Unaltered WWII Cargo Vessel Is Still at Liberty

They were the ugly ducklings of World War II--slow, clumsy and with lines about as rakish as a boxcar.

In dangerous waters they lived up to their names, displaying the agility of sitting ducks.

The nation’s shipyards turned out 2,751 of these Liberty cargo vessels from 1941 to 1945 and more than 200 were lost to enemy torpedoes and gunfire.

Now, after 46 years only one U.S. Liberty remains, almost unchanged, from the hundreds that were sent after that war to steam as tramp freighters under foreign flags and serve as floating repair vessels. Others were shunted to reserve fleets and sold for scrap.

As the nation’s last unaltered Liberty, the Jeremiah O’Brien has found a home at the Ft. Mason Center here. Still seaworthy, in good running order and nearly as shipshape as she was in World War II, the O’Brien is a surviving relic of the United States Merchant Marine’s war service. She also is a memorial to the 6,000 merchant seamen who lost their lives in the war.

Few romantic odes have been written about the O’Brien or her sister ships.

But despite her bulky sides, war-gray dress and cramped quarters, 25,000 people--many former members of the merchant marine--visit the O’Brien every year to see or recall what life was like aboard these awkward vessels.

Visitors’ Log

A visitors’ log in the O’Brien’s officers’ salon contains hundreds of notations.

“My first time since ‘46,” one visitor wrote. Another commented, “I sailed in Liberty ships from ’43 to ’46. Bless all Liberty ship sailors.” Still another wrote: “It is neat-o. I liked everything.”

The Jeremiah O’Brien, named after a Maine captain who fought in the Revolutionary War, was built in South Portland, Me., in 1943. From keel laying to christening took 57 days.

The years, of course, have caught up with her. Compared to the sleek container ships and computerized vessels that make up today’s merchant marine, this ship is like a 1930s touring car next to a new Cadillac Seville.

Riding high at its Ft. Mason berth, a part of the National Park Service’s Golden Gate National Recreation Area, it has the appearance of a large ship. Most of it is bulk though--five cavernous holds that carried wartime cargo on 11 crossings of the Atlantic, climaxed by runs to the Normandy invasion beachheads.

Later the O’Brien served in the South Pacific and eventually spent 32 years in the reserve fleet at Suisun Bay near San Francisco. In 1978 it was plucked from the fleet, spruced up a bit and became a National Monument under the care of the National Liberty Ship Memorial, a volunteer nonprofit group dedicated to its restoration and preservation.

450 Feet Long

Most Libertys were stamped from the same mold and the O’Brien was no exception. Extending almost the full length of the Ft. Mason pier, the ship is nearly 450 feet from bow to stern or about 1 1/2 times the length of a football field. Her midship superstructure rises boxlike from the main deck, and formidable three- and five-inch guns are mounted on the main deck at the bow and fantail.

Climbing the unsteady gangplank, you wander through narrow passageways and constricted crew’s cabins and officers’ staterooms and wonder how seamen survived 18 and 24 months--and often longer--in these cramped quarters. Liberty ship seamen recall that often there were few places worth going ashore, and if the ports were enticing there wasn’t enough time.

The O’Brien’s crew--just as seamen on most other Libertys--spent much of their time in the mess room, a narrow, sparsely adorned compartment where they ate and played incessant games of pinochle and poker. The officers’ salon is only slightly larger but better situated amidships, with portholes offering a view of the forward main deck.

To many visitors the O’Brien’s galley doesn’t seem any larger than a hamburger stand. Yet in this tiny space, overwhelmed by a big coal-fired iron stove, her cooks turned out 180 or so meals a day.

Far below, where only the wartime engineers, oilers and wipers ventured, the engine room houses a triple-expansion 2,500-horsepower steam engine, twin oil-fired boilers and a maze of ladders, pipes, throttles, dials, gauges, valves and other mechanical gear.

Pre-Computer Nerve Center

Occupying the superstructure’s topmost deck, of course, is the O’Brien’s bridge and wheelhouse, a pre-Computer Age nerve center with heavy windows and sliding doors protected by thick deck-to-overhead concrete-and-tar shields intended to stop machine-gun fire and flying debris.

This is where the ship’s World War II captains charted her courses, probably from well-thumbed Bowditch tables, and helmsmen twirled at the big highly polished wood-and-brass steering wheel. Instructions were relayed to the engine room on a hand-operated--and just as shiny--clanging telegraph.

Like most Libertys, the O’Brien carried a crew of 45 or so merchant seamen and 15 or 20 Navy sailors, youngsters who made up the Armed Guard and stood long boring watches by the ship’s guns.

But these days the O’Brien’s crew has swelled to scores of volunteers, ranging from former captains and able-bodied seamen to housewives and professors, anyone, in fact, willing to spend time chipping paint, painting bulkheads and doing hundreds of other chores necessary to rehabilitate a 10,000-ton vessel.

On some weekends the O’Brien has logged as many as 100 volunteers, and the work count is up to more than 160,000 hours.

Often visitors wandering through the ship run into Capt. Ralph G. Wilson of San Carlos, her master and a veteran of 40 years at sea. Retired from active service in 1968, he sailed on three Libertys in World War II. And two volunteers especially active in the O’Brien’s restoration--her chief mate, John F. Paul, and her boatswain, Per Dam, both of San Francisco--are likely to pop up anywhere.

Continuous Clean Up

Paul, who sailed on six World War II Libertys, says restoring and keeping the O’Brien presentable is a continuous fix-up, clean-up job.

For instance, two of the five big cargo holds have been converted to supply rooms. The No. 4 hold has dozens of cans of paint donated by the Navy; the No. 5 hold is used to store winch parts, pulleys, crowbars, scrapers, wire brushes and dozens of other tools and gear.

Periodically, of course, the O’Brien has to go into dry dock. When that occurs--every four or five years--it is a tortuous and costly job.

“We estimate roughly $85,000,” Paul says. “But it’s necessary. The stuff on her (underside)--barnacles, seaweed and other marine growth--gets 10 and 12 feet long. Pulling her away from the dock is like dragging a wet cargo.”

Naturally, the O’Brien’s regular volunteer group turns out every time she pulls away from the dock. It is an extraordinary event because the vessel rarely ventures away from Ft. Mason.

Occasional Forays

One of her rare excursions occurred last year when she joined a fleet of ships parading in San Francisco Bay to mark the 40th anniversary of V-J Day.

And on one weekend each May--this is that weekend--she pulls away from the pier for the annual Seamen’s Memorial Cruise on Saturday, following it today with a cruise on the bay. She handles up to 750 passengers on each outing, and both this year were sold out--for a $75-per-person tax-deductible donation--many weeks ago.

Although the O’Brien was an East Coast ship, it is fitting that its career was revived in San Francisco.

The city was a crossroads for Libertys in World War II, the port where hundreds of voyages to the South Pacific and India originated. Indeed, the O’Brien sailed from San Francisco a few weeks before V-J Day on her last voyage. It called at several South Pacific and India ports, then hit Shanghai and Manila.

When it returned to San Francisco six months later, the war was over. So, it seemed at the time, was its career.