A while back, I told you about my friend Jeff Pierce, his 26 years in the U.S. Navy, and his service aboard the USS Iowa on the day of her terrible gun turret explosion in 1989.
“You’ve talked about the tragedy,” I recently said to Jeff. “Tell me about a triumph.”
Pierce was the chief master-at-arms aboard the USS Tortuga, a Whidbey Island-class dock landing ship with a crew of about 400. Ships of this class are notable for their large well decks, good for transporting and launching Marine Corps LCAC hovercrafts or other vehicles. Basically, the ship is well suited to transporting and deploying Marines.
Jeff explained that the Tortuga was also equipped for humanitarian work. She had her chance five days after Hurricane Katrina in 2005, when she returned to New Orleans, the city where she was originally built.
The devastation was horrible. “Cows and debris and tractors were in the river,” he said. “There were oil slicks. It was gross. It stunk.” Worse, desperate people were stranded in the flooded city.
The Tortuga docked across the river from the Lower Ninth Ward, and her crew soon went to work setting up an aid station at a lumber warehouse that local law enforcement had commandeered for rescue operations. Victims would receive medical treatment at the camp before being transported to the Tortuga for rest and shelter.
Jeff joined a rescue crew going ashore in a motorized inflatable raft. But the shore was hard to find. His boat cruised down the middle of residential streets drowned in five feet of water.
“People stranded on their porches had been there six days with no electricity and nothing to drink.”
The first woman they rescued held her dog and wouldn’t let go. “We didn’t even think of separating them,” Pierce said.
When his team returned to the rescue station, they found a lot of grateful people along with seven dogs, two cats, and a pot-bellied pig. The people were cleared for transport to the Tortuga, but Jeff called his commanding officer on the satellite phone with a question. “What are we going to do with the animals?”
“I’ll call you back,” the CO said.
An hour later, the phone rang. “Tell ‘em to bring their pets.” The quick-thinking officer had ordered his people to assemble whatever fencing they could to construct a makeshift kennel near the river. This facility, which the sailors named “Milo & Otis Camp” after the 1989 animal adventure film, eventually housed many dogs and cats, plus two pigs, two iguanas, and a peacock.
Word spread of the rescued animals, and the good folks at Purina sent a truckload of various types of animal feed.
The pets were safe, but Jeff had another problem. He called the CO. “Sir, what do we do about the firearms?”
In true American freedom-loving fashion, many people refused to be rescued unless they could bring along their guns.
“Do you have room in the armory?” asked the CO.
They did. Rescuers were instructed to advise armed refugees that their weapons would have to be temporarily secured in the Tortuga’s vaults.
Thanks to great leadership aboard the Tortuga, sailors dedicated to the mission, and the indomitable spirit of American unity, a terrible situation was improved.
Most of the owners of the animals and guns were relocated to Houston or other places. Jeff contacted the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, which matched gun serial numbers to owners, and a pro-animal organization posted pet photos online. In the end, all the pets were reunited with their masters and all guns were returned to their owners.
“I loved it,” Jeff said of the mission. “We had a great crew on board the USS Tortuga.”
Pierce and his fellow sailors represented the finest tradition of the service in a uniquely American story of triumph over tragedy.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
