John Barry - An American Hero in the Age of Sail

John Barry - An American Hero in the Age of Sail - By Tim McGrath.

A New Bio of Commodore John Barry – America’s Forgotten Hero

By William Kelly

There is a monument to John Barry at his birthplace in Wexford, Ireland, a suspension bridge named after him and a statute at his grave in the cemetery behind Independence Hall in Philadelphia, not far from where he lived for most of his life. There have also been a number of US Navy warships and a bar in Qatar named in his honor.

There’s been a concerted effort to honor his memory, but John Barry is one of America’s forgotten heroes. As the author of a new biography, Tim McGrath notes, “Visit that statue on a bright sunny day, as the tourists leave Independence Hall and invariably one sightseer will ask, ‘Who was Barry?’”

As most school children know, John Barry was an American Revolutionary War hero who is generally recognized as the “Father of the US Navy,” but after that, the details get fuzzy.

A serious biography of John Barry is a once in a lifetime occurrence so we are lucky to be able to get Tim McGrath’s John Barry – An American Hero in the Age of Sail (Westholme/Yardly, 2010), which gloriously details what the school texts leave out.

It’s been 75 years since the last real biography of Barry, William Bell Clark’s Gallant John Barry – the Story of a Naval Hero of Two Wars (MacMillan, 1938), which rekindled the debate over whether or not John Barry actually deserves the title of “Father of the US Navy,” but McGrath decisively answers that question without really outright saying so.

Barry’s presence is still felt as he is buried in the graveyard behind Independence Hall, where a larger than life statute guards the back door of where they signed the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, though few of the tourists actually know who he is or what he did.

Since Philadelphia is Barry’s adopted hometown, many if not most of the significant events in his life took place in or around Philadelphia, which is also Tim McGrath’s hometown, and McGrath paints an interesting and accurate portrait of the man and the revolutionary times in which he lived there.

The Commodore Barry Bridge spans the Delaware River – the same river that Barry sailed from to fight the British, the same river Washington crossed to surprise the Hessians at Trenton, using artillery from Barry’s ship, and it’s the same river forged by the cattle drive Barry helped lead to Valley Forge to supply Washington’s army. It’s the same river overlooked from the porch of Barry’s once famous home - Strawberry Hill, four miles north of center city.

Besides the bridge and the statute of Barry that stands over his grave behind Independence Hall, the local Hibernians named their clubhouse after him. Among the many ships named USS Barry, there’s a destroyer on active duty today and one full of treasure that was sunk by a Nazi U-boat during WWII. The treasure ship was salvaged by treasure hunters who opened the John Barry Bar in Muscat Oman. There too, they want to know, who is John Barry?

President John Kennedy knew who Barry was, and when he visited Ireland, stopped to pay his respects and lay a wreath at the monument to Barry in Wexford, which is where Kennedy’s family also hailed from. JFK also owned Barry’s sword, which was close at hand during the Bay of Pigs and Cuban Missile Crisis, and now resides at the JFK Presidential Library in Boston.

The library describes it as: “John Barry’s Sword. Date made: Late 18th century
Dimensions: 33 inches. Steel sword said to have belonged to Commodore John Barry, father of the American Navy. The cutlass has a single curved full blade, split knuckle guard, and turned wooden hilt. The blade is inscribed "Pro Gloria Et Patria" (for glory and country). The handle has a gilt, gargoyle head pommel from whose mouth extends the guard. The blade has numerous nicks indicating it saw battle. The sword hung in President John F. Kennedy's Oval Office.”

Barry’s sword was also previously owned by John Paul Jones, the only pretender to the title of “Father of the US Navy,” and who McGrath berates as a braggart who exaggerated his exploits. Some have also argued for John Adams, the lawyer who defended the British troops responsible for the Boston Massacre, but they all have strikes against their names. Jones was accused of killing one of his own sailors for insubordination, dodged one controversy after another, and pales in comparison to the exemplary and modest manner in which John Barry conducted himself. Yet, McGrath doesn’t come right out and say it – that John Barry is the Father of the US Navy, which he most certainly is.

Besides Barry’s Revolutionary War exploits at sea, capturing the first and last British ships of the war and defeating two British warships at once, he also distinguished himself on land during the British occupation of Philadelphia. Without a ship to sail, Barry conducted hit and run missions against British ships all along the Delaware and helped lead a vital cattle drive from the South Jersey to Valley Forge to help supply the rebel army at their winter quarters.

But John Barry isn’t the Father of the Navy because of his exemplary Revolutionary War record, which compares favorably to that of Jones, nor because President Washington named Barry the first flag officer of the reconstituted US Navy, which alone should be enough to lay claim to the title.

John Barry is the “Father of the US Navy” because he followed Washington’s order to raise a class of midshipmen to serve as the first officers of the US Navy, and they went on to distinguish themselves and establish style and traditions that are upheld by the US Navy today.

When he first met them Charles Stewart, Stephen Decatur and Richard Somers were mischievous young school kids who engaged in fisticuffs in the cemetery where Barry is now buried. They were selected and mentored by Barry, and often visited him at Strawberry Hill and the shipyard in South Philly where Barry oversaw the construction of the USS United States, one of the first frigates of the new US Navy. The building of a frigate was a fascinating spectacle and the launching of the battleship was a major civic and social occasion that drew most of the population of the city to witness it.

As the first Flag officer in the Navy, appointed by Washington, Barry chose Stewart his first officer and Somers and Decatur as midshipmen, and they went on to become navy heroes in their own right, with ships, streets and towns also named after them.

Aside from all that, Barry can be credited with expediting the approval of the Constitution of the United States, which some delegates kept from being passed by their absence, preventing a quorum and ratification. Barry led a group of ruffians they called the “Compellers,” who went out and rounded up the missing men and escorted them to the proceedings so their presence could be counted and the Constitution approved.

While McGrath’s academic biography of Barry may not reach those who want to know, perhaps someday Hollywood will make a swashbuckling movie about Barry, and those who visit his birthplace or his grave, transit his bridge and drink at the John Barry bar, will no longer have to wonder who he was.


William Kelly, Jr. is a freelance journalist from Browns Mills, New Jersey, and author of “300 Years at the Point” – a history of Somers Point, NJ, and “Birth of the Birdie” – the first hundred years of golf at the Atlantic City Country Club. He can be reached at Billkelly3@gmail.com (609) 425-6297

Recently, some members of the Wisconsin Legislature left the state so as they would prevent their congress from having a quorum and enact legislation they were against, a tactic similar to that used by those members of the Pennsylvania delegation to the Constitutional convention in Philadelphia who were against the adoption of the constitution. John Barry however, saw to it that they made the meeting.

John Barry and the Compellers – An exerpt (I believe I can get McGrath’s permission)
From: Tim McGrath’s John Barry - An American Hero in the Age of Sail (Westholme/Yardly 2010) p. 358-361:

“Around four, Barry rejoined the crowd in the gallery to witness the Federalists’ victory. The representatives ambled in – only not nearly as many as had left earlier. The clock stuck four. All nineteen anti-Federalists were missing. Their absence was their trump card: now, there was no quorum. There could be no vote.”

“The sergeant-at-arms was ordered to search for them. Before long he returned, having found seventeen representatives at Major Boyd’s boarding house, he reminded them of their duty, only to be told that ‘there is no House.” Mifflin, reviewing the Assembly’s by-laws, found no clause that forced members to attend, only a fine for their absence. The Federalists had been outfoxed…”

“A collective grown came from the gallery as the forty-three Federalists cast dismayed eyes at Mifflin…Barry and the crowd stomped down the steps and out into the Indian summer weather. Everyone knew what would happen the next morning: another no-show by the anti-Federalists. Without a quorum, there would be no convention, perhaps no ratification for a year. How may absent assemblymen were needed to have a quorum? Barry knew the answer: two.”

“Having celebrated their victory with a fine meal, spirits and a good night’s sleep, most of McCalmont’s anti-Federalist allies had already left town. Only two were still tarrying at Boyd’s: McCalmont and his roommate Jacob Miley of Dauphin County (Pa.), another tough frontiersman. When accosted by the sergeant-at-arms, they simply ignored him and refused to return. Everyone in the room looked to Mifflin. Now what?”

“With a nod to his companions, Barry and his men elbowed their way out of the gallery, jogged down the steps of the State House and out to Chestnut Street. Whether Mifflin was in on Barry’s plan is not known – but as Barry’s band exited, Mifflin ‘left the chair.’ By doing so, he delayed adjourning the assembly. Others in the gallery also followed Barry, but at a distance.”

“Barry’s companions strode up Chestnut to Sixth, then turned and headed right to Major Boyd’s. They forced their way in the front door, and then stomped upstairs to find McCalmont and Miley. The crowd trailing Barry turned into a mob, shouting curses and thowing stones through the boardinghouse windows. Barry and company did not bother to knock before entering.”

“As Barry’s toughs circled the two assemblymen, he gave the a choice: they could walk to the State House under their own power, or be carried there. Other politicians might have been struck with fear, but McCalmont and Miley were made of sterner stuff. They responded with their own profanity-laced declaration; they were not coming to the State House, despite the escort service confronting them. There was a second of silence. Then, ‘Take’em!’ Barry commanded, and the ‘compelling’ began.”

“The two ex-militiamen put up a fight. Fists were thrown, clothes were torn, and fingers were bitten or pried off the banisters. The representatives from Dauphin and Franklin counties punched and kicked in every direction, but to no avail. Messrs. McCalmont and Miley bid adieu to Major Boyd’s, without settling their bill.”

“Once outside, the two men were hoisted up and carried, as one newspaperman reported, with ‘their clothes torn and after much abuse and insult.’ Slowly but surely, ‘they were finally dragged’ down Chestnut Street. By now the clamor could be heard on the second floor of the State House. Peering out of one of the windows, Mifflin saw his two colleagues being assisted back to work, and then quietly excused himself from the chamber. Barry’s gang reached the State House doors. Moving to and fro, sideways, backward, sideways, forward, his toughs got to the stairway. They scuffled up the first five steps to the landing while McCalmont and Miley squirmed to free themselves, lashing out at their bearers, whose fingernails dug into their necks and hands, drawing blood. Their clothes torn in proportion to resistance became shredded rags.”

“The next two flights of stairs were sixteen steps each. A five-foot wide stairway is more than broad enough for a crowd to use – the prisoners easily negotiated Franklin’s sedan-chair daily – but his band, carrying two thrashing public servants, found it a narrow passage. The last flight of five stairs took the longest. To their credit, neither McCalmont nor Miley stopped fighting. When they could, they dug their feet into the stairs and flailed their arms. Finally, Barry and his men got through the doorway, literally throwing the two men over the rail that divided the gallery from the austere chamber of official government business. Thanks to Barry there was bedlam, but also a quorum.”

“The other assemblymen returned to their seats, Miffling, ‘assuming the chair, and the roll was called.’ The two manhandled legislators, bloodied, bruised, and half-naked, glared at him. Panting heavily, they felt for cracked ribs and broken fingers. When their names were called by the clerk, they were still out of breath – but their colleagues happily responded for them. ‘HERE!’ they cried. Mifflin acknowledged, to laughter and cheers, that a quorum was present. The session, delayed but not adjourned, began at last.”