Iowa-class battleships are far more than a masterpiece of steel and flame—they are a reflection of a nation’s determination, ingenuity, and tenacity. Built in an era of global strife and subjected to the demands of war, the vessels set out to become symbols of hope and resilience in a matter of time. They were fashioned to overcome barriers nobody had ever truly passed before, and their history has reached much farther than war history, inspiring movements and individuals who still find significance in their tale.
Already as early as the late 1930s, when the world was hurtling towards its next great war, U.S. Navy planners were confronted with one gigantic dilemma. How could a vessel be fast, strong, and well-armored simultaneously? To this point, planners had had to settle for these opposing qualities. The Iowa-class bucked the trend. Setting a new pace at record speed, armor, and firepower all in one, these vessels set the bar high for battleship construction.
Their options were intimidating. With eight Babcock & Wilcox boilers and four massive General Electric turbines capable of reaching speeds of 33 knots, the Iowa-class not only matched carrier groups in speed but also carried onboard hellish firepower. Each of them carried nine ginormous 16-inch guns, which could shoot 2,700-pound shells for 20 miles. With turret armor nearly 20 inches thick and side armor over a foot, these battleships could take the enemy’s fire and return it in brutal ferocity.
The Iowa class was not just an engineering wonder, either—it was a living, breathing piece of history. During World War II, these battleships escorted carriers, shattered enemy strongpoints, and starred in turn-the-tide battles such as Iwo Jima and Okinawa. No location was more full of symbolism than the deck of the USS Missouri, upon which in 1945 Japan formally surrendered and ended the war. The deck then stood for peace after one of the most lethal wars ever to deface human existence.
And as the world changed, so did they. They were never converted into museum ships. The Navy modernized them and refurbished their gear, and redeployed them to war from the Korean War to Cold War hotspots and even Operation Desert Storm. Again and again, the Iowa-class was refitted with radar, helicopters, and even the Tomahawk cruise missile, showing their potential for flexibility and keeping up with a changing military world.
But technology eventually revolutionized naval war. Precision-guided firepower, extended-range strikes, and information warfare began reshaping sea norms. Even the very ancient battleship, which was immune to being hit by firepower before, had its limits during this time.
Battleship warfare was being eclipsed by speedier, more intelligent, and networked warfare. Rather than retiring these leviathans to service for which they were unsuited, the Navy used the lessons of their endurance and adaptability in newer navies and subs, transferring the spirit of the Iowa-class.
But their fate wasn’t at the piers. They were salvaged and reused as museums and public spaces. The USS Iowa, for example, rests forever in Los Angeles. It no longer sets sail to fight, but still represents a cause, with thousands of tourists a year who travel to see not just its enormity and ingenuity but the principles that it represents: sacrifice, ingenuity, and pride.
Iowa is a nexus of education, outreach, and remembrance. From public celebration and youth programming to veterans’ service, it spans generations. Individuals walk its decks, listen for the hands that sailed, and connect with history on a personal level. The ship does more than transport people back in time—it transports them forward with understanding, reflection, and inspiration.
Why the Iowa-class is so magnificent is not necessarily what it accomplished in conflict, but how it still speaks to us today. They remind us that history is not a collection of dead dates and facts. They are reminders of power, of knowledge, of will, and that greatness does not perish but transforms, that it is recharged for new uses and new generations of men. Whether steaming across open water as young women or standing upright as commanding museum displays, the Iowa-class battleships teach us that heritage can expand without losing power.
When we refer to the Iowa-class, we are not referring, by any stretch of the imagination, to America’s greatest battleships. We are referring to ruggedness, guile, and will of steel—things that bear the roar of the guns. That legacy lives on today, not so much sailed across seas as in the heads of all who remember and revere their past.