I grew up during the Great Depression, and after my father left us, my mother, two brothers and I lived in Tent City, in Long Beach, California. What we lacked in monetary wealth, Honey, our mother, more than made up for in love and guidance. It was she, who developed in me, my love for books, and I longed for the day when I would be old enough to set out into the world and visit some of the far off places I had read about.
I especially wanted to visit Japan. So, when a Marine recruiter promised that I could go to Japan, I jumped at the chance and signed up. And although the promise of a tour in Japan disappeared with the recruiter, I had little regret when I was sent instead to Hawaii, and stationed aboard the USS Arizona, in beautiful Pearl Harbor.
On December 7th, 1941, I was twenty years old, stationed in Hawaii, and having the time of my life. It was approximately eight o’clock in the morning and I was leaving the breakfast table when the ship’s siren for air defense sounded. Having no anti-aircraft battle station, I paid little attention to it.
Suddenly, I heard an explosion, I ran to the port door leading to the quarterdeck, and saw a bomb strike a barge of some sort alongside the USS Nevada, or in the vicinity. The Marine color guard came in at this point saying that we were being attacked. I could distinctly hear machine gun fire. I believe at this point our anti-aircraft battery opened up. We just stood there, waiting for orders of some kind, then General Quarters sounded and I started for my battle station in Secondary Aft. As I passed through casemate 9, I noticed the gun was manned and being trained out. The men seemed extremely calm and collected.
I reached the boat deck and our anti-aircraft guns were in full action firing very rapidly. I was about three-quarters of the way to the first platform on the mast when it seemed as though a bomb struck our quarterdeck. I could hear shrapnel or fragments whistling past me. As soon as I reached the first platform, I saw 2nd Lt. Simensen lying on his back with blood on his shirtfront. I bent over him and taking him by the shoulders, asked if there was anything I could do. He was dead or so nearly, that speech was impossible. Seeing there was nothing I could do for the Lt., I continued to my battle station.
When I arrived in Secondary Aft I reported to Major Shapley that Mr. Simensen had been hit and there was nothing to be done for him. There was a lot of talking going on and I shouted for silence, which came immediately. I had only been there a few minutes when a terrific explosion caused the ship to shake violently. I looked at the boat deck and everything seemed aflame forward of the main mast, and I reported to the Major that the ship was aflame, which was rather needless, and after looking about, the Major ordered us to leave.
I was the last man to leave Secondary Aft because I looked around and there was no one left. I followed the Major down the port side of the portside mast. The railings, as we descended, were very hot and as we reached the boat deck I noted that it was torn up and burned. I saw my friends, burned to their stations, and the bodies of the dead were thick, or badly wounded.
The Major and I went between No. 3 and No 4. Turrets to the starboard side and found Lt. Cmdr. Fuqua ordering the men over the side, and assisting the wounded. He seemed exceptionally calm and the Major stopped and they talked for a minute, then suddenly I found myself in the water. I think the concussion of a bomb threw me in. I started swimming for the pipeline, which was about 150 feet away. I was about halfway and then my strength gave out entirely, my wet clothes and shocked condition sapped my strength and I was about to go under when Major Shapley started to swim by, and seeing my distress, he grasped my shirt and told me to hang on to his shoulders while he swam in. We were perhaps 25 feet from the pipeline when the Major’s strength gave out and I saw that he was floundering, so I let go of him and told him to go on alone. He stopped and again he grabbed me by the shirt and refused to let go. Finally, we reached the beach where a Marine directed us to a bomb shelter, where I was given dry clothes and a place to rest for a short while before being placed aboard another ship.
It took many years before I could visit the USS Arizona Memorial. I visited once with my youngest son, and once with my wife, Diana. Each visit proved to be so traumatic for me, that to return for a yearly service that recalls the events of the day is just not possible. I have spent a lifetime trying to erase the images of that day...and yet the memory lives on.
