REVENGE OF THE SHANG
When I was a kid, I walked to the library at the Elmvale Shopping Centre every week, dumped an armful of books down the return chute and headed right for the historical stacks where I would stand with my head cocked to the left, scanning the worn spines for titles of books of high flying adventure, the Second World War, the war in the air and the war at sea.
Being a child born just five years after the end of the war, the world around me was still largely textured and coloured by the effects of that conflict. The men who fought that war were all around—the parents of my friends, the men who helped us kids build soapbox racers and tree forts. To us they were old and hard, but they were all still no more than thirty-five years old. There was no direct speaking of the war back then, no show-off dads, no drunken blowhards, but a sense of strength and manifest maleness infused my neighbourhood and the long, long days of my childhood summers.
Standing among the stacks, fighting the desire to go to the toilet, breathing the fecund dust that was shed from a hundred thousand books, my eyes searched for key words on the spines that would cause my hand to rise up and finger-tilt a book off the shelf—Pacific War, Aircraft Carrier, Flattops, War in the Air, Flying Fortress, Kamikaze, Tarawa, Saipan, Malta, Luftwaffe... on and on, week after week. For me, despite the fact that I was a boy of the British Commonwealth, a Royalist, and even a Royal Canadian Air Cadet, the desperate air war in the South Pacific held my attention like no other. Perhaps it was the photo of a burning kamikaze in a spinning death spiral, one wing torn off, oily smoke trailing in spinning loops from a lurid white flame; perhaps the image of Chaplain Joseph O’Callahan giving last rites aboard USS Franklin; perhaps it was the images of the great rusting, heaving hulks of American carriers looming in the massive swells of a post-typhoon wind or the compelling photographs of wounded carrier aircraft crashing onto the decks of carriers and shrieking down the deck to collide with the island or other aircraft. Something both frightened me and kept me in its spell at the same time. It was lively and deadly all at once. It was carried out in green blue waters beneath a hot white sun, but because of the black and white photography of the day, it was forever desperate and gloomy. The contradictions were everywhere: death and life, beauty and obscenity, hatred and love, violence and peace, the vastness and the claustrophobia. Even the words “Pacific War” was an oxymoron not lost on a boy who studied Latin.
knew all the big fleet carriers by name, thought about their crews, their brutish fighters and bombers, their long cruises, the hot sun, the blue Pacific and their brief and horrific actions. Above all, their names created in my mind images of heroic strength, desperate fights, young men, grizzled admirals, exposed moments and explosive smoking, flaming deaths. A boy’s imagination could indeed run wild. To this day, just seeing the names Bunker Hill, Randolph, Kearsarge, Antietam or Saratoga brings those childhood endorphins racing up through my bloodstream once again. Those proud names. Those calling cards of history.
Though Canada once operated its own proud aircraft carriers from the end of the Second World War until the 1970s (Warrior, Magnificent and Bonaventure), it can be firmly said that there were only three big operators of the aircraft carrier since the inception of the concept: the United States Navy, the Royal Navy and the Imperial Japanese Navy. There is no doubt that I will get a note from someone who feels that I should have mentioned the carriers of Canada or the Royal Navy in this story. Consider it done. This is a story about one Yankee Essex-class Fleet Carrier with a very strange name, and nothing else.
Naming a ship of the line is a process and an honour long steeped in tradition, history, heroism, national pride and naval bureaucracy. In a navy such as that of the United States, a ship might carry a name passed down from ship to ship to ship. For instance, during the Second World War, the American aircraft carrier USS Hornet, which seemed so aptly named, considering the sting of its flying warplanes, was in fact the seventh Unites States Navy ship of the line to be called that name. Her sister carrier, USS Wasp was the eighth American ship to carry that name. The first bearers of those names were sailing ships of the Revolutionary War—Hornet, a 10-gun sloop and Wasp, an 8-gun schooner. Both carriers would be lost in the war against the Japanese and replaced before war’s end by new, larger fleet carriers of the same names.
Prior to the Second World War, and largely throughout, American fleet aircraft carriers were named in succession after previous ships of the line or after the great battle victories of American history. Of the former group, there was Enterprise, Independence, Intrepid, Essex, Hornet and Wasp and later Bonhomme Richard, Cabot, Franklin, Kearsarge and Randolph and from the latter naming convention (famous American battle victories), there was at first Saratoga, Princeton and Yorktown. Later would come legendary names such as Bunker Hill, Antietam, Bennington, Ticonderoga and Bellau Wood. Battles just won during the Pacific War became the names of carriers meant to finish the Japanese off at the end of the war—USS Midway, Leyte and Coral Sea.
There was one aircraft carrier however, whose name seemed to defy all naming conventions of the day—the USS Shangri-La. Its name always seemed strange to me, out of place, exotic, fanciful. For years, I wondered why this one aircraft carrier was named after a fictional Himalayan Lamasery—a place of peace, tranquility, introspection and eternal youth. Turns out her name is one of those times when life imitates art.
Shangri-La is the name of a fictional utopian Himalayan Lamasery in a hidden valley of the same name from the best-selling novel Lost Horizon by James Hilton. The book, published in 1933, captured the imagination of the world, and largely because it was one of the first paperbacks of the Pocket Book series, it became one of the best selling, best loved and most enduring novels of the 20th century. The suffix “-La” is the Tibetan word for “pass” or road through a mountain range. Other non-fictional passes in Tibet include Dongkha La, Jelep La, Lanak La and Nangpa La.
There is no doubt that Lost Horizon was one of the favourite novels of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, as he chose Shangri-La as the name for his newly constructed Presidential retreat at Hi-Catoctin, Maryland—the bucolic retreat we now know as Camp David. Roosevelt, when questioned by the press about the location of his new vacation retreat, said somewhat circumspectly, “I might have several. One might be called ‘Shangri,’ and the other might be called ‘La.’ ”
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Roosevelt also referenced the Tibetan lamasery one other time: after James Doolittle’s famous and daring raid on Tokyo using B-25 bombers launched from the carrier USS Hornet. The Doolittle Raid, on 18 April 1942, was an aerial attack by the United States Army Air Force and the United States Navy on Tokyo and other targets on Honshu Island during the Second World War—the first air raid to hit targets on the Japanese Home Islands. It demonstrated (primarily to the Japanese) that Japan itself was vulnerable to American air attack. As a slap-in-the-face retaliation for the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, it gave a huge boost to America’s homeland morale, and damaged that of the Japanese. The news of the raid and the fate of the airmen involved electrified the American public, giving them the first sense that victory would someday be theirs.
The raid itself was a huge success, even though none of the aircraft survived, all having crash-landed or were bailed from. As surviving crews were still finding their way to safety in China, not much was said about the raid’s technical aspects at first, but the press were told of its success and impact. When interviewed by the press in Washington, three days after the raid, President Roosevelt answered questions about how the aircraft got to Japan but was reluctant to reveal any details at all, choosing instead to offer a wisecrack that would set in motion the legend that is now USS Shangri-La. Here, from the American Presidency Project, is a transcript of the press conference at which Shangri-La was born:
Q. How about the story about the bombing of Tokyo?
THE PRESIDENT: Well, the only thing I can think of on that is this: you know occasionally I have a few people in to dinner, and generally in the middle of dinner some—it isn’t an individual, it’s just a generic term—some “sweet young thing” says, “Mr. President, couldn’t you tell us about so and so?”
Well, the other night this “sweet young thing” in the middle of supper said, “Mr. President, couldn’t you tell us about that bombing? Where did those planes start from and go to?”
And I said, “Yes. I think the time has now come to tell you. They came from our new secret base at Shangri-La!” (Laughter) And she believed it! (More laughter)
Q. Mr. President, is this the same young lady you talked about—(loud laughter interrupted)
THE PRESIDENT: No. This is a generic term. It happens to be a woman.
Q. Is it always feminine? (Laughter)
THE PRESIDENT: I call it a “sweet young thing.” Now when I talk about manpower that includes the women, and when I talk about a “sweet young thing,” that includes young men...
Q. Would you care to go so far, Mr. President, as to admit that this Japanese—
THE PRESIDENT: (interposing) Wait a minute–wait a minute. “The President Admits”—there’s the headline. (Laughter) Go ahead now.
Q. Would you care to go so far as to confirm the truth of the Japanese reports that Tokyo was bombed?
THE PRESIDENT: No. I couldn’t even do that. I am depending on Japanese reports very largely. (Laughter).
It is not clear who in the Department of the Navy came up with the idea to build an aircraft carrier with the name USS Shangri-La, but it seems that the idea took root after the USS Hornet was sunk in the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands on 26 October 1942. She had been heavily damaged by dive and torpedo bombers and was under tow, when the orders were given to scuttle her because of the proximity of enemy ships. American warships pounded her with nine torpedoes and more than 400 rounds of 5-inch shells from two destroyers. She was still floating when a Japanese task force was spotted in the area and the American destroyers were forced to exit.
Upon finding the reviled USS Hornet, the carrier that had launched the Doolittle Raid six months earlier, the Japanese briefly considered hooking up the carrier and dragging her home as a war prize and morale booster for the homeland. A quick assessment proved the carrier too damaged to attempt capture and she was dispatched with four Long Lance torpedoes from two Imperial Japanese Navy destroyers. She is still, today, the last US Navy carrier to be sunk by enemy action.
Regardless of whose idea it was to select one of the planned Essex class long-hull carriers to be named USS Shangri-La, it was a brilliantly creative idea that captured the imagination of a nation—enough that they would raise over $130 million, one dollar at a time through the sale of War stamps.
War savings stamps were issued by the United States Treasury Department to help fund the overall war effort and sometimes special projects like the Shangri-La. When the Treasury began issuing war savings stamps during the Second World War, the lowest denomination was a 10 cent stamp, enabling ordinary citizens to purchase them. In many cases, collections of war savings stamps could be redeemed for Treasury Certificates or War Bonds.
I found a number of articles in newspapers across America from mid-to-late 1943 concerned with the War stamp campaign to raise funds for the construction of USS Shangri-La. Each quoted local leaders like the city mayor or a business leader. They all followed a similar tone and structure and several had paragraphs with exactly the same wording, word for word. This leads me to believe the community leaders were reading from a prepared text from the Treasury Department. For the most part the news pieces went something like this story I found in the St. Petersburg Evening Independent of 3 July 1943:
Patterson Urges Support of War Stamp Campaign
Chance to Heap More Trouble on Japs, He Asserts
Current campaign of city merchants to sell $1 of War stamps to every man, woman and child in the city during the month of July brought an appeal today from mayor George S. Patterson, who urged that citizens get into the scrap to build the mystery plane carrier Shangri-la for a new crack at the Japs.
Mayor Patterson pointed out that this campaign is in addition to the regularly monthly campaign for sale of War bonds.
He said: “Every resident, man, woman and child of St. Petersburg is burning with ambition to personally exact American justice for the treatment accorded some of the boys captured by the Japanese after the historic raid on Tokyo by General Doolittle and his fliers.
We have a special opportunity to do so in July by buying at least $1 in War stamps to help pay for another mystery carrier Shangri-La [sic].”
“None of us need to be reminded of the origin of the name of the Shangri-la. When President Roosevelt designated the take off point for the Doolittle fliers as Shangri-la to the chagrin of Tokyo he gave birth to the idea of a carrier by that name.”
“The U.S.S. Hornet, the Shangri-la from which our bombers flew toward their objectives, is no longer afloat. However, in her place will sail another Shangri-la.”
“I am sure I speak for the whole community when I say that we will more than meet our quota in War stamp sales. It will be a rare privilege for our citizens to make the purchase of $1 in war stamps in memory of eight boys who flew to immortality. The Shangri-la will be a symbol of our reverence for them. It will be a fighting symbol because from her decks will soar more bombers to blast the savage Japanese war lords from this earth.” [I found this identical paragraph in stories across the country–Ed]
“I appeal to the residents of St. Petersburg as your mayor to take your change in War stamps every time you shop in July.”
“This is a special campaign. It is something additional to our regular War bond buying. The Shangri-la will come to life as a special war effort. It is something extra we will be throwing into the fight.”
St. Petersburg Evening Independent, July 3, 1943
Just a few moments browsing in the right places on the web will bring up several similar stories of campaigns to match the quotas suggested by the Treasury Department for cities and states. It makes for compelling, if repetitive, and somewhat jingoistic reading. The end result was that the money, possibly more, was raised to build a new Essex class long hull carrier that was already going to be built anyway. By attaching the memory of the lost Doolittle Raiders, the sunken USS Hornet and Roosevelt’s mocking and vaguely misogynistic Shangri-La remarks to the story, the Treasury Department was able to squeeze nickels and dimes from an already cash-strapped citizenry. The electricity first generated by the Doolittle Raid was still strongly coursing through the nervous system of America, and it powered the birth of a new carrier.
USS Shangri-La was set to launch from the Norfolk Naval Shipyard on 24 February 1944. There to christen her was none other than Jimmy Doolittle’s wife Josephine and one of the pilots of the Doolittle raid, Captain Shorty Manch. The rest of the story of the shakedown and fighting cruises of Shangri-La was strewn with coincidences, interesting connections and courage. I had only thought to write a story about the name it was given and the inspiration that was behind one unique name in the annals of Naval aviation. Instead, I found the story of one of America’s greatest aircraft carriers.
After Josephine Doolittle’s attendance at the launch, the second fact about Shangri-La that, well, blew my mind, was that it was the first aircraft carrier in the world to actually land a B-25 Mitchell. The carrier named in honour of the Hornet, the first carrier to launch a B-25, was somehow accorded the honour of recovering one. On one single day, 17 November 1944, USS Shangri-La, still on her shakedown cruise, trapped and launched, several times each, a B-25 Mitchell, the world’s only navalized P-51 Mustang and the first carrier landings and launches of a Grumman F7F Tigercat. Her war record is stellar, taking part in the Okinawa campaign as well as direct attacks on Tokyo, living up to her promise to avenge the deaths of the airmen lost in the Doolittle Raid and to the 140 sailors who died in the attack on Hornet. After the war, she would be the first American carrier to receive an angled flight deck.
Today, there is only the story of USS Shangri-La left to mark her passing. James Hilton’s fiction is still one of the finest books of the 20th century, but now Shangri-La is fictional no more. The Tibetan mountain town of Zhongdian has now officially renamed itself Shangri-La, claiming both the inspiration behind Hilton’s fictional locale and the tourist dollars it might bring. Fair enough.
What follows are images and stories of USS Shangri-La... the mystery ship.