GUEST OPINION: Battle of the Atlantic claims life of local young man in WWII

By JIM WATKINS, guest columnist

She was built in 1929 for George F. Baker Jr. of the famous New York banking family.

Christened “Viking” she was 272 feet in length. Of the 112 largest yachts built between 1900 and 1939 she ranked in the top 10. Baker later sold the yacht to Norman B. Woolworth of the department store Woolworths, and she was renamed “Noparo.”

With war approaching and the U.S. Navy recognizing the need for ships of this size to act as convoy escorts in coastal waters the word went out that they were in the market for such vessels. This led to the Woolworths selling the yacht to the Navy.

Converted into an escort gunboat she was renamed USS St. Augustine and was commissioned on Jan. 9, 1941. She would once again be visiting familiar waters along the eastern seaboard as well as tropical climes in the Caribbean, but now featuring an array of deadly weaponry and a crew approaching 150 sailors and officers rather than the 23 individuals that catered to all the wishes of the Woolworth family.

Homer Allen Powell of Brown County would be assigned to the St. Augustine as Gunner’s Mate Third Class. Homer had entered the Navy in August of 1942. He had just turned 19 in June. Brothers Luther and Herman were also in the Navy and within a couple of years youngest brother, Wesley, would also be added to the Navy roster. They were the sons of Ancil and Miriam (Warmouth) Powell. Proud of their Navy sons any visitor would immediately notice the service banner in the front window with its four blue stars.

Homer’s initial training was at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center near Chicago.

This facility was well known to Hoosiers not just because of its closeness to Indiana, but also because facilities such as these used sports to raise recognition, to encourage recruitment and to sell war bonds. Football, basketball and baseball teams were formed to compete at the college level all over the United States. Butler University’s three sport coach, Lt. Cmdr. Tony Hinkle, was the football and basketball coach at Great Lakes for much of the war time with his teams competing against such schools as Notre Dame and Purdue.

The Eastern Sea Frontier was the designated duty area for the St. Augustine, which encompassed the eastern coast of the U.S. and the Caribbean Sea. During World War II it was very much a part of the “Battle of the Atlantic,” the longest battle of the war from 1939 to 1945.

Prior to the United States entering the war the British had already lost over 2,000 ships. The Atlantic Ocean was the lifeline for the small island nation. Basically, fighting alone since the fall of France in June of 1940 it would likewise be defeated by the Nazis if it did not continue to receive the vital foodstuffs, machinery and raw materials that it required from the New World. Churchill told Roosevelt in December of 1940 that shipping was “the crunch of the whole war.” After the war Churchill would write that nothing during the war gave him more concern than what was happening in the Atlantic.

The great majority of ships lost prior to the United States entering the war in December of 1941 occurred in the mid-Atlantic or closer to Europe, but that changed early in 1942. With the U.S. no longer neutral Hitler’s submarines, U-boats became focused on the North America’s East Coast.

Unlike the West Coast, which was pretty much in a panic ever since Dec. 7 with worries of Japanese attacks, the east continued pretty much as before. Unescorted merchant ships plied up and down the coast even plowing past coastal cities completely lit at night providing the Germans with perfectly silhouetted targets for their torpedoes. Between mid-January and June of 1942, the Germans sank 226 ships in this new fertile battleground.

One of the favorite attack zones for the Germans was Cape Hatteras off North Carolina. Capt. Ellis Sard patrolling that area in YP-438, a 120-foot-long converted fishing boat, later that summer of 1942 described the scene: “There is a buoy south of Hatteras, which we picked up in mid-morning. It marked the start of the wreck area where the U-boats had been busy. We passed our first wreck … then another, then another. Surely a sunken ship is as sad as any of the sights of war. It is not spectacular the way a devastated city is, or as gruesome as a pile of corpses, but it brings a melancholy chill. The masts of the wrecks poked above water with maybe one spar bobbing loose. It was quiet and sad, and spooky. If you ever need proof that a ship is a living thing, look at the sunken one.”

Over the next 18 months with improved radar and sonar, more air patrols and the vital work of code breakers at Bletchley Park north of London, the Allies if not completely dominating the Battle of the Atlantic certainly had shifted the momentum. But for Homer and his shipmates they were still crammed aboard the aging St. Augustine. Their hopes of being transferred to one of the many new escort ships being launched just never materialized.

Other theaters of the war took priority over the Eastern Sea Frontier, which was not quite the hot spot it had been previously. Not that it was not dangerous. That was certainly the case on the night of Jan. 6, 1944.

The St. Augustine that morning had left New York harbor en route to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Its mission along with a couple of Coast Guard vessels was to escort a small convoy. It was clear, but cold and windy.

At 10:20 p.m. off Cape May, New Jersey, the ship’s radar man reported a new blip on his radar screen. Friend or foe? The St. Augustine flashed its signal lights. The unrecognizable blip kept coming. The St. Augustine’s skipper, Parker Hatch, turned across the invader’s path to protect the convoy and also with hopes the maneuver would divert the intruder.

Now visible it was the tanker SS Camas Meadows. Oblivious to the whole dire circumstance the tanker kept coming. It collided with the St. Augustine cutting her in half. She sank in five minutes.

Homer being a gunner’s mate would have been at his battle station on the deck. All those below decks were immediately drowned. Some life rafts were deployed, but the ship sank so quickly only a few were available and they were overcrowded with some sailors clinging to their sides. There were 30 survivors, but Homer was among those without a raft and could not have survived more than a short time in the cold Atlantic waters. There were 115 fatalities.

Word of his death reached his parents the next week. The Brown County Democrat reported the Navy’s description of Homer Powell, “He was a quiet and friendly young man. His was a character of steadfastness and friendly loyalty. He was held in high esteem by his shipmates and his superior officers.”

In addition to his three brothers Homer had four sisters: Mrs. Paul Williamson of Nashville, Mrs. Jessie Willoughby of Indianapolis, Mrs. Warren Roberts of Nashville and Miss Anna Powell at home.

With the war at an end the remaining Powell brothers made their way back to Brown County. Their thankfulness for deliverance tempered by the still present service banner hanging in the front room window with its four stars, three blue and one gold.

Jim Watkins is a Brown County Historical Society member who wrote “The Fallen,” a memorial document about young men from Brown County who never returned home from World War II. Watkins was a public school teacher for 42 years and has always been interested in learning about WWII. He can be reached at [email protected].