The U.S. Navy Memorial Log Entry for David A. Barker

Since 1977, I have represented veterans in their claims before the Department of Veteran Affairs.
To lesser extent, the Social Security Administration, the military and naval services.

As most sailors, my Navy experience will live with me throughout my lifetime. In my experience as a Veterans Service Officer, I do realize we have a tendency to remember the best of times and forget those days of struggle and woe.

I wish to leave my thoughts of our involvement in the infamous Bay of Pigs, Cuba incident. I served aboard the USS Cony DDE 508. We were one of seven destroyers of DESRON 28, Task Group Alpha serving with the USS Essex CV-9 and the USS San Marcos LSD-25, in the actual waters off the coast of southern Cuba. The event was from Monday, April 17th to Friday April 21, 1961. But not just another workweek.

This story is true; but it almost falls into a "sea story" category. We were not given any indication, of any change in our normal "out to sea" for ASW exercises. We all expected to be out for our normal two weeks and return for two weeks in port. As our DESRON was two in two out. When the ship Quartermasters were ordered to no longer log our position and no longer to use the sextant. We all became suspicious.

Our Captain (CDR. Frank Dunham) who with our XO (Lt. Jack Wilson) did all of the readings and logs. None of the crew had access to any logs or equipment to allow us to figure out where we were. We did know for sure we were not in our usual patrol areas and it was getting hot, in temperature as well as pressure. Neither the Captain nor the XO spoke of what was going on. When we asked we only received a smile. Fortunately for the Cony sailors we had two outstanding leaders, both were very crew oriented. The smiles were seemingly sincere; but we understood.

The seven destroyers were chosen to go into the bay , they were the Bache, Beale, Cony, Conway, Eaton, Murray and the Waller. The Essex and San Marcos remained further at sea. At this time, I was a leading seaman and in charge of the side cleaners. We were instructed to go over the side and paint off the five of our hull number. We became the 08 rather than 508. We then painted off the name Cony on the stern. Then our Commission pennant and U.S. Flag were removed; there was no longer any question of what we were going to do. We still didn't know where or why. We had unknown (to us) civilians come aboard, VIA our motor whaleboat. Although I was a member of the boat crew, we were not to speak to them at any time, for any reason.

As documented by author Peter Wyden in his book THE BAY OF PIGS, THE UNTOLD STORY (Simon & Schuster 1978), our ships did meet some resistance. It is further documented in the VFW Magazine (September 1993), "a whaleboat carrying sailors heavily armed with Browning automatic rifles, from the Cony, was beached at one stage. While rescuing Brigade survivors, it was fired on by a Cuban helicopter." Actual small arms fire struck the Cony. A round from a Cuban artillery piece was fired over the bow of at least one of the destroyers. We went to GQ. It seemed as if GQ lasted for the entire five days, but I am sure we had breaks in the time or at least went to a relaxed battle condition.

Several times during the invasion we were certain we were at war with Cuba. However we were unaware that the President of the United States had altered the plans of the invasion. Of course we sailors, other than the Captain and XO had no idea of where we were, or what we were doing. In an amusing fact, it is a lot of what we experience today, from the layman's perspective. While underway to our port, we were instructed by the Captain, not to discuss any event we had observed or heard about. After our return to port, one of the crew members of the USS Conway had written a poem of the Bay of Pigs, the poem was briskly distributed throughout the DESRON and retrieved just about as quick. We were again instructed not to discuss the events with anyone.

When I first read the book BAY OF PIGS: THE UNTOLD STORY, I called Captain Dunham and asked him if we could finally discuss that event. The skipper told me we were now declassified and could tell the world. For the first time in my life in 1978 I told family and friends, not one seemed impressed at all. Too little, too late.

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