Steven Butler's Genealogy Website - Ray Butler: Atomic Sailor

Ray Butler: "Atomic Sailor"

By Steven R. Butler

Although the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki put an end to World War II, they also signaled the beginning of an era which has been termed the "Atomic Age." Immediately following the war, the United States government set out to develop and test even more powerful weapons than those used against Japan. During the summer of 1946, at a remote spot in the South Pacific Ocean, the first of these post-war atomic devices were detonated in what were probably the most widely-publicized tests before or since. Raymond Joe Butler, then an eighteen-year old sailor in the the U.S. Navy, was there, becoming the only member of his family to have ever witnessed the explosion of an atomic bomb. Not only that, but realizing he was witnessing an historic event, Ray kept a short journal or log of that event, as it happened.

Ray, born in East Dallas in 1927, had been too young to serve in the military during the Second World War. Throughout the war years he attended classes at Woodrow Wilson High School, from which he graduated in 1945, only a few weeks following the surrender of Germany and about three months before the surrender of Japan. He went on to enroll at the University of Texas at Austin but had hardly started when he decided in October to enlist in the Navy. It was a spur of the moment decision for which there was no family precedent. Not a single member of the Butler family had ever been a sailor and none had been a soldier since the Mexican War - nearly one hundred years earlier.

Before 1945 was out Ray had gone through boot camp at the Naval Training Center in San Diego, California, followed by Radarman school at nearby Point Loma. In March 1946 he graduated and was immediately assigned to sea duty aboard the U.S.S. Bexar (APA-237).

The Bexar was a personnel transport vessel. Manned by a crew of about 230 men, its task in wartime had been to carry Marines and amphibious landing craft into battle. After the war, it continued, from time to time, to transport Marines. (In doing so, the ship had a brief brush with fame, or infamy, when in 1957 it carried a contingent of Marines across the Pacific, bound for shore duty in Japan. Among them was a young PFC named Lee Harvey Oswald, the alleged assassin of President John F. Kennedy.) However, in 1946, the Bexar was to become one of a fleet of 242 ships assigned to "Operation Crossroads," code name for the first U.S. atomic bombs tests since the end of World War II.

No doubt one of the most important bomb tests ever conducted, Crossroads not only involved a large number of naval vessels but also 42,000 servicemen, 156 airplanes, and 25,000 radiation recording devices. For experiments, 5,400 rats, mice, goats and pigs were used. Its purpose was to test not just one, but two atomic devices - code-named "Able" and "Baker." Able, an actual atomic bomb, was to be exploded first, in mid-air above designated unmanned target ships. Baker, better described as a device than a bomb, was to be detonated underwater. Together, they were only the fourth and fifth atomic weapons ever exploded. In contrast to the necessary secretiveness of the first atomic bomb test at Alamogordo, New Mexico on July 16, 1945 Able and Baker were to be detonated in an unprecedented atmosphere of openness and scientific cooperation. (The second and third bombs had, of course, been those nicknamed "Fat Man" and "Little Boy," dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan on August 6th and 9th, 1945, respectively.)

The Crossroads tests were to take place in the lagoon of an isolated coral atoll called Bikini, in the Marshall Islands group. Located some 2,700 miles southwest of Hawaii, Bikini was, and is, about as far away from anywhere else on Earth as it is possible to get without leaving the planet. Obviously, it was for its remoteness that Bikini was chosen.

Operation Crossroads was lauded in LIFE magazine as "the greatest gathering of assorted scientific brain power that ever occurred." It went on to list "geophysicists, oceanographers, meteorologists, entomologists, biologists and others" as among those both interested and participating in the tests. In contrast, LIFE reported, "the least curious of these scientists are the atomic scientists. They take a poor view of the whole operation, maintaining that the explosions at Alamogordo, Hiroshima and Nagasaki have perfectly well demonstrated the basic fact: that the atomic bomb is too powerful a weapon to leave outside the confines of international control and that Operation Crossroads will simply underline this truth without contributing much to atomic knowledge."

To be expected, there was also much widespread apprehension about the test among ordinary people and of course, some opposition. Presaging the interests of today's environmentalists, there was some initial concern for the whales known to migrate past the Marshall Islands. Fears for the animals' safety were allayed however when it was pointed out they were only present in the area in March and September. Crossroads was to take place in July.

LIFE reported that a number of American citizens were opposed to the tests simply "on the ground that human beings should not toy with the cosmos." One woman, a spiritualist, warned that if the tests were held the ocean would turn yellow. Another citizen espoused the conviction that the bombs would blow a hole in the earth's crust through which the ocean would pour, triggering earthquakes and halting the revolution of the planet. Yet another proclaimed the bombs would burn up all the oxygen in the atmosphere. Not the least of the concerned Americans were the families of the servicemen assigned to participate in Crossroads "who visualized their sons and relatives being swept away to sea by a wall of water rolling from the blast." The War and Navy departments, said LIFE, "were able to reassure these anxious people that there is not the faintest chance of this happening."

Doubtless, no one group of people were more concerned about the tests than the inhabitants of Bikini Island who would, of necessity, have to be evacuated. Several months before Crossroads was to take place, high-ranking U.S. officials, including Vice-Admiral William Blandy, the man in charge of Crossroads, and Commmodore Ben H. Wyatt, visited the island to meet with Bikinian leader King Juda. Juda and his people, a simple Polynesian folk, were convinced by the Americans that the tests would be "a true contribution to the progress of mankind." Reluctantly, but without resistance, they gave up their island home. Numbering about 167 persons, the Bikinians and their belongings were transferred by the Navy to previously uninhabited Rongerik Atoll, about 130 miles to the east. At the time, so the Bikinians say, they believed the move would only be temporary. They also say they did not fully understand the implications of the test. An unsophisticated people who still make their living from the earth and sea, it is hard to doubt their sincerity. Unfortunately for them, Crossroads was but the first of 23 nuclear tests conducted at Bikini through 1958, including that of the world's first deliverable hydrogen bomb. Today, more than forty years after Crossroads, it is hard for them to fully comprehend why they cannot return to their former home. All they know is that the Americans have told them there is "poison" there. For a few years, between 1971 and 1978, some islanders were allowed to go back. Their return, however, was premature. They had to be re-evacuated when it was discovered that radiation levels in the soil were still too high. To date, Bikini is still too radioactive to be safely habitable.

The U.S.S. Bexar, with Ray Butler aboard, left San Francisco in May 1946. Also aboard, Ray recalls, were 37,000 cases of beer. Following a brief stay of a week at Pearl Harbor, the ship arrived off Bikini about three or four weeks after leaving the west coast of the United States. At the atoll, the Bexar anchored in the lagoon, off Bikini Island, along with a number of other ships which had arrived earlier. The lagoon, measuring 27 miles from east to west and a little more than half that distance from north to south, was large enough to accommodate them all.

The tests were to be especially well-documented. There were 104 still cameras, 208 motion picture cameras and 18 tons of photographic equipment on hand to record the event. Some of this equipment was used to document life on the island during the weeks immediately prior to the first detonation. Film footage, which can now be seen on a videotape production entitled "Radio Bikini," corroborates Ray's memory of the place: beautiful blue skies and water, white sand beaches and lush tropical greenery. On the island, vacated six months earlier by its native inhabitants, the Navy had burned any Bikinian huts remaining, along with a few abandoned dugout canoes. In their place, shelters were built to serve as Officers' and Enlisted Mens' clubs. On the Officers' club a large round plaque was attached, showing two crossed bombs and the words "Operation Crossroads - Up and Atom."

During their stay at Bikini, the sailors observed tropical routine, which meant working until noon and then spending the rest of the day swimming, sunbathing or fishing. It was only June but already the heat was oppressive, nearly 100 degrees Farenheit. The humidity was also very high. In a vain attempt to cool off, many of the men sat around in the clubs on shore eating ice-cream or drinking the tepid beer brought by the Bexar and other ships. Others went swimming as often as possible in the crystal clear waters of the lagoon.

The water there was so clear and clean, Ray recalls, that its depth was deceptive. Once, thinking that a piece of coral from the bottom would make a good souvenir, he dove down assumming he'd be able to touch bottom almost immediately. He quickly discovered, to his dismay, that the water was much deeper than it seemed. He reversed direction but not having gulped enough air before diving he felt as if his lungs would burst as he swam furiously for the surface. Breaking through the top of the water, he gasped for breath, exhausted. Ray was later able to retrieve two pieces of coral from Bikini's lagoon, which he stored in his locker aboard the Bexar. One he still has; the other, after a few days, began to turn brown and stink. He quickly discarded it over the side of the ship. He also kept a small coconut from the island as a souvenir.

Life was not all swimming and drinking beer however; there was work to be done in preparation for the tests. Ray Butler was among the sailors who made up work parties assigned to strip the 90 target ships of salvagable items such as pumps and electrical equipment. On one ship, Ray remembers, he and his shipmates found a large stock of canned food which they were ordered to throw overboard. He also recalls that some of the men salvaged a few cans of peaches for themselves rather than surrender them to the sea.

After weeks of waiting for the right combination of weather conditions to materialize, it was decided the first test would be conducted on Monday, July 1st. Accordingly, early that morning, all the observation ships, including the Bexar, steamed out of Bikini's lagoon and positioned themselves in a large circle around the atoll at distances of from 10 to 20 miles. Ray now estimates his ship's position was between 12 to 18 miles from the test site although at the time he wrote it was further.

Distance was one of the few apparent precautions taken. On board the Bexar there were but three pairs of protective goggles with which to safely observe the blast. Naturally, these were reserved for use by the most senior officers. At the time of the explosion, the enlisted men were to be topside, sitting on the main deck, their backs turned to the blast. They were instructed not to look until it was announced over the P.A. system that it was safe to do so, about ten seconds after the explosion. Until then, they were to keep their heads down and shield their eyes with their arms. Ray, in his log of the test as he observed it that day, noted another, somewhat dubious precaution: "Small packs of a special pill," he wrote, "are taped to stanchions about the ship, this is to counteract any effect caused by radioactivity in the air."

Despite what what already then known about the effects of an atomic bomb explosion, the men aboard the Bexar displayed an amazing calm. One wonders if any of them had read the LIFE magazine report which enlightened its subscribers with the news that the heat from an atomic blast "completely vaporizes bodies at close range, with fatal burns at greater ranges." The magazine also noted "the blast pressure blows all creatures, including man, apart" and warned, "Gamma rays, invisible radiation similar to X-rays, cause burns, varying from fatal ones to those like sunburn, while the wind from the blast destroys life after the fashion of a super hurricane."

Aboard the flagship U.S.S. Mount McKinley there were a number of distinguished observers including several Congressmen, Secretary of the Navy James Forrestal, and representatives from the United Nations. Among the latter were delegates representing Mexico, Canada, Great Britain, France, Poland, China, and the Soviet Union. The Americans were particularly interested in demonstrating the bomb for the Russians, in order to show their former allies, now "Cold War" enemies, the awesome might of this formidable new American weapon. (At the time, the U.S. was the only country with "the bomb"; within five years, the Soviets would also have it.)

Left waiting in Bikini's lagoon were the target ships. The U.S.S. Nevada, over which Able was to be exploded, was painted a bright red and white so the crew of "Dave's Dream," the U.S. Army B-29 superfortress bearing the bomb, would be able to recognize it. Other target ships included the U.S.S. Skate, a submarine, the aircraft carrier Independence, a battle-hardened veteran only four years old, two captured Japanese ships, the Sakawa and the battleship Nagato, and a captured German cruiser, the Prinz Eugen. On the deck of the U.S.S. Burleson were test animals: mice, rats, goats and pigs. Scientists monitoring the tests were especially interested in the effect the atomic blast would have on pig skin, because of its close resemblence to human skin! Some of the goats had sections of their bodies shaved and ointments applied to test the possible protective effect.

That morning, aboard the Bexar, Ray Butler wrote in his log of the seemingly calm attitude of his shipmates and described the weather as it was at about eight o'clock:

Here on the bridge of the Bexar there is no sign of uneasiness or much concern. The whole ship was just washed down and we...are now taking a bit of time off to punch a bag we have situated on our starboard aft section...A slight drizzle of rain just came upon us but has gone as quickly as it came. Its a nice day for the bomb, the sun is bright and only scattered (cumulus) clouds deck the sky.

The captain, Ray noted, was "relaxing in his chair...looking through his glasses at intervals at the surrounding ships."

Earlier, "Dave's Dream," piloted by Major Woodrow P. ("Woody") Swancutt, had taken off from the airstrip at Kwajalein Island, to the south. The B-29, flying above the clouds, could not be seen but the men aboard the Bexar and all the other observation ships could hear live radio transmissions from the plane being broadcast over each ship's P.A. system. Before the actual test, a practice run was announced and all hands were instructed to "conduct themselves as if the bomb was actually being dropped," Ray wrote, adding: "The commander is now addressing us over the P.A. giving instructions for the rehearsal and the actual test. We are now awaiting word from the plane."

Following the practice, the superfortress commenced the actual bombing run at just a few minutes before nine o'clock. Ray Butler's account continues:

The sun is directly to our starboard so our heading is due north at present. All hands are wearing full uniform for protection...(the) Captain (is) now talking over the P.A...."we will feel the blast, the heat and be aware of the flash as the bomb is detonated. Stand fast, brace yourselves and hope!"

"`Five minutes 'till actual release' is the last word from the plane," Ray continued to write, "The fellas here at quarters are joking and taking bets as to what will happen...`Two minutes `till actual release'...We are now standing away from port, eyes to the decks, covered by arms." Then, as the crew of the Bexar anxiously waited for the plane to reach its target, the radio transmissions continued: "`Adjust all goggles...Stand by...Coming up on actual bomb release. Stand by...Bomb away! Bomb away! Bomb away!'"

That instant, at 34 seconds past nine o'clock, the bomb, a fat, awkward-looking device with the nickname "Gilda" carefully lettered on its side, plunged down through the clouds toward Bikini's lagoon. Then, in the next moment there was a bright flash as it exploded over the U.S.S. Nevada. Those ships closest to it saw it best but on the Bexar, five minutes after "bomb away" was heard, the "all-clear" signal was given over the ship's P.A. system and Ray wrote:

We neither felt the blast or the heat. All hands are starboard now looking in the general direction of (the) blast. All we can see is a very tiny column of smoke to our starboard quarter. All hands are expressing disappointment as there was a certain tenseness as we awaited "Carry On." Since we are...20 to 30 miles away, I guess we couldn't expect too much.

However, only a few more minutes passed before the blast appeared a little more impressive. "We can now see a large cloud of smoke drifting upwards, it is brilliantly lighted and is spreading slowly. It is very distinct from the other clouds as it has a bit of yellowish color with a tinge of red." wrote the young sailor. Ray also noted, "Everyone is lighting up a cigarette - to me that signifies a bit of nervousness they are just getting over."

Foremost on everyone's mind, now that the actual blast had taken place was the question: How much damage had been done? Some of the Bexar's men had made bets with one another. The ship's Chief Bosun had staked two dollars on his belief that not a single target ship would be sunk (he lost; four went down). Ray reported, in regard to the speculation about damage, "We'll probably find out this evening or early in the morning as we are one of the first back in the lagoon."

The remainder of his log for that day reads as follows:

All ships have decreased speed to about 4 knots so better observation may be possible. We can still see some of the orange-colored cloud about 12,000 feet or more. A few short blasts were heard after the actual detonation, probably the magazines of some of the target ships. - Notes from Radio Report: No casualties are reported as yet. There are some fears that rain will drop through radioactivity and bring something down upon ships. Some structure of Independence has been wrecked as are several other ships, many are just aflame. Report says Saratoga was not harmed. The Nevada (center of target) could be seen as cloud of smoke arose. Palm trees seem to be still be standing on beach. Fires do not seem as serious as at first. Some gooney reporter is giving us a colorful description of the blast, what a laugh he's getting! One ship is capsized and going down, they can't tell which ship it is. Radio controlled "drone" boats are going in to pick up samples of the radioactivity in the target area. The plane which dropped the bomb took off from Kwajalein has not returned as yet. Smoke cloud rose 24,000 feet in nine minutes, appeared as a triple dumbbell, a peach cream color. Bomb was dropped at a height of almost 6 miles, took approximately 50 secs (seemed a hell of a lot longer) to strike target. A fire on flight deck of Saratoga was just reported. Fire on edge of Bikini, possibly some small ships near the beach. Time is now seven (7) minutes and one hour from time of How (H) hour here near Bikini. (Monday here, Sunday back home in the States...) Latest report: Carlisle and Gillian are sunk, Lawson capsized and a few other ships more or less damaged. Radiological conditions were as expected. - The ship has relaxed into normal routine now, we still wonder what things will look like when we pull back into the lagoon tomorrow morning.

Ray says he remembers the Bexar re-entering Bikini's lagoon but that none of the crew went ashore, into the water or aboard any of the target ships. In this, he and his shipmates were extremely fortunate. Some sailors on other vessels, according the documentary "Radio Bikini," through their own ignorance and that of those in charge, were exposed to dangerous concentrations of radiation.

The target ships were badly burned, twisted and bent in the blast caused by "Gilda". Many of the test animals were dead, although whether from the pressure of the blast or the heat it was difficult to determine. Many creatures actually survived the initial blast but were hideously burned.

Three weeks later, on July 25th, the second device, "Baker," was exploded underwater in Bikini lagoon. Although the Bexar was present, Ray Butler did not keep a record of the day's occurences as he had the first time. However, other witnesses recall, and newreel footage confirms, "Baker" was a much more impressive sight, creating a chimney of water nearly half a mile in diameter. Rising to several thousand feet, it spread into the classic mushroom shape with a base wave of spray and steam which spread out so far it engulfed some Navy vessels. On at least one ship, the U.S.S. Sumner, bits of rock, grit and coral from the bottom of the lagoon, blasted high into the air, rained down. One of its crew, a young seaman named John Smitherman, pocketed a piece of radioactive rock he found on the deck but discarded it a few days later. Upon return to the lagoon, according to Smitherman, he and his shipmates went aboard some of the target vessels still afloat (eight ships were sunk by the second blast). He reported, years later, that they also drank and bathed in radioactive water. The result was that Smitherman, as documented in "Radio Bikini," became ill. After spending several months in the hospital at Pearl Harbor, he was given a medical discharge.

As the years passed Smitherman was troubled with swelling in his legs. When one swelled up to the point where it literally burst open, he had to have it amputated. Later, he lost his remaining leg in much the same way. In "Radio Bikini" Smitherman can be seen seated in a wheelchair, his left hand hideously swollen to several times its normal size. Operation Crossroads, said the former sailor, had been for him the beginning of a slow death. He did in fact die of cancer in 1983, as reported by the documentary. Before he passed away, Smitherman ventured the opinion that there were thousands of ex-servicemen already dead from radiation-related illnesses and many worse off than he.

Ray Butler, fortunately, does not seem to have been injured by his participation in Operation Crossroads and if he worries about the possibility it might have done him harm, he keeps it to himself. If it had, it surely would have manifested itself long before now. Probably, he was so far away he could not possibly have received any harmful dose of radiation. The fact that he never went ashore after the test or handled any radioactive materials is also in his favor.

And how does he feel about having taken part in the tests? Well, for quite a while afterwards, he says, he didn't think much about it. "I didn't boast about it." he observes, recalling that he took his participation for granted. But as time has passed, he has begun to feel a certain amount of pride in having been there. He now feels that Crossroads, whatever its result, was important, that it was an historic moment in which to take part. In addition, he is also glad he had the foresight to write about the experience as it took place.

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