Little L

Little L

As a child, my cousin Lahoma was known as “Little L.” My mother Wenonah said that she was always generous, sweet and cheerful. “Nobody could stay in a bad mood when Little L was around.”

It must have been hard for Little L to stay cheerful, because she had a tough childhood. She grew up during the depression and during WWII, raised by a single mother, my aunt Kaliteyo, who during most of her childhood, eked out a living as a seamstress.

Kaliteyo quit school in 1931 to marry a young man from the nearby town of Paoli, Oklahoma. She stayed with him for four years in spite of the fact that he spent most of his weekends out drinking, usually with other women. Kaliteyo got a divorce in 1936, but that didn’t end her troubles. The next year she and Little L were overwhelmed by fumes in a garage apartment where they were living. It was a wonder they survived.

After their close call, Kaliteyo and Little L moved in with Grandmother in Pauls Valley, while Kaliteyo looked for a job. Grandmother was happy to have a granddaughter to spoil, and she also had a playmate for her, her cousin Tom, the son of my uncle Haskell, who was also recently divorced. As soon as Kaliteyo recovered from carbon monoxide poisoning, she enrolled in a secretarial school in Oklahoma City, staying with Wenonah, who had a job with the state highway department, and leaving Little L in Pauls Valley with Grandmother.

This was too much for Little L. She thought Wenonah had taken her mother away. One weekend when Kaliteyo and Wenonah came home for a visit, Little L kicked Wenonah in the shin  So Kaliteyo quit school and moved back to Pauls Valley. Eventually she got a job there working for the new welfare department created under President Roosevelt’s New Deal.

Little L and Kaliteyo

The next problem came when Little L started to school. Her teacher said that she paid attention in class, but just couldn’t seem to understand the lessons. She wasn’t learning to read and she couldn’t understand math. The whole family worried about her. Finally her teacher noticed that Little L couldn’t see the blackboard. Wenonah, who still had a job, went out and bought her some glasses. She never had trouble in school again.

The next year Kaliteyo was transferred to Purcell, Oklahoma, and that gave her an opportunity to send Little L to St. Elizabeth’s Academy, where she had gone to school during her high school years. Lahoma loved it, just like her mother. Wenonah told me about visiting her once during an open house. Little L was excited that Wenonah had come, and she proudly showed her around and introduced her to her teachers. There was one nun at the school whom she particularly liked and she kept looking for her. Finally she cried, “There she is,” and ran to where one of the nuns was standing. When the nun turned around, Little L said, “Oh, it’s the wrong one.” The nun just laughed and said, “We do look alike in our habits.”

Aunt Kaliteyo tried to give Little L a good childhood, but she always had trouble making ends meet. She eventually lost her job in Purcell and moved to Oklahoma City, where she tried to make a living as a seamstress. Wenonah worried about them. She said that one time she went by to visit and all they had in the refrigerator was a stick of butter.

Little L always found a way to be cheerful. As soon as she was old enough she got a job at a flower shop to help out. She always made sure her mother had flowers in their apartment. In spite of their poverty Kaliteyo managed to give Little L dancing lessons, starting in grade school, and she was really talented. She danced in recitals, and at school programs, and once for the Indian-Okla Club that Wenonah belonged to. Yvonne Chouteau, who would become a famous ballerina, was about the same age as Little L, and she danced on the same program.

Little L , 1939

When my parents were married in June of 1941, they moved into an apartment just a block down the street from Kaliteyo and Little L. On November 7 of that year, called by President Roosevelt “the date that will live in infamy,” the US naval fleet in Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese. The nation was in shock, but especially my parents, because my dad’s brother Everett was assigned to the USS Oklahoma, one of the ships that was sunk. 

After the attack, Little L came by to visit Wenonah every day after school.  "Lahoma was always cheerful," Wenonah told me. "She tried to give us hope that Everett had survived." Christmas was coming, but as the days went by, and there was still no word from Everett, celebrating the holiday was the last thing on my parents’ minds. One day Little L came in and said, “You need some Christmas decorations,” and she proceeded to hang some tinsel and ornaments she had bought with her meager savings.

It was January before Everett was able to get word to the family that he was okay. My parents thanked God that he was alive, and they thanked Lahoma for helping them get through the weeks of worry. Wenonah told me that my dad carried Little L’s picture in his wallet for years.

After about a year my mother thought of another way to show her thanks. At the time there was an annual Indian Exposition in Anadarko, Oklahoma, attended by Indians from all over the United States. The family had been going to the “Indian Fair” ever since it began in 1935, and she noticed that some of the tribes selected a “Princess” to represent them, so she called our cousin, Floyd Maytubby, then the Chickasaw Governor, and asked him if he would consider appointing Lahoma. He did, and she was crowned Chickasaw Princess in 1943. She was twelve. 

Little L with other tribal princesses, 1943

In 1948, when Little L was just 15, her dancing teacher, Molly Day, decided to start a professional dancing troupe, and she invited her to join. But she needed $500 from each girl for startup money. I don’t know what Lahoma thought. I guess the idea seemed exciting and glamorous. The surprising thing was that her mother supported her. She still regretted not being able to follow her own dreams.

When the family found out what Little L was planning, they were horrified. They tried to talk Kaliteyo out of allowing her to go. Then they refused to give her the money. We were living in Wichita, Kansas at the time, but grandmother kept Wenonah in the loop. Finally Kaliteyo got the money from her boyfriend, and so Little L, just out of junior high school, headed for Texas and later Mexico, performing with a dancing troupe.  

To be continued. 

Battle of Guadalcanal, Part II

Investigation into the events that took place on the night of Friday the 13^th of November, 1942, in Lunga Bay revealed a much different story than the one told by my uncle Everett and his crew mates. They of course had no idea what was taking place on the bridge of the USS San Francisco, and in the confusion of darkness and battle they couldn’t have had a clear picture of what was happening between the many ships involved. The complete story may never be told. The battle was later described as “A barroom brawl after the lights had been shot out,” but the following is the best description I could find of the battle, from Richard Frank’s book, Guadalcanal.  

On Thursday, the day before the battle, the USS San Francisco steamed into Lunga Bay, escorting a convoy of transports carrying troops and supplies for the little marine base on Guadalcanal. My uncle, Everett Gunning, must have been a little anxious that day. The week before, the San Francisco had been chosen by Admiral Callaghan as his flagship, and Everett must have known they were expecting some action. There were many more warships in the harbor than was usual for a convoy escort.

Everett didn’t mention it in his accounts of the battle, but Japanese bombers attacked the convoy that afternoon. The task force commander, Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner, was warned of the attack beforehand, so he was ready, as was a fighter squadron from Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. There were no direct hits on American ships during the attack due to some clever maneuvering by the Admiral, but the USS San Francisco sustained damage when a Japanese bomber, shot down by one of the other ships, crashed on the deck, taking out one of the gun batteries. Twenty-three men were killed, and forty-five injured. Everett had been on the deck manning another gun battery at the time. He knew many of the men. He could easily have been one of those killed.

After the transports were unloaded they left the harbor, but the San Francisco and the other cruisers and destroyers remained. Something bigger was coming.

That something was the beginning of Admiral Yamamoto’s final push to take Guadalcanal. His plan was to bring in a large naval force during the night of November 12 – 13 to destroy Henderson Field with big bombs from his battleships. The bombing was to be followed by convoys of supplies and troops for the final push, supported by an aerial attack from his carriers.

As in the previous battles of Coral Sea and Midway, it was superior intelligence that saved the US from disaster. American cryptanalysts managed to crack a new Japanese code just in time to alert Admiral Halsey, commander of the South Pacific fleet, about plans for the Guadalcanal attack on November 8, leaving him five days to prepare. 

Even with advanced warning, Admiral Turner, responsible for defending Guadalcanal, didn’t have much to work with. He had no carriers to oppose Japan’s five, and his only two battleships were too far away to make it in time for the battle. He only had an assortment of cruisers and destroyers, none of which had guns big enough to pierce the armor of the Japanese battleships sent to bomb Henderson Field. To improve his odds, he sent his transports away unguarded, raising his tally of ships to 13, five cruisers and eight destroyers, but then he made what some consider a disastrous mistake. He retreated with his reserve forces, leaving in command Admiral Daniel Callaghan, an officer with no field experience, chosen over Admiral Norman Scott, the hero of the Battle of Cape Esperance, because of seniority. (see post of Jan. 30, 2016)

In preparing to meet the Japanese, Admiral Callaghan then proceeded to make two major mistakes. First, he chose the USS San Francisco, Everett’s ship, as his flagship. The San Francisco had not only sustained severe damage the day before, it had inferior quality radar equipment. Secondly, he failed to take advantage of  Admiral Scott’s leadership and experience, placing his ship, the USS Atlanta, in the line of battle directly in front of the San Francisco.  

The night of the planned bombardment, the American ships waited in Lunga Bay while the Japanese force steamed down the channel. The Japanese met with a thunderstorm early in the evening, and their commander, Adm. Hiroaki Abe, decided to abort the planned bombing. He was heading back toward the Japanese base at Rabaul, New Britain, around midnight, when the skies cleared and he decided to proceed with the planned bombing.

As a result of the change in orders, the cloudy skies and the darkness of night, Abe’s fleet then became disorganized. Standing at the helm of the battleship, Hiei, he lost track of the other ships’ positions, and most importantly, the destroyers ordered to sweep the harbor fell behind the main group of ships. Unaware of the presence of American ships, Abe ordered the big guns on his battleships to be loaded with shells intended for the bombing, instead of the armor piercing shells used for sinking cruisers. When he finally sighted the American force, it was too late to reload.

So the American fleet had an advantage going into the battle. The Japanese were caught by surprise, disorganized, and unprepared, but the inexperienced Callaghan failed to take advantage of his opportunity. As the Japanese ships approached, the images on his ship’s inferior radar equipment were confusing. He tried to communicate with the ships having better radar, but was unable to get a clear line of communication due to undisciplined chatter on the radio. Finally he ordered the column to make a 45 degree turn to starboard, probably intending to position his ships perpendicular to the advancing Japanese force, but instead he put them on a collision course.

What Everett and his shipmates believed to be a clever plan by the admiral to take the Japanese by surprise was actually a foolish mistake.

To be continued.

Naval Battle of Guadalcanal, Part I

After the Battle of Cape Esperance (see post of Jan. 30, 2016), my uncle Everett’s ship, the USS San Francisco, returned to New Zealand to refuel, and with the exception of the near miss by a Japanese torpedo which hit the nearby USS Chester (see post of Feb. 27, 2016), Everett saw a little pause in the action. In his letters to my dad he mentioned that he had been promoted to Seaman First Class, and that he was frustrated because his girl friends hadn’t been writing. He wasn’t allowed to say much more.

Meanwhile, there was no letup in the action around Guadalcanal. Both sides considered the base there with its air strip, Henderson Field, essential to their success in the Pacific. The little contingent of US marines there had so far been able to defend Henderson Field against repeated Japanese attacks by land, air, and sea, but they were still vulnerable. Their little “Cactus Air Force” was up against aircraft from the Japanese’ main Pacific base at Rabaul, New Brittain, only a few hours away, and they faced almost nightly shelling from Japanese naval vessels. The Japanese troops on Guadalcanal were regularly resupplied by convoys of the “Tokyo Express” from Rabaul, while the American troops’ nearest base was over 1000 miles away at Noumea, New Caledonia.

The Japanese were confident that their naval superiority would eventually bring them victory. In spite of their brief setback at Cape Esperance, they had sunk the Hornet, one of the US’ two remaining aircraft carriers, in the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands (see post of Feb. 27, 2016), and badly damaged the other, the Enterprise. The Japanese planned to use this advantage to destroy the Cactus Air Force, leaving the marines undefended. The attack was set for Nov. 13, 1942, Friday the 13^th.

What followed was known as the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal, actually two battles, which took place over a three day period. Everett, on the USS San Francisco, was involved in the first, and he barely escaped with his life. 

I remember hearing the story of the battle as a child. It was told and retold by Everett and by my parents. It must have been the most remarkable experience of Everett’s career, even eclipsing Pearl Harbor. As I remember the story, Everett’s ship, the USS San Francisco, led a convoy of US vessels right through the middle of a group of Japanese warships, catching them by surprise. A terrific battle ensued, in which the bridge of the San Francisco was blown off. Everett was manning one of the big guns at the time, and the shell hit just as he bent over to pick up a sack of gunpowder. He said if he’d been standing, he would have been cut in half.

Most of the officers, including the ship’s captain and the Admiral commanding the task force, were killed, but in spite of that devastating loss, one of the junior officers took command, and directed the ship back into the battle to avoid signaling to the other ships a retreat.

Everett took great pride in the performance of the USS San Francisco at Guadalcanal, as did the rest of the crew. Here is a poem composed by one of Everett’s shipmates, Bill Petticrew.

“The Frisco Maru”

On July twenty first in forty two

Out of Pearl Harbor steamed the Frisco Maru.

Her crew was fit and ready to fight,

And the ship as a whole was a wonderful sight.

Four long months we sailed the foam,

Dreaming soon of going home.

Time after time the enemy was sought,

week after week and the Frisco still fought.

Then it come one dark filled night,

The biggest force the Maru had fought;

From both sides great missiles flew,

Full steam was commanded, we’re going thru and

Thru we went from both sides belched our guns;

The enemy knew he’d well been stung.

A hard left rudder and we went back,

Our guns trained hard for just one more crack;

Once more our guns belched forth with flame,

Straight and true was the Frisco’s aim.

The firing ceased - the battle was won,

The Frisco had set the rising sun;

In all the glory there’ll ever be,

March the men who died that we might be free;

They gave their lives for the stars and stripes,

That there would be no more of those darkfilled nights

In the heart of each man who fought by their side,

There’ll be a feeling of joy and of pride;

That each man who died will live anew

Forever in the glory of the red, white, and blue.

By Bill Petticrew. 

Between Battles

Seaman First Class Everett Gunning 

My dad wrote to Everett every week, and Everett wrote back almost as often, although his letters were censored and didn't include any information about the fighting.

Here’s one written just before the Battle of Cape Esperance:

10/1/1942

Dear Don,

You and Mother are the only ones I have heard from for a long time. You and Mother tell me all the news. There is so little I can write in answer. I guess only my real friends answer. My girl in San Francisco, California is the only one I miss hearing from. A friend of mine, who has seen Jean since I left says she still loves me, but I may need Jimmy’s mother to get me an Indian girl. They are my weakness anyway.

I made Seaman 1^st Class finally. That is the best news I have had for some time. I am studying for something else now.

Your Bud, Everett.

Everett was obviously homesick but he was also caught up in the excitement of his adventures. The Enid Daily Eagle, Everett’s hometown paper, reported:

Gunning wrote that he certainly would like to spend the holidays at home with his parents at Enid. Pearl Harbor precluded that. Then he wrote again that he regretted the fact that he had missed spending the last two Christmas seasons with his folks “but will see you next Christmas if I have to whip the Japs first…. If I could get home for a visit then I would be ready to go to Tokyo.”

While Everett was dodging bullets on the high seas, Boyd was still training in jungle warfare in Hawaii. He wrote to my parents about the beautiful orchids there:

10/25/42: Dear Don,

Your letter came per today and it is good to know that your family is all well and that you are still turning them out (He means the B17 bombers). Give Jimmy and Robin my best regards, and tell Jim that I would like to pin some of these natural plentiful orchids on her with my compliments. They had the annual orchid show in Honolulu this week but I didn’t get a chance to go. I would like to see you all - and especially that Robin. If you are taking any snap shots send me one occasionally. I may get a chance to show them to Everett. I worried about him for a while but know he is okay now, and expect to see him one of these days. Write him that I would like to hear from him. Work hard, you are in the best spot in the world and I’m counting on you. If you go to Norman spend some time with El and the boys. They are lonesome at times and would be glad to have you. I’m fine and don’t expect to spend all my life or even the best part of it here.

Sincerely Boyd

Ironically, Boyd’s comment about being relieved that Everett was okay was written just two weeks after the Battle of Cape Esperance and a little over two weeks before the Battle of Guadalcanal, when Everett narrowly escaped being killed.

Shortly after the Battle of Cape Esperance, Everett had another close call. As the San Francisco was cruising back to port, one of her sailors spotted a torpedo heading straight for the ship. Word of the sighting was quickly passed up to the bridge where the pilot turned the ship away in time to avoid being hit, but one of the other cruisers, the Chester, was not so lucky. She was struck and badly damaged.

Everett told another story about being attacked by Japanese bombers. I’m not sure when it was. He said they were escorting a convoy at the time, so it could have been during the battle when the carrier Wasp was sunk, or following the Battle of Cape Esperance. The episode was reported in a newspaper article written while Everett was home on leave in December of 1942:

While in the Solomons, the San Francisco was in a battle, along with some other American vessels which had convoyed a group of transports with supplies for the men there, with 17 huge Jap bombers, carrying torpedoes. The San Francisco did something which no other ship has ever done - shoot down a bomber with their big guns. (Everett said) “When the shell hit that bomber it blew into bits. That scared the Japs so bad they dropped their eggs harmlessly and ran.”

The Battle of Cape Esperance had been an empty victory. As Admiral Scott retreated with most of his task force to the American base at Noumea, the destroyer McCalla stayed behind to rescue the survivors. Many of the men from the sunken destroyer Duncan drowned or were eaten by sharks during the night. As for the Japanese survivors, many drowned because they refused to grasp the ropes thrown to them by American sailors, a grisly scene for the sailors who witnessed it.

Shortly after the battle, the Tokyo Express resumed, bringing more supplies and men down the “slot” to reinforce the Japanese forces on Guadalcanal. By late October the Japanese were ready, and three units marched through the jungle and surrounded the US marines defending Henderson Field. On October 23 and again on the 24th, wave after wave of Japanese soldiers ran across the Matanikau river to the north and across what came to be known as “bloody ridge” to the south screaming “banzai” and “death to Americans.” The American troops were terrified but ready. 3500 Japanese troops were killed in the desperate attempt to overrun the American base, compared to American losses of 200.

Meanwhile a Japanese carrier group waited near the Santa Cruz Islands east of Guadalcanal ready to land planes on Henderson Field after their infantry had overrun the marines. They were unable to take Henderson Field, but they did find and attack two US carriers, the Hornet and the Enterprise, sinking the Hornet and two US destroyers while suffering only minor damage to their own ships.

By this time the struggle for Guadalcanal had become famous. Several reporters had landed with the troops, and their hair raising reports of the marines' brave defense of the little airstrip there catapulted the struggle into a national issue. President Roosevelt himself told the admirals of CINCPAC to make sure the troops on Guadalcanal got everything they needed. Admiral Halsey, who had taken over command of the South Pacific theater from the indecisive Admiral Ghormley, told the marine General Vandergrift, “I’ll promise you everything I’ve got.” 

Meanwhile, Everett’s ship, the USS San Francisco, was taking on supplies at Noumea, New Caledonia, getting ready to return to action.

The Battle of Cape Esperance

Early in World War II, Japanese forces were superior to the Americans in almost every way. In the air, the Japanese Zero fighters were faster and more maneuverable than the US Wildcats and P-40's which protected Guadalcanal, so that the US planes had to be continually replaced. The American pilots also had to be replaced on an average of every thirty days. The jungle took its toll in dysentery and malaria, as did the stress of constant bombardment, and a shortage of fuel and ammunition. On the sea, the Japanese torpedoes were more accurate, and all their ships carried them, whereas the US torpedoes exploded only about half the time and only destroyers carried them. Also the Japanese navy excelled in night fighting, having worked out signals for communication between ships, and pyrotechnics to light up enemy targets.

The island of Guadalcanal lay in the middle of Japan’s defensive perimeter, and it straddled the supply route for the Allied forces, so both sides considered it essential to their strategic plan. Since the US marines had taken over the base and air strip there, the Japanese put all their resources into taking it back. It was up to the US navy to make sure they didn’t succeed.

In September of 1942 Everett’s ship, the USS San Francisco, was part of Task Force 18, assigned to protect a supply convoy headed for Guadalcanal. The convoy was discovered and attacked by Japanese submarines on September 8, and while they managed to deliver supplies and reinforcements to Guadalcanal, they lost the Destroyer O'Brien, the Battleship North Carolina, and the aircraft carrier Wasp. 

Everett witnessed the sinking of the three ships and the rescue of the survivors. Out of a crew of 2247 men on the Wasp, 173 were killed and 400 injured. He said the sinking of the Wasp was the most horrific explosion he ever witnessed, and that was saying something. After the battle, the US was now left with only one aircraft carrier in the Pacific, the Hornet, while the Japanese now had six. The Japanese were also building up their forces on Guadalcanal almost unmolested, in night runs the marines nicknamed the “Tokyo Express.”

By October, General Vandergrift, commander of the American troops on Guadalcanal, informed his superiors that he would not be able to hold the island much longer. The US Navy hadn’t been able to stop the Tokyo Express, and it had lost 8 cruisers and 3 destroyers in the attempt. So far the US naval command hadn't been willing to commit more troops to Guadalcanal, reserving them for the capture of the island of Ndeni, where they intended to build an air base for planes on their way to Guadalcanal. 

Finally, on October 8, Admiral Ghormley, Pacific fleet commander, responded to Vandergrift by sending a convoy carrying the 164^th Infantry Regiment. The covering force consisted of the aircraft carrier Hornet, the battleship Washington, and the newly formed Task Force 64, made up of 4 cruisers and five destroyers, under the command of Admiral Norman Scott, aboard the USS San Francisco, Everett’s ship.

Scott’s ambition had long been to disrupt the previously invincible Tokyo Express. He had studied Japanese night tactics, and had worked out a plan of his own for night battles, utilizing the torpedoes of his destroyers and the fire power of his cruisers to the best advantage, and giving the ship captains under him the authority to fire on their own initiative. He had also given his ships nighttime firing practice. On the night of October 11, as he was preparing for the arrival of the convoy carrying the 164th Regiment, he got a chance to test his plans.

At 1600 hours (4:00 PM) an enemy convoy was sighted northwest of Guadalcanal heading down the “Slot,” the channel through the Solomon Islands used by the Japanese navy to supply their troops. Admiral Scott rushed to head them off. He arranged his ships across the channel with the cruisers in the middle and destroyers at both ends. His plan was for the destroyers to fire their torpedoes at the large ships, and also to illumine any ships in range of the cruisers’ big guns. It was a beautiful plan, but what followed was a comedy of errors.

The Battle of Cape Esperance, Oct. 11, 1942

At 2330 hours, thirty minutes before midnight, Admiral Scott received a report that three enemy ships had been sighted coming from the northeast. His original plan had been to turn north following the coastline of Savo Island heading toward the Japanese convoy reported earlier, but instead he now ordered his column to turn back to the Southwest, so as to interpose his task force between the two Japanese groups. This is where the confusion began. As the lead ship in the column, the Destroyer Fahrenheit, began its turn, the crew of the San Francisco, Scott’s own ship, began to turn too instead of remaining in formation, and the rest of the column followed them, leaving the three destroyers behind.

At about the same time they received the order to turn, three of the cruisers saw a blip on their radar to the northwest, but they didn’t report it, assuming that was the reason for Scott’s decision to turn. After about fifteen minutes, the entire column of US ships had reversed their direction, and the three destroyers in the lead had managed to sail between the cruisers and the enemy ships.

By this time all the ships were picking up the Japanese convoy on their radar, and Admiral Scott, now aware of the confusion about his turn orders, was afraid that the radar blips were coming from his own ships. With no orders, the ship captains began to take the initiative. Captain Taylor of the Destroyer Duncan accelerated his ship directly toward the enemy column. The Destroyer Fahrenheit, followed by the Laffley, chose to complete the turn, positioning themselves for a torpedo attack. The crew of the Cruiser, Helena, who had now been aware of the approaching enemy column for fifteen minutes, were now able to see the Japanese ships with their naked eyes. One of the radar operators quipped, “what are we going to do, board them?” A moment later, the Helena opened fire, shortly followed by a barrage of fire from the other American ships.

The Japanese column was caught completely off guard. In the clear night air they had seen the American ships in the distance, but the Japanese commander, Admiral Goto, believed them to be his own transport ships. As he flashed a recognition signal, his ship was hit by the first American salvo, killing him and disabling his ship’s communications. 

The Battle of Cape Esperance continued for about 35 minutes, and the confusion continued. Shortly after firing commenced, Admiral Scott, worried that he might be firing on his own ships, ordered a cease fire, and radioed Captain Robert Tobin, commander of the destoyers at the head of the column:

“How are you?” he asked, to which Tobin replied that he was fine.

“Are we shooting at you?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know who you are shooting at,” Tobin answered.

Not reassured, Scott ordered Tobin’s ships to flash their fighting lights. Having identified the US destoyers, the battle resumed. The Japanese got the worst of it. Four Japanese ships were sunk, and 565 of their sailors were killed. On the American side, one ship was sunk and 3 damaged, two by “friendly” fire, and 163 men were killed. It was a landmark battle for the US Navy, their first victory in a night battle, and while many mistakes were made, Admiral Scott’s tactics were copied afterward by other naval commanders.  The practical results of the battle were that the 164^th Infantry Regiment was successfully landed on Guadalcanal, and the Japanese supply convoy was turned back.

For any WWII buffs out there, most of the information for this post came from Guadalcanal, by Richard B. Frank. It’s an excellent book, very readable but  detailed. Other sources I used were Freedom from Fear, by David M Kennedy, good for painting the overall picture of the times, the Great Depression and WWII; Eagle Against the Sun, by Ronald H. Spector, a good summary of the military history of the Pacific Theater, and Wikipedia’s article on the USS San Francisco, CA 38.  

Everett Rejoins the Action

After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Everett and the other survivors from the battleship Oklahoma were given their choice of ships for their next assignment. Everett chose the USS San Francisco, a heavy cruiser which had been at Pearl Harbor for repairs at the time of the Japanese attack but had not been hit. He avoided being assigned to one of the battleships, targets of the Japanese at Pearl Harbor. What he couldn’t know was that the USS San Francisco would be chosen as the admiral’s flagship, and would be involved in some of the heaviest fighting of the war.

The repairs on the USS San Francisco were cut short, and by mid-December she was heading back out into the Pacific with Everett aboard. For the first few months of 1942 the San Francisco operated out of Pearl Harbor. She was first sent to defend American troops on Wake Island, but was ordered to withdraw when news of Wake’s fall reached fleet command. Next, the San Francisco supported reinforcements to Samoa, one of the next targets of Japanese expansion, and she shelled Japanese installations in the Gilbert and Marshall Islands. From there the San Francisco joined a task force heading for Rabaul, in New Guinae, the center of Japanese operations for the South Pacific, but they were attacked by Japanese bombers and turned back.

By the time the USS San Francisco returned to Pearl Harbor in March of 1942, the ship had not received any fresh supplies of food for almost three months. Everett told Don and Wenonah that with no fresh fruit or vegetables, his hair started falling out, and his fingernails started peeling off.

After being resupplied at Pearl Harbor, the USS San Francisco was sent back to the states for three weeks, and then she joined a convoy carrying a large force of American troops, along with food and munitions, to New Zealand.

About that time, Everett decided to get married, to a girl he had met in San Francisco. They had opened up a joint bank account and he had started sending her money.  Boyd, who was still in artillery training stateside, wrote to Don, worried that their little brother might actually go through with the marriage:

4/7/1942:  

Dear Don and Jimmy, thanks for the letter. It was good to hear that Jimmy is getting along so well. You both must be getting used to the inconvenience of having a baby by now (actually I wouldn't be born for another 2 months). You may not think I am an expert on the subject but every time I look at those pictures of my two it makes me feel old and expert.

Everett’s letter about getting married sounds like a joke at first but he must be serious since he wrote us both the same thing. I am going to write him and tell him that I’d like to see him before he definitely makes up his mind. If he is really in love with this gal O.K, I wouldn’t meddle or interfere, but after all, so far she has been just one of many & he probably hasn’t even seen her for 6 months.

He should at wait until he has some time off to think it over. He couldn’t live with her now even if they were married, & if he doesn’t come through this war, all the marriage would mean is a pension for her as his wife when actually they never had a chance to live together.

By the way don’t worry about writing capt. On my letters. The rule here is that promotions come only after a full year of active duty. Even though I have a lot of seniority, I still won’t be promoted for some time.

This is a swell camp, and I hope I will get to stay a while. Eleanor is coming out as soon as we know & it should be settled any day.

Hope you don’t have to get in this. Stay right with your job and your family if you possibly can, and don’t volunteer.

If you have any trouble with those Kansas field mice you can put this picture where they’ll see it.

It was taken at Moro Bay near here where Jap Subs have sunk several oil tankers. Good luck to you kids. Sincerely, Boyd

In June, the Japanese landed troops on the island of Guadalcanal, just east of Australia, the main supply base for Allied forces. The US command immediately made plans to retake the island, and two months later, US marines landed on the beach and took the almost completed airstrip, which they named Henderson Field, after a pilot killed in the battle of Midway.

The marine landing was covered by several cruisers and by air support from three aircraft carriers, commanded by Admiral Frank Fletcher. When the Japanese navy attacked the transport ships unloading supplies for the marines, admiral Fletcher, fearing that he would lose his carriers, withdrew, leaving the cruisers and transports unprotected. What followed was the Battle of Savo Island, the worst defeat in US naval history, with almost 2000 US casualties.  

After the Battle of Savo Island, Everett’s ship, the USS San Francisco, headed for Guadalcanal.

The War in the Pacific

Good News! ChickasawPress.com is up and running if you would like to buy a copy of Wenonah’s Story on line.

With this post, I’m going to go back to the story of my dad’s brothers, Boyd and Everett, during WWII. Sorry for jumping around like this. If you’d like to review Everett’s escape from the sinking Battleship Oklahoma at Pearl Harbor, see my post of September 20, 2015.

Both my uncles served in the Pacific Theater. I did some reading about the war, and by knowing that Boyd was in the 161^st Infantry Regiment, and that Everett was on the USS San Francisco, I was able to follow them through the war, and also to fit together what I know about their personal experiences. I didn’t get much help from Don’s older brother Boyd. He never talked about his war time memories with Don, and his son, my cousin Tom Gunning, told me that the whole subject of the war was off limits in their house. On the other hand, Don’s younger brother Everett seemed to enjoy recounting his experiences. He told my parents several stories, and while on leave, he was interviewed by the local newspaper and radio station in his home town of Enid, Oklahoma.

To give you a little background, the Japanese rapidly followed up their victory at Pearl Harbor by taking Hong Kong, Guam and Wake Island. Then they marched through French Indochina and Thailand into Burma, and down the Malay peninsula toward Singapore, sweeping British and Dutch troops and naval vessels aside as they went. By mid-March they had taken Singapore, defended by 85,000 British troops, and the Dutch East Indies with their rich oil stores. In April 100,000 American and Philippine troops under General Jonathan Wainwright surrendered to the Japanese on the Philippine island of Luzon. By the time I was born in May, 1942, many began to think the Japanese were invincible. My mother Wenonah was terrified.

After Wainwright’s surrender, the American and Filipino prisoners, exhausted after 4 months of fighting, and suffering from malnutrition, malaria and dysentery, were marched 80 miles up the Bataan Peninsula by their Japanese captors. The stragglers were beaten and even bayoneted if they failed to keep up. 600 Americans and 10,000 Filipinos lost their lives during the ordeal, afterwards known as the “Bataan Death March.” Boyd’s unit, the 161^st Infantry Regiment, was on its way to the Philippines at the time of the Japanese attack. If he had been there, he would have been among those on the Death March. As it was, he was sent to the island of Guadalcanal instead.

The first American successes in the Pacific war were the result of intelligence efforts.  On April 28, 1942, about the same time as fall of the Philippines, the Japanese sent a fleet of transport ships carrying troops to establish a base at Port Moresby in Papua, New Guinea. From there they hoped to launch attacks on Australia, America’s main supply base. Orders for the movement were decrypted by American Intelligence, and the Japanese convoy was met in the Coral Sea by planes from two US aircraft carriers, the Lexington and the Yorktown. Although the Americans were overmatched by superior Japanese planes and torpedoes, they managed to turn back the Japanese troop transports and Port Moresby was never taken.

The next move in Japan’s strategic plan was to take Midway Island, about half way between Japan and Hawaii. It was then held by a small US force, and had the Japanese been able to take it, they could have again  threatened Hawaii, the Americans’ main naval base in the Pacific. Again US naval intelligence deciphered the Japanese orders, and on the day of the attack, June 4, 1942, the Americans took the Japanese by  surprise and sunk four of their six aircraft carriers. The Americans only lost one carrier out of their four, reversing the balance of naval power in the Pacific war in our favor. 

General Jonathan Wainwright remained a Japanese prisoner in Manchuria until the end of the war. 

Don's "Diaper Trouble"

 

Wesley Hospital, Wichita, Kansas

Since my dad worked for Boeing aircraft, which was considered essential to the war effort, he managed to avoid the draft during WWII, but two of his brothers served in the Pacific Theater, and they carried on a steady correspondence with him throughout the war. Don’s youngest brother, J.E., was in the navy, but he didn’t have to go overseas.

Letters from the front were all read by a military censor, so Boyd and Everett couldn’t say anything about what they actually going through, so they chatted about superficial things, and commented about the things Don told them in his letters.

The following is one of the letters Don got from his younger brother Everett, who had survived the attack on Pearl Harbor (see post of September 20, 2015). The letter was written in October of 1942, from the Pacific, where he would soon be embroiled in the Battle of Guadalcanal – but more about that later.

Oct 21, 1942, USS San Francisco. To Don Gunning 3112 E 3^rd, Wichita

Dear Don, Your letters have been coming with every mail. You won’t have anything new to tell Jimmy’s Mother from this letter. Your letters are always full of good news tho. Your diaper trouble sounds critical. My girlfriends have all decided out of sight out of mind. They never write. It is comforting to know someone is concerned with my welfare, sometimes I am disturbed about my outcome also. Tell everyone hello.

Your Bud, Everett.

In his comment about “diaper trouble,” Everett was teasing Don about a rectal fistula he developed about the time I was born. A rectal fistula is basically an abscess of the buttocks that drains pus through a hole in the rectum, leaking onto your underwear, hence the diaper reference. My dad would kill me if he knew I was telling this story. Maybe he’s looking down on me right now, saying, “wait ‘til I get my hands on him.”

Anyway, in addition to the nuisance, it must have hurt pretty bad, and it might have caused a fever too. My parents always attributed the fistula to my dad’s having to sit out on the hospital steps waiting to get in to see Wenonah after I was born, but I doubt if that would have caused it.

After Wenonah brought me home from the hospital and settled into a routine, Don went to the doctor to see about his fistula, and was referred to a proctologist, a doctor who specializes in that sort of thing.

The proctologist told Don he would need to open the fistula, and he admitted him to a hospital for the surgery, probably Wesley Hospital, where I was born. After the procedure, he kept him there for several days, to observe the wound, and to have the nurses change the dressings.

Don’s roommate in the hospital was a professional roofer who had been hospitalized for a back injury. Apparently he had backed up to admire his work and accidentally stepped off the roof. Don enjoyed listening to the roofer’s stories. He had had a lot of falls, and seemed to consider them just part of the job. The roofer had a large family, all involved in the roofing business, and in the evenings they would all gather around his bed, and laugh and talk about their experiences. Don entertained the family for years with stories about the roofers.

Don had only one problem with his roommate. On the first evening after he was admitted, his family brought him a bowl of grapes that was infested with gnats. Don spent the rest of his hospital stay swatting gnats.

When Don came home, the doctor instructed Wenonah on how to treat the wound. Since a fistula is an infection, the wound can’t be closed, so it was left open, and Wenonah was to apply a sulfonamide paste every day. Preparing the paste was a complicated process involving heating the sulfonamide powder to liquefy it. The result was a caustic mixture that caused Don to “rise up off the bed in pain” according to my mother, whenever she applied it.

The other story my dad told about his experience was going in to see his doctor for follow up visits. Apparently the doctor wasn’t a people person, and couldn’t recognize his patients when he met them, so when would enter an examining room, his nurse would prompt him by saying something like, “Dr. Brown, this is Mr. Gunning.”

Well, one day when my dad went in for his visit, the nurse forgot to make the introduction. Unfazed by the omission, the doctor went right to work, asking Don to pull down his pants and to bend over. When the doctor looked at my dad’s butt – he swore this is true – he said, “Oh, Mr. Gunning.”

Everett at Pearl Harbor

By December of 1941, my parents’ lives had settled into a routine. Every day Don went to work at  Peppers’ oil refinery. Jim was making baby clothes and pinching her pennies to buy baby furniture. They got together every week end with Kaliteyo and Lahoma who lived just a block away, and Lahoma would come over to visit with Jim on her way home from school in the afternoons. Jim and Don were looking forward to spending their first Christmas together.

World War II seemed far away, until December 7, “a date which will live in infamy,” as President Roosevelt said, the US fleet was attacked at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. News of the attack threw the country into shock. Before that, the president had promised the people that they would not go to war, and they believed him. But after Pearl Harbor, everyone knew we were in it for the duration.

When details of the attack became known, and our family learned that Everett’s ship, the Battleship Oklahoma, had been sunk. They thought he must have been killed. It was almost a month before they learned that he was alive.

Grandmother Gunning sent a letter to Jim and Don:

Dec 30, 1941

My dear Don and Jim,

We had three cards and a note on a Christmas card they were mailed 9th, 14th, 15th of December from Everett. Said he was well. Would write at the first opportunity. Said mail would be slow, not to worry.

I am so happy and relieved. I wanted to call but decided to write.

He gave a new address

U.S.S. San Francisco 5th Div, c/o Fleet Postmaster. Pearl Harbor T.H.

I hope you are both fine. Thanks a lot for the lovely cloth and napkins, also the glasses. Hope you had a nice Xmas. We went with Dal’s to Mother’s for Xmas dinner. Let us hear from you.

Love Mother, Dad and J. E.

The story of the attack on Pearl Harbor has been retold many times, and the story of the sinking of the Battleship Oklahoma is described in the book, Trapped at Pearl Harbor, by Stephen Bower Young, but when Everett got to come home on leave about a year later, he told the story to my parents first hand.

The Japanese attack came at 0800, on December 7^th, 1941, a Sunday morning. Most of the officers, including the captain of the USS Oklahoma were on shore. There was an inspection by the admiral scheduled for Monday, and so all the battleships in the fleet were in the harbor. Because it was Sunday, fewer reconnaissance planes went out, and for some reason, none went north, the direction of the attack.

The American planes on Oahu’s three airfields had been bunched together to better protect them from sabotage by the Japanese living on the island. This prevented them from taking off rapidly, and also made them sitting ducks for an air attack. Luckily the US aircraft carriers were all at sea.

Everett’s ship, the battleship Oklahoma, had a crew of 1354. The ship had four gun turrets, two pointing forward and two aft. Everett was a member of 4th division, the 60 man crew of gun turret #4, which supported one of the 14 inch guns. The ship also had a float plane for reconnaissance, and four antiaircraft guns. The battleship was like a small city.

In anticipation of an inspection on Monday, the firing mechanisms of the ship’s antiaircraft guns had been removed for cleaning and the ammunition stored away in locked magazines. The ship’s watertight compartments, which were supposed to prevent water from flooding into the ships if an explosion penetrated the hull, had been opened also in preparation for the inspection.

Many of the crew had been on shore leave the night before and had hangovers, so they were allowed to sleep in an extra hour on Sunday morning.  Everett happened to be up and dressed. He was going ashore for church. He also had a date. Motor launches were already crisscrossing the harbor taking men and supplies to and from the ships. Everett and the others going on leave had all lined up and were standing on deck at attention for the raising of the colors and the playing of the national anthem by the ship’s band. When the Japanese planes started flying in low over the harbor the band had just begun to play. The men couldn’t understand it. Some thought the planes were from one of our carriers, simulating a real attack. Then they saw puffs of smoke rising up from Ford Island, in the center of the harbor. 

Suddenly the ship’s PA system blared: “Man the antiaircraft batteries! Man the antiaircraft batteries!”  

The men who were down below were startled, at least those who were awake. Everett’s crew wasn’t involved immediately. The turret guns were too big for any antiaircraft use. The antiaircraft gun crews ran to their stations, even though their guns were unfireable. The officer of the deck fumbled for the keys to the ammunition boxes and magazines anyway. 

Then the next order came: “General Quarters! General quarters! All hands man your battle stations! All hands man your battle stations!”  

When Ensign Rommel, the highest ranking officer on board, saw the planes coming in and saw the cruiser Helena, in dock, hit by a torpedo, he scrambled up into the control room and yelled over the PA, “This is no shit, God damn it. They’re real bombs! A cruiser has just been sunk! Now get going!” That finally got everyone’s attention.

On battleships, the gun turrets extended from above the deck where turret officers sat, down to the fourth deck below. The 1400 pound shells were hoisted up from the 3^rd deck to the guns where they were loaded into the breeches by hydraulic rammers. Then 100 pound powder bags were sent up on an elevator from the powder handling room on the 4^th deck, four bags behind each shell. The 60 man crew were assigned to positions throughout each of the four levels. The crew, most of whom were in their living quarters on the second deck at the time of the attack, headed for the ladders, to descend to their battle stations.

Ensign Rommel, realizing that the big 14 inch guns were useless against airplanes, was mainly concerned with the safety of his men. He climbed into the turret and ordered the men on the way to their battle stations to go down to the powder handling room, on the deepest level of the ship. He figured they would be safer there. Airplanes couldn’t sink battleships. They carried bombs, not torpedoes. He was wrong. The Japanese planes had been specially modified to carry torpedoes.

It was about that time that the first torpedo hit the port side of the ship. That woke the rest of the men. Their first thought was that the boiler had exploded. The ship began to list. On the main deck the men saw the tower of water sent up by the explosion and felt it splash down on them as they heard the shells from the Japanese planes strafing the deck. They looked up and saw the big red dots on the wings of the planes identifying them as Japanese.  Meanwhile down below there was pandemonium. Many were knocked off the ladders by the explosion and were trying to get out of the way of the crush of sailors trying to get to their battle stations, or just to safety, some heading up and some down.

Only a few had heard the order from Rommel to go to the lower deck, so he, still convinced it was safer on the lower decks, stood by the hatch in the gun chamber and turned the men back as they came up the ladders. Everett went down with the others, and after a while the officers joined the men on the lower deck. 

When another torpedo hit the ship, and the list became more pronounced. The junior officer with Ensign Rommel said he thought the ship was going down, so Rommel decided to go up on deck to see what was happening. He said he would come back and tell the men. By the time Rommel reached the upper deck another torpedo had hit the ship and water had started pouring in through the hatches. 

He said, “I believe the ship is going down. Tell everybody to get out. Make sure you use the voice tubes; make sure everybody gets the word; make sure they get the word in the lower handling room.” Then he jumped into the water.

Everett and the other men below in the powder handling room hadn’t heard the order to abandon ship. After the second torpedo hit, the lights went out and they were thrown into darkness. They could hear equipment falling as the ship listed to the side. Oil was leaking down into the compartment making the floor slippery. The men tried to grab a bulkhead or some other structure to keep from falling. Then a third torpedo hit the ship. One of the cooks called out, “my breakfast dishes must be breaking.” He was answered by profanity. Finally the emergency lights came on. 

When the order “Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” echoed down the turret, the ship had listed over so far that only a few could even reach the ladders. Even so the ladders were clogged with men. Some climbed up through the powder hoist. Everett made it to the gun chamber, but when he got there he found the hatch to the deck jammed. Looking for a way to escape, he remembered the narrow shell ejection hatch on the bottom of the turret chamber. He squeezed through the opening to the main deck which was now under water. As Everett stood up, holding onto the turret, the deck was slanting so much that water covered his feet. Sailors clung to the sides of the ship as Japanese planes continued to strafe the deck. Everett realized that the ship was getting ready to roll over so he dove into the water and swam away under water. As he swam three more torpedoes hit the ship. 

Trying to get away from the ship, Everett swam under a pile of floating debris which blocked him from reaching the surface. Once free of the debris Everett still couldn’t swim because he couldn’t get his shoes off. He had shed his shirt and bell bottomed trousers fairly easily but his shoe laces got tangled and he couldn’t get them loose! Everett said later, “I almost drowned getting out of my shoes.” After that experience Everett never again laced his shoes all the way up. 

In all, five torpedoes struck the Battleship Oklahoma. She listed further to her port side and finally rolled completely over. As water rushed in through the hatches and portholes the men inside were drowned. Ensign Frances C Flaherty and Seaman James Richard Ward refused to abandon ship, remaining in turret #3, shining a light so other crew members could see to escape, until the ship rolled over drowning them. Lt Aloysius H Schmitt, the chaplain, started out a porthole and then returned to assist other men and was also drowned when the ship sank. On the shell deck, the huge 1400 pound shells lashed to the bulkheads broke loose as the ship listed to the side, crushing the sailors in that compartment. It took the ship only 10 minutes to sink. 

The attack lasted for two hours. During this time the Japanese planes kept coming in, torpedoing the ships, strafing the decks, and strafing the motor launches that were trying to rescue the men in the water. The smoke was so thick the men couldn’t see the sun. Sailors held to anything that would float. They managed to cut a few life rafts loose from the decks, and also the float plane.

Everett swam out to the float plane that was upside down next to the ship and held on to one of the pontoons. As more survivors joined him the pontoon sunk lower and lower in the water. Everett laid on it and held out his arms and legs so that more men could hold on. As they watched, the planes kept diving down. Docked next to the USS Oklahoma was the USS Maryland, another battleship that had been torpedoed and was sinking. Someone on her deck had managed to get an antiaircraft gun working and was trying to fire back at the Japanese planes. The USS Arizona’s deck had been hit by a specially designed armor piercing shell which exploded her ammunition magazines. She sank immediately and almost all of her crew were lost. The sailors in the water watched, horrified, as 25 or 30 men trapped on the Arizona’s foremast were burned alive by the flames leaping up from the deck. Some tried to jump, but the oil on the water was on fire also. 

The oil was Everett’s next problem. A huge sheet of oil extended out from every ship that had been hit and the men in the water were covered with it. It was difficult to even see men in the water because of the oil. Al Sandall, another of Everett’s shipmates clinging to the pontoon, said that the oil on the water was a foot thick! One of the Oklahoma’s crew was struck by a rescue launch that didn’t see him, breaking his leg. The men’s skin and clothes were so slippery from the oil that rescue crews couldn’t pull them into the boats. Everett saw a man drown right in front of a rescue boat because the crew couldn’t get him on board.

Everett was the last man to be rescued from the pontoon. By the time the launch finally came, the fire on the oil covering the water had almost reached him, and he was standing on the pontoon to escape the flames. In order to avoid the fate of the sailor he had seen drown next to the rescue boat, he dove head first into the launch.

Once Everett and the other sailors were in the launch they took off their oil soaked skivvies, so they were naked when they got to the shore. Al Sandall was rescued from the float plane along with Everett, and as they reached the fleet landing it suddenly occurred to Everett that he didn’t have any clothes on, and there was a crowd of dock workers watching as the sailors were getting out of the launch. Before Everett stood up he turned to his shipmate and said, “What do I do now, Al?” Sandall replied, “Don’t worry. No one knows you from Adam.” Then they both got up and walked through the crowd. 

Everett said that when the men got ashore they looked for a way to fight back. They expected a land attack to follow the bombing. There were no land based antiaircraft guns they could use. One of Everett’s shipmates found an old Springfield rifle and fired it at the Japanese planes as they flew by. The rescued sailors tried to help in any way they could. They got back into the rescue launches and returned to help rescue others. They helped carry the wounded to the relative safety of the shore. They helped fight the fires. All the while the Japanese continued bombing and strafing the ships and the rescue launches, even the hospital.

Back in the ship there were many still alive, trapped in air pockets where they grew weaker and weaker as the oxygen in the air became depleted. It was mostly dark inside the Oklahoma, except where men were able to save battery powered battle lanterns. They were standing in water and oil, next to the bodies of their ship mates who had drowned or been killed by falling debris as the ship sank. The men wracked their brains for ways to escape from the ship, now upside down. They dived into the water going from one compartment to another, looking for escape routes. Some managed to escape through submerged hatches or portholes, many didn’t.

The lower powder handling room, where Everett and the rest of the crew of gun turret 4 had initially been sent, was in the deepest part of the ship. There were about 15 men trapped there. They had a battle lantern which they used sparingly to conserve the batteries. The men explored the various exits to the room. The hatch to the shell handling room above was blocked by the huge 1400 pound shells. The powder hoist  through which some had escaped earlier now pointed straight down  and was filled with water. The only exit was a ladder well, called a trunk, which extended up, now down, 21 feet through the three decks between them and the main deck of the ship, and it was filled with water.

The men in the powder handling room discussed attempting an escape through the trunk. They would have to pull themselves down the ladder 21 ft to the main deck, make their way another 35 ft across the deck, and then up 30 feet to the surface of the water. One man went down and didn’t come back. Another made several trips and then gave up. Eventually three men managed to escape that way, an incredible feat. One of the men who escaped couldn’t swim, but he managed to stay on the surface until he was rescued. Another was so exhausted that his muscles refused to move when he got to the surface, and he almost drowned before the rescue launch got him aboard. As time passed the men still trapped inside became too weak to make the effort to escape. All they could do was to tap “SOS” on the wall of the compartment in Morse code hoping to be heard from the outside.    

After the attack was over, efforts began to rescue the men trapped inside the USS Oklahoma. The rescuers, armed with pneumatic hammers and chisels broke through the part of the main deck that was above water and into the ship’s dead spaces where they worked their way back to the compartments where the men were trapped. Only 6 men were left alive in the powder handling room of the Oklahoma after being trapped there for 25 hours in the darkness and the stale dank air of the small compartment. When the men finally came out into the light and saw the devastation left by the attack, one of them said, “It looks like we lost the war.” 

2403 men were lost in the attack on Pearl Harbor. 18 American naval vessels were sunk or badly damaged in the attack, including 8 battleships, every battleship in the Pacific fleet. 180 planes were destroyed and 120 crippled. From the battleship Oklahoma 448 sailors died, 400 of whom were trapped inside her hull. 32 sailors were rescued the next day by the crew that broke through the hull of the ship.  The Japanese lost only 29 planes in the attack and afterwards celebrated a great victory, but their attack was not as devastating as they had hoped. They had failed to sink even one American aircraft carrier and Pearl Harbor’s repair facilities and fuel stores remained undamaged. What was even more disastrous for them was the fact expressed so eloquently by the remark attributed to the Japanese naval commander Isoroku Yamomoto: “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant.” 

After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Everett and the other survivors from the battleship Oklahoma were given their choice of ships for their next assignment. Everett chose the USS San Francisco, a heavy cruiser which had been at Pearl Harbor for repairs at the time of the Japanese attack, but had not been hit. He didn’t return to the United States until a year later when the USS San Francisco was severely damaged in the battle of Guadalcanal.

Everett told us that as he was walking down the street in San Francisco he saw one of his shipmates from the USS Oklahoma whom he believed had been killed in the attack. As they talked, Everett confessed to the man that since they had thought him dead the men had divided his belongings among them, and that he was wearing his socks.!