“What did you hear?”
“Let’s all stick together.”
Coakley asked if Delucchi had heard anything else.
“Yes,” Delucchi responded. “The first remark I heard was, ‘The motherf—ers won’t do anything to us; they are scared of us; they won’t even send us to sea.’”
“Did you hear any other remark?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was it?”
“Let’s run over the motherf—ers.”
* * *
This was some of the most important testimony of the trial—and there’s no way to know if it was true.
Coakley couldn’t find a single witness to corroborate the quotes. The only other people who could possibly have heard them would be the defendants and other black sailors. Maybe they chose to forget a detail they knew would hurt the accused. Or maybe, as many of the Port Chicago men believed, Delucchi was flat-out lying on the stand.
Either way, Gerald Veltmann knew the mere suggestion that sailors had used foul and threatening language toward their officer was sure to make a strong impression on the judges—all officers themselves. In his cross-examination, Veltmann skillfully limited the damage by exposing a major flaw in Delucchi’s version of events.
“Now, you have attributed in the record a number of statements of profanity, or words that aren’t used in common society, to some men,” Veltmann said to Delucchi. “Isn’t that right?”
“That is right, sir.”
“Will you look at the accused and identify the men that said that?”
“I can’t sir, because I had my back to them.”
“Then when any of those statements were made you didn’t see who made the statements?” Veltmann asked.
“No, sir.”
“You don’t know who made the statements?”
“No, sir.”
“And you don’t know absolutely that it was any member of your division?”
“Yes, sir,” Delucchi insisted, “I am reasonably sure it was the men in my division.”
“You say, ‘reasonably sure.’ I am asking if you know absolutely for sure.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“How do you know that?”
“For the simple reason that my division was behind me,” said Delucchi, “and the wording came from behind me.”
“The wording coming from behind you, do you know that it was any of these accused?”
“No, sir,” Delucchi admitted, “I can’t testify as to whether it was any of these men.”
That was the key point Veltmann was trying to make. Satisfied, he sat down.
PROSECUTION
THE MUTINY TRIAL on Treasure Island was a minor story in most newspapers, overshadowed by bigger articles on American forces battling in Western Europe and the Pacific. But to African Americans across the country, this was an important story that would have to be watched closely.
“We concede the fact that a superior officer’s command is to be obeyed, but we know that prejudice exists in the Navy,” Irma Lewis, an Oakland woman, told a newspaper reporter. “We mothers want to know why these loading crews are all Negroes.”
Joseph James, president of the San Francisco branch of the NAACP, was also following the story. “The Negro people are well aware of the pattern of discrimination practiced by the Navy,” James told papers, “and they are very much concerned about this trial.” James alerted the New York City headquarters, letting lead lawyer Thurgood Marshall know that this was a case worth watching.
The secretary of the Navy, James Forrestal, was keeping an eye on the trial from his office in Washington, D.C. Forrestal took a particular interest in the case, because he’d been thinking about the Navy’s segregation policy. From his point of view, segregation was causing unnecessary problems. Treating black sailors like second-class citizens damaged the morale of the men, leading to headaches like the ongoing trial on Treasure Island. Also, it was wasteful to build separate barracks and classrooms, and it was wasteful to restrict black sailors to shore duty when men were needed on ships.
Forrestal was well aware of the basic assumption used to justify keeping the races separated—that packed together aboard ships black and white sailors simply wouldn’t get along. He suspected it was nonsense.
With the backing of President Roosevelt, Forrestal approached Admiral Ernest King, Chief of Naval Operations.
“Admiral, I’d like to make a change in our racial policies,” Forrestal began. “The President wants it, and I want it. How do you feel?”
“I don’t know if we can do it,” King said, “but if you want to try, I’ll back you up every step of the way.”
That summer, Forrestal and King began an experiment. The Navy assigned black sailors to serve alongside mostly white crews on twenty-five large, noncombat ships. King told the ships’ commanding officers to report back on the results.
* * *
In the crowded courtroom on Treasure Island, James Coakley continued his prosecution.
After getting the testimony of the white officers, Coakley turned to a second set of witnesses—black sailors who had refused to load ammunition on August 9, but who had agreed to go back to work after Admiral Wright’s threatening talk on August 11.
These witnesses were key for Coakley. It was his intention to show that the fifty accused mutineers had conspired together, enacting a secret plot they’d agreed upon ahead of time. The accused men denied that any such plot existed, but Coakley was hoping to get a different answer from some of the men who’d gone back to work.
Calling a sailor named Edward Johnson to the stand, Coakley asked him to describe any talk he’d heard in the barracks on the night of August 8.
“Well,” Johnson said, “the boys didn’t want to load ammunition because they were afraid.”
“What else was said?” asked Coakley.
“Well, that was all I can remember.”
“State whether or not anything was said by the men with reference to sticking together.”
“Yes, sir, there was.”
“State what was said.”
“Well, the fellows said that they didn’t want to load ammunition because they were afraid of it and that it would be better for the rest of us to stick together, that was all.”
“What else?”
“That’s all.”
“At this time I certainly claim surprise!” Coakley shouted. One reporter described the lawyer as visibly annoyed with his witness. Clearly, he’d questioned Johnson in private before the trial, and now he was having trouble getting the sailor to repeat the story the way he wanted it.
Trying again, Coakley asked, “State whether or not you heard some men in the Second Division say, “If we stick together, the Navy won’t do anything to us, we are too large a group.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnson said.
In his cross-examination, Veltmann went right after this seemingly damaging testimony. “Who made the statement, ‘If we stick together, the Navy won’t do anything to us, we are too large a group’?” he asked Johnson.
“I can’t remember,” Johnson said.
Gesturing to the men in the back of the room, Veltmann asked, “Can you identify the man of this fifty who made such statement, Johnson?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you hear any of these fifty men say that they would not load ammunition?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever try to get anyone not to load ammunition?”
“No, sir.”
“Did any of these fifty try to get you not to load ammunition?”
“No, sir.”
* * *
Coakley called several witnesses to testify about the so-called list—the mysterious document that had circulated in the barracks in the days before August 9. The list, Coakley hoped, would help show the existence of a mutiny plot.
On the stand, a sailor named Joseph Gray described being handed the list by a man in his division.
“What was on
the paper?” Coakley asked.
“‘We, the undersigned men, are willing to work, but refuse to load ammunition.’”
“And you signed that paper?”
“Yes, sir,” said Gray.
“What did you do with it after you signed it?”
“Passed it on to the fellow in the next bunk.”
“How many names were on that paper?”
“Sixty or more.”
In his cross-examination, Veltmann acknowledged that the list existed, but tried to show that it was not necessarily evidence of a secret plot.
“What was on the heading of that list?” he asked Joseph Gray.
Gray repeated what he had told Coakley: “‘We, the undersigned men, are willing to work, but refuse to handle ammunition.’”
“Was the word refuse on there?” asked Veltmann.
“I am not sure, sir.”
“You are not sure?”
“No, sir.”
“Could it be ‘don’t want to handle ammunition’?”
“Yes, sir, it could have been.”
This was a crucial distinction—there’s a big difference between “we refuse to handle ammunition” and “we don’t want to handle ammunition.” With the word “refuse,” the list could be seen as evidence the men were planning to defy orders as a group. Without it, the list could be seen simply as the men’s way of requesting a change of duty.
Again, Veltmann had done a good job of casting doubt on Coakley’s case.
* * *
Another major topic for Coakley was the man he considered the ringleader of the mutiny—Joe Small. He asked his witnesses to describe anything they remembered hearing Small say before August 9.
“Well, I remember that some of the guys said they weren’t going to load ammunition,” a sailor named Edward Stubblefield testified. “Some of the guys said they were afraid to go on the docks.”
“Do you know Small?” Coakley asked. “One of the accused here, Joe Small?”
“Yes, I know him, not personally; I just know him when I see him.”
“Before the Eighth Division was mustered to go to work on the ninth of August, I will ask you whether or not you heard Small say anything?”
“No, sir, before the division was mustered to go to work, I didn’t hear Small say anything.”
Coakley blew up again. “I am going to impeach this witness right now!” he yelled. “This is contradictory, and it is detrimental to the case. I am very much surprised!”
Veltmann calmly objected that it would be ridiculous for Coakley to impeach Stubblefield—that is, to attack the credibility of his own witness. The judges agreed.
But the next day, Coakley called Stubblefield back to the stand. Again, Coakley asked him if Small had urged the men not to go to work. This time, the answer was different.
“Well, sir,” the sailor said, “I heard Small say that the Fourth Division wasn’t going to work, that it was up to the Eighth.”
“When Small made the statement which you have just made, who was there?”
“There were several men of each division there.”
Veltmann stood and asked the witness, “You testified yesterday, Stubblefield, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Didn’t you say yesterday that you had heard Small say nothing?”
“No, sir.”
“You are sure you didn’t?”
“Yes, sir.”
Stubblefield was obviously confused, or frightened, or simply lying. Anyway, he had completely changed his story and was now saying what Coakley wanted to hear.
Veltmann had no way of knowing which version the judges believed.
* * *
Coakley couldn’t find any witnesses to corroborate the claim that Small had urged his fellow sailors not to work before August 9. But many witnesses did describe the meeting held on the barge on August 10, at which Small had definitely spoken to the group.
“What, if anything, did Small say?” Coakley asked Edward Stubblefield.
“He said the boys was in enough trouble, to obey the shore patrols and the officers, and he said if we all stick together, said they couldn’t do anything with us and we had better obey the officers and the shore patrols because we was in enough trouble as it was, and we had the officers ‘by the ass.’”
“And who was there when he said it?”
“Well, the whole group of men.”
To Coakley, this was more evidence of Small’s leadership role in the mutiny. Small called the meeting, Coakley insisted, to remind the men of their plot and to urge them to see it through.
Veltmann tried to show the court that Small’s motives could be seen another way.
“At that meeting,” he asked Stubblefield, “Small said the men should obey the shore patrol, that you were in enough trouble already?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In other words, Small told you to stay out of trouble, didn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Didn’t Small tell you to stick together in obeying the shore patrol?”
“He told us all to obey the shore patrol.”
“And the purpose of that meeting was for discipline, wasn’t it?” Veltmann asked.
“I will object to that,” Coakley cut in, “on the grounds that it is calling for the conclusion of the witness.”
“I will withdraw the question,” Veltmann said.
But again, he’d made his point.
* * *
Coakley covered the same ground over and over again with his witnesses: there was talk in the barracks about not loading ammunition, there was a list of people who would not load, and Joe Small had called a meeting on the barge and spoken to the men.
With witness after witness, Veltmann showed that the talk in the barracks was vague, that it wasn’t clear what the list had said, and that Small had spoken on the barge mainly to prevent violence.
“Did anybody ever try to convince you not to go to work?” Veltmann asked one sailor in a typical cross-examination.
“No, sir,” the sailor said.
“Why didn’t you go back to work?”
“Scared of ammunition.”
“You made up your own mind not to go to work, is that it?”
“That’s right.”
This testimony was repeated with minor variations day after day. Several of the officers at the judges’ table were seen nodding off at various points. One consistently snoozed after lunch.
Meanwhile, as the trial continued, family members of the accused mutineers worked to draw attention to the case. Several contacted the NAACP, urging the civil rights organization to provide legal help for the fifty.
Thurgood Marshall had heard enough; he was ready to take on the fight.
“There is no sufficient evidence of mutiny or conspiracy,” Marshall told reporters in late September. “These men are being tried for mutiny solely because of their race.”
Marshall asked for, and received, Navy Secretary Forrestal’s permission to sit in on the trial. In early October, he got on a plane and flew to California.
JOE SMALL
COAKLEY WRAPPED UP his prosecution on day ten of the trial. The next day, Veltmann began calling witnesses for the defense.
Given that the fifty accused were facing a possible death sentence, Veltmann wanted to give every man a chance to speak in his own defense. It would take weeks, though, and the lawyer worried about losing the judges’ attention. So he started with the defendants he considered most important.
Since Coakley was singling out Joe Small as the ringleader, Veltmann believed Small’s explanation of his actions could swing the verdict one way or the other. He called Small to the stand and began by asking him to describe the events leading up to the so-called mutiny, starting with the explosion at Port Chicago.
“I was thrown out of my bed and got a few cuts around,” Small said. “All the men were running wild here and there.” The lights went out and the building began collapsing on th
em. “I got myself together and turned to help the other men out, the men that were injured.”
Veltmann asked about the men’s mood in the days after the blast.
They were tense and scared, Small explained. He started telling the story of the sailor who thought it was funny to jam his bedsheet into the fan and watch the other men panic.
“Just a minute,” Coakley interrupted. “Objected to on the grounds it is immaterial. This is two or three weeks before the 9th of August.”
“Objection overruled,” said Admiral Osterhaus.
Small finished the story.
“Did anything else happen?” asked Veltmann.
“Yes, sir,” said Small. “Another night similar to that, one of the boys dragged a bunk across the floor and same thing happened. The men started running, and he stopped dragging the bunk across the floor. There was cursing and swearing. I quieted them down and got them back to bed.”
“Why did they run, Small?”
“Just a minute,” Coakley cut in. “Objected to as calling for his conclusion.”
“Objection sustained.”
“Why did you run, Small?” Veltmann asked.
“Objected to as irrelevant and immaterial,” called Coakley.
“Objection overruled.”
“I did break to run at first,” Small explained, “but I realized what it was, and I stopped.”
“Why did you run the first time?”
“Because the first thing I thought of was an explosion.”
“Did any of the men tell you why they ran?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they thought it was an explosion.”
“From your observation, would you say that the men were afraid at that time?”
“Yes, sir.”
This was an important point for the defense, which explains why Coakley worked so hard to prevent Small from making it. Veltmann wanted the judges to understand how terrified the young sailors were in the days after the Port Chicago blast. He wanted the court to consider the possibility that fear—not a secret plot—was really behind their refusal to load ammunition.
* * *
Veltmann then directly attacked Coakley’s claim that there was a secret plot.
“Small, while you were at Shoemaker following the explosion at Port Chicago, did you attend any meetings with reference to refusing to load ammunition?”
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