DATE: Thursday, November 27, 1997           TAG: 9711260988
SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B3   EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: Military: A Special Weekly Report

SOURCE: BY JACK DORSEY, STAFF WRITER 

DATELINE: ABOARD THE WISCONSIN              LENGTH:  101 lines

THE WISCONSIN'S RESTLESS WAIT

It sleeps lightly, this giant of a ship, tied firmly to a concrete pier at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard, all but hidden from public view on the Southern Branch of the Elizabeth River where it awaits any call to report back to work.

Frighteningly silent inside, except for the slight hum of eight dehumidifiers that pull moisture out of its skin, the 54-year-old battleship Wisconsin almost beckons to be aroused once more.

That awakening may come, at least briefly, if the Navy's proposal to move the Wisconsin from its Portsmouth berth to downtown Norfolk, next to Nauticus, two miles away, is approved.

The city and the Navy have been working on a deal that would do just that. It may be six months to a year before that can take place, officials say.

However, the wheels are in motion to find between $3.5 million and $5 million to prepare a site just north of Nauticus to keep the dreadnaught in a mothballed state while allowing the public limited access to her teak main deck. The move is necessary because the shipyard needs the space the Wisconsin fills.

If the project falls through, the Wisconsin will be towed to a Navy pier in Newport, R.I. That is about the only place left on the East Coast where the Navy has a pier large enough to moor this ship.

If moved to Newport, it would be joined there by the decommissioned aircraft carriers Saratoga and America, plus the battleship Iowa. They are in Philadelphia, the site of a now-closed naval shipyard, and must be moved to make way for commercial development.

Meanwhile, the battle-tested veteran Wisconsin, repeatedly moved among the shipyard's piers like an in-the-way relic, floats restlessly in Portsmouth.

Fewer than a dozen workers scurry through the ship's innards during the day, checking for leaks, propping up the hundreds of feet of gray plastic duct work that carries the dry air throughout her 887-foot length and across her 108-foot beam.

Jim Penney, a former senior chief boatswain's mate in the Navy, is one of the ship's caretakers. He's now a maintenance foreman from Global Associates, hired to maintain the Wisconsin in mothballs.

He and Dale Raxter, assistant maintenance manager for Global, walk the darkened passageways of the battleship with ease, while I bump my protective hard hat on every low-hanging pipe and my shins on every knee-level bulkhead.

``She takes care of herself pretty well,'' Penney said as he entered the captain's in-port cabin, a spacious room that remains as spotless as if the C.O. were still aboard.

Sensors placed in critical areas signal the dehumidifiers whenever a door is left open, or a seal has broken, keeping the inside of the ship at a perfect 40 percent humidity.

Forty percent relative humidity is enough to prevent corrosion and rust. The painted metal surfaces, plastics and rubber appear in perfect condition. The paint doesn't peel under such conditions.

``It will stay that way forever,'' Raxter said.

The only heat inside comes from the limited number of overhead lights that remain on in some areas and the small amount of heat the machines generate.

Otherwise, Raxter said, if it's freezing outside, it is inside as well. The same holds true in the summer when the thick metal sides of the ship absorb the heat, raising temperatures inside to nearly 100 degrees. Some relief is felt because of the absence of moisture, allowing conditions to be almost tolerable.

Gray leather chairs still rim the dining room tables in the officers' Ward Room off the ship's main deck. Plastic cloths still line the tables.

The berthing racks in the crew's quarters remain in place; only the mattresses and rugs have been removed.

An admiral's brown leather chair faces an empty plotting board in the ship's command information center.

While the ship's wheel has been removed, along with numerous other highly pilferable booty, they are nearby, locked in storage, Raxter said.

The Wisconsin's mammoth 16-inch gun turrets are sealed in preservatives and never exercised.

The bilges, 28 feet below the water line, are dryer than when the ship is underway.

``If we find any water down there, we have to take it out,'' Penney said.

Yet the Wisconsin lists about one degree to port, Raxter said.

``We kept thinking there was water in there somewhere and were hoping we could find it,'' he said.

They never did.

Conclusion: It was accidentally built that way, possibly an engineering flaw that was never really noticed when the ship was filled with fuel and supplies.

The Wisconsin's hull is a constant maintenance chore. There, the elements wear on the ship's surfaces, requiring the maintenance crews to sand and chip and paint.

Its 2-inch-thick teakwood decks, covering 140,000 linear feet - more than four acres - take special attention. The teak was replaced 10 years ago when the Wisconsin re-entered service. Its purpose is to protect the 1 1/2-inch steel deck underneath from rust and to reflect heat to keep the ship cool inside.

Asked if he is bothered by the prospect of the visiting public someday walking on the decks, Penney said no.

``But high heels might be a problem,'' he added.

Raxter and his crew would move to Norfolk with the ship if the plan becomes a reality, they said.

``We'd love to go with her,'' Penney said. ``If we moved, all we'd need is electricity.''

It sounds as if they'd like to go today. ILLUSTRATION: MEL GIPSON, U.S. Navy file photo

U.S.S. Wisconsin

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