The Mallory's Merchant Marines

Ship's Cook George K. Dunningham & His Dog "Ricky" Survives Sinking

"...it looked like a weird dream to see those little red lights bobbing up and down"

Heather Macdonald Moe also shared with me this story about Dunningham and his dog "Ricky" and how Dunningham had paid a visit to her great grandparents to tell them how their son, Capt. Ernest W. S. Macdonald, Army Chaplain, sacrificed his life to help others. It was said that Capt. Macdonald I was told that he may have been saved, but he kept going down below deck to help others off the sinking ship. Heather shared with me these newspaper clippings about Macdonald and Dunningham she found in a scrapbook which belonged to her great grandmother. Heather thinks that these were probably printed in the Quincy Patriot Ledger (Massachusetts). Below is the transcribed undated article about George K. Dunningham and his dog "Ricky". Ricky was later rescued by the USCGC Bibb. Commander Roy Raney of the Bibb, spotted "Ricky" clinging to some floating debris, as his men were pulling survivors on board. Raney shouted "Someone get that damn dog!" Winthrop Man Tells Of Rescue After Torpedoing Details of the rescue of 202 passengers and crew of a large American merchantmen torpedoed in the North Atlantic early in February were disclosed here yesterday for the first time by one of the survivors, George K. Dunningham of 35 Thorton Park, Winthrop, a cook aboard the ship.

George K. Dunningham, Mallory Ship's Cook

SURVIVES SHIP SINKING

George K. Dunningham of Winthrop, a cook aboard an American merchantmen torpedoed recently, gives thrilling account of the disaster. The rescue, made by a Coast Guard combat cutter, is one of the largest number saved in any sea disaster in the present war. The cutter not only managed to effect the rescue, but took time to a depth charge lurking Nazi submarines in the vicinity were the disaster occurred.

Dunningham in relating the thrilling story of the night attack and destruction of the ship, said that the excitement started on the 13th day out, when the gun crew sighted two unidentified planes circling the large convoy. They flew around the convoy several times, and failed to answer the challenge for identification, but were too high to fire at. At once the ship lurched and staggered as the torpedo hit her without warning. When she came back to an even keel, the Order " abandon ship" was sounded and everyone filed to his station. Everything was surprisingly calm and orderly. Having been alerted twice, we expected it. I went to my boat station and helped lower away. That's where our boat drill training paid dividends, for everything went off like clockwork. Due to the smashing up of life boats and rafts on the other side of the ship, our boat was heavily overloaded.

Many In Water

It was black as pitch and men were yelling and blowing whistles, many were in the water, each with his red rescue light lit. These are now part of the regular equipment and it looked like a weird dream to see those little red lights bobbing up and down. Another lifeboat in along and took off 40 of the 90 men we carried. We threw out the sea anchor and used our oars to keep head into the sea. Only for life boats got free, but there were dozens of rafts crowded with men.

We shot up flares from the Very gun at regular intervals until daybreak. Just before dawn we picked up two men who were swimming. They were in tough shape, and later we saw two men on the raft, both badly injured. These made me forget about the cracked elbow I received when I fell on deck just before climbing down the cargo net into the lifeboat.

Day finally broke, gray and cold, the waves were running high and we were alone on a big ocean, with none of the other boats or rafts in sight. We felt awfully small and lost, then we saw ship on the horizon heading for us. We knew somehow she was friendly and that our troubles were over. We'd only been adrift five hours. In 10 minutes we saw the most beautiful ship in the world, better than the best painting you ever saw. It was the Coast Guard cutter, one of the 327-footers. The Captain put that cutter alongside us in that heavy sea just like a cabdriver parks his cab. But the waves were so high that I was able to step right on to the deck of the cutter when the waves lifted a lifeboat up.

Cling To Rafts

As soon as we got aboard they gave us dry clothing, food, hot coffee and cigarettes, and put us to bed. They were swell. Within half an hour the cutter picked up more survivors, and then as the search continued, the sound man got contacts with a sub. Patterns of depth charges were dropped, and then the cutter came back to the business of rescuing survivors. Once a bunch of rafts were found, crowded with men, and some in the water hanging on. Some were too weak to grasp the lines, and Coast guardsmen leaped overboard to tie the lines to them so they could be hauled in.

Dunningham said when the ship was torpedoed he had lost a little white mongrel dog, "Ricky" given to him by a soldier. He thought the dog had been lost, but later spotted him sitting on a raft after the last man had been rescued. The Coast guardsmen soon brought "Ricky" aboard. Dunningham presented the pup to the cutter as a mascot.

Shortly after words, Dunningham related, 33 officers and men from two United Nations ships torpedoed nearby, were picked up so that the cutter at 235 extra people on board.

It was necessary for the men to take turns sleeping in watches or shifts. The cutters crew gave up clothing, cigarettes, candy and bunks to the survivors. The doctor was on 24-hour duty in the sick bay, administering to the sick and injured, snatching a few hours' sleep now and then on deck. Again submarines were detected in the vicinity, and the cutter flayed the water charge after charge. It was believed that in at least two attacks, the subs were hit.

Dunningham a native of Nashua, New Hampshire, and now living with a sister in Winthrop, was making his first trip to sea, and he will ship right out again as soon as is injured elbow is well again. The loss of the ship on which Mr. Dunningham served was announced officially by the Navy Department on February 22nd, 1943.

Dr. Joseph Grabenstein, Mallory Ship's Doctor

Dr. Joseph Grabenstein was the Ship’s Doctor aboard the USS Henry R. Mallory and he lost his life on the morning of February 7, 1943 when the Mallory was torpedoed and sunk.

Joseph Grabenstein was born on April 4, 1877 in New York City. He was born of German Speaking Jewish parents and it is known that his father was named Edward and his mother was named Eva. Both were born in Bohemia as stated on the 1880 Federal Census. It is known that Edward was born on December 31, 1851 in or around Glozan, Austria. This is the present day city of Glozan, Serbia, which is located in the Northern part of the country of Serbia, or south of Budapest, Hungry.

It is not clear if Eva was from the same area as her husband Edward but it is likely. She was born about 1852 or 1853. It is known that Edward and Eva came to America on August 15, 1871 from Serbia or Bohemia as it was known then, sailing aboard the Main.[1] Then on April 4 of 1877 Eva gave birth to Joseph Grabenstein as the couple were living in New York. Little is known of the early years of the marriage of Edward and Eva. But what is known comes from the 1880 Federal Census. In June of 1880 Edward worked as a liquor dealer in New York, and also at that time Edward and Eva had 3 sons. Otto the eldest was born about 1874, Joseph in 1877, and youngest son Isaac born about 1879 all born in New York City. Living in the Grabenstein home, which was on Remington Street in New York City with Edward, Eva, Otto, Joseph and Isaac was a 40-year old single female servant named Mary Katchmarek from Poland.

Joseph Grabenstein would go on to become a Physician and by August of 1899 when he applied and was granted a 1-year U.S. Passport he was already working as a Doctor at the age of 23. On August 2, 1899 he signed his name as “Dr. Joseph Grabenstein.” On the Passport form it listed his physical features as; High forehead; dark brown eyes; nose proportionate; mouth small; chin round; hair black; complexion fair, and face oval. It was not known where he was traveling to but because his father Edward had also been granted a passport during the same time it was likely that he was traveling back to Europe with his father as Edward now worked as a merchant selling cloaks and suits.

By June of 1900 Edward and Joseph lived together in a rented apartment located at 328 East 72nd Street in Manhattan. By this time Joseph’s mother Eva had passed away and Edward was now a widower. Eva Grabenstein passed away sometime between the birth of Max Grabenstein in 1885 and June of 1900. This is known as on the 1900 Federal Census Edward is listed as being a widower. Joseph was single and still working as a physician.

By 1910 Joseph Grabenstein was now married and lived not far from where he and his father did 10 years before. Joseph and his wife Ernestine lived on 74th Street in Manhattan at the time. Ernestine was born about 1885 in New York and her parents were both from Austria likely the same area as Joseph’s father. Joseph and Ernestine were married about 1905 and had one child a daughter named Evelyn who was born about 1908. At the home on 74th Street also lived Joseph’s youngest brother Max. He was born in 1885 in New York and likely he was the youngest son of Edward and Eva. Max was single and worked as a Button salesman. Joseph and Ernestine employed in the home an 18-year old female servant named Annie Kostic who was born in Pennsylvania and was of Russian decent.

During the next 10 or so years the Joseph Grabenstein family lived in several places in New York City. It is known that during 1915-16 Joseph, Ernestine and Evelyn lived at 172 East 74th Street, which is just off Park Avenue and very near Central Park. Then in 1917 the family lived at 1143 Lexington Avenue, which was near the corner of Lexington Avenue and 79th Street, in a 14-story brick building that is still there today.

By 1920 Joseph, Ernestine and Evelyn were now living on Nagle Avenue in a rented apartment, and Joseph was still working as a physician. Ten years later in 1930 Joseph and Ernestine had finally bought a place and were now living with their only daughter Evelyn at 6401 Thirty-fifth Avenue in the borough of Queens. The home was valued at $11,000 and Joseph now 53-years of age still was a physician. Evelyn now 22-years old was single and worked as a clerk at the Immigration office.

It is not known the exact reason that Dr. Joseph Grabenstein joined the U. S. Merchant Marine but the fact is that he was the ships doctor aboard the transport ship USS Henry R. Mallory. It is not known how many trips he may have made on the ship and it may likely have been his first trip as on the voyage of the sinking most of the crew were green to the ship. According to a survivor of the sinking, Father Gerald Whelan who was an Army chaplain, he tells of how Dr. Grabenstein was afraid of the sea, and how the Doctor and Father Liston, another of the Catholic Chaplains aboard the Mallory would walk the decks together as both were afraid of the sea.

According to Father Whelan he saw Dr. Grabenstein and Horace Weaver the Mallory’s Master get into the Captains lifeboat but when the Mallory rolled she tipped over this lifeboat and all who were inside were sent awash on the cold waters of the roaring Atlantic, never to be seen alive again.

Able Seaman Thomas A. Hebenton

Able Seaman Thomas A. Hebenton. Photo taken June 1942

The story of Thomas A. Hebenton can be told starting in Scotland, the Country where both of his parents were born. His father was named James Hebenton and was born on September 7 1885 in Kirriemuir, Scotland. Kirriemuir, sometimes called Kirrie, is a burgh in Angus, Scotland. It is well known as the birthplace of Peter Pan and a statue of Peter Pan stands in the town square in front of the old tollbooth. Thomas Hebenton’s mother was named Sybil and it is known that she was the same age as James so it is fare to say she was born sometime in 1885 and it is likely she came from the same area as James did in Kirriemuir. About 1914 Sybil and James Hebenton were married in Scotland and the following year both came to America. Sybil and James settled in Massachusetts where James took up the trade of a printer and typesetter. Sybil gave birth to the couples first child a daughter named Agnes about 1916. In September of 1918 James, Sybil and Agnes lived at 93 Downing Street in Worcester, MA where James worked as a typesetter for the Worchester Post newspaper. James did not serve in the military during WWI, and on June 1, 1919 Sybil gave birth to Thomas A. the subject of this history. Sybil again had a son named James Jr. sometime in 1923. By April of 1930 the James Hebenton family now had moved from Worchester to Somerville, MA where James still worked in the newspaper business as a typesetter. The family lived in a 3-floor apartment house owned by John M. Baird who was from Northern Ireland. In the Baird house lived two other families, both Scottish families, the William Kyle family with a daughter and two sons, and the James Hebenton family with one daughter and two sons. Also in the Baird house lived two lodgers, both from Scotland, so it seems that the Irish home of Mr. Baird was overran with Scots. The Baird home was located at 51 Raymond Avenue in Somerville and the home still stands there today. It is a 3-story home with 3 front porches, one on each floor with large white columns and porch railings. This is where young Thomas Hebenton likely sat many evenings and dreamed of seeing the world one day. He may have even been setting on this porch the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, for it was after that fateful Sunday that 22-year old Thomas went down to the local Navy Recruiting office to join the navy. But he was refused as the navy said he had a heart murmur.

The naval recruiter told Thomas ‘son if you want to go to sea you’ll have to join the Merchant Marines’ which was exactly what he did. By February of 1942 Thomas Hebenton was attending the United States Maritime Service Training Station School at Hoffman Island, New York. There at Hoffman Island Training Station Thomas would learn to tie a clove hitch before he slept the first night on the island. Thomas on the first day at Hoffman Island marched double-time to the receiving quarters, received his gear, and assigned to quarters and by the time he found out how comfortable his sack was, those new shoes of his had tried out the drill field’s asphalt. The policy at Hoffman Island was to make it tough for the trainee at the beginning and as the days progressed the rest of the program felt comparatively easy. Valuable training Boot Thomas Hebenton would soon need in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.

The days from February through June 1942 progressed until he had graduated and was now an Ordinary Seaman of the Merchant Marines. He was asked what type of service he wanted in the Maritime Service and he had wanted to see the world so he figured he could not see the world from below deck so he asked for deck service. This would likely be a choice that actually would save his life when the time came.

More training followed and Gunnery training was given and then Thomas gained his Lifeboat ticket, which was needed for him to advance to Able Seaman. His first ship was a Greek ship that he was assigned to as a stand-by crew until sometime in September 1942. At that time he joined the National Maritime Union where he sailed on various coastwise ships.

He had wanted to then sail on ships that would sail across the Atlantic and so in December 1942 was sent to Boston. In early January 1943 the USS Henry R. Mallory made port in Boston. The navy was then using the Mallory as a transport ship just as she had been used during WWI. Many of her crew had left for other assignments and so did her Master. The Mallory’s former Chief Mate Horace Rudolph Weaver was made her new Master. This would be his first trip as Master of the Mallory. Replacement men were needed to fill the jobs vacated by the men who left the Mallory, one of the replacements was Able Seaman Thomas Hebenton. He was assigned to the Deck Division and began working on the Mallory.

Able Seaman Hebenton did not have much time to familiarize himself with the workings of the Mallory for new Master Horace Weaver had loaded his ship with a full load of troops and was ordered to sail to New York. There in New York the Mallory was berthed in the North River where they stayed loaded with troops for the week. The troops were confined to the ship but the Mallory’s crew could take Liberty call in New York, which Hebenton took some Liberty in New York.

Captain Weaver finally had his orders to sail to meet the convoy they would be sailing across the Atlantic with and so that fateful voyage began. As part of the Deck Division aboard the Mallory, Hebenton duties were many, operating the cranes, standing wheel watches, standing lookout watches and anything else that needed done on deck.

During his many 2-hour wheel watches Hebenton remarked how the ship directly ahead of the Mallory would fall back and that caused the Mallory to fall out of line in the column. Hebenton remarked how close the ships were sometimes in the convoy, “close enough to carry on conversations from one ship to the other.” Hebenton remembered Captain Weaver as a friendly man. Weaver always spoke to the men on watch when he came from his day cabin just aft of the wheelhouse. Captain Weaver always asked how each man was doing and Hebenton had said that “Captain Weaver was a very nice guy, he’d even buy us a beer if we were ashore” Hebenton went on to say that “in the Merchant Marines we were not as spit and polish as the navy guys were.”

On the early morning hours of February 7, 1943 Able Seaman Hebenton had the Midnight to 2:00 AM wheel watch and following that he was assigned as lookout in the bow of the Mallory.

Lookout watches in the bow were dreadful hours, cold and wet but Hebenton was dressed in his oilskins, watch cap and lifejacket, ready for what fate might throw at him at any moment. As it turned out Hebenton’s lookout relief man was late to relive him that morning at 0400 hours. They were now only moments away from a life-changing event. This caused Hebenton to be walking the port side deck of the Mallory towards his quarters in the stern of the ship at the exact time the torpedo hit the starboard side of the Mallory about hold No. 4.

The force of the impact and resulting explosion threw Able Seaman Hebenton across the deck and shook him up a bit. No worse for the wear he got up and headed for his muster station at Lifeboat No. 2. There at his muster station he had found that someone had cut the boat loose and one end had swung down rendering it useless. Hebenton then made his way to the number 4 lifeboat and by that time the sea was only about 1-2 feet from the deck of the Mallory. As men were rushing to get into the lifeboat one the Chief Mates who was there fell over dead from a heart attack. Hebenton then got into the lifeboat by climbing down the scramble nets, which had been thrown over the side of the mortally wounded Mallory. Lifeboat No. 4 was successfully lowered and pushed away from the side of the Mallory.

Lifeboat No. 4 was very over crowed with men and they began to pass around the Mallory’s ever-sinking stern. She was not high up out of the water but settling lower and lower into the sea. Hebenton remembers that the sea was rough that morning and he found that the only two men in the lifeboat who were qualified to know how to handle a boat was he and the Junior 3rd Mate, both of whom were in the back of the lifeboat. Hebenton knew he had to get the sea anchor out so they could keep headed into the sea and not get swamped and overturned, but he could not get to the bow where the sea anchor was stowed. So the men passed him hand to hand overhead until Hebenton was in the bow. Soon enough he had the sea anchor out and the mast up so they would have a better chance of being seen on radar.

Hebenton remarked that every man knew if they had to take to the boats and were in the water other ships were under orders not to stop for survivors. By stopping the other ship would be an inviting target for a German sub, which was always lurking just below the surface of the sea. But Hebenton never gave up hope of being rescued and was never scared. He was dressed for the cold weather with his watch cap, oilskins and lifejacket because he had been at General Quarters in the hours before the attack.

While in the lifeboat the kid next to Hebenton, whom he remembers as a Fireman named Cody, told him “my hands feel funny.” Hebenton looked down and saw that the kid’s hands were badly mangled and that due to it being so cold the blood was frozen. Hebenton had on a wool scarf that his mother Sybil had knitted for him, and so he took off the scarf and wrapped it as best he could around the Fireman’s bleeding hands.

As the cold dark lonely hours set in to the men in Lifeboat No. 4, Thomas Hebenton thoughts may have been of home and family. He may also have been thinking of his watch partner, Ordinary Seaman Francis Joseph Mathews, who as it turned out did not survive. Thomas put his training he received from Hoffman Island to good use and his knowledge of how to handle the lifeboat at sea was now paying off. In fact when they were rescued one of the Army Officers in the boat had remarked to Hebenton and the Junior 3rdMate, ‘if it wasn’t for you guys getting the sea anchor out and the mast up we likely would not have made it.’ Hebenton would later remark himself that he thinks he survived because he was at General Quarters in the hours before the attack and dressed in his oilskins and watch cap that saved him.

The darkness of the night wore on and along about daybreak, which Hebenton remembered was about 0900 hours, there came a site that raised the hopes of every man in Lifeboat No. 4. In the dim gray light the USCGC Bibb, skippered by CMDR Roy Raney, appeared out of the swells. Raney pulled the Bibb up along side of the lifeboat keeping the lifeboat on the Bibb's lea side, which was no small feat in the 40-foot seas at the time. In directly disobeying the order from the convoy commander, Raney stopped the Bibb to pick up, in Raney’s own words, “a flock of my Countrymen” thereby hazarding his own ship and crew and performed one of the most daring rescue operations of the war. Hebenton remarked when he saw the Bibb, “My God that’s the prettiest sight ever seen” which was likely thought by every man in the lifeboat.

As the gigantic swells swept along the lea side of the Bibb the men were slowly rescued from the clutches of the angry sea and Hebenton made sure each and every man got off the lifeboat. He was the last man to leave lifeboat No. 4. Once aboard the Bibb the Mallory men were taken below, but Hebenton’s service did not end there as he was helping perform artificial respirations on a fellow shipmate. Hebenton remembers he was a naval gunner but could not recall his name.

Looking down on Lifeboat No. 4 of the Mallory from the deck of the Bibb. Hebenton stands on the right side of the mast with his watch cap and lifejacket.
He was the last man to leave this lifeboat.

Because the Bibb could not leave the convoy she stayed at sea fighting U-boats for a full week before making port in Iceland to off load her survivors. That week at sea on the Bibb was just as frightening to the men of the Mallory as the sinking was because it was frequent that the compartment they were in filled with Cordite smoke from the guns firing and lights going out from the explosions of depth charges and the like. The Bibb was so crowded that Hebenton actually slept up on deck with his lifebelt on.

After that long week at sea on the Bibb, she finally made port in Iceland and disembarked her passengers from the Mallory. Dry land was welcomed by every man who had survived but likely their thoughts were of those who were still at sea and would never return. For each man their feelings would be different but each one who survived that morning would be always and forever changed and linked to one another.

Soon enough it was time for another voyage on the sea for the survivors of the Mallory sinking. Many of the survivors were now to go their separate ways and Able Seaman Hebenton was detailed to return to the States. The navy transport USS Chateau Thierry was stopping in Iceland and bound for Boston and Hebenton and several other survivors were detailed to sail with her back to Boston. Hebenton had remarked that he being a civilian merchant mariner the company had taken him off the clock at the moment the Mallory sank. Upon reaching Boston the Mallory’s Merchant Marine survivors were basically dumped off on the dock. Hebenton did not have one dime to his name, only the few clothes he had on and a few basic possessions he had obtained in Iceland. After walking around on the dock in Boston he finally bumped into a man he knew who was then serving in the Coast Guard. Hebenton was able to borrow five dollars from the man that would allow him transportation back home. And back home his parents and family did not know what had happened to him. But his father being in the newspaper business had guess what may have happened and may have thought his son Tom was killed, missing or unknown. So none of the family was aware he was in Boston let alone on the way home. Tom Hebenton’s first stop was at the Boston Post to see his father who was at work at the time to tell him he was alive and well. When he arrived at the Boston Post his father James did not recognize him, but soon enough father and son were again reunited.

Tom Hebenton was then granted 30-day survivor leave and then went right back to sea again, never asking for any special treatment but doing what he needed to do. There was no fan fare for the man who had survived the icy waters of the North Atlantic, only the long days of work ahead on several more ships until finally the war ended. Tom Hebenton had found that he had survived somehow and he knew in his heart that he had done what was required of him and a few times he had done more than what was expected, asking not for any glory for he knew that those who he had left forever at sea deserved better than what fate had given to them.

After the war Thomas Hebenton returned to Massachusetts and took up the trade of his father, that of a printer and typesetter. For the rest of his life Thomas Hebenton worked as a newspaper printer. Thomas and his wife Theo raised 3 children, sons Bruce and Scott and daughter Sandra.

This was the story of Thomas A. Hebenton written from notes from several phone conversations with Thomas who was 90-years old at the time. From the way he recalled the event and the names he gave me I could tell there was not a day that went by that he did not think of that event and those that never returned in some way every day.

Thomas A. Hebenton, August of 1944