Professional Documents
Culture Documents
An account by
John H. Moynahan
Lieutenant (SC) USNR
Author’s Note:
1
This book was written while in Nagasaki Harbor, Japan, in
September 1945, shortly after the atomic bomb was dropped on
August 8th. It is based on recollections and miscellaneous notes;
diaries were forbidden during the war. I was 23 years old when this
was written in long hand. It was not converted to type until 65 years
later in August 2010 at which time it was further edited.
INTRODUCTION
2
Experiences count for much. They are the basis for future
understanding and comprehension. The backbone of memory is
experience ... the infusion made on the mind by the senses.
A young man should dream of tomorrow, they say, and only tired old
men dream of yesterday. But I shall be old some day and perhaps I
can look back on these chapters with some amusement. Possibly I
can bring back some of these experiences and sensations and for a
minute or two be young again.
I once read that memory is the material out of which we build the
structure of our lives and its pattern is the shape of our perception;
its details are the directions that govern the senses. It is the
description of the past and it casts its shadow on the future.
JANUARY 1944
The navy yard at Pearl Harbor is a hot, busy, dusty place with
trucks, elephant trains, jeeps, buses, sweaty workmen and dark
Oriental women. There are all nationalities represented by the yard
workmen, mainly Japanese, Kanaka, Philippinos and Chinese. Of
course, there are also thousands of naval personnel from Captains to
Storekeepers Second Class (SC), nearly all awaiting travel orders
and space on a ship out to the war zone. The transients were often
happily drunk after a short afternoon in Honolulu drinking imitation
whiskey, buying souvenirs, getting tattoos, or having their pictures
taken with pretty Japanese or Chinese girls on their laps.
4
One of the places I sought to enjoy like any other tourist was the
famous beach at Waikiki. The beautiful Royal Hawaiian Hotel was a
sort of rest camp for submariners but they had several rooms left for
officers’ dressing rooms. Most of the splendor of the hotel remained -
the beautiful gardens, broad terraces, palm trees, and some of the
furniture all made a picture of beauty. Even the many sailors in
uniform could not detract from the overall effect. But, the beach was
terribly disappointing, especially to one who has enjoyed the vast
Florida or California beaches. The sand slopes steeply into the sea and
the cabanas and hotels behind it were colorful but too close. Diamond
Head Mountain in the distance added much to the scene but the narrow
little strip of sand was still disappointing. Long breakers were rolling
in and there were a few natives and sailors trying out surfboards and
outrigger canoes. The water was quite salty but was a perfect
temperature to go with the hot sun. The bottom was not hard, clean
rippled sand, but was full of large and small sharp coral formations.
One had to be very careful not to cut his feet or bark his shins on the
formations. I swam a while hoping to try my luck at body surfing but
the breakers had no force. The famous surf of Wakiki was nothing
more than moderate swells with small whitecaps. This was fortunate
perhaps, for if they had any force behind them it would be dangerous
to swim because of the coral roses. I began to see that the surfboards
simply relied on the forward slant of a swell for motivation. Next time
I determined to wear sneakers and to get swimming goggles to explore
the colorful formations.
On the Black Hawk, I made friends with the SK (storekeeper) who had
all sorts of fishing gear and goggles in his stockroom so I fashioned a
fish spear, got some swim goggles, and tried Waikiki again. I found I
needed a lot of practice before I could hope to spear anything but it
was fun to watch the little tropical fish swimming in and out of the
bright coral.
But I have regressed. I had been in Hawaii for three weeks before I
drank to the New Year. However, while there I enjoyed the most
beautiful sights the island had to offer. I found other beaches, climbed
the mountains, explored old trails, and sampled the sugarcane,
avocados, bananas, papayas and pineapples that were the island’s
produce. I even learned a few Hawaiian words - that I was a Kane
(man), that I would like to meet a Mahini (girl) but that since I was a
Malahini (newcomer) it was unlikely.
When the New Year rolled around my time in Hawaii was growing
short, and I soon received orders to board a freighter headed west.
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Though I hated to think of leaving such a Paradise, I was anxious to
get to my ship and have new experiences. I left a letter and my fishing
spear for my brother Roger, and finally left with no word from him.
After training in Annapolis, he was now an Ensign and assigned to the
USS Manlove (DE36),( a destroyer escort designed for antisubmarne
work) as its Engineering Officer. Sam New, my classmate from Harvard
Supply School, and I moved out of the BOQ with orders to board the
USS Loeser, another DE. She had about 10 other passengers heading
for the war zone and we were squeezed into the CPO (chief petty
officers) quarters. It was another hot bright day and as we pulled way
from our mooring, everyone was excited about moving on.
The next few days were fairly rough and I came as close to being sea
sick as I’ll ever come. In fact I WAS sea sick! I laid miserably in my
sweat-soured bunk, or dragged myself on deck for air. Gradually, I got
to where I could eat and enjoy life again so I soon forgot my
discomfort as we made our way southwest at about 15kts to Funafuti,
a small atoll in the Ellis Islands group. On the way, we crossed the
Equator.
For several days before I became a “trusty shell back” I heard all the
rumors and muttering that one is supposed to hear. We had to stand
ridiculous watches on the foredeck to WELCOME Davy Jones, should he
appear. He finally did show up with a small staff and made an
appointment for the next day when we would be crossing the equator,
for King Neptune would be coming aboard to be received by his new
subjects. It was a great initiation, quite rough, but colorful and fun. I
ended up with l/2 of my hair shaved off and covered with paint and oil.
But, as soon as I was “in” I joined the old hands to help paddle and
haze the ones behind me.
At Funafuti we went ashore several times, but there was little to see.
The Japs had quit bombing and it remained a small circle of islands
covered with tents, roads, men, and an air field, coconut trees, natives
in bright sarongs, and bombed out churches.
At the air field one of the F4U fighter planes was decorated with a
pinup girl in a cellophane box with the caption “impatient virgin”. I
tried swimming once, but the sea was too warm and the bottom full of
jagged coral.
After a few days we weighed anchor and headed due west for Tulagi
and Guadalcanal in the Solomons.. We followed a zig-zag course as we
were escorting a troop ship and other vessels. At Guadalcanal I said
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goodbye to Sam. We had been traveling together since leaving Boston,
but his ship ( The Anthony, a DD) was there, waiting for its new Supply
Officer.
At that point I met a new friend, Pat Farley. He too was headed for
New Guinea, where we had learned our ships, were located . His
destroyer, the USS Hutchins was in the same squadron as my ship the
Ammen. Next we were assigned to a Liberty ship headed for Expiritu
Santos in the New Hebrides Islands. It was far to the south of
Guadlcanal, but we had to go down and around to avoid enemy
territory.
I went stomping up the dock and told the Harbor Master my plight and
asked if there were any ships going to New Guinea? “No, you have to
go back thru Espiritu Santos” I demanded flying orders!
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Guadalcanal in the rainy season is probably one of the hell holes of the
world. The mud was ankle deep and the first thing I did after being
assigned a leaky tent with no sides, was to get a pair of field shoes,
shorts, a big hat and mosquito netting. The Port Director agreed I
should have flying orders, but I had to wait 3 days for the weather to
clear enough to take off. Meanwhile, my tent leaked so badly that I
found only one position where my cot wasn’t under a drip. One could
stand on the platform and have running water for brushing teeth etc.
into flowing water all around. The insects were real man-eaters,
buzzing and biting all night. During the day, I waded around and saw a
few points of interest, Bloody Knoll, Henderson Field, etc., at night we
sat around to see out-door movies through the rain dripping off
our hats. It was easy to make friends with so much discomfort
surrounding us. Graves were scattered around the camp, and looked
very desolate in the rain and mud. The latrine consisted of a steel
helmet welded to a pipe in the mud, making a funnel. The Officers mess
was under a big thatched roof and the food was poor.
FEBRUARY 1944
Brisbane was an old fashioned city by U.S. and I felt very much like a
tourist in my soiled and smelly uniform. It was another two days of
reporting for further orders that I learned my ship was on her way
down to Sidney! I boarded an old dilapidated train, sharing a
compartment with a Lieutenant in the Royal Australian Navy. It was
amusing to hear his accent while learning about the differences
between our countries. After an over night trip with many stops we
arrived at the Big Train Station where I was greeted by a woman in a
USN station wagon and driven directly to the Woolomooloo dock where
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we looked for my ship. It was a rainy mid-summer day, February
10ththwhen I saw her for the first time.
Bustling with activity, the AMMEN was nested among other destroyers,
second one outboard, tied to another Fletcher-class DD like herself. I
was very excited as I read the number “527" in white block numerals
on her Navy grey bow! This was to be MY SHIP, MY HOME! So what
would her destiny be for the next year or more that I would be living
on her?
Sydney was a modern city, with spacious parks, big department stores,
a huge bridge, well-dressed women, buses, trams, elevators, taxis,
many men in uniforms, all suggestive of American cities. (Except that
most of them spoke with a foreign accent: Day became Die: what
became “wot”, he became “e” and so on) From certain high vantage
points, one could look down at the huge and busy harbor and distant
beaches.
I had left nearly all clothing behind me except for khakis and one set of
wash greys or “Confederates”. The latter was all I had that was
presentable and the grays were strange to many who had not seen
them before. So, I mostly felt “out of uniform” and the uniform for the
day for the Destroyer Officers was BLUE. Mine were probably still back
on Guadalcanal, still wet in my sea chest. So, I stayed out of the night
clubs and parties and played lone wolf.
One of the first days when I was strolling about the city, I ran into one
of my new shipmates.. Bob Olsen, and he and I headed for a beach we
had heard about called “Bondi”. It turned out to be one of the prettiest
I’ve ever seen. And close by was a big bath house where we rented
swim suits. It wasn’t long before we were joined by other officers from
the Ammen, and we began prowling around to meet some of the
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numerous young women. Olsen came through first and had a cute
blond engaged in conversation which eventually led to a larger group
and an impromptu party at the blonde’s house that night. So we all
went, laden with our own rations of whiskey and brandy (better than
the raw wartime whiskey). We all retreated to the basement room
where we drank, played records, drank, danced and drank. Several
started leaving, and I was beginning to feel the brandy creeping up on
me, so I left too. Any way< the party had reached a point where a few
people needed some loving.
The trip back to New Guinea was outside the Great Barrier Reef
through the Coral Sea to Milne Bay at the eastern tip of the main
Island. During that time I was busy learning my routine from Pay
Scott. Among other things I was learning to run the decoding machine,
and I have hated the job ever since. It meant squeezing into the tiny
cubicle adjoining the radio shack, then reading and typing groups of
meaningless letters into a machine which translated them into English,
mostly boring, but deemed secret messages from higher authorities.
While being hot and stuffy, rolling and pitching, the clatter of the
machines were too much, after 10 or 15 minutes at a time, I had t o get
on deck.
MARCH 1944
Next we were sent around with the USS Mullany to shell a small
island(Hawei Is.) It was located in the mouth of Seeadler Harbor, the
huge anchorage the Navy hoped to use as a main supply base. We
circled around the small sand spit of coconut trees a couple times with
no reaction. Captain Mullany, the SOP( senior officer present) radioed
“lets go in and throw beer bottles at them!”. This time, with us
leading, we went in to about l500 yards, nearly point blank for a 5" gun
and easy range for the three 20mm guns I commanded on the fantail.
As I watched the flash, smoke and dust of our shells hitting, I saw a
different flash and remarked we must have hit a tree. A short second
later, a spout of water arose in front of me, close to the fantail, then
another and another. My earphones screamed “they are firing at us, all
hands take cover!...make smoke, make smoke!”As my crew and I
crouched against the scant protection of the splinter shields, I saw
dozens of splashes all around us. Strangely, I wasn’t frightened, but
common sense told me to be cautious as possible. By now we had
increased our speed to 20 knots and were maneuvering radically.
Finally, we were out of range; and behind our own smoke. We
estimated 40 rounds of 3" had been fired..many salvos straddling us as
the skipper chased the splashes in a classical strategy . This was
my“baptism of fire” and an example of the pure luck of which the
Ammen later proved to have so much. From a safer range we gave the
island a good pasting and went back to join the other ships.
From Milne, we usually went down into the Coral Sea for practices with
the rest of our Squadron, the Aussies (Arunta, Wanamunga-both DD’s
named after Australian Aborignine tribes-and the cruisers HMAS
Shropshire and Australia.)
Doc Hundley and I hitchhiked and walked back thru the jungle roads,
dug around in the old foxholes and trenches, and gawked at the local
natives. Of course, we took many pictures. We dripped with
perspiration all day from the jungle humidity, and ate our K rations
when we got hungry.
Page 12 of 63
The next operation was a dangerous one. The biggest Jap stronghold in
Eastern New Guinea, called Wewak, had been pounded by our planes
for weeks, and now intelligence had learned that there were 2 Jap DD’s
and some cargo vessels coming down to help strengthen the base. Five
destroyers, of which we were one, were assigned to go completely into
their harbor under cover of darkness. We were to destroy all shipping,
bombard shore installations, and generally shoot at targets of
opportunity. It wouldn’t have been so dangerous if we had known the
navigational hazards, and if it weren’t for the likelihood of torpedo
boats. It was also obviously possible that we might run aground (our
charts were ancient) and the harbor was studded with small islands.
If this happened we would be sitting ducks for the Jap shore batteries,
PT’s, planes, etc., as soon as it was light again. This risk was
emphasized when the commodore ordered all decoding equipment
removed and towing cables installed on each of our five ships.
At the same time, we saw tracers and explosions in the area where
other ships in our group were. The scuttlebutt had it that Jap planes
were in the area, and we were all pretty frightened. We were not used
to being caught in such a tight spot with the prospect of having a ship
damaged where it could not be helped. Though the ships were now
fitted to take each other under tow if necessary, there was no
arrangement to pick up survivors in the dark waters. If anything did
happen such survivors could only hope to be taken prisoner, a very
unpleasant thought!
APRIL 1944
The Hollandia operation was the biggest thing the So. West Pacific had
seen. We had carriers(CVE’S),cruisers, battleships all borrowed from
the mighty 3rd Fleet. Our smaller 7th Fleet consisted of 2 or 3 squads of
cans, 5 cruisers, and various auxiliary and amphibious units. We were
to hit the northern coast of New Guinea in 3 places at once...Aitape,
Hollandia (or Humbolt Bay), andTanamerah Bay, the latter being on the
west flank of the primary objective, Hollandia. We were in the group
that took this last bay.
Our soldiers were all surprised to find no opposition at all. The small
defense garrisons that were left behind when the others went to
Wewak must have fled into the hills after one look at our formidable
task force. All three places, Aitape, Hollandia, and Tanamarah were
taken with almost no losses.
MAY 1944
Williams had again been visiting one of the Australian ships, (which
permitted drinking aboard), and he came back later than usual, feeling
talkative. Also, the staff officers (of which I was one)were waiting for
him before starting dinner, and we were all visible through portholes to
the crew gathered on the foredeck. They had been waiting from 5:30 to
8:30 for the officers to come out so the movie could start, and could
see Williams still talking as if unaware of the crew. All the officers
aluminum/leather dining chairs, which were not being used, had
already been set up on deck in the front row, waiting for the captain
and staff to come out. The captain obviously was in no hurry, and the
crew was growing restless.
Page 15 of 63
peak of the storm, someone threw all the officers chairs over the side!
When it was discovered, and the culprit was not immediately
apprehended, the Executive Officer announced the captains order that
there would be no more movies at all, indefinitely, until a guilty person
was produced. As a result, we very nearly had a sort of mutiny.
Afterward, I well remember walking aft to the crews quarters with the
Executive Officer and several others, all of us wearing our .45
pistols;... seeing the crowded sullen faces, and hearing the yells and
jeers as the Exec tried to get them to name the guilty ones. Finally we
had to back down. The next morning we learned we would have a new
skipper.
JUNE 1944
That had been a real day. At supper time we had gotten the first
warning of approaching planes. I ran for my station and got there in
time to hear “They’re coming in right out of the sun!” and over the
speakers came “All hands stand by to repel air attack!” My men were
excited... couldn’t see the planes, yelled for loaders, helmets, goggles,
life-jackets, etc. and with all the confusion, my knees started shaking
badly. It was the first time I had ever really had that happen.
Suddenly, we did see the planes. They were diving on a cruiser on our
starboard quarter. The cruiser took a near miss and we learned later
she lost several men.
Page 17 of 63
Off Biak on the night of 8-9 June, our group tried to intercept five Jap
destroyers who were covering the landing of reinforcements on the
other side of the island. We got radar contacts on them, but could not
catch them. Our engines needed overhauling; 32 knots was our top
speed. The Abner Read, which had spent most of her life in Navy yards
and the USS Fletcher slowly gained on them, but after several hours we
were far into Jap territory and with a few parting shots, we turned
back. From my station on the fan tail I thought the old Ammen Maru
( a nick name) was going to fall apart. The depth charges were rattling
and everything vibrated. After several hours chasing them, I thought
we would surely need a good overhaul now.
On the 18, 19, and 20th of June we bombarded Wewak again for awhile,
and screened the HMAS Ariadne, an Aussie mine layer, as she laid an
anti-sub mine field. Subs had been replenishing the JAP garrison there.
The Admiralties were very near the equator and the heat and humidity
was terrible. This situation was not limited to the Admiralties, however;
it was a constant condition during most of my time on the
Ammen(except U.S. and Sydney) I mention it now, for it belongs here
as well as any other place in this log.
The heat left one constantly tired. I often turned back to do some little
task, only to procrastinate and go to get another drink of water. All
ambition and enthusiasm seem to be lost in sweat. We ate salt pills to
help combat the tired feeling, and also absorbed much from the salt air
and spray surrounding us. The salt seemed to come out of our skin and
crystallize on our faces so that we would feel “gritty”. It would leave
white streaks where our shirts had been wet and dried. Salt and sweat
were constant companions in the Pacific. Because of these, it was hard
to sleep without a fan blowing directly on bare skin. Even then, sheets,
pillows and mattresses became soaking wet from perspiration, which
became soured and smelled foul. They had to be aired as often as
possible, on clear days outside the combat zone.
My roommate, Doc Hundley was a good doctor, but our cabin in the ”
wardroom country” was one of the hottest and since he out-ranked me
he kept the air duct pointed at his bunk. I had just become a
Lt(JG),but as a Medical Officer, he was a full Lieutenant. It seemed
impossible to get enough sleep. Consequentially, I had started
sleeping on deck. But rain squalls were frequent and I soon discovered
a rig that worked for me..This was simply a hammock attached to the
rails of the flying bridge platform; with a waterproof mattress cover
lashed like a roof over a center line. I was able to slide it down or pull
it over my head when rain or spray was bad. With the ship into the
wind the breeze would enter over my head and exit at my feet. It
worked so well that I once rode out a 60 kt hurricane. As the ship
rolled, the hammock acted as a gimble. During the day, it was lashed
to the rail out of the way.
Those nights were often very pleasant; my only view was of the sky
and clouds and the mast swinging back and forth across the stars. The
look- out would call me when it was time for me to go on watch.
Page 19 of 63
Frequently, I was cool enough to keep a sheet around me until the sun
came up. By then it became too hot to sleep even topside.
After some time in Seeadler Harbor preparing for our next operation,
we proceeded to support a landing on Noemfoor Island, a small one
west of Biak. We did no firing so it was uneventful for us. Then about
the middle of July we went back to Aitape. It was east of Hollandia on
the north coast of New Guinea, where thousands of Japs... tricked at
Wewak, were pushing their way west hoping to reach friendly territory.
Aitape was a small village we had taken to protect the east flank of
Hollandia and it was bearing the brunt of the desperate Jap effort. They
were making it tough for our garrison there, so we were sent down to
lend fire support. There was no longer danger from enemy planes so
we could anchor close offshore, and have movies on the foc’sl while we
watched tracers and shell bursts ashore. It was an eerie experience to
be so close to the desperate fighting and yet to be sitting in the breeze
watching a moving picture.
The Nips were moving from Wewak to Aitape close to the beaches, and
part of our job was to patrol this 100 miles of coast line to prevent subs
and barges from coming in with supplies. Our main force in this patrol
work were the PT boats. We had plenty of admiration for them as they
would run in close to shore to deliberately draw fire from the Jap shore
batteries, usually 3" or 40mm guns, so we could get a bearing and try
to knock them out with our larger guns.
One night one of the PT’s went in too close and the Japs got lucky hit
on her with a 40mm. The shell hit the high octane gas tank and the
boat blew up. Another PT rushed in to pick survivors and all but a
couple of the crew were rescued. Out of the blackness another PT
appeared alongside the Ammen, and Doc Hundley jumped aboard to
join the rescue boat to help with the wounded. Later all survivors were
brought aboard , wet, frightened, and without shoes. One had a huge
abdominal wound, and Doc laid him on the wardroom table to sew him
up. I was at my battle station, but learned the man’s intestines had
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been punctured in a dozen places and Hundley had lifted them out a
section at a time to repair the holes. Not even he had expected the
man to live but he did survive and recuperated on a hospital ship. Doc
had really earned his pay and reputation that night.
Doctor John Hundley was good surgeon. This was mainly because he
had a great deal of self confidence and because he had a reputation to
live up to. In the Aleutians he had done an emergency appendectomy
at sea during a bad storm. He was very popular with the entire crew.
He was venturesome and as my roommate he sometimes privately
shared some of his medicinal alcohol. He also had a good sense of
humor.. He offered to perform a free circumcision for any sailor
wanting one, and promised to do it over if they weren’t satisfied.
AUGUST 1944
Our trip down outside the Great Barrier Reef, was a rough one
compared to the usually glassy seas of the SW Pacific, where one loses
his“sea legs”. I felt half sea sick for a couple of days, but managed to
get my uniforms aired out (after it had been left behind in February, my
wood chest caught up with me in Manus Island) and I was able to sew
on some newly earned stars, rank, and campaign ribbons.
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American sense of humor, there are plenty of girls, and plenty to drink.
What more does a sailor want in a liberty port?
Page 22 of 63
Building contained the USN offices and we went there to get our wine
rations.
It was tough trying to work all day and play all night, but we survived
it for 2 ½ weeks. I met a nice girl one night who was a law student at
the University. We had several dates. Pat had led a sheltered life; was
engaged to a Dutch Naval Officer had a beautiful home and a hospitable
family, so I had some good evenings with her. I was the first American
she had known I think. Although she couldn’t dance well, she was
attractive and a nice change from the girls in the bars.
Had another two dates with a little Irish girl who I dropped when I
learned she was only 16. It turned out she had run away from home in
Melbourne, and I felt sorry for her. But at 22, I preferred someone
more worldly..... like the
many Aussie girls (who had been with so many Americans they knew
how to jitterbug, talked our slang and generally made us feel more at
home).
Woendi was a nice anchorage and the nature of the current made the
water clean enough for swimming right off the ship. For the first time
we enjoyed this privilege, and it was good fun to dive off the 30'
bridge. One day we tried the shallow water diving gear and swam
around under the ship using the hose and a face mask. Next day,
another ship in our task force ,the HMAS Arunta, challenged us to a
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swim meet. The Australians were noted for swimming ability: I think I
was more surprised than anyone when I won a race.
The way was now clear for the invasion of the Phillippines. Our forces
had now taken Ulithi in the Carolinas; we had Palau and had
neutralized Halmehera, the key to the Dutch East Indies, so we were
ready for the next phase. We spent all of September and early October
getting ready for the big show: the invasion of the Phillippines. As
usual the scuttlebutt was wild and we expected the worst, that is the
worst of the sort of warfare we were accustomed to. (We had never
yet heard of suicide planes as an organized threat.)
OCTOBER 1944
We departed for LEYTE GULF on the 15th with the Mullaney and others
to screen the Wasatch, a communication ship/ flagship for Admiral
Kinkaid aand other brass. Kinkaid was the top Navy man for the
operation. D-Day was on the 20th and from the Ammen we were able to
watch at close hand the troops being shuttled on landing craft to the
beaches. There was no heavy fighting close to us, but we could see the
puffs of smoke from shelling and bombs and watch our planes strafing.
We were obliged to stand by the Wasatch and retire with her into the
Gulf at sundown.
The next day with the Japs on shore retreating, many natives came out
to greet us in outrigger canoes.. smiling and trading with the sailors.
In poor English, they tried to express their gratitude and tell us how
bad the Japs had treated them.
News and scuttlebutt really started humming when it was learned a big
Jap task force was on its way to Leyte. The Ammen and Mullaney were
forced to stand by the Watsach near the landing site, while other
ships in our squadron rushed out to confront the enemy. So all we saw
of the great Battle of Suragaio Strait was the flashing of shellfire and
distant booming of the battleships big guns just over the horizon in
the darkness. Our radiomen were monitoring the battle circuits and
trying to keep us informed of the progress. The rest of our Squadron
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(Desron 24 )was in the battle and all of them made torpedo runs. The
Jap ships, coming up the Straits in single file made easy targets, and
many of our ships reported hits. The only US destroyer hit was the
Grant, by friendly fire when she got out of position. An exciting night!
The next day, when the other Japanese task force caught our baby
carriers in San Bernadino Straits, we witnessed a pathetic sight. The
homeless planes from the burning carriers started coming in one after
another, trying to land at the unfinished landing strip at Tacloban. We
could actually see them attempting crash landings on the dirt strip
alongside bulldozers, but I think most of the pilots survived
Toward the end of the month we had become part of the 7 th Fleet;
assigned to TF 77.1....A large force including our regular mates in
Desron 24; the cruisers Boise and Nashville, plus some carriers ,
battleships , some other cruisers , and more destroyers. Also, we
became a RADAR PICKET SHIP. As such we were to go to advanced
positions and give early warnings of enemy aircraft approaching. ( We
also became the first targets seen by such aircraft). There were
several air attacks those last few days of October, but it was not until
November 1st that we really learned what war was like.
On that first day of November, after securing from dawn alert and
finally off my battle station, I took a good shower, shaved and trimmed
my 10 day old beard, put on clean khakis, even shined my shoes, and
felt like it wasn’t such a bad war after all.
I had recently changed my battle station from the fan tail twenties to
the mid-ship twenties and had four good experienced gunners. My
storekeeper, Fred Kaufman . ; Malone, Hebert and Anderson, plus their
2-man , the loading and trunnion operators. Fred already had a small
piece of shrapnel in his leg from when we had fired on a plane strafing
us 2 days earlier. My other storekeeper, Charles Helmer, was talker on
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the 40mm director platform on #2 stack just 30 ft. forward of us on the
port side.
Now I had seen war, violent, fearful, terrible war. And I had felt the
fear of a man close to death and experienced the sudden relief one
has, when he finds he is still alive after all. I have witnessed the quick
destructiveness of war with all the sensory trimmings, the deep roar of
big guns with the accompanying concussion, burnt cork fragments,
acrid smoke, blinding flashes,....and in between, the rhythmic
pounding of the 40mms, the nervous chatter of 20mm machine guns. I
have felt the close proximity of the enemy, and the realization he was
intent on destroying me, my friends and my temporary home. I have
heard the sudden crushing sound of metal giving way to metal, and
almost as bad, the moment of silence that frequently follows disaster,
in which everyone is frozen in place while he convinces himself he is
still alive!
Then the first noises of reality again ”FIRE!!” as flames arose, excited
shouts reporting damage, and men tugging with new found strength at
hoses and wreckage.....then danger again as our big guns started firing
again along with the chatter of machine guns... this time with a note of
vengeance. Then a new threat,” watch the magazines, they’re getting
hot and may blow! “ Get some water on that ammo!”..As I repeated
the orders to my men, I saw the faces of the men scrambling from the
danger area, masks of fear. The phones clamped to my ears under the
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“coal bucket” helmet continued to offer enemy positions; anxious eyes
scanned the sky and grimy fingers pointed at distant planes and
damaged ships.
It was now possible to focus on our own situation. Both of our two
smoke stacks were torn off and flames were belching out as hoses
played on the wreckage; ... I felt sick when I saw where Helmer had
been, the whole platform was gone! And HE was gone! And the other
crew members were gone! Flames of exhaust were going back down
the intakes causing rapid overheating of the boilers. But these were
quickly shut down and the fire brought under control by the repair
crews. They also man-handled and pushed overboard, the burning wing
where it had landed on the starboard deck. The main part of the plane
had crashed through the smokestacks and into the sea.
Five of our shipmates were killed. Charles“Joe” Helmer was hit by the
starboard engine and propeller, his body obliterated. One other man
was knocked down inside the exhaust stack and cremated, while
another was missing entirely. Over twenty men were wounded, many
badly burned from fighting the fires
The attack had suddenly subsided and well trained repairmen had
rigged up some canvas chutes to divert and divide the hot exhaust and
intake. Within two hours we were able to start the engines again and
could make about 12 knots..enough to stay in the fight.
That afternoon another major attack began. Our sister ship, the USS
Abner Read (DD526) was badly hit. From a mile away, I saw the plane,
a VAL dive bomber with fixed landing gear, dive almost straight down
and hit her near #4 gun. A black column of smoke stretched from her
mid-section, and we could see our friends aboard her, fighting the
fires. Then a blinding flash announced one of her magazines had blown
up.
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started down, her stern filled, and the bow lifted higher and higher
above the surface; then slid down into the water until her only remains
were clouds of smoke, patches of burning oil, and the rescue boats
picking up survivors.
I felt sickened as I looked a the spot where “Joe” had been. As part of
the 40mm crew, he had been operating a gunsight on a platform
attached to the #2 stack. Charles “Joe” Helmer was my storekeeper,
one of two, on whom I was heavily dependent. He was very likeable,
fast, efficient... and now he was gone. It didn’t seem possible. The
metal platform was scarred where a propeller had cut through flesh,
blood and steel. Bits of flesh were still visible in the late afternoon sun
where force had flung them. Small scraps of airplane metal were
strewn about where they had fallen. The plane had been a twin-engine
fighter/bomber, called “Frances” for ID purposes, and it carried a
crew of 3, all now dead. We may have killed the pilot because just
before it hit us, the plane had veered to the right, changing the
outcome. It had been aiming for the bridge, but the left wingtip had
grazed the rail of the flying bridge where my hammock was secured,
and the right engine had gone through Joe’s body.
The night was uneventful but sleep did not come until just before
dawn. I slept by my gun station along with others, and I kept trying to
accept Joe’s death. When dozing, I dreamt of him and he was
alive again. All the next day he kept reappearing in my imagination,
doing customary things. Though I consider myself a fatalist, I found it
difficult to apply my philosophy to death so close at hand.
The next day we had a “ burial at sea” ceremony for the remains, all
wrapped in American flags. While the captain was still reading the
prescribed words, the general quarters alarm started and the remains
went into the sea while we all ran for our battle stations.
This was war, a man’s circus. This was the way death often happens in
war, violently, suddenly and unexpectedly. This is what I have now
experienced, and I regret that my sons and their sons may also be
involved in even more terrible struggles “ to make the world a better
place”.
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This account has become too dramatic and I did not mean for it to be.
But I am not capable of expressing myself adequately when attempting
to portray my feelings in words. I must sound like a bad dime novel
author!
The days following our disaster were strained ones for all hands. I’m
sure it was the same on all damaged ships, like the survivors of the
Abner Read. But I had no orthodox beliefs to turn to. Instead, I had
the inklings of something more tangible, an increased appreciation for
goodness and right, a realization that kindness, understanding and
forgiveness are more important, than prayers and churches.
Miraculously, the suicide plane had not connected solidly with its
target, and our losses were light compared to those of other ships like
our sister ship. The plane hit within 10 yards of me, but I was not
scratched, and that applied to many other survivors.....
We were still able to make nearly 19 knots so we were kept in the task
force for two more weeks as a screening and picket ship. We finally
headed for Manus Island and temporary repairs. During that two
weeks, our nerves were on edge and the strain was showing on all
faces. We had air-raids and were shooting nearly every day... and even
on the last day as we were leaving Leyte Gulf, we opened fire on a Jap
scout plane. Our score for Leyte: five planes shot down, and possibly
two more and one damaged.`
Back at Manus. we tied up for repairs and hoped they would send us
back to the U.S. for much needed rest and recreation while the ship
was being repaired. That evening we went ashore to the officers club
we had helped build months earlier. It was
my birthday, the 23rd of November, and also Thanksgiving Day.
MacMillen (Executive Officer) Clayt Walker, Olsen, Joe Wolf and myself
talked some flyers out of two cases of beer, sat under a big banyan tree
by the water and proceeded to have a party. It was a great success as
we all ended up climbing around in the tree drinking our beer. Joe fell
out of the tree, but the only thing he minded, was getting his cigarettes
wet. Luckily he missed the coral rocks below and landed in 10 feet of
water. He and I caught a ride back to the ship and Bob and Mac stayed
with Clayt while he played a piano he’d found.
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The good news came in due time and we headed back to the good old
Uncle Sugar(U.S.) via Pearl Harbor. At P.H. I looked up friends: Mel
Nield, Bob and Bill Price, and was lucky to run into Jerry Matthew from
I.U.
It was a wonderful feeling to pass under the Golden Gate Bridge and
see San Francisco stretched out on the banks of the harbor. It seemed
odd to have civilians come aboard from the Navy Yard. While we
discharged a few passengers, we said goodbye to others who had new
orders – Byrd - a great guy and a real character from Lafayette, Ind. –
our Communications Officer, and Hunzeker - a big good natured fellow
whom everyone liked. Doctor John Hundley had left us at Manus and
my new roommate, Doctor Don Bortz, was a hell of a nice guy from
Philly. He had been waiting for us there a Manus since the day after we
sailed for Leyte.
It was dreary and rainy that morning when we took a pilot aboard to
con the ship through the tricky Golden Gate, but our spirits were too
high for us to notice it. We had just dropped our anchor at Treasure
Island and discharged our passengers. Then we started winding
though the harbor, bound for the Navy Yard at Mare Island. But first
we stopped at the M1 Ammunition Depot where we unloaded all our
explosives. I was met there by a Lt. Morse, representing the Supply
Department of the Yard. He briefed me on local procurement
procedures, then drove me onto an office where I had to report.
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Everyone seemed to be dashing around madly in the busy Yard, but
there was so much cheerfulness, it was wonderful to be back, seeing
American signs, people, buildings, streets, cars, almost everything
looked unreal, like a crazy dream. All those things so strange, yet
familiar, things I did not realize I had missed, until I saw them now.
Now I realized I had missed them a great deal. This was America, the
greatest country in the world, and I was proud to be part of it. Only
just now I couldn’t get used to being part of it. Then I started thinking
very realistically of home.
I asked my way to the pier where I knew my ship would tie up. Maybe
I felt self-conscience because I was wearing a tie again, but was in a
khaki uniform with shoulder boards, when the proper uniform was
blue! But our ship didn’t arrive on schedule, so I stood there in the
drizzle for a long time waiting. There were already repairmen, also
waiting there for her,.. ready to begin repairing damage and updating
equipment. Finally, I walked down several piers to see the damaged
USS AW Grant, full of holes after she had been caught between our
cruisers and the Japs at Surigao Straits. Then I saw the Ammen
coming slowly up the channel and so I headed back toward her pier.
When I got back they were casting the mooring lines over and drawing
her alongside. A big crowd of office girls and workers had collected and
they were looking with awe at her damaged stacks. From somewhere
in the crowd, a band started playing and the men on the ship stood at
attention. Clayt Walker was OD ( officer of the deck) and I could see
the emotion in his face. I regretted that I wasn’t on her instead of
being just one of the crowd there on the dock, but, I felt pretty proud
anyway.
Those days at the Mare Island were a nightmare for me. We shoved the
1st leave party off for liberty the day after we arrived, and then all
hands moved into a barracks several miles away at the other end of the
island. The officers moved into the BOQ up on the hill and close to the
fancy officers club. I was busy getting orders placed-for supplies,
moving stores from the ship to a warehouse, and setting up a
temporary office in the corner of an air raid shelter. Everything was
confusion. The men no sooner straggled down to the ship in the
morning than they had to start working their way back for lunch. There
was always a problem keeping them together long enough to get
anything done, especially with a third of them away on leave.
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The little concrete AR shelter where we moved all the files and office
work was chilly even with the few electric heaters we had. As it was
also the ship’s general office and men and officers ran in and out on
business, so it was pretty hard to accomplish anything at all, and a
surprise when we did.
I had held a $50,000 dollar pay day just before entering port but I had
to make arrangements for a WAVE (Womens Auxillary) Distribution
Officer there to pay the men again while I was gone. There was no
choice but to have my 3rd class SK and a new striker (trainee) run my
department while I was gone, but, they did a good job.
Christmas day was not a very good one for me. My special project that
day was to get all the beer off the ship and safely stowed in another
place. As the whole yard had taken the day off, I had to go see the
Captain of the Yard (and his good looking daughter), and various
others to arrange for a truck, get a working party, etc. and move all the
beer. This took all day but that evening I dressed and went to the club
for dinner with some of the other ship’s officers. After supper cocktails,
turkey and high balls, I began to realize it was Xmas again.
It was pretty quiet at the Club, so Bob Morris and I decided to go into
San Francisco . It was an hour and a half bus trip, so the bars were
nearly closed when we arrived. Next bus back to the Yard was at 0230,
so we had to wait for it. But while waiting, we met a couple of girls
,one a WAVE offficer (Women’s Auxiliary of Volunteers), and naturally
we had to take them home to Vallejo. By the time we got to bed, it was
daylight out and time to get up.
Another day of confusion and hard work plus making arrangements for
the plane ride home. I had figured I could get away at the end of
December 27. (I had arranged to take my leave in the middle of our
stay , as my job required most of my time just after arrival and before
departure from the U.S.)
That night, tired as I was, I went to meet the WAVE nurse of the night
before in Vallejo. We had a quiet evening with a bottle of 3 Feathers
whiskey, smuggled from Pearl Harbor, then I took her back to the
hospital compound and I went on to the Batchelor’s Officer’s Quarters
to bed.
Next day, after tying all the loose ends together in a tangled sort of
way, and getting my leave papers signed, I headed for the airport in
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San Francisco . I had expected to sleep on the plane (a DC3). But it
didn’t leave until 0300; it kept landing; my ears popped, safety belts
had to be buckled, and when we got to New Mexico at dawn, I gave up.
By late that afternoon, I had got pretty chummy with the flight
stewardess, and she had put me to work assembling and loading the
supper trays. I was sorry to say goodbye to her in Kansas City, but we
made notes to look each other up if we ever got a chance. While
waiting for another plane, I called up Clayt Walker, and in a muffled
voice told him a telegram had just come in with orders “ to report back
to the ship immediately!” He took it pretty hard, so I let him recognize
my voice. He was having a good time at home keeping away from
some girl who wanted to marry him .
I must have dozed off on the last leg of the journey, because soon we
were setting down in my home town of Indianapolis. It was past
midnight and bitterly cold when I stepped out of the plane.
There was Dad, little Barbara, my aunt Mary, and cousin Fred to meet
me, and it was a wonderful feeling! Barbara my 9-year old sister was
shy at first, after not having seen me for over a year, and Dad was
grinning from ear to ear, just like always. But “Where’s Mother?” , I
asked. “ She’s waiting at home for us, with a very sore shoulder, called
bursitis”, I was told.
On the way from the airport, I answered all sorts of questions and
managed to confuse everyone as to where I had been, how the ship
had been hit, etc. (All locations and details had been censored from
correspondence ever since I left the U.S. in December l943). I soon
found myself disliking to talk about the time we were hit...it aroused
too many emotions, and it was too easy to gloss it over. “Oh, we just
came back for battle repairs...it was at Leyte Gulf.. The Kamikaze took
both our stacks off, yes, we lost five men,” ----But I didn’t want to
think about the noise and the smoke and the numb feeling I had
experienced.
I’ve often wondered why it is so often heard that combat veterans
don’t like to talk about their worst experiences. I think I know now.
People that weren’t there just can’t picture or appreciate the
terribleness of it; one doesn’t like to recall the vivid disturbing details
and after a few weeks he grows bored with the only words he can find
to describe it, because they DON’T describe it. They sound
inappropriate, and inane. Finally, he’d just as soon forget it.
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My Mother met us at the door, overjoyed to see me. But she was
suffering a great deal with the bursitis and had to get back to bed.
Nearly every day while I was home, I drove her downtown to the
doctor’s for treatments, but there was little relief. She had always
been so active and industrious, it seemed strange for her to be
bedridden most of the time.
The first night after my return, I was invited to a gathering where all
my parents friends would be. My Mother decided not to attempt it, but
Dad went with the Greens and others, and I took their daughter, Sally,
about my age, attractive and energetic. Everyone at the dance was
near my parents age, except Sally, so we were treated as a couple Also,
I was the only one in uniform, and it along with my new campaign
ribbons made me almost an oddity
I was drinking all that was offered, and Sally was great fun, so it was a
fine evening. When the host introduced me as a guest just back from
the Battle for the Phillippines (which were in all the headlines), I
became a sort of hero. For the rest of the night I was asked by
mothers if I had seen their sons who were also somewhere in the
South Pacific, as though the Pacific was social meeting place!
The snow was deep and white, so the next morning I got out and did
some sledding with Barbara and her friends. That afternoon I took
them (and Sally) out to a country club for tobogganing. Another night
Sally and I made the rounds of some of my favorite bars...Bluebird
Room, Southern, the Athletic Club, etc. where I hoped to see old
friends. Indianapolis had not changed, except for a feeling of
emptiness... so many of my friends and fraternity brothers were
married, or had gone off to war. I did see some of them, and it was
great. I was kidded a lot about my moustache, so I didn’t attempt to
kiss too many on New Years Eve as I had in the past, feeling awkward.
Since I had been home (only since Dec.28), I had sensed that Sally
(whom I had known for some time through the folks) was getting
infatuated over me. I wanted to avoid any seriousness which might
prove embarrassing, so I had tried to keep our relations on a platonic
basis. Sally and her mother had been spending some part of every day
at our house helping Mother, and because I also wanted to be there, I
found myself following the path of least resistance and spending too
much time with her. On New Years Eve when the time came for
kissing, I was feeling pretty high in spirits and low in willpower. So
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when I kissed Sally, she made it plain I had been missing something,
and that was the end of our platonic relationship.
I could not fall back into life as it had been before, and knew it was
futile to try. It was good to be back, and it would be good to be back
again and again, but, I had no particular desire to make it more than it
was, a place to visit, a place to revive my memories of a happy
irresponsible youth.
JANUARY 1945
At dawn on the first day of this new year, as I arrived home from my
night celebrating the old and the new, I saw my Uncle’s car in the
drive and knew he had come to see my Mother and to visit me. I
guessed correctly he had bought his wife Carol, about my age, and my
grand mother from Evansville. As it was so early, I did not awaken
them, but went on to bed. They were all there and awakened me the
next morning. It was a fine reunion lasting all day January first, and
the next day they went on to Chicago where my Uncle Bob is a surgeon.
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Another night I tried to convince Sally that ours was only an infatuation
and that it could have no happy ending. But with typical feminine
stubbornness, she insisted she was in love with me. Several days later,
when we left for Florida (a trip planned before my leave was
anticipated) Sally came to the train to say goodbye.
The trip to Florida was fun. My Mother was feeling better, Dad was
happily keeping everyone entertained and making arrangements. We
had been joined by family friends from Bloomington, and they had
brought their niece. Betty was a pretty brunette, a little younger than I
was, and a great help in watching my sister Barbara. “Barbie” had
grown so much I hardly knew her and was pretty wise for her nine
years. Her inexhaustible energy made her require much attention.
The plane was unfinished inside like all C–47s, and everyone slept on
baggage, the aluminum deck, or sitting on the bucket seats. We got to
Dallas, ate breakfast in a canteen there and then I learned I had to
wait overnight for another plane. So I went into the city for a look
around.
Dallas was full of girls, and since they weren’t allowed in the bars, the
restaurants and hotel lobbies were full of them hoping for dates with
the many men in uniform. But I was too exhausted to stay up all night
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again trying to get back to the airfield in time, so I went back to the
terminal on a bus, and slept there on the floor.
It was easy to get back into the swing of things. It meant breakfast
about 0800 at the club, a walk down the long hill to the air raid shelter
office, thence to the ship. Every morning began with a mental load of
things to be done and a helpless feeling demanding procrastination.
At noon it was time to load into our jeep, go back to the club and relax
over a couple of beers. The big comfortable Officers Club was like a
sanctuary where we could temporarily forget worrisome problems and
irksome details. Regarding Mare Island I shall remember two things,
the confusion of the shipyard and the Club.
Clayt had himself a big but interesting Navy nurse, and Smitty had a
regular girl from Vallejo, so I attempted to fit in by dating another of
the local nurses. She was a good dancer and companion, but after a
few days was assigned to night duty. Next I tried a WAVE officer, but
soon got pretty bored with her. Clayt’s nurse, Marianne Jury, was the
most interesting, so I spent much of my time with them.
Before we left the Mare Island Navy Yard, Captain Brown came through
with a cocktail party and supper for all the officers. It was a grand
affair. Everyone got comfortably fried and made toasts to everyone
else at the table from the Captain’s wife, to the colored Stewards Mate
waiting on us
( Crawford- who had done a heroic job fighting fires at Leyte).
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I tried going into ‘Frisco a couple of more times, and on both occasions
had a good time and no sleep. On the first of those nights, while
looking for a friend, I was invited to a party in the St. Francis Hotel that
was quite an affair. My date there was worth another sleepless trip the
next night, spent bar-hopping until time for the last bus. Then I had a
long bumpy 2-hour ride watching the day turn grey with dawn.
Finally was ready for trial runs out to sea, and because of my work I
was able to stay ashore with the jeep. I kept Fred Kauffman, my senior
storekeeper with me, partly so he could have more time with his new
wife, Betty. He and I made some long trips to Oakland, frantically
expediting undelivered supplies and last minute requisitions. On one of
those trips I saw one of my old Harvard roommates, Pat Mulligan, now
on the USS Extavia, a troop transport.
On the last night before we sailed, I went ashore with Bob Morris to a
favorite little bar, the Cuban Room. In desperation for one last party,
we went home with two older women. One was a widow and her home
was a big modern one, richly furnished and well stocked for a party.
My date was a well preserved woman in her early thirties who kept
trying to impress me with references to her “Colonel and Commander”
boyfriends, but we all had a good time and wound up frying eggs in her
kitchen.
In a cold drizzly rain, Bob and I waited for a boat out to our ship. I
started to resign myself to going back to the war zone. It was great
being back, and I was well satisfied. It would be pleasant to be back at
sea again and to fall into a simple routine again.
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There wasn’t much time in Pearl for pleasure as we went out nearly
every day for gunnery practice... getting the new crew indoctrinated.
Usually, we went out with the USS Franklin, a big new carrier, and had
to run at 30 knots most of the time to keep up. One day one of her
pilots was in trouble, and told to ditch his aircraft, ( an F6F Hellcat )
right alongside us. He did, and made a perfect splash landing close to
our starboard beam, then climbed out on the wing as the plane sank.
But we were making 30 knots and kept going for nearly a mile before
we could turn around and rescue him!
Another day two planes collided while trying to land, and again we
were sent to rescue one of the survivors, a Marine Corsair pilot. He
was pulled aboard with half his scalp torn loose and other lacerations.
I had to admire his nerve; as he stood there covered with blood, he
proclaimed it took more than a minor crash to kill a Marine; then
fainted. I thought he would die, but in spite of the rough sea, Doc
Bortz patched him up and later he was able to eat a bowl of ice cream.
Back in port he was able to rejoin his ship despite a 14" cut around his
scalp and a bad knee.
MARCH 1945
Big things were being planned up north in the Ryukyus, and we started
thinking about our role. We had been fitted out as a “fighter director
ship” meaning we could use our radar to direct our aircraft to intercept
enemy planes. We had been scheduled to join Task Force 58..a fast
carrier group striking Tokyo, but the rest of our squadron had been
delayed in the over-long Iwo Jima campaign, so we were re-assigned
to join a screening force heading for Okinawa.
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APRIL 1945
“Dog Day” ( D-Day), was on Easter Sunday, April 1st. And on that day
we began screening a big group of troop transports about 50 miles
from Okinawa, waiting to add reserves for the landing force. We did
nothing more exciting than go into Kerama Retto, a frequently-attacked
temporary anchorage, for refueling. During our days as a screening
ship we started to hear more and more of the suicide planes called
“Kamikazes” by our side and
“Divine Wind” or body crashers by the Japs, whose mission was to die
gloriously by deliberately crashing their bomb laden planes into their
targets. This strategy had been first developed in the Phillippines, after
the Battle of Surigao Straits which marked the end of Japanese navel
power. The Ammen (DD527) and the Abner Read, our sister ship,
(DD526) may have been the first official victims.
On April 6 we listened to the frantic radio reports from the USS BUSH,
(DD529) another sister ship, out on a lonely picket station. She had
been badly hit and was calling for assistance. I was in the radio shack
on the decoding machine, so I was able to listen. Two other DD’s were
trying to help, one deliberately crashed into her, to transfer survivors.
The Bush and the rescuing destroyer were hit again before they went
down.
Casualties were high, and Frank Hubbard, who had recently transferred
from the Bush was taking it hard. We all had friends on her and could
imagine her plight...wounded men in the black cold water, being
carried north by the current, their cries lost to the wind, flames from
burning oil in the water and flames from the ships that had come to
help them. They had been hit two or three times before the shp went
down and they knew war in its most terrible phase.
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sea...little dots on a chart which formed a circle around the land mass
of Okinawa Gunto. On each station two or three destroyers and a few
amphibs...(landing craft called ”small boys”) moved back and forth
watching their radar screens for the little pips that represented
“bogies” (unidentified aircraft) so they could report them to the
headquarter ships in Hagushi, the harbor for Okinawa. They in turn
tracked all bogies in the entire area and sent out alarms to all ships and
shore troops to prepare for attack.
Our first station was on RP#2 (Radar Picket #2)about 50 miles north of
the landing beaches on Okinawa and 200 miles south of the Jap
mainland, Kyushu and its important port city, Nagasaki. There we
relieved the USS Twiggs, as the fire support ship for the USS Luce,
(another fighter director ship). Numerous enemy planes were in the
area, but none attacked our group until midnight. I was in the
decoding shack and knew something was about to happen because we
were picking up speed. My battle station had been moved from
“midship twenties” to the decoding job because we were spending
nearly full time at battle stations, and an officer had to stay ahead of
the decoding work. But, when we were actually firing (especially #2
five inch gun) I had to get out of the tiny coding space..it was like
being inside a drum. While out, I always headed for the flying bridge
two levels up, where I could see what was happening and hopefully
take some photos. Also I could duck behind the armored gun director
turret, theorizing it was always pointing toward the danger, because
three men inside were controlling and firing all five inch guns from
there. One man tracked a blip vertically and another horizontally and
whenever he had the blip centered in both cross hairs, the gunnery
officer pulled a trigger. This would fire any or all five inch guns
(already linked to the blips ) which happened to be loaded and ready.
The crews in the five gun turrets competed for fastest reloading.
That night all hands had been at battle stations since sundown and I
knew they were all standing by to begin firing...straining their eyes into
the blackness to sight the target. Before I was able to get to the fly
bridge, I heard the explosion !. At first I thought we had opened fire
with one of the big guns, then learned we had just been hit by a small
bomb. No one had caught sight of the enemy plane and we had never
opened fire. Never again would we let a bogie get that close without
firing with radar control. It became a standing policy to start shooting
whenever an unidentified blip came within 3 miles, forcing the pilot to
fly through a rain of shrapnel to reach us.
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In the wardroom the wounded started arriving; there were eight of
them ..all with jagged shrapnel wounds and most of them had been at
my old station on the fantail 20mm guns. It was hard at first to
ascertain the damage, but the #5 five inch gun was out of commission,
and there were numerous shrapnel holes in the starboard side of the
ship and the splinter shields around the twenties. Starting that night,
interested listeners began hearing our radio code name “Cheyenne”; it
became well known among the picket ships listening to each other.
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On April 30, still on RP#2 with the Bennion, we were attacked by eight
enemy aircraft. It was a black night except for a hazy slice of moon
and a few stars. We fired by radar control as fast as we could shoot
and reload. The din of firing and burning cork from the forward guns
blew back on us like a glowing sleet. Two planes crashed close aboard
without exploding when I saw another silhouette against the moon. A
moment later I heard the roar of an aircraft engine as a third one
passed as few yards over us and crashed into the water. The Bennion
reported that another had just barely missed hitting her. The attack
lasted until 0234 when a friendly night fighter shot down the last of the
bogies. We were given official credit for shooting down three planes
that night, but they were bent on suicide and would have crashed
anyway, even if we hadn’t been shooting at them.
Oddly enough, during these attacks I felt the exhilaration that comes
with excitement, but none of the unpleasant symptoms of fear. During
our months as a radar picket ship I felt real fear several times...teeth
chattering, knees uncontrollably shaking, etc...and often times the
moments were due to imagination rather than actual immediate
danger. I used to lie in my bunk sometimes and get a sort of
premonition, imagining the crashing sounds, the bodily blow, the split
second of realization of being hit just before the blackness of being
unconscious. It would all be so vivid I would find myself shaking with
fright until I got up and sought diversion with others. Sometimes the
alarm would go off when my psychological defenses were low and I
would feel fear until I could learn the magnitude of the danger and
adjust myself to it.
Many of the men had similar experiences, though most didn’t dwell on
it and didn’t like to talk about it, but weren’t ashamed. But in most
accounts of dangerous adventures, one only learns what was said,
done, or thought at the time, and the emotions are hardly mentioned.
I believe the emotions of fear are a stimulus to quick action and clear
thinking, and do not usually interfere with habitual response. A trained
soldier may be shaking with fright and still load a gun, shout and obey
orders, and carry on more expeditiously than before
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higher than most, and therefore I was adjusting pretty well to the
insecurity.
It seemed as though every day or two another ship would be hit and
each time we returned to Kerama Retto it was like entering a hospital
waiting room full of damaged destroyers. In pessimistic moods we all
agreed it was almost inevitable that we would join them sooner or
later. There was little chance of changing duty because each time one
was hit , it increased the need for a replacement. Although the Navy
had over 100 destroyers in the Pacific, they were being knocked out of
the fight at an alarming rate. So we resigned ourselves to being hit
again and almost hoped to get it over with so we could be relieved of
the strain of uncertainty, and the survivors could start back to the
safety of the U.S. Though I was personally fairly convinced we would
be hit again, I was pretty philosophical about it, feeling I would be one
of the survivors.
Toward the end of this month, I learned my brother’ ship, the USS
Manlove (DE36), was in the area. Then I learned it had been hit by a
suicide plane. The de-coded message said one man had been killed,
and that the damage was limited to the radar antenna and some holes
in the side. I hoped it meant the ship would return to a safe area for
repairs. Since Roger was the Engineering Officer, and usually
stationed below, I felt pretty sure he was safe and not the one killed.
MAY 1945
The first of May found us still out on RP#1, but now with the USS
Morrison which had replaced the Bennion. Numerous enemy aircraft
were in the area until daylight, and at 0100 we were relieved by the
Ingraham. After the usual refueling and two days of rest, we went
back out to replace the Macomb on RP#9, where she had just been hit .
RP#9 was west of Kerama Retto, and it had been a quiet station until
now. However, they had begun to bear the brunt of new attacks
coming from Formosa. We were alone except for some small boys
already there. About 0130 we opened fire on a lonely snooper at 3
miles and scared him off. Our radar screen was full of bogies, but none
came into our range until about 0300 when one came close but turned
away.
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The last time we were in port, we took aboard a Fighter Director Team
consisting of two officers (Lt. Bill Hutton and Ens. Joe Masters) and
several enlisted men. They had been trained to direct fighter planes
especially assigned to them, using radar. Usually once the (CAP)
Combat Air Patrol was within sight of a Jap, they had little trouble
shooting him down... On May 6 they shot down a KATE. The enemy
seemed to be running out of well trained pilots... as if they were only
training them to crash into ships.
The next two days were uneventful except for air raids both nights.
These were dull to us as we could do nothing because of the heavy
smoke being laid and we had to stay at battle stations with all
watertight doors closed. We left the enemy planes to our covering air
craft who usually got them before they reached the Hagushi harbor
area...but not always.
Guns all over the harbor were firing promiscuously and shrapnel was
falling like rain. Though our crews were well trained, the other gun
crews around the crowded harbor were caught up in the excitement,
shooting at targets beyond their range...shore- based Army AA
batteries and amphibs were the most often blamed for firing without
regard for the side damage .
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The New Mexico suffered one explosion after another as fires set off
ammunition around its burning turret. We could see the desperate
men fighting the fires and being thrown back by blasts... but after a
half hour or so, fires were brought under control.
The eighteenth day of May was a memorable day for me. We had been
relieved by the Lowry and returned toHagushi about noon. While I was
eating, a signalman brought me a message. It was from my brother!
And he was anchored close by, so I would get to see him! The way
things were going, it might be our last sight of each other.
The captain had other errands, so he was pleased to drop me off on the
Manlove soon thereafter. And there he was!..looking older than ever
and saying hello in a deeper voice than I had remembered. He looked a
little haggard and pale but I guess I did too...nobody had time for
sunbathing and sleep came in irregular doses.
We hadn’t seen each other since September l943...20 long months ago
when he came with our parents to visit me at the Harvard. Since then
he had graduated from Purdue, attended training school at Annapolis,
become an Ensign and now was the Engineering Officer on the USS
Manlove,(DE36), a Destroyer Escort. There was so much to say we
hardly knew where to begin. Mostly we talked of our recent
experiences that had been censored in our letters; my trip home last
December, Roger’s girl., etc.
I think we both parted that afternoon feeling like we hadn’t said all the
things we had wanted to say, but we were pretty sure of meeting again
next day at Kerama Retto. It had been like one of those long distance
calls when you can’t think of all the things you planned to say, and
know there is only a short time in which to say them.
Next day I was very busy replenishing stores, but stopped at the
Manlove and took Roger with me on my rounds. That evening he
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arranged to come over for dinner and I showed him around the ship.
The old Ammen was looking pretty dirty and rusty; there had been no
time for non-essential work.
Roger’s ship left early the next morning, May twentieth. I’m sure our
seeing each other did us a great deal of good. Life was cheap in those
days and death was always close... a realization we had to face. I felt
this might be our last meeting and it meant so much more than just the
words we’d said. As I write this it is wonderful to know that we’ve
both survived and profited by the experience.
On May 24th we went back to the front lines...RP#15 this time, with
the Stormes and Drexler. That night the sky was clear and the flying
conditions were good. The Japs were thick! We fired on four different
planes before 0400, when they stopped coming for awhile. About 0830
they began coming in from the north again but by then we had
protection from our CAP and then a low overcast. Nevertheless, about
1000 a “Zeke 52" got through, and crashed into the Storms squarely on
her #4 gun. But before hitting, the plane released a bomb which went
through the deck and blew up the #3 magazine, flooding the living
quarters. The Storms circled slowly and the sea took care of much of
the fire, but she was badly damaged and called for assistance. At 1130
the Sproston showed up and escorted her back. Our remaining support
ship, the Drexler, was later relieved by the Boyd. Our CAP got credit
that day for 3 “meatballs” (slang for the red ball painted on the Jap
planes). .
We had no problem with bogies next day, for the weather was foul. On
May 27 we were reassigned to the Third Fleet from the Fifth Fleet, but
this meant only a change to TF31.5 designation, not a change of duty.
That night numerous raids started coming close, and as usual we were
maneuvering radically at about 27 knots to make ourselves a hard
target. We opened fire several times and knocked one down which
crashed close to one of the small boys, causing damage and some
casualties.
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The Nips nearly always dropped a “window” as they approached tht
picket lines. “Window “is slang for the screens or sheets they drop to
confuse our radar operators.
This creates a strong radar echo (pip) as the plane changes course. The
radar operator is watching the false “pip” from the window and by the
time he realizes it isn’t moving, he loses track of the plane. Sometimes
the Japs use “window flares” which look like a weird light in the
sky..like sheet lightning which doesn’t go out. All this serves to
confuse the lookouts and gunners more than the more experienced
operators, and all soon learned to ignore these diversions.
The Ammen and Boyd were relieved before dawn on May 28, by the
Lowry and Drexler. Shortly after we left the station, the Drexler was
attacked by several suicide planes at once. She was so seriously
damaged that she sank within a few minutes. Another hour and it
could have been us, instead!
The end of May found us on RP#5, fifty miles west of Okinawa, a busy
station.
JUNE 1945
At 0900 on the morning of June 10th, we listened to calls for help from
the Porter, which had just been mortally hit, and we were sent out at
top speed to take her place. As we hove into sight, we saw the Porter’s
bow lift out of the water, then slowly slide back down beneath the
surface. Several small boys had already been scurrying around picking
up survivors, then finally, every man was accounted for...not a single
one lost!! It was miraculous!
Our remaining support ships were the Aulick and the Converse plus the
small landing craft, busy transferring lucky survivors. Next day the
11th, we vectored our CAP out to shoot down two Japs, and we pitched
in together to get a third Val. But a fourth enemy plane managed to hit
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one of the sJunemall boys (LC122) which later limped back to Hagushi
with assistance from another amphib.
One of the better things that happened to us in June was to get a new
skipper. Our captain, Commander James Harvey Brown had always
been a fairly rigid, detail- conscious personality, who thrived on rules,
order and stability. The frequent chaotic conditions when we were
actually under attack had been getting to him. He was becoming like a
fretful old maid, unable to quickly adjust to change, getting on
everyone’s nerves and relying more and more on his executive officer.
We worried for two months that he might be headed for a nervous
breakdown. Though we felt sorry for him and realized he had been a
good skipper in most ways, we were glad to welcome a new captain
and we already felt sorry for the Middies at Annapolis who would now
have Brown as an instructor. They would soon get sick of his stories
about the Ammen, just as we had about his last ship, the ill fated Abner
Read.
Nine of the enemy planes were Betty’s, though none carried Baka
Bombs (manned torpedo rockets carried under Betty’s and released
near targets). Most of the fighting was beyond our visual range but we
did see plumes of smoke as the Nips were shot down. One of them did
come fairly close and we watched as two Corsairs flamed, smoked and
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splashed it. But then we saw one of our own planes go down, a Corsair,
and then saw the pilot coming down under a parachute, so I was busy
with the movie camera. By 0850 the area held only friendless, and we
proceeded to pick up the Corsair pilot we had seen bailing out.
On the way out to search for the downed pilot, those of us on the flying
bridge heard a short burst of machine gun fire, seemingly in the clouds
right over our heads. As we were craning our necks, a plane popped
out, about a mile off our port beam, headed directly at us. We
recognized it instantly as another Corsair (with distinctive gull wings),
and someone yelled “He’s going to crash us!” ... The gunners were
having a hard time refraining from firing. As usual at a time like that, I
kept my mouth closed so my heart wouldn’t fall out, and dutifully
pointed my camera. Suddenly it went berserk, up into a tight inside
loop, then a snap roll, a tailspin and finally a short power dive into the
water. It hit with such impact that we saw pieces bouncing up in all
directions, as if it had hit solid earth instead of water. The plane hit the
water about 75 feet off our port quarter, so it would be considered a
near miss. The pilot could not have survived. We speculated that he
had been wounded in the dog fight, or that something suddenly broke
on the plane. Possibly the pilot tried to warn us with the short burst,
and more likely he fell unconscious across the control stick and the
changing weight of his body against it caused the radical aerobatics,
and final death plunge. It was a nerve wracking and horrible
experience.
Jack Leaper was a young, good looking second Lieutenant in the Marine
Corps, stationed on Ie Shima. His plane had been armed with a heavy
20 MM gun and therefore, not too much ammunition. He and his wing
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man “Pappy” had knocked down two Betty’s and were already out of
ammunition. Suddenly a Zeke came out of nowhere and settled on
Pappy’s tail. Jack spotted him and afraid for his buddy, had gone after
him/. He could not shoot; so, remembering the famous story of a
Marine who had downed a plane by chewing its tail off, he decided to
try his luck too. He edged up on the Zeke pilot, who was intent on
Pappy’s weaving plane, until he felt his propellor bite into the Zeke’s
tail assembly. However, he overshot a little and found himself riding
right up the Jap’s back. Suddenly his belly tank, slung beneath his
cockpit, blew up, filling his cockpit with flames. His plane was out of
control. He pulled himself out and fell free. There had been stories of
Japs strafing parachuting fliers, so he did not pull his rip cord until he
was close to the water. By then, he was falling so fast that the jerk
caused several shroud lines on the chute to break. Nevertheless he got
free of the chute, and just as he hit the water and went under, he
inflated his “May West”. Back on the surface he swam to the one- man
self inflating life raft attached to the chute and climbed in to await our
arrival. His buddy circled over him until we had sighted him and picked
him up.
Jack was a really nice guy, who seemed to love telling his story to
anyone who would listen, of which there were plenty. He was pretty
shaky from his experience and h verye could not sleep that afternoon.
He was okay, he said while talking, but thinking about what he had
done and what might have happened, made him nervous. We got a
message that afternoon, requesting his name and Squadron so he could
be recommended for a commendation.
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I could see the enemy coming and could duck. Or, if the ship sank or a
fire broke out or we hit a mine, I wouldn’t be trapped.
That last night with our rescued companion the bogeys came in and all
the ships were firing. The flash- less powder was blowing back with a
rain of sparks. We were all holding our ears and trying to see through
the blackness. In the midst of all of it I asked our pilot friend how he
liked being on the defensive end for a change. He said he would rather
be in airplane. In spite of our soft bunks and showers; we could have
all we wanted of this sitting duck act. As we had hoped, when we got
back in port again, we got orders that we were relieved from duty as a
picket ship and would go down to Leyte Gulf for a couple of weeks of
peace, quiet and recreation. This was not as good as what we had
hoped for, but, there could not have been any duty that would not have
been an improvement over what we had been doing.
JULY 1945
We were all through with picket duty!! We were all alive, the ship was
intact and the Nips could not hold out much longer! Everyone was
pretty optimistic for a change. Brown had told us before he had left
that the Ammen had been recommended for a Presidential or Navy Unit
Citation, so we were all pretty proud of Old “Cheyenne”.
The Japanese had to be on their last leg. Our bombers were running
out of targets; our fighters were strafing Kyushu, and the Japs were
even using training planes for Kamikazes. They were short of oil,, gas
and trained pilots, though it was estimated they might have as many as
2000 aircraft in reserve for defending the home islands. Our own air
forces had swelled until operational losses far exceeded combat losses.
The Japs must give up soon!
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Before we landed I had held a big payday, so our sailors couldn’t find
enough to spend their money on.
Captain Rogers had turned out to be the best skipper the old “Ammen
Maru” had ever had...at least as far as the officers were concerned. He
let us run our own departments and treated us like friends instead of
employees. He could play volleyball and drink with the best of us at
the OC. And yet, he never lost any ones respect because of familiarity.
My brother Roger’s ship had already left for the “Uncle Sugar” , and we
started making weekly overnight trips to the China coast off Foochow.
From there we completed a triangle, moving up nearly to Shanghai,
than back to Okinawa.. usually a dull trip. But twice we spotted lonely
bogies and scared them off; then also some floating mines. These we
would blow up by shooting at them with 20mms and rifles, so they
wouldn’t remain a hazard. They made a terrific blast and we had to
take cover for fear of shrapnel. I had a scare one morning when we
saw one of them sliding by close to our port side. Once we sighted a
group of small sampans and some of our ships held target practice on
the poor devils. After investigating it was learned they were innocent
Chinese fishermen, not the blockade runners we were supposedly
looking for. Our fly-boys probably got all of them before they left port.
Back in Hagushi, now called Buckner Bay (for Gen. Buckner, the
commanding officer for the entire Okinawa campaign), things were
pretty dull too. There was an air raid every few evenings but the
smoke boats always smelled up the air with a lot of white smoke, so
there was nothing to see. Our interceptors never let them get close to
the harbor, so they were no longer a worry, but whenever weather was
good we would get a message: “expect heavy raids tonight” but we
only got the smoke boats.
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The crews were ready to go home: they were not used to not being
busy, and spent their free time bitching about the chow, censorship,
and the rotation plans.
AUGUST 1945
FINALLY the big news came! Over the radio on August 6, we learned
that HIROSHIMA has been WIPED OUT WITH AN ATOMIC BOMB!!
WHAT IS AN ATOMIC BOMB??? We huddled around Frank Reh, our
gunnery officer who had graduated from Annapolis as a Physics Major.
He tried to describe an atom but didn’t know how they made it into a
bomb! Then two days later, on August 8, ANOTHER BOMB was
dropped; this time it was on NAGASAKI! The war had to be near its
end!
It was August 10, and I was in my office preparing for an audit, when
we heard the whistle on the tender Hamul sounding off and my teenage
storekeeper striker (trainee) burst in with “KNOCK OFF ALL WORK,
SIR, THE WAR’S OVER!! I could hardly believe it! I had been trying to
balance my cash, so I threw what I had on my desk back into my safe,
and went out. The big news had come from a radio report that Japan
had declared its intention to surrender. Someone in the harbor started
firing a 20mm, then the whole area joined in! The evening sky was
filled with tracers arching across it, floodlights cris-crossing with long
fingers of light, while sirens sounded. Men were screaming and
slapping each other on the back. In the Wardroom, the officers too
were jubilant but some were skeptical...it wasn’t over until the Japs
surrendered.
A few minutes later and word came; “all hands alert...air raid”..
Another damn alert just when men were so jubilant about the end of
the fighting! But the grumbling calmed down quickly as men hurried to
their battle stations while the smoke boats started blanketing us again
with smelly white smoke. I went back to my books.
Next day there was a big investigation about who had broken the
blackout rules or fired flares and machine guns. The alert had been
called not because of enemy planes but to stop the irresponsible
shooting and celebrating. Naturally, the Army anti-aircraft guns ashore
were blame the most, but the entire area had joined in. There may
have been some men killed and many wounded from the thousands of
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rounds of ammunition discharged as fire works. And the war was NOT
over!
That night a troop transport was hit by a suicide plane, and for several
nights there were air raids..probably by radical Kamikaze boys who
wanted to die gloriously before it was too late. And over Kyushu one
of our B32s was shot down. The battleship Mississippi was torpedoed,
and we heard the cruiser Indianapolis had been sunk with heavy
casualties by remaining Jap submarine.
By August l6th the surrender terms had been accepted by both sides
and we knew the war was truly over. Maybe now we could go home!
But the end did not come suddenly for us. Just a short time ago the
war had seemed so intense and life so uncertain, and now it was hard
to get used to peace.
There were all the precautions still in effect; blackout regulations, look
outs, censoring mail, gun watches , etc. One by one such things were
done away with. ‘When all the ships started scraping and polishing
bright work, having rigid weekly inspections and “holiday routine” two
or three times a week (including Rope Yarn Sunday) we began to
realize the Navy was finally converting back to peace time procedures
and we didn’t like it too well. Always before there had been so many
things to keep us busy...but they had a real purpose; Now, there was
too much idle time to sit and gripe about whatever annoyed us. When
we were actually busy the work did not seem very important...not so
necessary. Painting, polishing, cleaning out old stores didn’t have the
incentive, even though it was nice to see the ship looking neat and
shiny again. The men were grumbling and discontented; “Lets either do
something constructive or go home” was the general thought.
Obviously the brass didn’t know what to do with so many ships and
men. It wasn’t reasonable to send us out for AA practice anymore
( like they use to do when there was nothing else,).
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We patrolled back and forth along the coast near Nagasaki for a week
or so until finally we were sent into the port on the 19 th of September,
joined by a hospital ship. Some ships had already arrived to prepare
for the pre-arranged evacuation of allied war prisoners. They were
being brought down to Nagasaki on trains from various POW camps.
The harbor did not appear very large, but was composed off many bays,
islands and inlets. On all sides there were the huge green mountains in
the distance. Close to the shores, there were all sorts of houses, walls,
factories, docks and other man-made structures one might expect in a
civilized port. The closer mountains were terraced to prevent erosion
and facilitate farming, and there were also many oriental looking trees,
not tall but with long twisted branches.
That afternoon I went along on a boat trip through the inner harbor,
staring like a tourist at all the sights. We saw many civilians and Jap
soldiers, walking and riding bicycles along the waterfront streets. Most
of the women (all females were still oddities to us) were leading or
carrying babies on their backs, and dressed in loose pantaloons.
Also there were many small fishing boats, many being propelled by
pushing stern oars back and forth. We also saw the ruins of the local
Mitsubishi Ship Yard, now reduced to twisted girders, cranes, damaged
buildings and rusting hulls, including some midget submarines. The
damage we saw from our location was not from the atomic bomb...that
was further east, and shielded from view by some low hills.
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Finally, we were directed to tie up at the Custom Building dock behind
the hospital ship...We were landing in Japan at last...the Ammen’s
objective ever since she was built...the objective ever since the attack
on Pearl Harbor!
The story on this OC was that the cruiser and the hospital ship,
screened by destroyers, tied up first to secure the area and then
prepare for the POWs about to arrive. The marines, in full battle dress,
surrounded a few blocks of nearby streets and crept up on the Customs
Building when they heard noises from the second floor. They burst into
the biggest room and discovered doctors and nurses off the hospital
ship, already having a party! The look on their faces must have been
priceless.
Our first party in Japan was in the new Officers Club described above,
in the meeting hall of the Customs Building. It had fancy wood
paneling, carpeted floors and high ceilings. The walls were decorated
with scores of photos of Jap officials, and the room which had evidently
been used for serious meetings of the city fathers until a few weeks
ago, was now full of Allied officers off the hospital ship. They looked
out of place, drinking beer out of cans and bottles, and squirming under
the weight of heavy pistols. We were soon part of that happy mob, but
it was quite awhile before I could disregard the contrast between the
comparatively refined surroundings and the raucous party sounds. The
whole picture could only have been created by the circumstances of
war and victory.
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In the course of dispensing with a few beers, I talked to some
interesting fellows. Two of them were English “chaps” off the huge
carrier “HMS Indefatigable”now up in the Tokyo area. Both were
Lieutenant Surgeons, equal to our Flight Surgeons, who had flown
down to help with sick evacuees. (Only 10 or 15% of the POWs were
American...the balance were British, Australian, Philippine, French
Dutch, Chinese, etc. ) They spoke of their experiences when their
carrier was hit badly at Formosa, then spoke of some of the atrocity
stories they had heard from evacuees...like one American flyer
captured by civilians after parachuting down. They beat him and
prodded him with bayonets and in the nearest village turned him over
to the womenfolk, who beat him about the genitals, then threw him
into a tank of human dung. Later he was rescued by Jap army officers
and taken to a POW camp where he had lain ill and mutilated for
months before he could walk. Another flyer was tied to a truck and
forced to run, then was dragged for over 5 miles.
All Allied prisoners were forced into slave labor about 14 hours daily
and paid about 10 cents pay per hour; their food was similar to Jap
civilians, a scant diet for most. A couple of US Army officers had some
interesting stories. They were part of an evacuation team, that had
traveled allover the island looking for POW camps and arranging travel
for the victims. They had found it hard to believe some of the atrocities
until they had met the victims. However, what was more interesting to
me, was the reaction of these liberated people, and the cooperation of
the defeated Japs who had been their guards. The latter were over
eager to render any assistance, not even extra body guards,
interpreters, porters, etc. Their attitude, got naughty as ours may have
been, was that the victims now represented the victors and now had
the rights to any property and services they desired.
These Army officers said they were frequently confronted with groups
of Jap soldiers wanting to surrender. Not knowing what to do with
them, they usually accepted their surrender, and left them to stand
guard over some place until the occupation troops arrived. While the
Japs were usually not a problem, the ex-POWs were. When the
Emperor first announced defeat, the Jap guards all began to set their
prisoners free and treat them as conquerors, with all the rights that
conquerors should have. Therefore, by the time the evacuation teams
found them, the POWs were often running wild, confiscating food and
property and molesting women. Some even attacked and killed their e-
guards to avenge themselves. It was very hard to control them, and
get them to think in civilized terms again. It was so pathetic and yet so
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understandable when one realized they had been living like starved
overworked animals for years, some, like the Chinese as much as ten
years.
The children were being led or carried by adults and many appeared to
have skin problems, and burns which I am sure were from radiation.
Occasionally we would see people trying to put together shacks or
shelters from scraps of wood or metal. Fortunately, the weather was
still mild and weather in Kyushu would never be too severe. ( But while
there, a devastating typhoon passed over us. Being snugly tied up at
the dock we hardly noticed it. It caused many ships and some lives to
be lost around Buckner Bay and Okinawa.).
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Gradually life there settled into a routine, and I spent time writing this
journal. With my cabin mate, Doc Bortz and others I would sometimes
hike around the town handing out chewing gum to the children and
seeing how people lived in Japan. Later we moved the ship to Sasebo,
an industrial city, then again we went to Yokosuka near Tokyo, and to
Wakayama, a beautiful resort city, untouched by war. Soon, I too, had
enough points to be able to leave the Ammen and head back
home...”back alive in ‘45"!
POSTSCRIPT
I was fortunate to begin my Navy career as a commissioned officer,
(Ensign USNR), in September 1942 while still in college at Indiana
University. This was possible through a special program for
accountants, and students majoring in accounting and about to
graduate. The commission was conditional on finishing college in
December 1942 and then graduating from the Navy Supply Corps
Officer Training Program at Harvard Business School. This was a 1943,
with orders to report aboard the USS Ammen (DD527) somewhere in
the Pacific.
My travels searching for the Ammen lasted for months, and took me
from Boston to California, Hawaii, Guadalcanal and finally to Sydney,
Australia. Meanwhile, my ship was in the Aleutians, then in the Battle
for New Britain in the Solomon Islands, then on to Sydney and the
adventures described.
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I ended my Navy career as a Lieutenant; with the fancy title,” NavY
Supply and Electronics Officer for the Seventh Naval District”, based
in Miami, Florida.. I went on inactive duty in May 1946, then into the
mortgage banking business in Indianapolis. Later, I obtained a
graduate degree at Thunderbird School of International Trade in
Arizona. This led to international banking in Boston and Rio de
Janeiro until I returned to Miami in January 1948. There I married a
beautiful young woman, and we have four outstanding children plus
eight grandchildren. We are enjoying our late 80s and have lived in
Miami all our married lives except for four years living abroad in
Hong Kong and Barcelona. Meanwhile,
During World War II, the USS AMMEN steamed 163,843 miles; was
under air attack 49 times; shot down 21 planes; sank 3 ships, and
earned eight Battle Stars.
jonmoyn@gmail.com
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