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Wednesday, Nov. 11, 2009

Sailor's fate a secret no more

IN THE MIDST OF THE COLD WAR, NAVY WOULDN'T DIVULGE DETAILS

On Nov. 2, 1964, a young Navy petty officer named Billy Carter Semones headed onto the rolling deck of the U.S. ballistic missile submarine Henry Clay to lock down a loose hatch cover.

It was a dangerous job, in a dangerous time called the Cold War.

The weather off the Atlantic coast of Spain was cold and brutal, hammering the sub with 30-foot waves as it operated on the surface. A menacing Soviet spy trawler lurked nearby.

Semones — from Versailles, just a few miles from Henry Clay's Lexington estate — wore a life vest and carried a safety line called a "monkey tail." But before he could secure the line, a wave swept him overboard.

Billy Semones' body was never found. He was 28, the only man ever lost on the Henry Clay.

Because of Cold War security concerns, the Navy told Semones' family only that he had died accidentally doing repairs. Semones' sister, Betty Sue Semones Whittaker, spent the next 45 years knowing none of the details.

But all that changed this summer, when some of Semones' old shipmates from the Henry Clay located Whittaker. From them, she learned the full story of the heroic act that cost her brother's life.

And earlier this month, she joined Billy Semones' old shipmates in ceremonies at the Navy Memorial in Washington, D.C., as they placed a plaque on the memorial's commemorative wall honoring the man they lost so long ago.

All in all, it's making this a Veterans Day to remember forever, Whittaker says.

"It really means a lot to know that Billy was a hero and so well-liked by all his shipmates," she said. "I just wish our parents could have seen this. Billy's death devastated them; they never got over it."

Betty Sue and Billy's parents were George and Rosalyn Semones of Woodford County.

Billy was a large, powerful young man who played football at Versailles High School. Betty Sue, two years younger, idolized her big brother, particularly after he joined the Navy in 1955 and requested duty in submarines — the dangerous and demanding "Silent Service" where everyone is a volunteer.

A few years later, Billy introduced Betty Sue to Ronald "Whit" Whittaker, one of his shipmates on the submarine Amberjack. Whit and Betty Sue married in 1960 and later moved into the Semones family home at Versailles.

In 1964, Billy Semones moved to one the Navy's new atomic-powered ballistic missile submarines. Not only was it named for one of Kentucky's most famous sons — 19th-century U.S. senator and orator Henry Clay — it was one of the nation's ultimate weapons.

Carrying nuclear-tipped Polaris missiles, the Clay patrolled for months at a time, remaining underwater and invisible, ready to launch a devastating nuclear response if the United States came under attack. The Henry Clay was on a shakedown cruise, preparing for one of those long patrols, the day Semones died.

Betty Sue Whittaker still gets choked up reading the letter her family got from the Navy. "It was pretty sterile," she said. Essentially, the letter just said that Billy had died accidentally during a minor repair job.

Rosalyn Semones died in 1985, and George Semones passed away in 2002, neither knowing what had happened. More years passed, and the story still remained buried.

"And then," Betty Sue said, "lo and behold, here comes this letter."

The letter, which arrived on Betty Sue's doorstep during the summer, was from Richard "Andy" Wheeler, of Mechanicsburg, Pa., who had served on the Henry Clay with Billy. Wheeler wrote that he and some of Billy's other shipmates wanted to honor Billy with a plaque at the Navy Memorial.

Wheeler mailed that letter to an old address he'd found on the Internet for Billy's father, not knowing that George Semones was dead. Betty Sue got the letter because she and her husband were living in the Semones family home. If she'd been living elsewhere, the letter could have been lost forever.

Betty Sue was soon on the phone with Wheeler, who started putting her in touch with others who had served with Billy. She learned that one of his shipmates, Charlie Young, lived in Lexington. And she finally learned about the loose hatch cover, the storm, the Soviet trawler and other details of how Billy was lost.

According to Young, Billy Semones' effort to close the loose hatch that day in 1964 was essential to the Henry Clay's safety. The banging of the hatch cover was interfering with the submarine's forward sonar array, an electronic navigation and ranging system that was the "eyes" of the ship, he said.

Adding to the tension was the presence of the Soviet trawler, a fishing boat equipped with electronic spy equipment, that was trying to record a "sound signature" of the Henry Clay that would have made it easier to track the sub.

"Losing Billy was the worst thing that happened to us," Young said.

Wheeler says Henry Clay crewmen who dived into the water in hopes of rescuing Billy almost drowned in the huge waves.

"Everybody on board was overwhelmed with grief," Wheeler said. "Those feelings of despair are just as raw and just as real 45 years later."

According to Young and Wheeler, shipmates from the Henry Clay had talked for years about doing something to honor Billy. This year, the 45th anniversary of his death, seemed the right time, they said.

Considering world tensions in 1964, it's not surprising that the Navy said little about Semones' death, Wheeler says.

"Back then, we played cat and mouse with the Soviet navy all the time," he said. "The Navy didn't say too much because they didn't want to risk confirming to the Russians that it was the Henry Clay that had been in distress that day."

Betty Sue Semones Whittaker is just glad to know the truth.

"It's been really neat, getting to know all these friends of Billy's from around the country," she said. "But I think it's been just as important to all his shipmates.

"They couldn't talk about the story at the time because of the Cold War. They probably needed this memorial service more than we did. They had a rough time."