The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors: The Extraordinary World War II Story of the U.S. Navy's Finest Hour

by James D. Hornfischer

If anyone aboard the Samuel B. Roberts fancied that his ship would be spearheading something so grand as a God-inspired drive to righteous victory, he was probably wise to keep it to himself.

In a stained-glass window that adorned the Norfolk yard’s nondenominational chapel, someone had glued an image of a destroyer escort, cradled like a baby in the arms of Jesus Christ. The image struck somebody as sacrilegious and was removed. But the sentiment was surely genuine enough.

The system of segregation that kept the black sailors in the mess could not withstand the bonding effects of the crossing-the-line ceremony.

I know what he missed. He really missed the feeling of something you can’t put into words, a feeling of belonging.”

“The gun boss could fire a hundred shots and hit once and he’s a hero,” he said. “In communications, if you screw up [in transcribing] one letter, all hell breaks loose, and you’ve committed a mortal sin. I said to myself, ‘I’d rather be a hero.’”

“These battleships,” he once said, “will be as useful to Japan in modern warfare as a samurai sword.”

“This will be a fight against overwhelming odds from which survival cannot be expected. We will do what damage we can.”