Oh well. Not the first time and not the last, you'll say. Sad, nonetheless.

I have often pointed the picture to the right out to family, friends and, yes, even strangers, saying proudly, "That's my great grandfather's ship!" At the same time, I usually held some misgivings about the statement because I was never sure exactly how it was "his". Was he the skipper? Did any other position (scullery maid?) satisfy the conditions of ownership by association?

It was only a few days ago that I found myself making this boast to a guy sitting next to me (Jaime, pictured below) at my favorite Tully's on the northern fringes of Queen Anne. The photo hung just over his head. This particular coffee shop is only a stone's throw from the ship canal towards which the Monongahela is being towed and (I just checked) the Aurora Bridge is actually visible from Tully's front stoop. I'm sure I had some excuse to be talking to him about this, so don't imagine me as the local looney toon wandering the coffee shops of Seattle claiming obscure fame via random wall art.


All dressed up with access to Tully's free wifi and no particular place to go, I indulged my doubt and typed the ship's name into a new tab in Safari. That's no small feat in itself. It rather rolls off the tongue, but fingers are easily tripped up. Try it. First say, "Monongahela." Then try to type it out: M-O-N-O-N-G-A-H-E-L-A. Monongahela. Strangely, Spellcheck doesn't even flinch.

Google found the infamous photo right away. I dare say there are few in Seattle who have not seen it gracing the walls of pubs, coffee shops, and various rustic-themed establishments around town. I find the word "ubiquitous" fun to say and probably use it too much, but it seems particularly apt for this picture. Plus, the fact that I see it all over the place gives me plenty of opportunity to brag.

I noted that the Photographium web site dates this picture to 1931, which becomes the first chink in the armor of this favorite family myth. Searching further to link my great grandfather to the vessel, I typed in his name, Charles Nelson Atwater, along with M-O-N-O-N-G-A-H-E-L-A and hit return. This turned up the picture below:


Charlie, a familiarity my brother likes to use and one I find disrespectfully lazy, but nevertheless accept as satisfyingly less cumbersome even than "great grandfather", sits on the far left in the picture. I think he wins the contest for best handlebar mustache, don't you? It's a good photo, but it has an odd feel. It evokes a casual air that is contrary to the stiff formality that readers of classic sea tales have been trained to expect from the likes of Captains Bligh, Queeg, and Ahab. Charlie and his fellow officers, though in full uniform with brass buttons ablaze, are seated with their hands snug in their coat pockets. What I see here is more like aloof distance than elite disdain for the lower classes. Still, the image accentuates the enforced separation between the officers and the foremast jacks as it fades off into the background. It's as if the crew's very existence becomes less real with their distance from command.

The text along with this photo says Charlie, a Lieutenant Commander at the time, was the Executive Officer aboard the Monongahela circa 1903 while she served as a training vessel for the US Navy. Okay, he was the XO, not the skipper, ...and not the scullery maid. Googling onward, I found a minor trove of general info on the ship's history.

One site has a particularly good photo, but probably the most complete historical account for the USS Monongahela is found at the Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships' site. After her launching at the Philadelphia Navy Yard in 1862, she played a notable role in the Civil War.

Her first serious naval engagement was to participate in the March 1863 blockade of Mobile, Alabama where she ran aground while attempting to run up the Mississippi past the Confederate batteries at Port Hudson. Temporarily a sitting duck, shelling wounded 21 men and killed six, including her captain, before she broke free. Having survived the assault on Port Hudson, she lost another captain in July '63 while bombarding Confederate field batteries near Donaldsville, Louisiana. During other Civil War engagements, she blockaded and bombarded Southern positions, reconnoitered mine and torpedo defenses, and participated in ship-to-ship engagements. When she rammed the Confederate dreadnought Tennessee, she only harmed herself but got the excuse to change from her original bluff bow to the more comely clipper bow she gained in repairs.

After the war she was assigned to the West Indies Squadron where, in November '67, she had the distinction of being swept almost a mile inland by a St. Croix tidal wave. Amazingly, she didn't lose anyone, not even her captain this time, and was refloated six months later, towed to New York, and put back into service in South Atlantic squadron duty after a drawn out 5 years of repairs.

The rest of her career was served out variously as a training ship and a supply ship. She made a much-better-than-average, 106 day rounding of Cape Horn in 1890, concluding in New York where she was again refitted, going on to serve as the official Naval Academy Practice ship. She made her last Academy training cruise in September 1899, sailing to England and Portugal, but continued training duties in other capacities with cruises to Europe and the Caribbean. She finally served as a storeship at Guatanamo Bay, Cuba, until she was destroyed by fire on March 17th, 1908.

Oops. 1908! How could she have burned to a hulk in 1908 and appear miraculously in a photograph dated 1931? I went back to zoom in on the digital version of my favorite photo, peering more closely at the rigging and the hull. It is embarrassing to admit, but I'm afraid I was subdued by pride into seeing what I wanted to see in this faded photographic representation of a supposed icon of family history. Reinspection reveals a couple of points.

Most obviously, the Monongahela being towed out under the Aurora Bridge is a four-master. Charlie's ship had only three. The mizzen of the 1931 ship is indistinct behind what appears to be smoke belching from the aft tug's stack. That and the quirks of the faded old reproduction allowed me to convince myself that the fourth mast, and even the stern was on another ship in the background. Further detailed comparison of photos allows you also to see differences in the bow, most notably the double hawse pipes and the wonderful figurehead.

It turns out that the Monangahela making its ignominious escape before being trapped in Lake Union by the closing span of the Aurora Bridge is a commercial ship owned, coincidentally, by Charles Nelson and Company and operated in the cannery trade during the 1930s.

I have, then, been officially hoisted on my on petard. Okay, I had some help from dear brother Russell who has his own copy of this now notorious photograph in the collection of family memorabilia adorning a bookshelf in his living room. But that's no excuse, so, "Sorry, Charlie."