Lloyd’s character must have been strongly shaped by the death of his mother. His father, no doubt grief stricken, farmed his children out--Carrie to a girls' school in Los Angeles, Lloyd to a fruit and cattle ranch where presumably education was bartered with child labor. Lloyd lasted there four years before running away at 16, in 1889, for a life at sea. He didn’t contact his family for another 16 years and then wrote a reply to a letter he’d received from his father in 1904.
One of our family’s treasures is the original handwritten letter Lloyd wrote in reply to his father—22 pages detailing his adventures at sea and on land for 16 years. The letter is dated June 21, 1904, and is written from the SS Fresco moored in Chester, PA.
"My Dear Father,
Arrived here this morning and found your letter awaiting me, asking for an accounting of what I have been doing since I left. I will do so."
"When I left, I first went to San Pedro in search of a ship--I had $20 in my pocket when leaving, the last you sent me. After staying there two days and finding none, I went to San Buenaventura, where I was more successful, it happened in this way. I saw a man coming on shore from a schooner, I walked up to him, and asked if he was the captain,
'Yes.'
'Well, I want to learn to be a sailor."
'That is where you show your sense,' he said.
"I was flattered at this, so asked if I could go with him, as it happened his Mate had just left him and he was a hand short, so he gave me a chance. He was discharging his cargo at the time, so he put me to work and gave me longshoremen’s wages, $3.50 a day, which made me think a great deal of myself. However, when she was discharged and ready for sea, the captain called me and said that I would get no pay while at sea. I told him I did not expect to be taught and paid as well, this seemed to please him, for I was taken to sea, was asked no questions concerning myself, and I volunteered no information. Judging by later experiences I was treated very well indeed by all on board, they being good sailors, as well as good men. The captain was unfortunately too fond of drink, which, by the way, is the curse of most sailors. I was never offered any by him or any other member of the crew."
Lloyd met a “crimp,” or a deceitful boarding master, whose job it was to find crews for ships. Boarding masters were paid "by the body," and thus had a strong incentive to place as many seamen on ships as possible.
"After keeping me for a couple of weeks to get me in debt he shipped me off in a large American ship bound for Queenstown for orders with two months advance, which I never saw, gave me a few old rags, and there I was, a full-fledged sailor. Judging by the schooner (the prior ship) I thought going to sea was fine but was soon undeceived aboard the deep-water ship, no watch below and other small things; in fact, I had rather a hard time of it for the first month or so."
In Liverpool, a boarding master asked if he wanted to go on a Norwegian barque-- that is, a ship with at least three masts.
"The captain took me and agreed to pay 35 Crowns, about $9.00 a month, as ordinary seaman, my last rating. So I signed on and joined the ship in Fleetwood, bound to Santos in Brazil, with coal. Prayers were held every evening in the cabin and twice on Sundays-- in Norwegian of course which I soon learned."
Instead of continuing with the Norwegian barque to Scotland, Lloyd decided to avoid the winter conditions of the English Channel and North Sea, so quietly packed his few things and stayed in Brazil. He found work on a small schooner in the coasting trade, and stayed a year and a half. He later encountered the captain of the barque who recognized him immediately.
He "...shook his finger and laughed at me, asked how I had got on and seemed to take a kindly interest in me, treating the matter of desertion as a joke, which led me to believe that I had not committed a serious offence."
Lloyd contracted yellow fever and was sent to hospital, then stayed on land and found work helping an elderly American man who lived on a plantation. Still subject to chills and fever, he decided to leave Brazil, and after sailing in a schooner to Florida, eventually recovered.
“This was the time when the United States and Chile were at war caused by the Natives killing four American Man o’ Wars men, you may remember it in ‘91, so I shipped in the Navy, thinking I should see some fighting. I was drafted with a lot of others to the Battleship Chicago, then the flag ship of Admiral Walker.”
They were ordered to the River Plate, a large estuary between Argentina and Uruguay, where they waited three or four months and then were sent home. Disillusioned with the Navy, Lloyd left and for the next five years traveled the East Coast, longshoring in New York in the winter and boarding a ship headed south in the spring. In 1896 he left New York on an American ship bound for San Francisco.
“I immediately bought myself a suit of clothes and some other necessities and thought of going home, but counted my cash and decided not to, so contented self by getting some San Bernadino papers.”
Soon thereafter,
“... gold was found on Mount Baker in considerable quantities, (and) the Gold Fever at once broke out. I got it and coaxed another member of the crew to join me, which he did. We bought an outfit and provisions for three or four weeks; it was now late in the season – September I think – and started. We picked up an old prospector that we met. He had no money or other necessities, so he was glad to come with us. We were glad to have him. He proved a most useful man, a good cook, and knew his way about the mountains, and could tell where the most likely place for “color” was. We were three weeks out, located some claims and brought some ore with us to be assayed, which went to $12.50 per pound, with a trace of silver.”
Lloyd had decided to quit the sea, so paid passage to San Francisco where he looked for a job and found work on a ranch in Fresno. But, “I soon found there were worse jobs than going to sea,” so he boarded an English ship bound to Falmouth for orders. It was a five-month passage, leaving January 1898 and arriving the middle of May.
This was to prove a turning point for Lloyd. A crew mate introduced Lloyd to his family, “and I have no desire to be acquainted with better.” They took a liking to him and encouraged him to get his certification as 1st mate. His address at that time was 62 Clemence Street, Limehouse, London—probably their family home.
He sailed on the ship Antiope, when earning that certificate. Heartened by their friendship and encouragement, Lloyd proceeded to acquire the necessary time and responsibilities aboard ship to take examinations for second and then first mate. He passed his exam for First Mate May 13. His certificate is dated May 15, 1903.
"By the Lords of the Committee of Privy Council for Trade, A Certificate of Competency as First Mate of a Foreign-Going Ship" was issued to Lloyd Magruder Read.
He closes his letter, about to embark for Norfolk, Virginia, to load coal bound for Curacao, Venezuela, and from there to Haiti for a cargo of logwood.
“Now dear father I have given you an account of myself during the time I have been away. My career has not been too brilliant at the same time it could have been worse; in which case you would not have heard from me. I am certainly like the prodigal son so far as leaving a good home to look for a fortune I have not yet found, but there the likeness ends, as the fatted calf will never be killed for me. Had I been like him I would have returned when I found that the world was not a bed of roses. So much for myself, you shall judge if I have proved a failure. So good night, it is now midnight, and remember me as your boy, who though wayward and self-willed is not wholly bad, or at least I sincerely trust not. Lloyd”
His sister Carrie reflected in a letter dated November 7, 1940:
“Lloyd was 2 ½ years younger (than she). He ran away to sea when he was not yet 16 and we did not hear from him for nearly 20 years, and then he held Masters Certificates for both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Most of the 20 years he was gone, his headquarters were in England, and he had acquired quite an English accent.”
In 1911, Lloyd finally did fulfill his role as Prodigal Son, returning to California to help his father’s date ranching enterprise. There he met Elizabeth (Bess) Turner, a schoolteacher from Kansas, who had come to Thermal, California, with her mother, Julia, and brother, Frank, in hopes that the climate would cure Frank of tuberculosis. Lloyd and Bess married on March 1, 1914.
The photo shows the wedding party—Bess in front with long, dark beads, Lloyd behind her, Bess’ mother Julia second from right, brother Frank at the top. His father, center, had remarried by this time, and his wife, Caroline Thompson Read, wears the hat.
The couple settled at the ranch in Mecca. Their first child, Betty, was born in 1915 and second child Lloyd Jr., in 1916, both in Mecca.
Lloyd was discovering yet again that the landlubber’s life was not for him. He was probably itching to return to sea, and perhaps his father’s advancing age influenced the family’s decision to sell the ranch, freeing Lloyd to resume his sailing career. The family moved to Oakland, California, with its port and proximity to San Francisco. Frank did not recover, but Julia Turner came to Oakland with the family and died in 1936 at age 92.
Lloyd’s career kept him away from home for long periods of time, and Bess was charged with the running of the household that included, in 1920, moving the family to 539 Kenmore Avenue in Oakland. September 7 was moving day, and my mother Julia, named for her grandmother, opted to make her appearance that day. Imagine Bess, with two young children, giving birth before the doctor could arrive, on moving day, with her husband away at sea!
Their fourth child, James Peter Read II, was born in 1922. This Christmas photo includes Betty (third from left), Lloyd (top row, fifth from left), Julia (behind baby), and possibly Jimmie (seated center front). Betty (my angel auntie) was to suffer a fatal burst appendix in 1925 at age 11.
The SS Ohioan, 1914-1934
What transforms this family story into a page of history is Captain Lloyd M. Read’s commission, the SS Ohioan. Built in 1914, it was one of eight sister ships ordered by American Hawaiian for inter-coastal service cargo via the Panama Canal. It cost $730,000. Launched on January 24, 1914, it weighed 6,649 gross register tons (GRT), was 407 feet 7 inches long and 53 feet 8 inches abeam. Cargo holds had storage capacity of 438,154 cubic feet and were outfitted with a complete refrigeration plant to carry perishable goods from the west coast. She had a single steam engine powered by oil-fired boilers that drove a single screw propeller at a speed of 12 knots (22 km/hour). Sugar and pineapple from Hawaii were her primary cargo.
World War I was underway in Europe, and the US declared war on Germany in 1917. The US Navy acquired the Ohioan in August 1918 and she was commissioned into the Naval Overseas Transportation Service, fitted with horse stalls, and sailed to France on November 1, 1918, transporting 60 officers and men and equestrian and general cargo. With the signing of the Armistice just days later on November 18, the task of bringing home American soldiers began and the Ohioan became a troop transport, with berths and expanded cooking and toilet facilities installed.
Among her passengers was Sergeant Alvin York, honored with the US Medal of Honor and the French Croix de Guerre for his heroism during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. A press conference was held on board upon arrival in New York. The 1941 film, Sergeant York, starring Gary Cooper (who won the Academy Award for best actor) portrayed his life story.
Another transport on the ship were 1,000 homing pigeons, including Cher Ami, whose valor flying through enemy fire saved a battalion and won her the Croix de Guerre as well. Great pains were taken to save her life, having lost a leg in her heroic flight.
The Ohioan resumed cargo service with the American Hawaiian line on October 6, 1919. Captain Read returned to the American Hawaiian line in 1925, was detailed to the Ohioan, and appointed Permanent Master of the vessel in 1928, sailing mainly to New York and the Panama Canal, with some travel to the Orient.
Lloyd joined the Naval Reserve and in 1928 was appointed Lieutenant Commander. The Ohioan was thus qualified to be part of the Naval Reserve fleet, shown below at the commissioning with Captain Read in suit behind the Naval Reserve flag.
The Ohioan’s adventures came to an end in a dramatic and legendary shipwreck off the Golden Gate. In the early hours of October 7, 1936, Ohioan ran aground near Seal Rock on the south shore of the Golden Gate, just outside San Francisco Bay. The ship, sailing in a dense fog, strayed too close to shore and grounded on the rocks, sending a shower of sparks that lit up the night. When the fog cleared later in the morning, the ship was firmly seated at the base of a 250-foot cliff, and some 300 feet from the mainland. Coast Guardsmen on the shore attached three lines to the ship and set up a breeches buoy to take off the harbor pilot, but the crew stayed on board the ship in hopes that the high tide would free her from the rocky perch.
(I have always believed that the harbor pilot bore some responsibility for the crash, as he would have been at the helm upon approach to the San Francisco Bay.)
Firsthand accounts of the crew describe a terrifying night.
Henry G. Fallan, Oiler: “I was down in the hole—that is, the engine room, oiling up when the crash came. I was feeling pretty happy because I was just about to go off watch and was on my last round and was figuring on a good time I was going to have tomorrow when I suddenly thought it was all over. The old ship quivered in every iron plate and made a heck of a grinding noise that scratched right up my spine. I could feel her biting into the rocks. It almost knocked me over. I stood by with my oil can waiting for orders, also waiting for the boat to roll over. Before I went above, the water started gushing in through a gap in a plate and it looked pretty bad. It was real experience waiting to get dumped into the cold water on a Friday night. But, heck, it was worth it.”
John Symchik, Quartermaster: “We were groping around in an awful thick fog, completely lost. First thing I knew the lookout yelled: 'Rocks! Starboard side!' Then the captain barked an order: 'Swing her hard to port!' And I sure did. I swung it so hard it nearly keeled me over, and the ship lurched a little as she grabbed the order. At that moment I could see a rock, sticking jagged out of the fog off starboard. We slid right by it (inner Seal Rock), and the doomed ship passed miraculously between that and the outer Seal Rock. We went on about twenty yards and there was an awful scraping as the ship jarred to a stop. When we first sighted the rock, the order was given for full reverse, but the ship went on before it could take hold of reverse and crashed. We stopped mighty sudden. We tried right away to back her off, but no way. The ship seemed to settle and then listed sharply to port side. Orders rang out for every man on board to get to his station. We could hear the fog horns, but we couldn’t see the shoreline. It sure was a night of suspense, waiting there every minute in this fog for the ship to break and send us all to Davey Jones. The fog was so thick that the men running around on desk looked like gray ghosts. I could hardly see my hands on the wheel. Boy, it sure is good to get your feet back on solid ground!”
All those on board made it safely to shore. As word of the shipwreck spread, spectators clambered over the cliff to get a view of the scene; one man died of a heart attack and two women broke ankles in separate falls. Newsboys soon arrived on the scene, selling newspapers telling of Ohioan’s woe within sight of the stranded ship. Policemen were called out to keep order as the crowd grew into the thousands.
All efforts to refloat the stranded ship failed, and by October 31, American-Hawaiian placed an advertisement in the Los Angeles Times requesting bids for the purchase of the ship and her cargo “as and where she now lies ... on the rocks near Point Lobos, San Francisco.” E.J. Mitchell was the winning bidder, securing rights to the ship and its cargo for $2,800.
In March 1937, five months after the wreck, the hull of the Ohioan caught fire when a watchman aboard the ship attempted to burn some meat in a refrigerator. The flames died out before reaching the explosives that remained aboard the wreck. A Pacific storm in December the same year caused the hull of the ship to break in two. By 1939, only remnants of some of Ohioan’s rusty steel beams were still visible on the rocks.
Today at Lands End, part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, at the northwest corner of San Francisco, a marker describes the many shipwrecks at the Golden Gate. At low tide, just beyond the Sutro Bath ruins, one may still be able to see pieces of the Ohioan’s boiler. The National Parks Maritime Museum has artifacts from the Ohioan that can be seen by appointment. Their library contains several newspaper and magazine clippings that tell more of the story.
Only one other ship ever duplicated the feat of the Ohioan, of running between Seal Rocks and the Mainland. That was the sailing schooner Paralle about 1900.
My mother, Julia O'Hara, wrote,
“Despite heroic efforts by my father, his men, the American Steamship and the salvage company, the ship was not saved. Captain Read was completely cleared of any blame and his Master’s License restored after a hearing. It was the end of his life at sea. In 1940 his license was again renewed, but in May of 1941 he died at home of a heart attack.
“He left his family a heritage of respect and love. The lessons that he learned as a boy in a hard life at sea never failed him. His courage and honesty were undimmed by hardships. I remember him as a stern man who would not compromise with what he felt was right. At the same time, he was generous and kind, and always ready to share his knowledge.”
His daughter in law, Caroline Read, told the story of a prank played on Captain Read by his crew. He had been asked to transport a sea turtle from Hawaii to New York and so he obliged, installing the turtle in his bathtub for the journey. An oddly shaped egg turned up in the kitchen, and his mates got the idea of sneaking the egg into the bathtub for Captain Read to discover. He did, and was awfully excited, if not a little maternal, to have this blessed event on the ship. By the time Ohioan arrived at its destination, there were no signs of life coming from the egg, and his shipmates confessed to the prank.
His son James was telling the story at lunch one day at Schroeder's Restaurant in San Francisco. Overhearing the story were two naval officers, who turned to Jimmie's table and said,
"It's the old man's son!"
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