USS New Jersey (BB-62) being towed toward the Brooklyn Navy Yard following her recommissioning, November 1950

Steel Giant Reborn: USS New Jersey (BB-62) Returns to Service at the Dawn of a New Era
On a brisk November morning in 1950, the mighty silhouette of the USS New Jersey (BB-62) cut through the chill rising off New York Harbor. Once the pride of the Pacific Fleet, the battleship’s imposing bulk glided quietly, not under her own power, but at the measured pace of tugboats pulling her stern-first toward the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Her recommissioning marked not just the return of a legendary warship, but a momentous chapter in the evolving story of America’s naval might during a rapidly changing world.
A Legend Awakened
The USS New Jersey was no stranger to the sounds of steel against water. Launched in 1942, she thundered into the heart of World War II, lending her guns in epic confrontations across the Pacific: from the Marshall Islands to the Philippines, from the Marianas to Okinawa. Her massive 16-inch guns had once shaken enemy shores and defended fleets against relentless air attacks.
But by the late 1940s, the world seemed to have turned its back on the battleship era. Aircraft carriers were now the new rulers of the seas. After Japan surrendered, New Jersey was decommissioned in 1948, and like so many of her sisters, lay silent, a monument to a bygone world war.
The outbreak of hostilities on the Korean Peninsula in June 1950, however, forced a dramatic reversal in naval priorities. The USS New Jersey—along with other Iowa-class behemoths—was called from her slumber, her formidable firepower desperately needed to support United Nations forces engaged in grueling combat in Korea.
A Journey Through History
The story of New Jersey’s journey toward Brooklyn wasn’t simply a matter of logistical necessity. It was a symbolic passage: a steel titan, dormant for years, moving through the bustling waters of peacetime America, drawing crowds on both shores of the East River. As she passed under the shadow of Manhattan’s skyscrapers, New York’s citizens gazed inquisitively. Children pointed in awe. Veterans and dockworkers alike nodded with quiet familiarity—the battleship was part of their collective memory.
Inside, New Jersey wore the scars of earlier combat—the pitted armor, the weathered decks, echoes of Kamikaze strikes and typhoon winds. Her recommissioning was more than a fresh coat of paint and new hands at the rails. Engineers, machinists, and welders would soon descend upon the ship, beginning the exacting process of replacing or overhauling engines, updating communications, modernizing radar, and readying her great turrets once again. This was not a rebirth, but an evolution.
Brooklyn Navy Yard: Arsenal of Democracy
The Brooklyn Navy Yard had played host to legends before: USS Arizona, USS Missouri, and lesser-known but vital ships of war. By the 1950s, the yard was a nexus of American ingenuity and blue-collar determination. Shipwrights who had riveted their way through WWII now welcomed New Jersey, eager to return another steel giant to glory.
For the men assigned to recommission her, there was a certain romance in their work. Every replaced bolt, every tested turbine, was an act of renewal—not just for the ship, but for the hard-learned lessons of war. In the workshops and below decks, new sailors mingled with old, their conversations bridging the gap between generations. The past was ever-present: stories of Leyte Gulf and Saipan mixed with casual talk of radio tubes and sonar upgrades.
The Return of the Battleship
The recommissioning of USS New Jersey was more than a bureaucratic milestone. In a world newly divided by the Iron Curtain, the presence of an Iowa-class battleship was both a reassurance and a warning. Her return was broadcast by radios and newspapers across the country. The sight of her great hull reminded America—and the world—that the arsenal of democracy could still flex its muscle.
Equipped with improved anti-aircraft guns, advanced fire control systems, and a refreshed crew, New Jersey would soon be on her way to distant waters. For the sailors who would serve aboard her in Korea, there was pride and anticipation. The ship had a legacy to uphold, and she would not disappoint.
More Than Steel and Rivets
But the story of New Jersey’s tow to Brooklyn is about more than war and steel. It is a story of transformation and resilience. The battleship carried with her not only the history of naval warfare, but the hopes of a nation grappling with anxieties about the atomic age and the Cold War. For the citizens lining the docks, she was a reassurance that the nation could rise to any challenge. For the sailors who would race to man her decks, the recommissioning was a call to serve a cause larger than themselves.
Life aboard a recommissioned battleship was never easy. The roar of the engines, the discipline of daily drills, and the constant state of readiness kept nerves sharp and bonds strong. Yet, as New Jersey prepared to test her engines and weapons once more, there was a sense of unity and purpose—a recognition that, even in a world dominated by newer technologies, there remained a place for the might and tradition she embodied.
Setting Sail Into a New Era
In the months that followed, the Brooklyn Navy Yard transformed the once-silent hull into a living, breathing warship. On April 21, 1951, USS New Jersey was formally recommissioned. She would go on to bombard enemy positions in Korea, her guns again roaring in support of American and UN troops, her gun crews forging new legends in the crucible of war.
As the battleship sailed from the East Coast to distant combat zones, the memory of that November tow toward the Brooklyn Navy Yard lingered—not just as a logistical movement, but as a symbol of American resilience and adaptability. The USS New Jersey would serve through Korea, Vietnam, and even into the Cold War, her name and spirit etched into the saga of U.S. naval history.
Today, as a museum ship, New Jersey rests in quiet dignity—a testament to the men who sailed her and the era she helped define. But on that November morning in 1950, as she floated steadily toward Brooklyn’s storied slips, she was not just a relic of the past, but the embodiment of a nation ready to meet the challenges of a new world.