I must thank a number of people who contributed to this book and supported my effort to shed light on the story of the Forrestal. First, I thank my dear wife, Caroline, for all the love and support she provided. The productivity kits were greatly appreciated.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the veterans of the USS Forrestal for sharing their stories with me, many of them intensely personal and painful to remember. Among the Forrestal veterans, I extend a special note of thanks to Kenneth Killmeyer, who served on the Forrestal during the 1967 fire and has since become historian of the Forrestal’s veterans association. Ken was tremendously helpful in explaining the details of the incident, providing original records, and establishing contact with other veterans. Ken’s dedication to the Forrestal is evident in the way he carefully guards her honor, and I am grateful that he saw fit to aid me as thoroughly as he did. It is no exaggeration to say that this book project would not have progressed without Ken’s help.
The USS Forrestal CVA/CV/AVT-59 Association itself, made up of those who served on the ship, deserves recognition. This group of veterans welcomed me to their inner circle and provided all manner of assistance, not to mention encouragement. In addition, I must specifically thank a number of individuals who personally shared their stories with me: John and Eve Beling, James Bloedorn, Milt Crutchley, Frank Eurice, Paul Friedman, G. Gary Kirchner, Bob Kohler, Lenny Julius, Ken McMillen, Rocky Pratt, Gary Pritchard, Ed Roberts, Merv Rowland, Gary Shaver, Bob Shelton, Greg Strain, Robert Whelpley, and Bill and Ruth Zwerlein.
I also wish to thank Christine Burton, Marge Buschman, and Shelly Taylor for their research assistance. A special thanks is due Maureen Hardegree for her invaluable critiques and for commiserating with me as only a fellow writer can.
Mel Berger, my agent, and Henry Ferris, my editor, are trusted colleagues and I am glad to have them on my side. I thank you both for making this book happen. Thank you, Henry, for seeing what I can’t.
The staff at the Fire Fighting School in Norfolk was helpful in showing me the state of the art in firefighting education. Bill Natter, a former navy pilot, is due a hearty thank-you for his assistance in getting me aboard an active-duty U.S. aircraft carrier during my research. Some things become clear only when you experience them yourself. Likewise, I thank the U.S. Navy and the men and women of the aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman for their gracious welcome.
In particular, I’d like to thank one sailor aboard the Truman. In my brief time at sea, I encountered hundreds of young men and women on board who gave me a strong sense of confidence about our navy and the generation of young people who serve in it. I was thoroughly impressed when watching them perform some of the most dangerous and demanding jobs in the world. As I prepared to leave the carrier, however, I came upon one young sailor who seemed to embody the essence of the crew.
I never spoke directly with him, and I’m certain he has no memory whatsoever of me, but I had the opportunity to sit and watch him for a long time as I waited for the catapult launch that would send me off the deck and back to Norfolk, Virginia. He was one of the crew in charge of organizing flights off the carrier for visitors like myself, as well as crew who were being flown to the mainland for some reason. It was a big job, as many on a carrier are.
This young man looked to be about eighteen, so youthful and fresh-faced, energetic and eager, exactly like everyone’s brother, or son, or boyfriend. A handsome kid with a big smile, he captivated me as I sat there in my float coat and helmet, listening to the noise of the flight deck just outside and waiting for my ride home. As I watched him work, switching effortlessly between a stern demeanor for getting the job done and a wide grin for cracking jokes with his buddies, I realized that so many of the Forrestal crew in 1967 would have been just like him. They weren’t just names and faces that no one remembers. They weren’t just old men with a story to tell. They were young men like this.
I am grateful to that young man and the others who reminded me what this book is really about.
GAF