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(YMS-400: dp. 300 (f.) ; 1. 136'; b. 24'6" ; dr. 8' -, a. 14 k.; cpl. 33; a. 1 3", 2 20mm., 4 dct., 2 dcp.; cl. YMS-1)
The second Magpie (YMS-400) was laid down as YMS-100 by Henry B. Nevins, Inc., City Island, New York, N.Y., 3 July 1942; launched 24 March 1943; sponsored by Mrs. Marie Norby; and commissioned 15 May 1943, Lt. Alan G. Lynn, USNR, in command.
The new auxiliary motor minesweeper departed Staten Island for Norfolk, Va., I June, via the Chesapeake Bay; served briefly at Yorktown, Va.; and escorted three merchant ships from Norfolk to Miami, Fla., arriving 27 June. She continued on to Key West, Fla., arriving the 30th.
YMS-400 reported to the Caribbean Sea frontier 2 July and the next day escorted a convoy to Cuba, arriving Guantanamo Bay the 6th. She spent the next 2 years on escort and patrol duties in the Caribbean out of Curacao, Puerto Rico, and Trinidad.
Following the Japanese surrender, the auxiliary motor minesweeper arrived at the Panama Canal Zone 10 September 1945 for 6 months of minesweeping. YMS-400 was named Magpie and reclassified AMS-25 on 17 February 1947. For the next 3 years, based at Guam, she continued sweeping duties interspersed with practice exercises in the Marshall, Caroline, and Palau Islands.
Magpie was operating out of Apra Harbor, when at 04M on 25 June 1950 the Communist Army struck across the 38th parallel to attack South Korea. Two days later President Harry 8 Truman ordered American naval and air support of the Republic of Korea and that afternoon the Security Council called on all members of the United Nations to assist. in repelling the North Korean attack.
With hostilities In full fire, Magpie began minesweeping duty off Korea in September. On I October, while operating off the east coast of Korea with sister ship Merganser (AMS-26), Magpie struck a floating mine 2 miles off Ch'uksan, and sank. Twenty-one of her crew including the commanding officer, Lt. (jg.) Warren R. Person were never found. Merganser picked up the 12 survivors and transported them to Pusan. Magpie was struck from the Navy list 20 October 1950.
Magpie received one battle star for Korean service.
Wild Goose, John Wayne’s Yacht, Now on National Register of Historic Places
The 136-foot Wild Goose, the dearly cherished yacht of John Wayne, is now on the National Register of Historic Places.
In late July, the U.S. Department of the Interior approved the nomination, which had previously been certified by the California Office of Historic Preservation. Wild Goose was deemed eligible for entry into the National Register because of her association with Wayne. The documents submitted and approved cite him as “one of the most iconic actors in the history of cinema” and the yacht “as an expression of John Wayne’s personality and outsized image.”
PHOTO: Courtesy Facebook/The Wild Goose
Wayne enjoyed time aboard the all-wood megayacht from 1962 until two months prior to his death in 1979. Wild Goose was actually a converted minesweeper, originally built in 1943 in Seattle as YMS-328 for the U.S. Navy. She was decommissioned from military use in 1946, her three on-deck guns removed in the process. Harold Jones, the owner of the Vancouver Tug and Barge Company, purchased the vessel in 1948 and converted her for private use, christening her La Beverie. In the late 1950s, Max Wyman, a Seattle-area lumber tycoon, acquired her, gracing her with the name Wild Goose II, which was reportedly inspired by a run-down sailboat owned by his chef.
Wyman sold the yacht to Wayne for $116,000, a tidy sum in those days. Thereafter, she was known just as Wild Goose. Wayne further altered the yacht for his needs, creating a master stateroom and adding two staterooms for his children in 1965. In fact, one of the staterooms, fitted with bunk berths, still bears raised carvings reading “EW” and “AW,” made by his children Ethan and Aissa, respectively, to represent their initials. One of Wayne’s most famous additions is still aboard, too. It’s a round Koa wood table on the aft deck (above), where he hosted many a poker game. When just he and his family were aboard, it was used as a dining table.
PHOTO: Courtesy National Register of Historic Places
Wayne’s children, captains, and crewmembers all have given interviews over the years attesting to how Wayne thoroughly enjoyed family time on Wild Goose. The kids waterskied off the California coast, and they took family trips up the U.S. West Coast. Wild Goose even ventured to Europe with Wayne aboard shortly after he purchased her, so that he could film Circus World. But she became particularly important to him after his lung-cancer diagnosis in 1964. Wayne moved to the coast, directly across the street from Wild Goose’s berth, in 1965.
Interesting enough, as big of a movie star as Wayne was, Wild Goose actually became a film star herself. Though she never appeared on the screen alongside Wayne, she was featured in The President’s Analyst in 1967 and Skidoo in 1968.
Wild Goose still cruises in California, hosting day trips under the operation of Hornblower Cruises & Events.
I had a friend don bain from Canada I met in Spokane Washington who said he had a company named canalaska and was friends with john wayne. he said he had a boat just like john’s and named it grey goose II.
he said him and john would travel up and down the west coast of US for fun.
can you verify this?
We’ve never heard of a motoryacht similar to John Wayne’s by that name. In the 70-foot-plus size range, we do know of a 72-foot sloop built at the Derecktor yard in New York in 1987 that was launched as Grey Goose II.
I own a U.S. Navy minesweeper, the same as the wild goose. I’m thinking about selling, and thought
You might know someone interested. It is YMS-111, presently named the “Western Challenger”.
This vessel has been in the fishing industry since 1951, and would convert easily for pleasure service.
If you know some one interested, call Tony @907-518-0440.
My father served aboard the YMS 111, it was based in Cape May, New Jersey during the war . I would greatly appreciate any information about the ship (perhaps a photo), where it is currently located, etc. This is quite extraordinary for me, of the over 400 of these vessels built for the war, it may be the only survivor ( at least in something close to original appearance). Any reply would greatly be appreciated. My name is Richard Johnston ( my father was Ensign Curtis G Johnston) from Pennsylvania
I worked on the Wild Goose when it was in Marina Del Rey around 1995. I cleaned the bottom! You might be interested to know that captain loved the boat and was very in to CAD and modeled the boat
Are you still interested in info? The boat is docked in the Pacific Northwest and I have a photo available.
Small world, I went to Vancouver BC to put the then LaBevere back in service for Max Wyman, who later sold it to John Wayne. I also ran the MV Puffin same hull for underwater recovery and survey work. Do you still have YMS 111? I love those ships easy to work.
I am part of the Nauticapedia project on western Canada. http://www.nauticapedia.ca/index.php
We are looking for a nice photo of the Wild Goose for our vessel data base. Would it be possible to use either of the above photos for this purpose. If so how should we attribute them.
Thanks for your consideration.
My father Capt. Bob Alexander was Max Wymans skipper
I just read your post for the first time today. Why did you not call my phone number?
i still have the boat in Anacortes Washington. She is in very
tough shape, but floating well.
Im still at the same number, 907-518-0440, Tony.
HISTORY OF THE PCSA:
The PCSA came about due to the foresight, dedication and determination of two former subchaser sailors, Wesley (Wes) Johnson (1919-1997) of PC 564 and Patrick (Pat) Ward (1922-1993) of PC 565.
Both Wes and Pat had been active over the years, keeping alive memories of their individual ships, preparing newsletters and organizing reunions for their former shipmates. However, with the small number of crew members that served in a PC, a large group of veterans coming together for a reunion was precluded.
In 1986, Wes and Pat, along with Rear Admiral Alban Weber, USNR (Ret)(1915-2009), (PC 564) conceived the idea that a national organization of all small craft sailors would be best suited to preserving the history of the heretofore untold wartime services of the patrol vessel fleet. These three former sailors formed the nucleus of the PCSA, giving of their time and money, to create an organization of former sailors who are "Too Good to be Forgotten."
On April 21, 1987 the PCSA was officially incorporated as a not-for-profit organization in the State of Illinois. The stated purpose is: "To provide an organization for veterans of the patrol craft of World War II, to preserve the history of their activities, and to educate the public in the importance of their accomplishments."
The Magpie Salute, High Water II
It’s a vote of self-confidence to follow an album with its sequel. Doing so effectively combines the two works, so that each speaks not only for itself but also for the other.
In the case of The Magpie Salute’s High Water II, which arrives Friday (Oct. 18) on Eagle Rock Entertainment, its titular Part One (the band’s 2018 debut, High Water) receives a worthy expansion of style and exuberance. Produced by Magpie guitarist/vocalist Rich Robinson, the album was recorded at the same time as its predecessor, but it stands out as a centered, less introductory release. While High Water contained a mélange of blues, folk, soft and hard Southern rock tracks, packaged together as a first impression of the group’s impressive musical bandwidth, the new LP has a uniformity which, even in its delicate moments, is always tethered to the members’ bluesy, hard-edged approach.
Its lead single, “In Here,” follows an uplifting heartland rock groove as Robinson sings imagery-rich verses urging people to let go of any hang-ups which keep them from living in the moment. “Mother Storm,” an acoustic-driven anthem, similarly inspires some version of self-empowerment with its choruses’ tuneful peroration: “you made it here, you faded here, you shine your light down on the empty floor.” In fact, a great deal of the album consists of second-person reassurance, including the Alison Krauss-assisted ballad “Lost Boy,” in which she and Robinson comfort a wayward adolescent (“lost boy, let me tell you what you mean to me”).
In line with the lyrics, the music in High Water II has a consistent quality, never veering too far off the boys’ true sonic course, which starts and ends with the blues. From sweltering hard rockers like album opener “Sooner or Later” to soft drifters like “You and I,” B3 organ, lead guitar riffs and Robinson’s high-octane voice connect the dots with blues licks and swagger.
Together, the 12 songs reveal the distinct sound of The Magpie Salute, which successfully blends various genres without necessarily committing to any of them. Sonically, it sets a high water mark for a Part Three, should one be downriver.
USS Magpie (AMS-25)
Magpie was laid down as YMS-400 by Henry B. Nevins, Inc., City Island, New York, New York, 3 July 1942 launched 24 March 1943 sponsored by Mrs. Marie Norby and commissioned 15 May 1943, Lt. Alan G. Lynn, USNR, in command.
The new auxiliary motor minesweeper departed Staten Island for Norfolk, Virginia, 1 June, via the Chesapeake Bay served briefly at Yorktown, Virginia and escorted three merchant ships from Norfolk to Miami, Florida, arriving 27 June. She continued on to Key West, Florida, arriving the 30th.
YMS-400 reported to the Caribbean Sea frontier 2 July and the next day escorted a convoy to Cuba, arriving Guantánamo Bay the 6th. She spent the next 2 years on escort and patrol duties in the Caribbean out of Curaçao, Puerto Rico, and Trinidad.
After the German surrender, YMS-400 with other YMS ships stationed at Section Base, Trinidad, BWI spent the spring and early summer of 1945 sweeping both ends of The Gulf of Paria (Venezuela/Trinidad) to recover and destroy moored mines which the United States had positioned to protect the Bay so that large naval vessels could exercise during shakedown cruises. After dry docking the ship left Trinidad in September 1945. passing through but not sweeping at the Panama Canal. Instead, heading a small convoy, YMS-400 sailed along the west coast of Central America to Newport Beach, California where it was refurbished at a private ship yard catering to wooden bottom boats.
The next trip started in late fall. This voyage via convoy took the ship to Hawaii where the minesweeper was again inspected and tuned before leaving via the Marshall atolls for Guam and subsequently, Leyte Gulf in the Philippines. While in the Philippines, YMS-400 swept several shallow bays in Ragay Gulf on Luzon and near Diplog on Mindanao.
Following the Japanese surrender, the auxiliary motor minesweeper arrived at the Panama Canal Zone 10 September 1945 for 6 months of minesweeping. In early April 1946, YMS-400 joined all the ships in Leyte Gulf in leaving harbor for open seas in order to ride out a tsunami caused by the 1946 Aleutian Islands earthquake.
YMS-400 was named USS Magpie and reclassified AMS-25 on 17 February 1947. For the next 3 years, based at Guam, she continued sweeping duties interspersed with practice exercises in the Marshall, Caroline, and Palau Islands.
Magpie was operating out of Apra Harbor, Guam, at the outset of the Korean War. With hostilities in full fire, Magpie began minesweeping duty off Korea in September. On 1 October, while operating off the east coast of Korea with sister ship Merganser, Magpie struck a floating mine 2 miles (3.2 km) off Chusan Po, and sank. Twenty one of her crew including the commanding officer, Lt. (jg.) Warren R. Person were never found. Merganser picked up the 12 survivors and transported them to Pusan.
Magpie was decommissioned 20 October 1950.
Ensign Robert W. Langwell was one of the 20 crew members missing from Magpie. His remains were discovered in 2008 by South Korean military personnel and returned to the United States. Langwell's remains were interred at Arlington National Cemetery on 12 July 2010.
Nazi Spies Come Ashore
By Richard Sassaman
with illustrations by Paul Whitman
It was 20 degrees and snowing late in November 1944 near the resort town of Bar Harbor, Maine, some 4,000 miles from Nazi Germany. Two men made their way along the beach, slipping through snow and tripping over exposed tree roots. Erich Gimpel and William Colepaugh would have looked like any other men but for the heavy suitcases they lugged and their light topcoats, which were no match for the northeastern winter. As they moved toward the cover of the thick coastal woods, two other men stood by, dressed in Nazi navy uniforms. These two were "possibly the first enemy dressed in a military uniform to set foot on continental U.S. soil since the Mexican War in the 1840s," writes former US intelligence officer Richard Gay, coauthor of the book They Came To Destroy America (2003).
The uniformed Nazis offered a parting "Heil Hitler" salute. With that, they climbed into a rubber raft and rowed back to a U-boat, where they may have boasted about having "invaded" the United States. The submarine that had brought the Nazis to the rugged coast of Maine had been at the entrance to Frenchman Bay for eight days. On the ocean floor, as fishing boats passed overhead, the 56 men aboard waited for the right opportunity for the two plainclothes spies to head for land. Operation Magpie, the final attempt by Nazi spies to infiltrate America, had begun. (See sidebar about a womanizing Nazi spy who had headed for the coast of Maine six weeks earlier.)
Erich Gimpel—the most accomplished German spy to make it into the United States, was a very unlikely agent. Born on March 25, 1910, Gimpel began his espionage career in the mid-1930s in Peru, where he was working as a radio engineer for mining companies. Like a character in a Graham Greene spy novel, he was told by the German government to track ship movements in the area and send his information to a contact in Chile. "In Lima I never missed a party," he later wrote, describing the whole thing as somewhat of a lark. "We were fighting our war in dinner jackets and with cocktail glasses in our hands."
When America entered World War II, Gimpel was deported from Peru with other Germans and sent to Texas where he spent seven weeks in an internment camp. On his arrival back in Germany, Gimpel was welcomed by a stranger who gave him money and identity and ration cards, and told him to report to an address in Berlin. "I knew this was the headquarters of the German Secret Service," he wrote. "The amateur was about to become an expert."
William Colepaugh was an even more unlikely Nazi spy. For starters, he was an American, born in Connecticut (exactly eight years after Gimpel) and educated at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. After the war began, his pro-German attitudes got him into trouble with his Selective Service Board and the FBI. Colepaugh eventually took a kitchen job on a Swedish ship in early 1944 just to get across the Atlantic. He abandoned ship in Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, and presented himself to the German consul. Unable to speak German, he announced in English that he wanted to help Germany win the war. The fact that his mother was German did not keep the Nazi diplomat from wondering whether this American was really an Allied agent trying to get inside the Third Reich.
From Lisbon, Colepaugh traveled through France to Berlin, where German authorities watched him closely for three months. Finally, he was interviewed by SS Major Otto Skorzeny, Hitler’s favorite commando. In June 1944, Skorzeny sent him to an SS training school where he himself taught, in the German-occupied Netherlands. There, Colepaugh met Erich Gimpel, who considered the "young, well-fed, and contented" American not a problem, but a potential solution.
Gimpel had been asked to infiltrate America to uncover details about the United States’ program to develop an atom bomb—the Manhattan Project. He had
reed on one condition. To survive as a spy in the United States, Gimpel had concluded, he would need to take along "a proper American. He must know the latest dance steps and the latest popular songs. He must know everything about baseball and have all the Hollywood gossip at his fingertips." That said, Gimpel had to wonder where he would find "an American who was prepared to work against his own country and who at the same time was courageous, sensible, and trustworthy."
Colepaugh appeared to be just what Gimpel needed. Late in September 1944, the two men boarded the 252-foot, IXC/40-class U-1230 in Kiel, Germany, bound for Maine. Ordinarily, the vessel carried a full crew of 56, but two of the regulars were left behind to make room for the spies. Their agents’ mission and identities were kept secret even from the young crewmen and their commander, with Gimpel posing as a chief engineer and Colepaugh as a war correspondent. The crew soon figured out that something was amiss, though: how could a man who didn’t speak German be a German reporter?
The sub entered the open ocean on October 6. It was a dangerous time for a U-boat to cross the Atlantic in fact, the U-1230’s sister ship U-1229 was headed for Maine about six weeks earlier when she was sunk in the North Atlantic by Navy planes from the aircraft carrier USS Bogue.
To help make their way in the United States, Gimpel and Colepaugh carried $60,000 in small bills (the equivalent of $656,000 today). Colepaugh had convinced his superiors that a person could hardly get by in America on less than $15,000 a year—at a time when the average family income was about $2,250. The money was supposed to keep the two spies in the United States through 1946. Along with the cash, the men had also been given 99 small diamonds to sell if the US currency had changed by the time they arrived or if they eventually needed additional funds. Checking on the holdings one day as the submarine neared Maine, Gimpel was shocked to find the American money bundled in wrappers printed "Deutsche Reichsbank." He quickly disposed of that evidence.
U-1230 had been equipped for a six-month patrol, and ‘carried 14 torpedoes. Nevertheless, she was under orders not to attract attention until her primary mission of delivering Gimpel and Colepaugh to the United States had been accomplished. After five weeks of a largely uneventful voyage, the submarine reached the coast of Newfoundland and continued south from there down the Maine coast. Along the way, the sub’s transformer and depth-finding equipment was damaged by condensation caused by weeks of traveling underwater. The equipment had to be repaired on the surface, so the vessel was taken up under the cover of night. The repairs succeeded, and the surface activity went unnoticed.
Finally, on November 29, after almost two months at sea, the sub made its way a dozen miles up Frenchman Bay between the islands just off Bar Harbor. (About 31 feet high, the sub had a draft of just over 15 feet.) Shortly before 11 p.m., near Sunset Ledge on the western side of Hancock Point, it came to a stop a few hundred yards off shore, with only its conning tower showing above the water.
A rubber raft was brought up and inflated by a line connected to a silent air compressor. The original plan called for the two spies to row themselves ashore, at which point the raft would be pulled back to the sub on a light tether. The line broke, however, making it necessary for the two uniformed sailors to come along—and earn a moment of glory on the US mainland.
Even today, 60 years later, you’ll find this remote area of the Maine coast deserted at midnight. In 1944, "there probably were less than a dozen families" near where the spies landed, says Lois Johnson of the Hancock Historical Society. The Hancock Town Report for 1944 lists 13 births, 12 deaths, and two marriages. Census figures show that the population grew from 755 to only 770 between 1920 to 1950.
Hancock was a place with few people around to notice anything that might happen, but also a place where strangers stood out. Two people did happen to drive by as Gimpel and Colepaugh were walking along the road at that late hour. Both of them spotted the men, but neither stopped: Hancock was also a place where people minded their own business.
After the men reached US Route 1, a third car passed them, and it did stop. Miraculously, it was a taxicab from Ellsworth, the small town eight miles to the west. Colepaugh did all the talking, explaining that their car had slid into a ditch in the storm and they needed a ride to the train station in Bangor, 35 miles away. So followed a $6 cab ride and a 2 A.M. train to Portland. Stopping there for a bite to eat, Gimpel stammered when a short-order cook asked him what kind of bread he preferred with his ham and eggs. To him, bread was bread, and "the fact that in America people ate five different kinds" was surprising, he wrote.
The spies boarded a train to Boston at 7 a.m. That afternoon, Gimpel went into a store in town to buy a tie, and the salesman recognized the cloth and cut of his trench coat as not being American. "As a matter of fact," Gimpel managed to reply, "I bought it in Spain." He decided never to wear that coat again. Gimpel and Colepaugh spent the night in a hotel, sleeping in their American clothes to try and make them look less new. They left the next day, completing their journey with a train ride to Grand Central Station in New York City. In less than 40 hours the intruders had gone from the middle of nowhere in Maine to downtown Manhattan. It was a remarkably efficient journey.
The pair checked into a hotel on 33rd Street. They spent most of the next week looking for a place not constructed of steel, because steel hindered radio transmissions. They found an apartment on Beekman Place for $150 a month and paid two months’ rent in advance.
Things had gone well so far for the two Nazi spies on American soil, but over the next few weeks, their luck began to wear out. Two days after their arrival in New York, U-l230, still lingering about the coast, sank the 5,458-ton Canadian freighter Cornwallis, which was carrying sugar and molasses from Barbados to St. John, New Brunswick. Alarmed by the possibility that this U-boat could have dropped off enemy agents, the Boston FBI office sent men north to Maine. The agents soon located 29-year-old Mary Forni and her next-door neighbor, 17-year-old Harvard Hodgkins, the two Hancock residents who had driven past the spies walking in the snow. Forni, the wife of the Hancock tax collector, had been out late playing cards with friends Hodgkins, son of the town’s deputy sheriff and a Boy Scout and assistant scout leader, had been at a dance. They both described to the agents what they had seen.
Much has been made of the Nazis getting away with walking through the Maine woods in a late November snowstorm dressed in light topcoats, advertising themselves as outsiders. But such hindsight misses the point, says Richard Gay. "The truth is," he told an interviewer, "their cover was perfect, and it worked without a hitch." As far as any witnesses knew, the spies "were visitors from the city whose car had broken down."
What really broke down on the spy mission was William Colepaugh. Deciding that espionage was not for him, he took off on December 21 with both suitcases, including all the cash. Gimpel returned to the apartment to find everything gone and figured out that his partner must have headed back to Grand Central Station. There, Gimpel found the suitcases in the baggage room and, after some anxious moments, managed to recover them, even though he did not have the claim checks.
Gimpel had proven resourceful in responding to every mishap so far, but he had no answer for what happened two days later: Colepaugh, meeting with an old school friend, confessed that he was a spy. The friend at first thought Colepaugh was joking, but after he realized the story was true, he called the FBI. A manhunt immediately centered on Manhattan, and Gimpel was captured on December 30.
In early February 1945, Gimpel and Colepaugh were tried by a military court at Fort Jay on Governors Island, New York. They were convicted and, on Valentine’s Day, sentenced to death by hanging. Before their sentence was carried out, however, President Franklin D. Roosevelt died, and all federal executions were suspended for four weeks. By the time that month was up, the war had ended in Europe, and on June 23, new president Harry S. Truman announced that he was commuting the two sentences to life in prison—Gimpel’s because the United States and Germany were no longer at war, and Colepaugh’s because he had given himself up and provided the FBI with the information needed to arrest Gimpel. A statement from the War Department, reported in The New York Times, ended with the confident conclusion "The mission of the spies in this country was a complete failure."
Colepaugh served 17 years in prison, then moved to the Philadelphia area. He reportedly lives in a rest home in Florida today. Gimpel served 10 years at Leavenworth, Alcatraz, and Atlanta before he was released and deported to Germany in 1955. He later moved to Brazil, where he celebrated his 94th birthday in 2004. In 1991 and again in 1993 he visited Chicago as the honored guest of the Sharkhunters, a group of some 7,000 U-boat enthusiasts from 70 countries.
Gimpel was not the only Nazi from this spy mission to return to America. Horst Haslau, the radioman aboard the U-1230 and one of the vessel’s youngest crewmen, got a job in the United States. In 1984, he was working for RCA in Indianapolis, Indiana, and visited the Hancock area. The local newspaper published photos of America’s one-time enemy wearing a John Deere cap and sitting in the Ellsworth Holiday Inn, holding a bottle of beer. The brand was Beck’s, the same German beer that was stocked on U-1230, Haslau said. Three weeks after the sub dropped off Gimpel and Colepaugh in Maine, he recalled, each crewmember received one bottle for Christmas.
Forni continued to live in the Hancock area and was one of the guests of honor at a June 2005 party to celebrate the 90th birthday of some local residents. Sixty years earlier, she had been honored at another local party shortly after the spy incident, her friends organized an event to honor her for her role in providing information that helped capture Gimpel and Colepaugh and presented her with a $100 war bond.
Americans ate up the story of Hodgkins, the Hancock Boy Scout. The New York Journal-American sponsored the high school senior’s first ride in an airplane, bringing him and his family to New York for a week in January 1945, where he was given a key to the city. He saw the Statue of Liberty, Radio City Music Hall, and some Broadway shows, and met Governor Thomas Dewey, boxing champion Joe Louis, and Babe Ruth. After he graduated from Ellsworth High School, Hodgkins received a full scholarship to the Maine Maritime Academy for his anti-spy efforts. He died in May 1984.
Given what we know about Operation Magpie, Gimpel and Colepaugh were probably no great threat to America’s security. They had little skill and experience to aid them in circumventing the huge obstacles that remained in their path. In the end, the chief result of their mission was to turn a couple of ordinary Americans in Hancock, Maine, into heroes. Gimpel and Colepaugh were left with the claim to the fairly weightless title Last Nazi Spies in America.
Richard Sassaman, a resident of Bar Harbor, Maine, two miles from where the U-1230 passed, recommends the book Agent 146 by Erich Gimpel (St. Martin’s Press, 2003) for further reading. This article originally appeared in the October 2005 issue of America in WWII. Order a copy of this issue now.
Top illustration: After landing on the shore of Maine and hiking inland, Nazi spies Erich Gimpel and William Colepaugh stop a taxi to take them to the train so they could complete their journey to New York City.
Bottom illustration: During a layover in Boston, Gimpel visited a clothier, where an alert salesman noticed his suit wasn’t made in the United States. Gimpel talked himself out of the jam.
Photos: Adolf Hitler’s favorite commando, SS Major Otto Skorzeny (left), personally selected Gimpel (right) to attend the SS training center in the Netherlands where he taught.
Philip, duke of Edinburgh
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Philip, duke of Edinburgh, in full Prince Philip, duke of Edinburgh, earl of Merioneth and Baron Greenwich, also called Philip Mountbatten, original name Philip, prince of Greece and Denmark, (born June 10, 1921, Corfu, Greece—died April 9, 2021, Windsor Castle, England), husband of Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom.
When and where was Philip, duke of Edinburgh, born?
Prince Philip was born on June 10, 1921, in Corfu, Greece.
What is Philip, duke of Edinburgh, known for?
Prince Philip was the husband of Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom and the father of the heir apparent, Charles, prince of Wales. Philip was also known for supporting numerous charities, including the World Wide Fund for Nature, and for his outspoken right-wing views.
How did Philip, duke of Edinburgh, become famous?
Prince Philip was born into the Greek and Danish royal families and gained greater fame when he married his distant cousin Elizabeth (later Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom) in 1947.
What was Prince Philip’s education?
Reared chiefly in Great Britain, Philip was educated at Gordonstoun School, near Elgin, Moray, Scotland, and at the Royal Naval College in Dartmouth, Devon, England. From January 1940 to the end of World War II, he served with the Royal Navy in combat in the Mediterranean and the Pacific.
What was Prince Philip’s family like?
Philip was born to Prince Andrew, a son of King George I of Greece, and Princess Alice. When he was an infant, his family was exiled, and it later disintegrated: his mother was institutionalized, his father ran off with his mistress, and Philip’s four elder sisters married. Philip later married Elizabeth and had four children.
Why wasn’t Prince Philip a king?
Prince Philip did not have the title of king because of British royal tradition whereby a man marrying into the royal family does not assume the male version of the title held by his wife. He became duke of Edinburgh prior to his marriage to Elizabeth in 1947, and she designated him a prince in 1957. Learn more.
Philip’s father was Prince Andrew of Greece and Denmark (1882–1944), a younger son of King George I of the Hellenes (originally Prince William of Denmark). His mother was Princess Alice (1885–1969), who was the eldest daughter of Louis Alexander Mountbatten, 1st marquess of Milford Haven, and Princess Victoria of Hesse and the Rhine, granddaughter of Queen Victoria. Reared chiefly in Great Britain, Philip was educated at Gordonstoun School, near Elgin, Moray, Scotland, and at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, Devon, England. From January 1940 to the end of World War II, he served with the Royal Navy in combat in the Mediterranean and the Pacific.
On February 28, 1947, Philip became a British subject, renouncing his right to the Greek and Danish thrones and taking his mother’s surname, Mountbatten. (His father’s family name had been Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg.) His marriage to his distant cousin Princess Elizabeth took place in Westminster Abbey on November 20, 1947. On the eve of his wedding, he was designated a royal highness and was created a Knight of the Garter, Baron Greenwich, earl of Merioneth, and duke of Edinburgh. The couple’s first child, Charles Philip Arthur George, was born in 1948. He was joined by Anne Elizabeth Alice Louise (born 1950), Andrew Albert Christian Edward (born 1960), and Edward Anthony Richard Louis (born 1964).
Philip continued on active service with the Royal Navy, commanding the frigate Magpie, until Elizabeth’s accession on February 6, 1952, from which time he shared her official and public life. He attended an average of 350 official engagements a year on behalf of the royal household. In 1957 she conferred on him the dignity of prince of the United Kingdom, and in 1960 his surname was legally combined with the name of her family—as Mountbatten-Windsor—as a surname for lesser branches of the royal family. His outspoken right-wing views, the public expression of which he sometimes found hard to resist, occasionally embarrassed a monarchy trying to put aside its traditional upper-crust image.
While much of his time was spent fulfilling the duties of his station, Philip engaged in a variety of philanthropic endeavours. He served as president of the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) from 1981 to 1996, and his International Award program allowed more than six million young adults to engage in community service, leadership development, and physical fitness activities. In 2011, to mark his 90th birthday, Elizabeth conferred on him the title and office of lord high admiral, the titular head of the Royal Navy. In May 2017 it was announced that Philip—who was one of the busiest royals, with more than 22,000 solo appearances over the years—would stop carrying out public engagements in August. His last solo event took place on August 2, 2017.
Artograph ® History
The fascination of seeing an image has enthralled mankind ever since that first man or women mused over their reflection in some primordial pool of water. In the fourth century BC, Aristotle wrote about projection phenomenon, having observed the crescent-shaped images of the sun during a partial eclipse that formed on the forest ground. This fascination continued throughout the ages, until some curious inventor soon turned this magic into devices such as the Camera Obscura and the Camera Lucida. These strange devices, which became known as projectors, have entertained and mesmerized scientists, entertainers, and the common man throughout time. But it was the artist who embraced the unique benefits of the projector which allowed them to maximize their talents. It was this very reason that led to the creation of Artograph in 1947.
Artograph was founded in Minneapolis in 1947 by three entrepreneurs, Ed Hirschoff, John Engel, and Les Kouba, who wanted to start a company that produced time-saving devices. After many ideas which didn’t quite get off the ground, one of the men, Les Kouba, a promising wildlife artist, suggested developing a projector to help him enlarge his wildlife photos onto a canvas. Thus, the first Artograph projector was born. This first projector was built from assorted automobile parts, garage door track, plywood, and bellows—all scavenged from a junk shop.
Many variations were created from that first projector, but it was in 1977 when a totally new design in projectors was created that hit the commercial and graphic artist markets like a bolt of lightning. The DB300 table-top projector was an instant success and became a key tool for artists and designers for over 20 years.
In the 1980’s, as technology and the age of the computer flourished, Artograph’s focus expanded from the commercial artist and designer to include the distinctive needs of the fine artist and the crafter. A number of new projectors were introduced and the term “Artograph it!” soon became synonymous with using an art projector to save time and increase productivity.
Artograph continued to focus on the needs of the artist and crafter by introducing a continuous line of new projectors including the AG100, Design-Master, Prism, and Tracer. In the late 1990’s, Artograph introduced a new concept of light boxes to the craft market the Lightracer and Lightracer II became the required tools for the burgeoning scrapbook and custom card-making markets.
Since then several new products have been added to the popular light box line including the GLOBOX, ProSeries, Art Series, Elite series and an animation light box to fit the needs of all artists, crafters, designers and a new growing market segment, the animator.
An early Artograph is used to make a Popular Mechanics cover for the Robert Heinlein movie “Destination Moon.”
With the development of LED technology, Artograph’s commitment to ever-greener and more energy efficient products shines in the LightPad LX and LightPad PRO. Ideal for artists, animators, drafters, and crafters of every sort, these durable and versatile light boxes lead the way into the creative future.
The Flare – Inspire – Impression line of digital Art Projectors combine the benefits of a brilliant digital projector with all the features artists need, with an in-home HDTV movie projector.
Additional product lines have also been added over the years, including the Open Studio Cart line, featuring strong, lasting art carts for the artist and crafter.
Over seventy years later, the vision of Artograph’s founders is still evident in every product we make. Artograph remains committed to the mission of making the creative process more rewarding and productive to our customers, and yours, while motivating them to discover and enjoy their inner creativity.
Magpie II YMS-400 - History
Click here for a listing of books useful to modelers of 20th century Royal Navy ships
Navires & Histoire Magazine, February 2003, Issue #16, reviewed by Steve Backer. The centerpiece article is on the Scharnhorstand Gneisenau, von Spee's armored cruisers from World War One. As usual topics cover a wide range of naval history.
Brytyjskie Krazowniki Liniowe Typu "REPULSE" (British Battle Cruiser Type Repulse) - Written by Maciej S. Sobanski, this is the 12th volume in the Okrety Swiata/Warships of the World series. The title has photographs, color plates and two back-printed Plans and Profiles.
Japonskie Krazowniki Ciezkie Typu "MYOKO" (Japanese Heavy Cruiser Type Myoko) - This title from Polish publisher, Wydawca, is written by Grzegorz Bukata. Although written in Polish, the title has photos, drawings, color plates and five separate 1:400 scale Plans & Profiles.
Classic Warships Book #17: IJN Myoko Class CAs John Sheridan reviews one of the latest books from Classic Warships Publishing
Classic Warships Book #21: KM Prinz Eugen Heavy Cruiser John Sheridan reviews one of the latest books from Classic Warships Publishing
WR Press Flush Deck Destroyers of WWII John Sheridan reviews one of the latest books from WR Press
WR Press Essex Class Aircraft Carriers of WWII John Sheridan reviews one of the latest books from WR Press
Modelist-Korabel - This 16 page journal is published quarterly in Tver, Russia. Each issue provides various scale plans for different subjects. Issues #7, #10, and #15 are examined.
Les Torpilleurs d'Escadre du Type Le Hardi, 1938-1943 - This volume written by Charles Salou and printed by Lela Press covers the design and history of Le Hardi class French destroyers, the most modern class of destroyers coming into service with the Marine Nationale at the start of World War Two.
Warship, 2001-2002, Conway Maritime Press, This issue celebrates the 25th anniversary of this classic publication. Edited by Antony Preston. Reviewed by Steve Backer.
Classic Warship Book #16 USS New Jersey
Classic Warship Book #15 KM Schnellbootes
Gli Incrociatori Italiani, Gene Katz reviews this volume on the Cruisers of the Regia Marina during World War Two.
Warship, 2000-2001, Conway Maritime Press, This is the 24th annual issue of this classic publication. Edited by Anthony Preston. Reviewed by Steve Backer.
Navi E Marinai Italiani nella Grande Guerra, Italian Ships and Navy during the Great War. Written by Erminio Bagnasco & Achille Rastelli. Reviewed by Steve Backer.
Navires & Histoire Magazine, February 2002, Issue #10, reviewed by Steve Backer. The focus, as with Issue #9, continues on the naval forces involved in Operation Enduring Freedom. Many other articles are found on such diverse topics as the Yamatos, the Battle of Santiago and the birth of the Soviet Navy.
Navires & Histoire Magazine, December 2001, Issue #9, reviewed by Steve Backer. The centerpiece article is on the naval forces involved in Operation Enduring Freedom.
Navi E Marinai Italiani nella Seconda Guerra Mondiale Italian Ships and Navy in World War Two Written by Elio Ando & Erminio Bagnasco. Reviewed by Steve Backer.
Warship Perspectives Royal Navy Camouflage Volume III 1943 by John Sheridan
Classic Warships Book #14 USS Wichita CA-45 by John Sheridan
BARCOS RC, Spanish RC Modeling Magazine, by Steve Backer
Classic Warships Book #13 IJN Kongo Class BBs by John Sheridan
Warship Perspectives Royal Navy Camouflage Volume II 1942 by John Sheridan
Warship Pictorial #4: USS Texas BB-35 from Classic Warships Publishing
BOOK REVIEW: 'The Magpie Murders'
The ghost of Agatha Christie hovers over “The Magpie Murders,” Anthony Horowitz’s dark and deft mystery. It is not a thriller, it is too clever for that.
The image of magpies clustered in a tree is the kind of gently ghoulish humor that characterized Christie’s work, yet this is a much more complicated and sophisticated portrayal of her favorite topic of death and sin in a small village. And its double-barreled plot further complicates the scene.
It is more of what used too be called a closed door mystery where answers are clouded and the unexpected becomes the inevitable. Mr. Horowitzh’s literary skills in this field are long established and his reputation is notable for his brilliant work in the television series “Foyle’s War” and his contributions to the wildly popular “Midsomer Murders” TV series. He is particularly good at projecting atmosphere as in the reaction to war on the part of the general public in World War II and his conjuring up of the sinister amid the simplicity of idyllic English towns touched by murder — usually more than one.
In this collection there is a formidable array of characters, from the eccentric detective Atticus Pund and his echoes of Hercule Poirot to Susan Ryeland, a literary agent trapped in an unexpected peril in her work. The deaths are also Agatha Christie-like, from the nasty village squire whose head gets cut off to his bitter sister deprived of her birthright and the inquisitive housekeeper whose body is found at the foot of the stairs in the ancestral mansion The mansion is called Pye Hall, which is another Christie touch. As is the name of the village, Saxby on Avon.
Complications abound, as when the detective discovers that he is dying of cancer and that the case of the housekeeper in Pye Hall will be his last case. He is busy completing the notes in which he names the murderer when he dies in a fall from the roof of his palatial home, or was he pushed? The reader has to pay attention because unraveling the web of who did what to whom roams from character to character and many doubts about their credibility. Not only whether they are telling the truth but whether they are who they say they are.
In “The Magpie Murders” there is even the tragedy of a dead dog whose brutal passing by having its throat cut is more than enough to darken the lives of two children. One of the children turns out to be possibly insane as well as homicidal, but that is one of the secrets lurking in the shadows of the book’s denouement.
Susan Ryeland, the hapless literary agent who is accustomed to dealing with killings on a computer or a typewriter finds herself imperiled in a matter she never expected, with danger lurking far closer to her home than she might have expected. Mr. Horowitz is not a simple writer and this is no simple mystery, but it is most enjoyable to read and its conclusions never disappoint. Perhaps the only problem is trying to keep up with the plot which is like investigating a spider web..
It is obvious that the author relishes the wicked twists with which he embellishes his plot and his writing recalls what used to be dubbed the golden age of mystery when writers such as Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers flourished.
It is probably safe to say that Christie would have appreciated Mr. Horowitz’s use of her portrayal of an updated England and would have enjoyed his smooth and dark humor.
• Muriel Dobbin is a former White House and national political reporter for McClatchy newspapers and the Baltimore Sun.
THE MAGPIE MURDERS
By Anthony Horowitz
Harper, $27.99, 496 pages