Island Ferry. The winter mission of the Coast Guard fleet: break up ice in the Hudson River, the Great Lakes and other waterways throughout the Northeast. All river ice is not all the same. The deepest part of the river, where the cutters make their trail, is frozen with what is called “brash ice,” softer ice that the cutters break up. It refreezes, sometimes as quickly as an hour later, though usually overnight. On either side of the brash ice is “fast ice,” as in fastened to the shore. This is the thicker ice, which, when snow covered, looks like stiff peaked egg whites, flattened out to a wrinkled meringue. When fast ice is broken, sometimes by a boat, sometimes by wind, it breaks into larger, flat chunks, called plate ice. If plate ice is rounded, by bumping into other pieces, boats or by the wind, then it becomes pancake ice. The Coast Guard cutters try not to break too much ice, since it can blow around and pile up in the river. “We always say, ‘The more ice you break, the more you make,’ ” Lieutenant Sauerbrunn, 30, said. This is his second winter captaining the boat; he has been a member of its crew since 2002. His ship, 662 tons with three decks, is specially designed to break ice: The hull has an S-shaped curve from its bow to its keel, which allows it to cut through the mounds; its weight enables it to effectively smash the ice; and its wake is perpendicular to the boat (most boats have a wake that comes out from the stern at 30 degrees), which allows for the greatest amount of ice to be broken. The Coast Guard has nine ships of this size deployed in the Northeast; there are also bigger and smaller cutters. On Friday morning, the Sturgeon Bay and its crew of 17 was headed north when it received a call from two tugboats pushing barges that had gotten stuck in the ice the day before. The cutter turned around, carving a wide loop in the ice with thunderous noise, like 100 people shoveling snow off the sidewalk at once. The two tugboats, the Sassafrass and Fells Point, were a few hundred yards apart, stuck near Germantown, where the ice can pile up because of a narrow bend in the river, making what is known as a choke point. There are a few choke points at the moment: one at West Point, another at Kingston, and this one, at Germantown. The Sturgeon Bay did eight slow laps around the two boats, which took about three and a half hours at the stolid pace of 11.5 miles an hour. Finally enough ice had been cut so the tugboats could break free. The Sturgeon Bay sailed on, loosening up the path of frozen boulders ahead. Most of the ice in New York Harbor has floated down river from this temporary tundra, lodging itself in the curving coves around the harbor’s shores. The water around the city, though, doesn’t freeze over anymore: The salinity of the water lowers the freezing point, and the brisk boat traffic keeps the water moving. (The New York Harbor froze completely in 1780, the hard winter during the American Revolution.) Robin Bell, a research professor at the Lamont-Doherty Observatory at Columbia University who specializes in the Hudson River, said that it also does not get as cold in New York City as it once did. “You used to be able to drive a car from Manhattan to New Jersey,” she said, “so the river was probably colder then, but there was also probably less boat traffic.” As for the future, she said there will probably be less ice in the river, especially around New York City, but it is impossible to predict. There is always the chance that a volcanic eruption in Iceland or elsewhere could cause a brief ice age, she said. Still, the amount of ice that does float downstream is enough to hinder the East River Ferry, the Hudson River Ferry, and the Belford Ferry, which travels from the Sandy Hook Bay in New Jersey to Manhattan, all operated by New York Waterway. Pat Smith, a spokesman for New York Waterway, said it had tugboats out this winter to clear the way for boats. “Whether we send them out depends on the wind and the tides,” he said. The ice does not damage the boats’ hulls, but it can make dings in their propellers, Mr. Smith said. If the propellers become dented, they have to be replaced by a diver. “Would you like to do that this time of year?” Mr. Smith said. The Sturgeon Bay, though, was built for its job. Cutting loops and figure-eights in the ice in its effort to free the Sassafrass, the Sturgeon Bay momentarily scraped to a stop, waiting to see if the tugboat could move. On deck it was hard to remember it was a boat, that this tundra was a river. No water gently lapped against the hull; the boat did not rock with the wind and the waves. Two foxes ran in front of the bow. Everything was cold, white and quiet. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
The wars of the 20th century called forth boat and ship-building efforts in the Hudson Valley to serve the needs of the country in time of peril. At Kingston, Newburgh, and other river towns, vessels of various types and sizes were built. During World War I the United States Shipping Board was organized to procure vessels to meet the needs of the war effort in this country and, after a certain point, our Allies fighting in Europe and elsewhere. Wooden minesweepers and sub-chasers were built at Hiltebrant’s on the Rondout. At Island Dock the Kingston Shipbuilding Company was set up to build four wooden freighters to carry cargo to our Allies abroad. At Newburgh the Newburgh Shipyards were set up to build a more ambitious group of ten steel freighters. The World War I shipyards began their cargo ship-building efforts in mid-1917 as the United States entered the war. At Newburgh noted engineer Thomas C. Desmond acquired property just south of the city after lining up financial backing from Irving T. Bush, president of Bush Terminal in Brooklyn, and other shipping businessmen. Construction of the shipyard began in the summer of 1917 with the expansion of the property by filling in the river front. Actual building of the buildings did not begin until September 1917. Four ship building berths were constructed to build 9000 ton steel cargo ships. The first keel was not laid until March 1918 due to a severe winter. The first ship, the Newburgh, was launched on Labor Day of 1918 with thousands of people in attendance and former President Theodore Roosevelt on hand to deliver a typical rousing speech. The ship was finished at the Newburgh yard and was delivered to the U.S. Shipping Board at the end of December 1918 (after the war was officially over). Shipbuilding continued with ten ships completed in total. The needs of war-torn Europe for food and other supplies, did not end with the official end of the war, so the ships being built at Newburgh and other similar yards were still needed. The World War I cargo ships built at Newburgh were named for local towns: Newburgh, New Windsor, Poughkeepsie, Walden, Cold Spring, Firthcliffe, Irvington, Peekskill, and the last two, Half Moon and Storm King with locally inspired but not town names. At its height the Newburgh shipyards employed 4000 workers, probably a record number for the area at any time. The majority of these workers were not originally ship builders and were trained by the Newburgh Shipyards. Given that the shipyard was built from the ground up (including some of the ground,) and that the majority of workers had to be trained, the output of ten 9000 ton, 415 foot length cargo ships in two and a half years is remarkable. Among the U.S. Shipping Board Emergency Fleet Corporation shipyards established for World War I the Newburgh Shipyards was one of the more successful. Newburgh Shipyard was a source of great local pride as well as prosperity during its years of operation from September 1917 to 1921. By contrast, the Kingston Shipbuilding Company established during World War I to build wooden cargo ships was less successful, though also a source of pride and jobs for the local community. Four building berths were built for wooden ships at Island Dock on the Rondout Creek. Four ships were begun, but only two were launched, and only one was actually used. The building of wooden cargo ships seems strange at that period, since iron and steel ships had been built since the 1880s. A possible shortage of steel may have been behind the idea of building in wood. The two wooden ships built at Kingston were called Esopus and Catskill, and great rejoicing attended their launchings as they were the largest vessels built in the Rondout. AuthorAllynne Lange is Curator Emerita at Hudson River Maritime Museum. This article was originally published in the 2006 issue of the Pilot Log. Thank you to Hudson River Maritime Museum volunteer Adam Kaplan for transcribing the article.
If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today! Major Henry Livingston, Jr. (1744-1828) went with his cousin's husband, Major General Richard Montgomery, on the 1775 invasion of Canada. These were short term enlistments, so he became major of the 3rd NY in August and returned home in late December. The diary is shown along with the Hudson River School's images of the terrain. The music was transcribed from Henry Livingston's handwritten music manuscript, one of the largest such books of the period. The Journal of Major Henry Livingston of the Third New York Continental Line, August to December, 1775. [edited] By Gaillard Hunt, Washington, D.C. Compiled and created by Mary Van Deusen. http://www.henrylivingston.com/writing/prose/revdiary.htm Thanks to HRMM volunteer Mark Heller for sharing his knowledge of Hudson River music history for this series. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Recorded in the summer of 1976 in Woodstock, NY Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay: Hudson Valley Songs Old & New was released in October of that year. Designed to be a booster for the replica sloop Clearwater, as well as to tap into the national interest in history thanks to the bicentennial, the album includes a mixture of traditional songs and new songs. This album is a recording to songs relating to the Hudson River, which played a major role in the commercial life and early history of New York State, including the Revolutionary War. Folk singer Ed Renehan (born 1956), who was a member of the board of the Clearwater, sings and plays guitar along with Pete Seeger. William Gekle, who wrote the lyrics for five of the songs, also wrote the liner notes, which detail the context of each song and provide the lyrics. This booklet designed and the commentary written by William Gekle who also wrote the lyrics for: Fifty Sail, Moon in the Pear Tree, The Phoenix and the Rose, Old Ben and Sally B., and The Burning of Kingston. "The Hudson River has been many things to many people. During the Revolutionary War, the Americans regarded it as their lifeline. To the British, it was not only an invasion route from Canada, but the dividing line that could cut the American colonies in two. In the summer of 1776, the British under General Burgoyne came down from Canada to seize the upper Hudson while a great British naval force entered New York harbor with the intention of seizing the lower Hudson. Two small British frigates were sent up into the Hudson to test the strength of the American defenses. The 44-gun Phoenix, under Captain Hyde Parker, and the 20-gun Rose, under Captain James Wallace, along with three escort vessels forced their way through a tremendous bombardment from the American forts on the Manhattan and Jersey shores. They reached the Tappan Sea virtually unharmed and spent the entire summer terrorizing the towns and villages along the River as far north as Peekskill. The British made many attempts to land, seizing cattle and other previsions wherever they could. They were not always successful, as we hear in this ballad describing an attempted attack on Peekskill." This booklet designed and the commentary written by William Gekle who also wrote the lyrics for: Fifty Sail, Moon in the Pear Tree, The Phoenix and the Rose, Old Ben and Sally B., and The Burning of Kingston. https://folkways-media.si.edu/liner_notes/folkways/FW05257.pdf "THE PHOENIX AND THE ROSE" LYRICS Upon the lordly Hudson On a pleasant summer's day, His Majesty's ships Phoenix and the Rose at Anchor lay. They had spent the day in shooting up The towns along the shore, A sport the gunners much enjoyed But the captains found a bore. It was tea time on the Phoenix, So the Captain rang his bell And he asked the Captain's Steward “Now then where's my tea, pray tell?” The Steward was embarrassed And he said, “Well, Sir, you see, There's not a blinking thing aboard To serve you with your tea.” “Not a thing aboard the Phoenix With her four-and-forty guns! Not a thing aboard the Phoenix In her gross two-hundred tons? Not a blinking thing aboard the ship To serve me with my tea? What sort of nonsense, Steward, Is this you're telling me!” “It's been quite a busy day, Sir, What with all the shelling. And the raiding and the burning And the general raise-helling. What's more the natives are unhappy, Sir, And we've aroused their ire, And some have them , by God, Sir, Have dared return our fire!” The Steward then went on to say That in view of all the shooting, There'd been precious little time to spare For foraging and looting. Because of which, aboard the ship Of some four-and-forty guns, There was not a single thing to eat But some carrots and stale buns. “Now blast me eyes and damme too!” Cried Captain Sir Hyde Parker, “Bestir yourself and bestir the crew Before it gets much darker! Lower a boat or two or four And pull for that damn rebellious shore And capture and seize a well-stocked store Or I'll give the lot of you what for!” Meanwhile aboard the frigate Rose There was scarcely a bite or nibble, And Captain Wallace sent his boats ashore With orders not to quibble, But to take whatever they came upon, Whatever was to their taste, “Now hurry, me lads”, the Captain said, “There's little time to waste!” The crew of the gallant Phoenix now Had stormed the Peekskill shore, And joined by the crew of the gallant Rose They marched on the Peekskill store. Not a rebel at all did they meet in town, Not a single shot was fired, The Peekskill folk had taken their wives And prudently retired. Into the empty town they went, As bold as they could be, Into the vacant stores they stormed In search of things for tea. Alas, they found but empty shelves, Not a single thing remained, At which the sailors cursed the town In language unrestrained. Not a scrap of food in all the town, Not a single bite to eat, And the bugler scarcely had the strength To sound the sad retreat. Back to their ships they slowly rowed, In anger and in sorrow, For they had no tea on that summer's day And they had none for tomorrow. Upon the lordly Hudson, On a pleasant summer's night, The villagers of Peekskill Beheld a pleasant sight. The British ships had sailed away, Hungry from head to toes, And Peekskill won the battle With the Phoenix and the Rose. Thanks to HRMM volunteer Mark Heller for sharing his knowledge of Hudson River music history for this series. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
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