"A SHIPWRECK DELUXE":
the Loss of the CITY OF HONOLULU
by Gordon R. Ghareeb

A new way to Hawaii - a passenger service long overdue - was finally in operation out of Los Angeles Harbor with the maiden voyage of the s/s CITY OF HONOLULU. Sailing at noon from the Los Angeles Steamship Company's wharf at Berth 156 above the main channel in San Pedro, the freshly painted liner exchanged whistle and siren salutations with the United States Navy's Pacific fleet dreadnoughts anchored in the outer harbor's "Man-O'-War row" before rounding the breakwater and heading off for her namesake port on Saturday, September 23, 1922. On the bridge of the HONOLULU was Captain Harry Lester, a popular Pacific ship master who had been transfered from the company's HARVARD to this prestigious command. His First Officer was William Brust, a local Long Beach fellow who was also well respected in the Pacific shipping circle, and with him as Second Officer was Walter Martinson. Amid the cheers of the waving passengers and the hustling of the crew, the CITY OF HONOLULU was at last under way.

Formed as the brainchild of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce, the Los Angeles Steamship Company was now putting into effect the first regularly scheduled direct passenger and cargo operation between Southern California and the Sandwich Islands. Secured from the United States Shipping Board earlier in the year, the CITY OF HONOLULU and her near-sister CITY OF LOS ANGELES were to establish a fortnightly service sailing from both ports on alternate Saturdays. Being the largest American registered ships on the Pacific coast, "LASSCO" officials were hoping to break into the virtual Hawaiian monopoly held by Matson Lines since the beginning of the twentieth century. Whereas Hawaii was viewed as practically an annex to San Francisco with the Matson steamers making occassional intermittent Los Angeles calls on their preimer San Francisco to Honolulu runs, LASSCO intended to gather the cream of the Southern California traffic with their new southernly route.

Los Angeles was booming by the close of World War I with oil refining, citrus farming and the motion picture industry all in full swing. The fledgling Los Angeles Steamship Company's new service was expected to not only generate tourist dollars but to exchange local goods and produce across the eastern Pacific as well. The two ships selected to do this were both ex-German transatlantic liners built in the waning years of the 1890s. Confiscated during the "Great War," each vessel was sent round to the San Pedro yards of the Los Angeles Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Company (themselves part owners of LASSCO) for reconditioning to enable them to sail on the eight day crossing in a style never before offered to Angelenos.

The CITY OF HONOLULU had been built in 1896 as the FRIEDRICH DER GROSSE and was the first of eleven near-sister ships. She was seized by the United States government in 1919 and had been overhauled in Brooklyn for troop service. At 10,688 gross tons, the 546 foot liner could develop 8,000 shaft horsepower with her twin quadruple expansion engines and easily maintain a service speed of 15 knots. Her accommodations had been refitted to reflect her new tropical destination and, along with her consort CITY OF LOS ANGELES, was way ahead of the existing competition. Manned by crews almost exclusively from the Southland, the big white LASSCO steamers were indeed making available "a new way to Hawaii" from Queen Califia's golden coast.

Met by ceremonial war canoes, local dignitaries and press boats, the CITY OF HONOLULU's Sunday arrival in Hawaii on September 30 was nothing short of triumphant. "The Los Angeles Times" (also part owners of the venture) waxed and gushed ecstaticaly over the new operation with superlatives that oozed like poi. The HONOLULU cast off for the return portion of her maiden voyage with 58 first class passengers, 16 third class passengers and 187 crew members onboard, tons of canned pineapple, six automobiles and one body (a 21 year old navy seaman who had drowned in Pearl Harbor after falling from his deystroyer). She cleared Honolulu Harbor on Sunday, October 8, for another "headline" making passage.

The first four days of the trip were typical of such a cruise-like sailing in the Roaring '20s. Liquor was always available onboard American ships in the early days of prohibition and ukuleles, grass skirts and flowered leis appeared on deck while strains of "yaaka hula hickey dula," wafted their way across the bounding main. Passengers were pooped from the shipboard luau, three-legged races and starlight promenade deck dance held Wednesday night and many had plans of sleeping late on Thursday morning.

The CITY OF HONOLULU was three-quarters of the way back to her home port of Los Angeles by September 12 when smoke was detected in the after deckhouse at 04:50 Thursday morning. A fire in the E deck space below the unused second cabin dining saloon had apparently been touched off by defective electrical wiring and had been burning for some time before its discovery. Initially, Captain Lester had hoped to run for San Pedro while keeping the fire at bay, but the blaze quickly gained a foothold forcing him to cut speed to avoid fanning the flames further.

At 05:00 passengers were mustered on deck as a precaution due to, as the crew explained, "a little fire aboard." Taking the inconvenience in stride, as Southern Californians will do, the ship's 74 passengers - 90% of which were from the Los Angeles area - dutifully turned out on deck. Although many were barefooted and clad in naught but "nighties," underwear and robes, an al fresco breakfast was served on the boat deck while the ship's band played "Aloha Oe," "On the Beach at Waikiki" and other Hawaiian ditties to bolster groggyy-eyed spirits. Dancing and a party atmosphere of merry making pervaded the unscheduled event as the sun began its ascent on a clear, warm and otherwise calm morning at sea.

The crew tried valiantly to hold the flames in check while the ship's RCA wireless operator, 24 year old William Bell who was making his first trip to sea, sent the initial call for help at 05:30 hours. The three closest vessels to pick up the distress alert were the Matson freighter ENTERPRISE, the Struthers & Barry WEST FARALON carrying green Oregon fir to the Orient, and the United States Army transport THOMAS bound for San Francisco with 1,072 people onboard. Captain Lester and four of his men fighting the fire were overcome by smoke and had to be revived while a somewhat singed Brust was carried back from the flames on the shoulder of a deck hand. As the water used to fight the conflagration gathered and pooled, the CITY OF HONOLULU slowly began an inexorable list to starboard.

The situation remained tenable until 07:30 when the liner suddenly rolled to port with such severity that the abandon ship signal was sounded. The ship's officers and crew maintainedexceptional discipline and there was never any sign of panic - even when it was feared that the vessel might capsize. At 07:35 Bell radioed, "Come at once," as the lifeboats were made ready for embarkation.

Passengers whose staterooms were on B deck were allowed to return to their cabins to quickly collect a single handbag to take along but those quartered on the lower decks were not permitted into the vessel's smoky interior and had to board the boats as they were, including the ship's physician smartly outfitted in only his "B.V.D.s." Blankets and provisions were distributed to the boat crews for the comfort of their charges as the arrival of rescue craft was not expected until well into the night. Throughout the entire ordeal the passengers remained calm and relaxed despite their lack of proper attire (even then we Californians were mellow and laid-back). The band was playing jazz favorites as the women and children were placed in the boats and lowered away while the men stayed behind gallantly fulfilling that chivalrously civilized tenet of the sea, "women and children first." The TITANIC had gone down only ten years before and the gentlemanly code of conduct had not yet vanished altogether from western society.

Chief Radio Operator Bell continued communicating their plight to the rescue vessels. At 08:00 he transmitted to the ENTERPRISE, "Lowering boats - leaving ship - we are heading in your direction." At 08:20 it was followed by "Taking to the boats and heading in your direction." The urgency of the situation was reiterated ten minutes later with, "ENTERPRISE - we are afire - need immediate help."

"We are lowering boats - a very bad fire is raging - immediate help needed - are you coming," went out over the ether at 08:42 hours. The last of the passengers were safely away by 08:45 when Bell broadcasted, "Passengers leaving in boats." By this time the fire was raging out of control and the CITY OF HONOLULU was canted over 40 degrees to port. The list made launching of the remaining starboard lifeboats impossible and many of the crew left the flaming liner in rafts.

By 09:00 the evacuation was nearly complete as Bell informed the onrushing rescuers, "Passengers and crew now in boats." In all 14 lifeboats and rafts had gotten away from the burning ship. Bell remained at his post while Lester, Brust and Martinson did what they could to keep the HONOLULU afloat and salvageable. Captain Lester dashed down the grand staircase to the main dining saloon in order to retrieve the ship's two canaries and feline mascot. The birds, snug in their cage, were lowered to an awaiting boat. Bell radioed the finality of the situation, "Captain, first and second officers and radio operator are only men left aboard - fire burning beyond control,"at 10:00 hours. Two minutes later it was all over: "Captain and gang leaving - good-bye to all," was the final radio transmission sent from the dying wreck as the four remaining men and their cat prepared to go over the side. Brust tucked the ship's kitty under his arm and descended a Jacob's ladder to a life raft. Captain Lester was the last man away and shinnied down a rope hung from the fantail.

Being 1,405 miles from Hawaii there was very little to do but chat, nap and wait (although a real Californian would have wisely used the time to work on a suntan). The fleeing craft hovered together a mile distant from the CITY OF HONOLULU for fear that she might roll over or explode. Acrid smoke poured from the burning hulk as the after funnel, mainmast and sections of her superstructure caved-in like wet cardboard. Billows of steam would sail aloft every time the cool Pacific swell lapped at the ship's glowing steel hull plates. Suddenly at 13:30 cheers went up from the hapless survivors as the WEST FARALON was sighted on the horizion. Seventy-five minutes later she was at the scene and in less than an hour had picked up all the ex-inhabitants of the HONOLULU.

Having limited accommodations for 22 passengers the WEST FARALON was ordered by Captain William Griffith, manager of the United States Shipping Board, to stand-by until the vastly superior THOMAS could arrive to transship the 262 survivors. Arriving at 01:00 hours on Friday the 13th (uh-oh), it was deemed prudent to wait untill dawn to transfer those late of the CITY OF HONOLULU because it would be safer in daylight and also because most of them were already sleeping nestled among the green pine trees lashed to the FARALON's decks.

Alerts were flashed up and down the West Coast. Naval deystroyers in San Diego were put on notice to sail to the disaster if needed as was the battleship ARIZONA in San Pedro. The SEA LION, an ocean-going salvage tug, was dispatched from San Francisco to help claim the wreck. The Coast Guard cutters SHAWANEE and TAMARON were already slicing their way westward from the "left coast" with orders to either tow the CITY OF HONOLULU home or sink it. Captain Lester radioed to Captain Griffith: "HONOLULU absolutely gutted beyond all repair - will be two to three days before able to board on account of heat - WEST FARALON has no way of towing except with light line - impossible to steer hulk of HONOLULU - please advise."

The mid-ocean transfer of survivors to the THOMAS on Friday morning proceeded without a hitch and without injury. Once all were safely accounted for aboard the transport, the HONOLULU's boats and rafts were stove in and sank as the THOMAS gathered steam for the Golden Gate. Army officers onboard the THOMAS gave up their staterooms to the vagabond passengers and elected to bunk on makeshift hammocks in the ship's hold.

Charles Caldwell, the CITY OF HONOLULU's orchestra leader took his place at the piano in the social hall of the THOMAS and began to entertain the combined ship's companies. William King joined the impromptu jam session and grabbed the banjo he had taken with him in a lifeboat as the party animals went back at it again. "Oh, how she could yacki hacki wicki wacki woo..." reverberated around the saloon while Army officers, their wives and survivors hoofed it up together on the dance floor.

Sergeant William Brewster and his wife were delighted to be once again among their old shipmates. They had sailed from the Orient aboard the THOMAS and had gone sightseeing in Honolulu when the transport landed there. Missing the THOMAS's departure the couple booked passage on the first ship bound for California, which was the CITY OF HONOLULU the following day, hoping to eventually catch up with his unit in San Francisco. But the recent turn of events fortuitously found the Brewsters back on their original ship heading to the right port as ordered.

Less than happy that the surviving heroes would be landed in San Francisco, thereby depriving the local press of some magnificent news coverage of their local castaways landing in their local harbor, the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce (who - not surprisingly - also had money tied up in LASSCO) put the pressure on Griffith who acquiesced to their demands and ordered the THOMAS to change course for San Pedro where she was expected to arrive Sunday evening. Before entering the harbor the transport would be met by numerous small craft bearing - in addition to LASSCO executives - "toiletries, supplies and clean underwear." If Hollywood was going to be at the dock to capture this bit of history then LASSCO wanted to be ready.

Friends and relatives of the survivors arrived at Berth 156 throughout Sunday anticipating to wisk their loved ones away. But the THOMAS could not dock until Monday morning. Seeing this all as the responsibility of Los Angeles Steamship Company, many of the greeting throng swarmed gangland style aboard the line's YALE at the adjoining pier demanding lodging and food for the evening. Tempers flared when the officers of the YALE escorted the disgruntled urban pirates ashore where they had no recourse but to huddle in their autos until the THOMAS chugged up the channel.

Clearing quarantine at 06:00 Monday morning, the procession was in full cadence by the time the THOMAS, returning to the same dock that the HONOLULU had sailed from four weeks earlier, made all fast at 07:53 hours. Cheers and hurrahs were constant as the survivors filed ashore, finally reaching a deafening crescendo as First Officer Brust and Captain Lester marched down the gangway to the members of the press anxiously waiting for their stories while the newsreel cameras rolled.

Out at sea, 670 miles off to the west, the WEST FARALON, under the direction of Lieut. William Thompson, commander of the TAMAROA, had managed to get a line to the still smoldering hull of the LASSCO liner. Under tow and flying the Stars and Stripes from her ensign staff, the CITY OF HONOLULU appeared to be slowly headed back to California. But by the afternoon of Tuesday, October 17, the swell was beginning to rise and the HONOLULU began taking on water through her broken portholes increasing the already alarming list to port. The decision was made to abandon the salvage attempt and the tow line was severed as the SHAWNEE stood off of the mortally wounded ship and lobbed 25 rounds of three-pound shot into her hull. The liner settled by the aft end and rolled slowly onto her port side with the Yankee flag still waving bravely from her stern post. At sunset the CITY OF HONOLULU raised her bow skyward and slid below the surface into 2,500 fathoms of water.

When it was all over, or to use a decidedly Californian euphuism "in the can," the epic of the CITY OF HONOLULU was nothing short of the miraculous coupled with some damned good luck. No serious injuries were sustained by anyone and a replacement vessel, the PRESIDENT HARRISON, was quickly procured to maintain the new Los Angeles operation. With an enviable legacy of fine seamanship, heroism and - let's face it - fun, LASSCO went on to become a major driving force in the competitive Hawaiian trade throughout the 1920s.

One CITY OF HONOLULU passenger, honeymooning Geroge Martin, made a clear observation of the ordeal by saying that "... it was typically American, I feel a new and distinct pride in American men and women." Major General William Wright, one of the officers aboard the THOMAS called the entire event, "A shipwreck deluxe. The wreck of the HONOLULU appeared so well regulated that it appeared to have been rehearsed for a movie stunt. As a matter of fact, the shipwrecked folks seemed less excited than their rescueers." The whole thing really was quite "Californian," although many old Hawaiians felt the situation was unavoidable. It seemed the origins of the name "Honolulu," actually two words strung together meaning "the place of abundant calm," was sacred to the Hawaiian gods in origin. The mid-Pacific events that played out that September morning were claimed to be nothing more than the island deity's vengeance for the desecration of their holy name. Aloha.

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