In Defense of the Mantelpiece

One holiday tradition I remember as a youngster was going to my grandmother's house for Christmas in Big Horn, Wyoming. These occasions usually gathered a host of aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends. The house's social center (even during non-holidays) was the kitchen. Most visitors would be found visiting with my grandmother, my step-grandfather, or both. Only when large groups of visitors were present would the living room see significant traffic, such as our Christmas gatherings. The living room was not large, and because its only two windows were semi-covered by trees, it was not well-lit. A large flagstone fireplace with an insert stove dominated the room. Along the top of the fireplace was a shelf I could barely reach as a curious youngster. On this shelf was a small wooden box, about a foot long and six inches in height and width. A long glass plate served as the box's top panel.

This box always fascinated me during our visits. It was a struggle to get up to it, and the room's poor lighting conditions made it almost impossible to determine what was inside. To make things worse, I was told the box was not a plaything, making its study an exercise in childhood duplicity. When I finally got the box off the shelf, to my horror, I heard the distinctive sound of broken glass. Convinced that I had somehow damaged it, the box was quickly but gingerly returned to the mantel.

This incident was the primary reason I did not call attention to the box by asking my grandmother about its contents. When our annual Christmas gatherings brought me back to the living room, I often glanced up to confirm that the box still held its usual place.

Eventually, I grew tall enough to reach the box easily, confident I needed no further subterfuge to examine it. Looking through the glass plane, I could see colorful pieces of cloth in what seemed to be the shape of a bottle. On a small descriptive plate on the side of the box were words:

CHRISTENING BOTTLE

S.S. "WILLIAM BRADFORD"

MISS MARY F. BRADFORD

SPONSOR

NOVEMBER 14, 1942

SOUTH PORTLAND SHIPBUILDING CORP.

SOUTH PORTLAND MAINE

I was relieved to learn I had not damaged the box as a child. The broken glass I had heard was the sound of the damaged christening bottle as it shifted inside. Mary Bradford was my grandmother's maiden name. I knew she was originally from Massachusetts (she never lost the accent) and a direct descendant of William Bradford, the Governor of Plymouth Colony and signer of the Mayflower Compact. It was this group of colonists that participated in the original Thanksgiving story. For years I had heard about this particular heritage, but I didn't recall stories about a ship other than the Mayflower. I took the information etched on the box as it was. As a stupid teenager with equally stupid things on my mind, I never thought to ask my grandmother about it.

I went away to college, and eventually, both my grandparents passed away. As the eldest son, the christening bottle came to my father, who immediately placed the box in a place of honor on his own mantel. From him, I learned that the SS William Bradford was not some run-of-the-mill sea vessel. It was a "Liberty Ship."

Liberty ships were a particular class of cargo ships built during World War Two under the Emergency Shipbuilding Program. Between 1941 and 1945, eighteen American shipyards built 2,710 Liberty Ships on both shores. Members of the US Merchant Marine crewed these ships. Liberty ships used a standard design to facilitate their construction and repair. On average, three Liberty Ships were launched every two days during the war, an extraordinary display of American industrial capability.

Many Liberty Ships were named after famous figures in American history, starting with the men who signed the Declaration of Independence. As a direct descendant of William Bradford, the South Portland Shipbuilding Corporation wrote twenty-year-old Mary Faith Bradford, asking her to be the new ship's sponsor.

This company expects to launch the S.S. "William Bradford," which is being built for the United States Maritime Commission, on November 8th, 1942.

The South Portland Shipbuilding Corporation and the United States Maritime Commission would feel highly honored if you would consent to sponsor this ship.

As the sponsor, my grandmother served the traditional role of the "godmother." The godmother makes a sacrifice to celebrate the ship's launch, and in modern times this "sacrifice" is a bottle of champagne broken on the bow of the vessel. The sacrifice invites good fortune and safe travels on the ship about to be launched. On November 14th, my grandmother christened the boat with a champagne bottle wrapped in red, white, and blue cloth. The remains of the bottle stayed in the wrapping, allowing the young Bradford to keep it as a souvenir.

Liberty ships weren't noted for their beauty. President Franklin Roosevelt famously called them "a dreadful looking object," an opinion that resulted in the entire class being known as "Ugly Ducklings." They were 441 feet long, displacing 10,685 long tons. In addition to anti-aircraft guns, the stern mounted a 4-inch deck gun for use against surface ships, particularly submarines. The first Liberty Ship (the SS Patrick Henry) was named after the famed American revolutionary, and FDR's speech on its launch gave the class its name.

We propose that these ships sail the seas as they are intended to. We propose, to the best of our ability, to protect them from torpedo, from shell or from bomb.

The Patrick Henry, as one of the Liberty ships launched today, renews that great patriot's stirring demand: "Give me liberty or give me death."

There shall be no death for America, for democracy, for freedom! There must be liberty, worldwide and eternal. That is our prayer-our pledge to all mankind.

It is estimated that Liberty Ships carried 75% of the cargo used in the war. Many of the construction crews were staffed by women.

The SS William Bradford launched on November 14, 1942; the tenth Liberty Ship launched from the South Portland Shipyards. One of its crew members, Ensign Dae Baird, Jr. (the ship's purser), recalled sailing from Norfolk, Virginia, in a convoy of 131 ships escorted by three destroyers and six Destroyer Escorts. The Bradford carried ammunition and created airplane engines to be unloaded at Bandar Shahpur in Iran. This cargo was then shipped to our Soviet allies via the Trans-Iranian Railroad. The importance of this resupply effort to the Soviets resulted in Ensign Baird receiving a medal from the Russian government fifty years later, with a certificate signed by President Boris Yeltsin. Despite being strafed in the Mediterranean at least once, the Bradford survived the war and was eventually scrapped in 1960.

World War Two has often been called a resource war in that the industrial capacity of the United States proved to be the critical advantage resulting in the Allied victory. As memories of WW II fade, what remains is often the "sexy" aspects of the American effort, such as the war's scientific advancements, grand strategy, and weaponry. These things are indeed important and often fascinating. However, the American workforce's extraordinary effort in supporting the Allied effort was equally important and worthy of our highest honors.

That sentiment brings me back to the importance of mantelpieces. My purpose in telling this story is not necessarily to brag about my own family's history. Rather, I hope this story encourages you and your family to preserve the three-dimensional remnants of your history and that of your family. If, before reading this, you were unaware of Liberty ships and their importance, then you can thank a mantelpiece. If you were previously aware of Liberty Ships and this piece allows you to pass on your knowledge, then you can also thank a mantelpiece. If your family is lucky enough to have a mantelpiece, please make the most of the opportunity to honor yourself and those who came before you.