The Iowa-class battleships were larger than rugged, gun-toting brutes of proportion. They were unstoppable symbols of American determination, will, and brains. Conceived in the eras of world crises and forged in conflict, these icon ships embodied audacious solutions to problems of their time. And decades since their guns grew quiet, their legend resounds—not so much in the annals of warfare but in the cities bearing their names today.
Back in the late 1930s, when a second world war was looming on the horizon, U.S. Navy shipbuilders had their plates full: how to build a ship that was fast and armed up, and as hard a concept as this was to imagine, hard enough to take a beating—and all three simultaneously. Before that, that didn’t necessarily go together. But the Iowa-class blew that theory to smithereens. For the very first time, speed, armor, and firepower came together in one concept.
They could sail around oceans at 33 knots with the help of eight behemoth boilers driving four colossus turbines. That allowed them to match speeds with aircraft carrier flight, but still unleash the terrible wrath of nine 16-inch guns, shooting 2,700-pound shells up to 20 miles. With almost 20 inches of armor plating on their turrets and a foot of steel along the sides, they were built to punch and take the punch.
They were, however, more than they were technical miracles. They were members of the most pivotal players in the 20th century’s most pivotal events. In World War II, Iowa-class battleships screened carriers, bombarded enemy positions, and introduced raw power to climactic battles such as Iwo Jima and Okinawa.
Their most legendary moment perhaps was on the USS Missouri, when in 1945, Japan officially surrendered, the most expensive war in history. That ship’s deck became code for peace resulting from unimaginable sacrifices.
Decades went by, and the Iowa-class wasn’t going to be doomed to the history texts. The Navy just kept refitting and re-deploying them time and time again, modifying them for new wars. Even through Korea, Cold War terrors, and even Operation Desert Storm, these giants made their way back onto the seas with updated radar, helicopters, and even Tomahawk cruise missiles. Their versatility amazed, demonstrating that battleships were still good for use many years beyond their retirement dates.
However much they kept up with the times, naval warfare math was in transition. Precision-guided munitions, beyond-line-of-sight aerial power, and long-range battery missiles rewritten the sea war handbook. The era of battles between giant guns opened onto decades of speed, stealth, and electronic synchrony. Even titanic Iowas were not immune to that revolution.
But their story did not end the last time they were deployed into service. It was, rather, a beginning to a new one. Instead of being sent to the junkyard, these ships were preserved as living memorials. The USS Iowa, moored in the harbor at Los Angeles, is host to thousands of tourists each year. No longer a combat ship, it is a site where people come together—a floating memorial to sacrifice, to resourcefulness, and to national pride.
And now Iowa is more than a hulk. She is a schoolhouse, a community center, and a shrine. Children and veterans and families tread her decks, struggling with history in ways books can but faintly hope to equal. From youth programs to public events, the ship is an inspiration, reminding generations yet to come of the courage and the fortitude of the men who crewed her.
What sets the Iowa-class apart is not necessarily what they accomplished in combat, but rather how they continue to bring people together. They serve as a reminder that history is greater than events and dates memorized from a book—history’s a living story that continues to be nurtured by those who bring it to life and pass it along. From clattering across the Pacific to being moored as museum vessels, they remind us that greatness never washes up. It accommodates, it evolves, and finds new ways of surviving.
So when we talk of the Iowa-class battleships, we are not simply referring to America’s finest warships. We are referring to steel-bred resolve, pride, and determination. Theirs is a legacy that remains not only on waters they once controlled—it’s in the hearts of those who boarded her, and in lessons they continue to teach years after the final shot was heard.
