Richard R. Johnson
Continued from Page one.
Date: Sun, 25 Apr 2004
Subject: Operation Sandstone
From: RRJohnson rrj.esd@adelphia.net
To: Keith Whittle
MY YEAR IN OPERATION SANDSTONE
BY RICHARD R. JOHNSON, ET 3/C
For the next several months we were kept busy installing and checking out
about 50 or 60 transmitters ranging (as I recall) from 500 watts to 20
kilowatts. We also installed all the antennae for them. These varied in
configuration from arrays to flat tops to a large rhombic. It was on the
rhombic that I had a real test of my newly acquired skills. The poles used
were ³the largest commercially available in the US² and measured 60 or 70
feet. A crew came in from somewhere and dynamited a hole in the coral only
about 4 or 5 feet deep and then they hoisted the pole into the hole and left
it braced with shorter construction poles. Of course that was a very
unstable configuration so we had to climb up and attach 3 galvanized steel
cables to ³eyes² that we screwed into the pole about 2/3s of the way up. The
other ends of the guys were sunk into the coral and I think they were
cemented into the holes. After the concrete set, the two opposite one
another were pulled up pretty tight to probably about 1,000 pounds tension.
The third running radially out from the antenna to be installed was only
snugged to maybe 100 pounds since there was no counterbalancing force from
the not as yet installed antenna. My assignment was to attach the antenna to
the end pole of the rhombic antenna and then properly tension it. The ³end²
pole is on the major diameter of the rhombus, about 600 feet from its
opposite number. The minor axis had poles about 400 feet apart. The antenna
consisted of three separate cables of the three stranded copper coated steel
that I talked about earlier. On the long axis the three were gathered
together and on the minor axis they were spaced vertically by about 5 or 6
feet. My first climb to the top of the pole was breathtaking. While not
fearing heights at that age, my climbing confidence left something to be
desired. Of course, once I acclimated to the position, I found the view from
there to be spectacular. I believe that I was at the highest point on the
whole island, and I could see all of it. Now I had to go to work. The first
job was to attach an anchor point to the pole. That required using a brace
and bit to drill about a 3/4² hole through the pole. Fortunately the top of
these large poles is reasonably small, not more than 10 inches thick. The
trick was keeping my balance and leverage while turning the brace and bit.
Since the tools were brand new and sharp, drilling wasnıt too difficult.
Next I had to hammer in a large galvanized steel ³Eye² which went all the
way through the pole and was made captive with a large washer, lock washer
and nut. (A long thin line and leather bucket allowed me to pull up needed
supplies, saving the need to climb that distance). The next step was to
cable to the anchor a set of porcelain insulators, and then pull up one
cable from the lagoon side of the rhombic and then one cable from the ocean
side. This was repeated until all six were attached to the insulators, but
hanging loosely from my pole. Then a strange thing happened. The weather
changed. We entered the no trade wind period, and temperatures began to
shoot up. I found it quite difficult to climb up my pole, and that day the
orders were issued to stop most heavy tasks outside and permit only Pacific
Islanders to work outside. Well, after a few days the Signal Corps found a
Hawaiian boy who knew a little about climbing and assigned him my pole to
finish up. By mid-afternoon the heat became oppressive and he passed out on
the pole. He then fell down to where the three guy wires were set in the
pole and his safety belt held him at that point, still unconscious. Two
other men were sent up the pole immediately and they were able to lower him
to the ground. His only injuries were scrapes and splinters from the pole,
but no one else was permitted up the pole. The trades commenced in about
another 10 days and I went up to finish the installation.
Completing the installation required the use of a device called a
³come-along². It consisted of a pair of two or three sheave pulleys, rope
(sorry, line), a gripping wedge to grab the cable, and an anchoring
mechanism. By this time, all of the cables were attached to the other three
poles, solidly at my opposite number and in a slip grip on the intermediate
poles. Thus, all tensioning could be done at my end. After anchoring one end
of the come-along to the eyebolt I had to lean out and slip the gripping
wedge over one of the cables. Once caught on the cable, I had to pull the
line until the two pulleys were almost together. Then I had to clamp the
cable to keep it from slipping back when I loosened the grip. I think I did
that with a wire nut. Then I had to pull the pulleys apart and reach out
again to attach the gripper back onto the cable. This process was repeated
many times because of the enormous amount of slack that is in a cable over
600 feet long. After getting one cable (on the lagoon side) into a
reasonably low slack mode, I had to repeat the process with one from the
ocean side of the rhombic. After all six were snugged up and the outboard
guy wire similarly tightened I began to do the final tensioning. Starting
over again with cable 1, I pulled it up to a nearly straight horizontal
plane, using all of my strength on the come-along. This time I folded back
the cable through the insulator and slipped the wire nut over the cable and
tightened the nut. The process was repeated for the other five cables with
one difference. When I pulled on the come-along, I had to watch that I did
not introduce slack into the completed cables by over-tensioning the new
one. Another technician handled the task of connecting the antenna to the
transmitter while I went back to work in our transmitter shack.
The transmitter shack was one of my favorite places. The transmitters were
placed in two rows facing each other. The rows were not symmetrical since we
must have had at least 20 or more types of transmitters. We lined them up so
that at least the front panels were in a plane. A trench or wire way, about
1 foot wide by 10 inches deep ran under all of the units and we used that to
bring in power from the three diesel motor-generator sets located in a small
Quonset about 150 feet away. We always had a hot plate with a large pot of
coffee on it. As you may remember, the water on the island was brown when
you looked into those 5-gallon cans and the taste was unbearable. We found
that if you filled a large pot with water. Dumped in a pound of coffee, and
let it simmer all day, the drink was quite acceptable. With practice you
could leave most of the grounds in the pot while you scooped out a cup of
really strong coffee. We also had some teletypewriters that we could use to
monitor our transmitter modulation and practice our typing on the night
shift. We had a signal corps tech sergeant (whose name I have forgotten) who
was able to listen to five letter code groups on a speaker and type a copy.
We could monitor the output with one machine and he would type on the other
machine and we could put the sheets alongside each other and they matched
perfectly! (These machines cranked out code groups at a true 60 words per
minute). While typing one evening we looked up and saw a rat crossing the
floor. One of the more athletic techs decided he could stomp the rat and
took off after it. Well, the rat scrambled into the wire way and
disappeared. That was a little scary because there were no bottoms in any of
the transmitters and the rat could easily jump up into one of them. Sure
enough, about ten minutes later all hell broke loose. As we reconstructed
it, the rat jumped up into one of the larger transmitters (I believe 20KW)
and got across the high voltage transformer. That popped the breakers on
that machine and the sudden unloading of the M-G on line at that time caused
its output to dramatically rise. That started a series of shut downs because
of the overvoltage, which further exacerbated the M-G control problem,
Before order was established, 2/3s of the transmitters were knocked off the
air and we spent several hours getting them back and cleaning out the
charred remains of the rat.
If we didnıt draw night shift duty in the transmitter shack we did one of
two things: we went to the movies or we went to the enlisted menıs club for
10-cent beers. I ran into a problem one night at the movies. It occurred
because of a decision that had been made about a month earlier. The island
commander (I was told) decided that we needed some ³police presence² because
of increasing traffic accidents, restlessness among the troops, a
deterioration of discipline and a host of other forces. As a result, we
suffered the imposition of about 100 Fleet Marines, decked out in full
regalia. They were the classical spit and polish guys with ironed shirts,
gleaming boots, and, I think, pith helmets. This was in sharp contrast to
the standard island dress where almost anything was acceptable. The Navy
ETıs were especially hard pressed to assemble a uniform since there was no
small stores to buy replacement clothing. For one thing, the standard Navy
black shoes lasted about a month on the abrasive coral, so we migrated into
Army boots graciously supplied by our Major Rogers. Washing our jeans in the
lye soap and drying them in the tropical sun turned them almost white, and
quickly rotted the cloth. In short, at any given moment we would have
clothing which was 50 to 60% Army issue and 40 to 50% Navy. The white hat
was about the only regular piece of Navy issued clothing that we wore. Upon
entering the open-air theater, the white hat caught the attention of one of
the new Marine MPıs. He buzzed over to me and asked, ³What the hell kind of
uniform is that?² He asked that while tapping me on the shoulder with a
large club, a rather aggressive maneuver. I answered that it was all I had
to wear and his answer was to tell me to get the hell out of the theater
until I assembled a complete uniform. At that moment Major Rogers, sitting
behind us in the officers section, called down to the marine and asked him
to come over to talk to him. Typically, the marine responded that he only
took orders from his commanding officer, not a signal corps major. The major
reissued his request, somewhat more firmly and the marine went up to see
him. I didnıt hear all the conversation, but I did catch these comments;
³Those are the clothes I issued to those men², and, ³Have your captain
report to my office at 0800 tomorrow². The marines were removed from the
Island about two or three days later, and I was allowed to stay and watch
the movie.
In fairness, I have to admit that there had been a bad accident on the
Island about a month earlier. That is strange because there was only one
road on the Island, which split to run on each side of the airstrip, forming
a ³Y². A forklift truck had gotten stuck in the loose coral roadbed one
night and was hit by a too fast moving 2 and 1/2. I heard that one or two
men were killed in that collision. (I did see the 2 1/2 later and it was
really bashed in.) I suspect that the accident was preceded by a long visit
to the enlisted menıs club.
The club got going about one or two months after we landed on the Island. It
was popular and typically had about 75 to 100 personnel in attendance. A
good time to avoid the club was when one of the destroyers patrolling around
the Atoll looking for Russian submarines sent liberty parties ashore to
partake of some liquid refreshment. They usually wore dress or undress
whites ashore, and after a few hours, sought crews from other ships to
battle. If no other ships crews were available, they occasionally took on
some army types, but since the army vastly outnumbered them, the battles
were quite brief. They would then go off wading or swimming in the lagoon,
still fully clothed in shoes and dress whites. I would not wear my white hat
during their visits. What I did do was debate any takers. A fellow ET,
Donald McDonough, had gone to Princeton for a couple of years before joining
the Navy and had been on the debating team. He taught me most of the
strategies and techniques to outwit the opponents and we formed a team. We
found a guy in the Army who had taught English at some upstate New York
College, Potsdam or Courtland State, I canıt recall which. Well, he had some
experience in judging debates, so he became the final arbiter of the
debateıs outcome. The losers in the debates had to pay for the beer consumed
during the debate, including those consumed by the judge. Since beer was
only ten cents a can, the tab was never excessive, and since an untrained
debater has really no chance against an experienced debater, Don and I had a
lot of free beer.
Except for a skeleton crew to man the transmitter shack, we would usually be
given Sundays off. Typically we would attend an inter-denominational service
conducted by a Catholic Army Chaplain, and then go hiking around the Island
just ³looking around². On one of those hikes we came across an LCI 1/3
submerged on the beach, a leftover relic of the WWII battle for the Atoll.
Climbing around inside it, we came across a metal locker about the size of a
coffin. It was resting in about an inch or two of water, but had been dogged
down tightly, so no water had entered it. We hammered open the dogs and
found something quite unexpected; a pair of 50 caliber aircraft machine guns
packed in cosmoline. There were also several canisters of 50 caliber shells
in metal chains that we assumed were used to feed into these guns. Well,
being possessed of a weird sense of humor, we lugged the guns and shells
back to our Quonset hut, cleaned off the grease, and ³mounted² them on
wooden crates at each end of our hut. Since they were electrically operated,
we did not have the capability of firing them, nor did we wish to. We just
draped some of the shells over them to make it look like they were ready to
go, and put a little sign next to them warning passersby that entry into our
hut was prohibited. It was all great fun, for about a day, until a jeep
roared up with a pair of MPıs who confiscated our plunder. We got a few
questions about where, when, etc., but no serious problems from them. I
still wonder what wing mounted 50 caliber guns were doing in that LCI.
After the transmitter station was pretty well up and running, I was given
another assignment, fly over to Engebi and install a few transmitters and
receivers in a small Quonset Hut near a steel tower that had been erected
there. Transportation was by C-47ıs, flown by Marine Corps (or Army?)
Sergeants. Engebi was even smaller than Eniwetok. Roughly circular in shape,
it looked to me to be less than a mile in diameter. This made for a spicey
take off and landing, but the real experience was taking off from the
Eniwetok airstrip. It seems that there was a monthly pool between the pilots
to see who could take off in the shortest distance. I was unaware of this
wager when I climbed on board with my small toolbox. The pilot came back and
looked at me sitting on the floor with the toolbox and, as I recall, no
other passengers or cargo, and seemed quite pleased. He went back into the
cockpit and revved up the engines. At the end of the airstrip he locked the
brakes and wound the engines to, Iım sure, redline before letting the brakes
go. We moved off quickly (for a C-47) and, part way down the runway, were
met by a jeep carrying men who were to mark the exact point of lift off. The
pilot lifted up the nose and we rose to what I guess was between 4 and 8
feet before we started to slip back down closer and closer to the runway.
Because we were gaining speed, we didnıt touch down again and were able to
climb out and fly to Engebi. Iım sure that that flight must have won the
monthıs pool! (Most of the other flights that I took daily had much more
cargo and personnel on board). I wasnıt told what the purpose of the
equipment I was installing was, but it seemed obvious to me that it was to
receive signals, including detonation and/or abort and to return information
about equipment status. The Quonset hut, transmitters, receivers, tower, and
motor-generator set were nowhere to be found after the detonation.
During each of the three detonations most of the Islandıs personnel were
loaded onto Navy ships and moved to what was considered a safe distance from
the blast site. A few key personnel remained on Eniwetok to operate
essential equipment. However, whether you were on the Island or on a ship,
you looked at the detonation through dark Polaroid glasses that were opaque
enough to blot out full sun if you looked in that direction. When the bombs
were set off they were so bright (through these glasses) that you were
forced to blink to shield your eyes. Looking around on the ship or on the
beach you could clearly see all the troops staring at the spectacle from its
light, through glasses that obscured the sun! The bright initial light
changed quickly into a red-orange fireball that slowly rose and faded away
leaving the white mushroom cloud so familiar to all of us. ET2/C John
Osborne was one of our transmitter crew that stayed on the Island during the
tests. Not very tall but equipped with a booming baritone voice, he was
quite an impressive person. He came to visit me in Michigan from his home in
Nebraska about 10 years after we came back to the States and wanted me to
join a group of service personnel who felt they had been exposed to
excessive radiation. I refused to join, even though I felt that my baldness
which came at age 25 was a bit premature. Well, I kept in touch with John
during the next 10 years as his leukemia worsened. He died at about the age
of forty, firmly believing that his stay on the Island was the cause of his
disease.
Editorıs Note on the Author of this piece:
The author of this article was honorably discharged from the US Navy in June
of 1948. He went on to receive a BS from Columbia University in New York in
1952 and an MSE from the University of Michigan in 1958. He credits his Navy
training and this experience as major factors in his success as an
electrical engineer. Of his many accomplishments, the Space Shuttleıs Main
Engine control system and the US Marine Corps Tactical Data System (MTDS)
stand out as major elements. He is now retired and living with his wife of
54 years in California. His wife, Mary, still writes to Hetty, John
Osborneıs wife.
Richard R. Johnson
Email:rrj.esd@adelphia.net
Keith Whittle
April 25, 2004
[ Operation Sandstone ]