Certain ships carry more than rivets and steel—they carry memories, pride, and a sense of affiliation with the people who hold them dear. Few ships have that sense as much as the Battleship Texas. She’s not just a relic of history; she’s a living example of determination, ingenuity, and shared commitment to saving history. The history of Texas is not really about her guns or armor—it’s about the men who sailed on her and the people who wouldn’t let her story be forgotten.
Commissioned in 1914, the Texas was a fast favorite of the U.S. Navy. Her massive ten 14-inch guns, which could target at 12 miles, stood at the pinnacle of naval firepower during her time. But there was more to Texas than her guns. She was pioneering—the first American battleship to send an aircraft into service and the sole dreadnought to serve in both World Wars. Presidents, athletes, and thousands of sailors from all over the country trooped her decks over the years.
Texas saw combat with the British Grand Fleet in the North Sea during World War I and participated in key World War II campaigns: North Africa, Normandy, Southern France, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. Surprisingly, she only fired a single man towards the enemy—a testament to her power and the professionalism of those on board.
Following her decommissioning in 1948, the Texas became America’s first battleship museum, moored at the San Jacinto Battleground permanently. Though her place was appropriate, time and weather started to wear her down. Leaks caused pumps to continually operate, draining thousands of gallons of water per minute. What survived withstood storms and combat, but now was threatened by a more insidious, slow creep: deterioration.
But the spirit that had driven the Texas through combat never abandoned her. Even before her plight became widely recognized, volunteers materialized—welders, historians, engineers—all willing to donate their time and expertise. David, one volunteer, spent time repairing gun mounts and brass hardware, calling it “a meaningful kind of work,” the opportunity to be a part of something greater than himself.
Returning Texas to its former glory was a daunting task. Hundreds of tons of steel were replaced, her original Measure 21 camouflage from World War II restored, and years of wear carefully repaired. The endeavor took more than 300,000 man-hours and cost $75 million, according to those extensively involved.
Walking her decks in restoration was a surreal experience. Volunteers said it was like stepping into a suspended moment in time. Texas was awe-inspiring even in distress. The fellowship among her restoration crew rivaled the cohesiveness of the crew that had once navigated her through storms and battle.
Restoration was not without controversy. Galveston, Baytown, and Beaumont each tried to secure the ship as a guest, each presenting an argument, making the ultimate decision anything but easy.
Ultimately, the task was evident: salvage the ship and tell her tale. Pier 15 in Galveston was her home—not a conclusion, but a start. Her decks can be walked by visitors, they can look over her bow, and envision the decades of history she lived through.
What really makes Battleship Texas special isn’t her wartime record or the restoration project—it’s the commitment of the community and volunteers who preserved her. As Battleship Texas Foundation’s Matt Pham says, there isn’t another location in the state where an individual can place his or her hand upon a ship that lived through both world wars. She’s a treasure and evidence of the good that people can do when they come together for a collective purpose.
Beyond being a vessel, Texas is a movable bit of common heritage. Her preservation demonstrates that history isn’t between book covers—it exists in the things we love and save. Because of the time, effort, and dedication of many volunteers, generations to come won’t read about her—they’ll stroll her decks, sense her presence, and feel the beat of history under their feet.