A talented writer and skilled illustrator, Raymond Toner's military career eventually led to captaincy in the Navy. At the age of eighteen, he entered the Naval Service and after graduating from the Naval Academy in January 1933, he received his well-deserved commission. His initial duties from up to 1940 kept him landlocked in the organized reserves between Chicago and Michigan City, commanding the 19th, 21st, and 22nd Divisions. In early 1936, he was among the first contingent of naval reservists ordered to report for training with the Civilian Conservation Corps across the country. Arriving at an Army post in southwestern Kentucky, Toner and two other ensigns were attached to a veteran company comprised of unemployed men aged seventeen to twenty-eight.
The camp he encountered was a carefully maintained site with rustic amenities crafted by the corps members themselves. White gravel paths wound through lush lawns and flowering beds, while a stone bridge arched over a meandering stream. The utilitarian Army barracks were softened by neatly trimmed hedges, and the officer's quarters resembled a hunting lodge, featuring a roaring fireplace and familiar naval nomenclature above the doors.
Toner quickly appreciated the transformative power of the CCC program. These men had faced years of unemployment, yet through camp life, they began reclaiming purpose and security. He noted their physical revival as they worked outdoors on environmental projects, their sallow complexions replaced by a healthy tan.
After a month, Toner was reassigned to an administrative role, overseeing enrollment as the CCC inducted youths from across the region. He marveled at their excitement over simple pleasures like ice cream, showers and other simple luxuries many had never experienced in the deep country.
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In 1937, the Ohio River valley faced catastrophic flooding. Toner's 19th Division was not mobilized until late January and were hastily outfitted with hip boots, slickers, and wool socks. With a convoy of army trucks, Toner led his men towards the raging floodwaters while officers went ahead to secure a staging area.
Their division was assigned a landing dock just blocks from the swollen river itself. They quickly went about servicing a motley assortment of small civilian boats powered by outboard motors. Most of the motors were in disrepair, sabotaged by well-meaning but inept "experts." Toner's mechanics deftly took over, restoring the engines to working condition in order to ferry stranded survivors to the docks.
Over the next few days, the 19th Division conducted an increasingly desperate evacuation as the floods showed no sign of cresting. Their small boats wove through the freezing waters, pulling families from their homes across the vast floodplain. They even carried out daring rescues of livestock marooned on tiny dry patches of land. When they completed emergency evacuations, the naval forces turned their efforts to sustaining the besieged population. Boat crews transported doctors, nurses, medical supplies, and food rations to areas transformed into islands by the encircling floodwaters.
When the flood had subsided enough that Toner's unit could be relieved of their waterborne duties, the Division's role shifted to rehabilitation, returning residents back to their homes laden with cleaning supplies to combat the staggering amount of silt and debris left behind. As streets drained, they provided security patrols to prevent looting of the damaged areas. The Naval forces quietly returned to their reserve duties in neighboring states. It would be another four years until national emergency recalled Toner to active duty.
ATLANTIC
In August 1940, Toner reported for active service, initially tasked with instructing seamanship and navigation at the Naval Reserve Midshipmen's School. However, the escalating conflict encroaching across the Atlantic soon demanded able men for sea duty. Between March and June 1942, he trained at the Submarine Chaser Training Center in Miami after which he took command of the newly commissioned PC-465. The submarine chaser embarked as a convoy escort on her maiden voyage to Norfolk, Virginia, and then off with another convoy for Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The tension was palpable as the ship navigated the perilous waters, ever vigilant for the slightest indication of an enemy presence lurking beneath the waves.
As the waters broiled with phantoms of U-Boats through the summer of 1942, a relentless cycle of patrolling and escorting continued. The expeditions to South and Central American ports opened Toner to a part of the Americas he would grow to greatly appreciate. Between Coco Solo, Panama, and Guantanamo Bay, the Caribbean Sea became his battlefield.
In a gripping account published in the Chicago Tribune, Toner vividly described the intensity of these encounters: "There's a strange excitement and eagerness that instantly prevails either in broad daylight or in the dead of night when the screeching howl of the general alarm sounds. There's a hurry of orderly confusion, the quick sounding of buzzers, and the sound in the dark of disembodied voices as all stations report their readiness.
“After the tactical problem of the approach is completed and the charges are dropped, everyone listens intently for the detonation of the first charge. When they begin to detonate, one is impressed again by the tremendous power of the explosion. It feels as if a huge fist suddenly smashed against the bottom of the ship. The morale of the men goes zooming up and trigger fingers begin to itch. When one has seen ships go up in roaring flames that tower hundreds of feet into the sky and light up the night, it at last begins to feel that a few runs are coming in for our side when those tons of TNT begin to rip the ocean apart.”
After leaving PC-465 in December 1942, he took command of PC-1225 for three months and then the U.S.S. Reuben James until July 1943, but it was the war in the Pacific on Destroyer Escorts that proved most harrowing.
PACIFIC
While the Carribean felt vast and isolated, the immensity of the Pacific was nearly unfathomable. In his little destroyer escort U.S.S. Fleming, Toner cruised across the unending sea for Tarawa in January 1944. He had been on board since September with little in the way of action. Even escort missions and patrolling to Makin, Majuro, Funafuti and Kwajalein through April were quiet. He transferred to the U.S.S. Robert F. Keller in April, and throughout the year found the sea to be more treacherous than the threat of Japanese. It was in December 1944 that he came closest to death in his destroyer escort.
He woke in his bunk from the buzzing of his phone – not the tossing and pitching of the ship as might be expected in such an angry sea. He picked up the receiver in the dark to listen to the officer of the desk announce himself and report: “The sea has been making up for the past hour or so, the wind has increased to gale force and I’m having difficulty keeping station on the carrier. Also, the chief engineer has just called and requested permission to commence deballasting.”
He looked in the direction of his clock. The luminous hands read 0430. “Is it light enough to make out the surface of the sea?” he asked.
"Not light enough to make out things clearly, sir, but what I can see doesn’t look good.”
"Very well, I’ll be on the bridge in a few minutes, meanwhile, tell the chief engineer not to deballast. I doubt if there is going to be much fueling today.”
Countering the pitching of the ship, Toner stepped out of his bed and dressed before going down the hall, careful not to slam into the walls or equipment, and down the ladder to the wardroom. By the dim red battle lights, he carefully poured a cup of coffee and returned the carafe to its secure bolted machine where it swirled violently as the ship lurched around.
Sipping the bitter brew, he reviewed the situation. Their task unit was scheduled to fuel at first light, but the storm might change those plans. This was not uncharted territory for his third combat command. The crew was experienced, the ship secured for heavy weather. Now it was a matter of tackling each issue as it arose.
Finished with his cup, he left the wardroom for the pilot house which led to the open bridge. The quarter¬master of the watch reported that the barometer was reading less than 28 inches and falling fast. About 30 inches is normal barometric pressure at sea level. Exiting to the bridge, Toner was immediately hit with a sharp mist that stung his nostrils. The men on watch had handerchiefs tied around their faces and he imitated their solution. Everyone was soaked, and Toner was quickly saturated by sea spray from the warm howling wing.
He gripped the bridge's spray shield, his eyes straining against the stinging wind and sea spray to make out the towering green walls of water surging towards his ship. As the first hints of dawn broke through the yellowish haze, the Keller was already being battered mercilessly. Coachwhip antennas bent near parallel to the decks, while spindrift hissed across the wave troughs to swirl into the stack. Raymond knew there would be no fueling operations that day for the task force. He ordered the crew to secure for the worsening typhoon, all hands avoiding the weather decks as the ship maintained maximum watertight integrity.
Time blurred as Raymond focused solely on conning the ship, which had become a relentless challenge of extreme rudder angles and engine adjustments just to maintain course and formation. The executive officer, next to Toner, cup his hands against his ears and yelled to be heard. "Captain, the bot¬tom has fallen out of the barometer and we’ve just heard a TBS (talk between ships) transmission from the carrier to the fleet commander, saying that she’s having difficulty main¬taining her course, that some of her planes have broken loose on her hangar deck and that fires have broken out.”
He nodded to acknowledge and cupped his hands and yelled into the executives ear. "Is everything secure belowdecks?” His executive officer nodded before disappearing into the pilot house to make rounds throughout the ship.
The carrier did not call for assistance, as if any ship could do more than fend for themselves. The crew held on the destroyer escort scaled towering walls of water one moment only to drop into a churning trough that threatened to swallow them the next. Despite every seamanship technique, the ship often felt powerless against the monstrous forces of wind and sea battering her hull.
As they clung to survival at mercy of the sea, a man pulled on toners arm and gestured into the haze. Squinting blurry eyes in the direction of his frantic pointing, he finally distinguished a mere few hundred yards away the looming sillouette of another destroyer escort ready to crash into them. Raymond reacted instantly, yelling into the voice tube that led to the pilot house.
"All engines ahead flank!” Then after yelling the code name for the U.S.S. Tabberer, "My engines are ahead flank, back down full or you’ll ram me!” In a moment, the loudspeaker projected a familiar Georgia voice, “Rogah, Ah’m backin’ full,” as the sister ship’s bow dropped into a massive wave before disappearing behind the thick veil of spray again.
As the barometer finally began rising, the storm's fury slowly abated in the afternoon. The western sky cleared, and the battered ships, mere survivors of the battle, emerged on the horizon to regroup. But the toll had been immense – three vessels sunk, nearly 800 sailors perished, and scores more ships damaged beyond repair. In the days and weeks that followed, the crews worked tirelessly to repair and recover from the devastation. The carrier's hangar deck fires were contained, and planes were slowly replaced or refitted for service. On the Keller, Raymond prepared his crew to return to the grueling grind of the war at sea. The ship's company had proven their mettle against one of nature's most terrifying forces. The Pacific's wrath was never far away in this contested realm.
KOREA
On the flagship of the famed Seahorse Squadron under Captain C.A. Dillavou, Commander Toner sailed into Korean waters in command of the U.S.S. English in October 1950. They departed Norfolk on September 6th, making her way through the Panama Canal, San Diego, Pearl Harbor, and Yokosuka by October 5th. Her crew prepared for the demanding months ahead as they engaged in a steady routine of bombardments along the deep east coast of Korea. For nine months, the destroyer consistently shelled enemy-held ports, firing over 10,000 rounds during a 15-day blockage operation off Wonsan. Three times she would be straddled by communist artillery salvos.
During the critical evacuation of Hungnam on Christmas Eve, she became the last allied ship to leave. The English then joined forces with two corvettes of the Royal Thai Navy to shell communist positions at Choderi and Chongjin. One of the Thai corvettes, HMTS Prase, was ran aground on January 7th in a heavy snowstorm. After several failed attempts to salvage her from the beach near Yangyang, she was scuttled by gunfire from the English.
After the hard winter off North Korea, the English sailed south to serve as direct fire support for a division of the Republic of Korea Army. She shelled Kanson, Kosgon and Kangnung where the ROK Capital Division called urgently for support. The ship’s guns fired over the ROKs heads at two enemy battalions attacking over an open plain under cover of darkness. As the sun rose, the Korean troops moved through thick clouds of white phosphorous smoke from the English to counter the attack. The ROK commander later visited to express gratitude, presenting Commander Toner with a porcelain lion as a token of appreciation.
By March 1st she had fired her six thousandth round of five-inch ammunition, focusing on enemy supply lines and railroads, warehouses, and industrial areas in the Chongjin and Nanam areas. In June had doubled that number with more than 12,600 rounds, setting a record for destroyers in Korea. After a final period of service screening carriers on both coasts of Korea, she sailed from Yokosuka on May 11th eastbound for Norfolk.
LATIN AMERICA
The Cold War seen across the Atlantic overshadowed activity in the Americas where, as Toner saw it, the United States ‘relieved Latin American countries from the burden of having to maintain large military establishments to assure freedom from intervention from major powers in other portions of the world.’ He found it would be most advantageous for the entire western hemisphere to join forces and work together against world threats. His passion for the Americas only grew in the 1950s and it was well suited that he was appointed Chief of the Naval Mission to Ecuador in May 1953 where he was tasked with advising the Minister of Defense for the Republic of Ecuador until July 1955.
Three years later, he was deployed aboard the U.S.S. Mississinewa to provide logistical support for the Sixth Fleet during the Lebanon Crisis. As factional violence gripped the tiny nation, the U.S. intervened at the request of the pro-Western President Camille Chamoun by landing over 14,000 Marines in Operation Blue Bat.
From just offshore, Toner's supply ship became a lifeline for the American expeditionary force, refueling over 200 ships of the 6th Fleet as they stood guard over the chaotic situation. Though the intervention was controversial, the show of decisive American force helped stabilize Lebanon and prevent it from falling into the Soviet sphere of influence. After months of tense standoff, the Marines withdrew in October 1958 after a new president took power.
He returned to the Caribbean as tensions brewed over Soviet influence in Cuba and a crackdown on dissent in the Dominican Republic, Toner was summoned to command the U.S. Naval Station in San Juan, Puerto Rico in 1962. From this strategic outpost, he oversaw the massive buildup of American naval power in the region during the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962. Though the world teetered on the brink of nuclear war, the standoff marked a decisive victory for American power and resolve in the Cold War struggle against communist expansion.
In reflecting on his career, Toner eloquently summarized the mission of defending the Western Hemisphere through cooperation and deterrence rather than force of arms alone. He expressed pride in how "Latin American military men and forces are proving that they can accomplish realistic missions in defense of our Hemispheric Homeland." United by shared values rather than coercion, Toner declared with conviction: "We are all Americans."