[Source: Oral history provided courtesy of the Historian, Bureau of Medicine and Surgery]
On 15 December 1941 I was detached from the U.S. Naval School of Aviation
Medicine, Pensacola, Florida, destined to eventually join the crew of USS
Yorktown. After a short cruise in USS Hornet and her plane guard USS
Noa (DD-343) in the Atlantic, I drove across country by auto to San Diego
and served briefly in Aircraft Scouting Force Pacific, Transition Training
Squadron. After sailing in USS Fulton (AS-11) to Pearl Harbor, I served
briefly while attached to the 14th Naval District in the Old Naval School
Dispensary, Honolulu, T.H. When USS Yorktown arrived in Pearl Harbor from
the Coral Sea, my orders to her were after this long time to be carried out.
On 27 May 1942, I was detached from Commander, 14th Naval District, and at 2000
reported on board USS Yorktown for duty. She was alongside Pier B-16 in
Pearl Harbor. My room assignment was 0207, and I was introduced to my roommate,
LTJG Edward A. Kearney, MC, USN, a Surgeon. I was introduced to Commander
C.C.Yanquell for whom I was numerical relief; met Captain W.D. Davis, MC, USN,
the Medical Officer; Dr. A. M. French; Dr. N.E. Dobos, Flight Surgeon; and
Commander Dixie Keifer, USN, Executive Officer.
On 28 May 1942 Doctor Yanquell departed for San Diego. The ship moved into dry
dock for hull inspection where she remained all day and night, meanwhile loading
stores and ammunition.
On the morning of 29 May 1942, the ship was still in dry dock. I visited
friends, particularly Lieutenant Commander Garton E. Wall, MC, USNR, at the Old
Naval Station Dispensary and bid goodbye to Dr. James R. Martin. The latter
expressed a strong desire to go to sea with us. I assumed the MOOD [Medical
Officer on Deck or Medical Officer of the Day] until next morning substituting
for Doctor Kearney. Doctor Wall came down to the ship to see me but at that time
we were moving back to Pier B-16. Scuttlebutt in the ship was that we were
sailing in the morning. Stores and ammunition were being hastily loaded.
On 30 May USS Yorktown put to sea at 0800 and took a course said to be
towards Midway at a speed of about 15 knots. There was gunnery practice most of
the morning using both towed sleeve and high speed sled. The gun crews seemed
good. Morale was excellent. I had the flight deck duty station when we took on
board our aircraft. One of our Lieutenant Commanders was killed at this time in
a very unfortunate accident. A fighter drifted over the arresting cables, over
the barriers and sat down on the back of his plane. The propellor of the fighter
split his headrest causing a compound skull fracture; the next blade pushed in
the rim of the cockpit crushing his jaw, face and neck and severing the great
vessels of his neck. Obviously, there was nothing I or anyone could do for him.
On May 31 we spent a busy but uneventful day at sea. The aircraft landings were
better and we had no crashes. Our escorts were the Portland, Astoria,
Hammann, Hughes, Russell and Balch. The ship's
company was informed that when this mission was completed, the ship was
scheduled for a complete overhaul. This would mean perhaps a month's leave.
Since the crew had just returned from the Coral Sea and had spent 102 days
without liberty, this was welcomed news. We felt somewhat uneasy at going into
battle in our condition as the water tight integrity of the ship was said to be
considerably reduced as a result of damage received in the Battle of the Coral
Sea.
On 1 June we spent a very busy day making preparations for battle. Anti-flash
clothing, gas masks and steel helmets were issued to all hands. We had the
shipfitter repair the large overhead water tank in Battle Dressing Station #1
and fill it with water. We broke out and rechecked our emergency medical
equipment.
On 2 June our scouting aircraft were out morning and afternoon. Excitement was
running high in the ship and morale was excellent. We were told that our
submarines had reported a Jap invasion force (battleships, cruisers, destroyers
and transports) off Midway Island. We rendezvoused with the Hornet and
Enterprise and their escorts in late afternoon and remained with them
overnight.
On 3 June scuttlebutt was thick. We heard that land based aircraft had picked up
the Jap invasion force and bombed them and also that our submarines were active.
A Jap task force was reported to have bombed Dutch Harbor today. A Jap carrier
force was reported northwest of Midway consisting of three carriers and their
screen. We were said to be heading towards them.
On 4 June I had the duty and Doctor Dobos assumed flight quarters in the morning
while I took EENT [Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat] sick call. Our scouting aircraft
were dispatched. One returned about 0930 and dropped a message on our flight
deck. The Jap task force of three carriers and their screen was reported to be
200 miles ahead closing in on us at 25 knots. I was called to the flight deck to
relieve Doctor Dobos and sick call was suspended, All of our aircraft came
aboard uneventful and were gassed. Our bombers were loaded with 1,000 pounders;
TBDs [Douglas "Devastator" torpedo-bombers] with torpedoes, and planes spotted
for take-off --fighters, then bombers and lastly the TBDs. Everywhere there was
an undercurrent of excitement. At any moment the word might be passed to begin
our attack. At any moment we might be attacked.
Meanwhile, the Hornet had sent off her planes, the the Enterprise sent
hers off. We could see them on the horizon like a swarm of bees - then they were
gone. A report came in from Midway Island that the Japs were attacking. We hoped
that our planes would make their attack on the Jap carriers while their planes
were over Midway. After awhile a report came in that the Enterprise group was
hitting the Jap carrier force at will. Apparently, the Japs had hit Midway with
everything they had and had not expected to be attacked themselves. The
Enterprise's attack was completed and word came over the bull horn, "Pilots,
man your planes." We put off our bombers, torpedo planes and half dozen fighters
for their protection. Then we put up more fighters for our protection. We sat
tight with no news for awhile. There was a great deal of tension. There were
small groups of people everywhere - talking in low tones. Everyone was wearing
anti-flash clothing and steel helmets. All was quiet - too quiet. Battle
Dressing Station #1, my duty station, was manned and ready. The morning wore
itself away and the afternoon began. I became hungry and went down to the
wardroom for a sandwich.
About 1400 our planes began returning. They had been out a long time and were
low on gas. A couple of well-shot-up SBDs [Douglas "Dauntless" dive-bombers]
made their crash landings. Then the fighters started coming aboard. Many were
riddled with holes. We landed about five and then one came in too hot and too
high. He began to float over the deck and it looked like trouble. The pilot
recognized that he was in trouble and made a dive for the deck. He somersaulted
and skidded away on the deck. I made a quick dive under the wreckage but the
pilot was unhurt and got out of the wreckage before I could get to him. I began
to run across the flight deck to my station but before I arrived there general
quarters sounded, Jap planes were upon us. I dived down the ladder for Battle
Dressing station #1 and on my way saw one of our fighters fall on one wing and
like a shooting star hit the drink. There was a puff of black smoke and that was
all. Upon arriving at #1 I lay flat on the deck and hoped that we would not get
a bomb in the crowded dressing room or anywhere for that matter. By this time
our AA [anti-aircraft guns] was in full bloom. I had never before heard such a
roar - first the 5", then the 1.1s and 20 mm's, the 50 cal, and finally the
hastily set up 30 cal. machine guns along the rail. I knew then they were upon
us. Then all hell broke loose. I saw a burst of fire, heard a terrific explosion
and in less then ten seconds was overwhelmed by a mass of men descending from
the gun mounts and flight deck into the Dressing Station. An instantaneous 500
pound bomb had struck just aft of the starboard side of the middle elevator and
shrapnel had wiped out nearly all of the men from AA mounts #3 and #4 (1.1) and
also my corpsman who stood on the aft island ladder platform where I usually
stood. Another corpsman was injured who was standing in the gear locker doorway.
I was overwhelmed with work. Wounded were everywhere. Some men had one foot or
leg off, others had both off; some were dying - some dead. Everywhere there was
need for morphine, tourniquets, blankets and first aid. Battle Dressing Station
#1 rapidly overflowed into the passageway, into the parachute loft and into all
other available spaces. I called for stretcher bearers to get the more seriously
wounded to the sick bay where they could receive plasma, etc., but the
passageways had been blocked off due to the bomb hits. So we gave more morphine,
covered the patients with blankets, and did the best we could. Many patients
went rapidly into shock. All topside lights were out and I never realized that
flashlights gave such miserably poor light. There was no smoke in Battle
Dressing Station #1, which was fortunate. Water hoses were dragged into the
passageway in an attempt to control a fire somewhere forward in the island - the
hose had been perforated by shrapnel and sprayed water all over the deck and on
some of my wounded who were lying in the passageway. Our water tank was very
useful to us as there was a great need for drinking water and none was otherwise
obtainable.
I went up to the flight deck. The first thing that I noticed was Mount #4. A
pair of legs attached to the hips sat in the trainer's seat. A stub of spinal
column was hanging over backwards - there was nothing else remaining of the
trainer. The steel splinter shield was full of men - or rather portions of men,
many of whom were not identifiable. Blood was everywhere. I turned forward and
saw great billows of smoke rising from our stack region. We were dead in the
water and it suddenly dawned on me how helpless we were lying there. A repair
party was rebuilding a portion of the flight deck. Then I was called aft where
there were several casualties from shrapnel which came from a near miss off the
fantail. There were wounded also along the catwalk along the starboard side.
Doctors French, Dobos, Lough and Jackson came up - later Captain Davis. We
arranged to have our topside casualties lowered to the sick bay on the forward
bomb elevator and this was begun.
The fire by this time was discovered to be in the rag locker and was under
control. This stopped the billowing column of smoke which gave away our position
and made us so susceptible to a second attack. Suddenly, there was a great burst
of steam from our stack, then another, and amid cheers from all hands we got
underway. Meanwhile, the Admiral and his staff had gone over to the Astoria
and it was said that we had orders to proceed to the States at the best speed we
could make. We seemed to be doing all right and began getting the ship in shape.
We were really beginning to have some hope that the Japs would not return, but
alas and alack.
About 1600 our radar picked up enemy planes at 40 to 60 miles coming in fast. We
had just begun to gas five F4F-4s [Grumman "Wildcat" fighters] that we had
succeeded in landing just before the previous attack. Some had only 25 gallons
aboard. Nevertheless, they took off post haste. We were just hitting 22 knots
but they took a long run and made it off. Just as the last one left the deck I
made a dive for Battle Dressing Station #1 and again the AAs began as before. By
the time I could find an unoccupied place on the deck there was a sickening thud
and rumble throughout the ship and the deck rose under me, trembled and fell
away. One torpedo hit had occurred. My thought was that we could take this one
and get away with it perhaps but not any more. Then another sickening thud and
the good ship shuddered and rapidly listed hard to port. I knew we were
completely helpless but did not want to admit it. Just then word came over the
speaker, "Prepare to abandon ship." I was dumbfounded. It was incomprehensible.
A man lying beside me with one foot shot away and a severe chest wound turned
his head towards me and asked, "What does this mean for us?" and turned his head
away. He knew that he would have no chance in the water. This man was later seen
in the Naval Hospital in Pearl Harbor on the way to recovery. We listed more and
more to port until it was almost impossible to stand on the slick deck. We
searched frantically for life preservers for the wounded, taking some from the
dead. Our stretchers had gone below to the sick bay and we had difficulty
finding enough for our wounded. All who could possibly walk did so. I went up on
the flight deck and walked along the starboard edge being very careful not to
slip and skid the width of the ship and off the port side. The ship rolled
slowly with the swells but the water was not rough and after each roll she
returned to her former position. I thought a big wave might possibly capsize
her. A bulkhead giving way below might also let her go over. Our list was about
30 degrees. The speakers were dead and when word was passed to abandon ship, it
did not get to me. Several life rafts were in the water but the lines over the
side were not long enough to reach the water. Lieutenant Wilson and I tied some
lines together and lowered some wounded. Meanwhile the sick bay wounded were
being lowered from the hanger deck. Captain Buckmaster came up and said to
abandon ship.
(Captain Buckmaster came up to me as I was on the verge of going over the side
at a place we had lowered some wounded on the starboard side aft of the island
structure. There were several life rafts of wounded floating below me. He asked
what I was waiting for. I told him I was waiting to get off all the wounded and
that we had searched the topside structure and the catwalks and I was sure that
we had every man that was alive from this area on the life rafts. He said
something to the effect that "they said the Captain should be the last to leave
the ship. I'm ready to go now. Would you leave.")
I chose a big line and went over the side. I stopped at the armor belt for a
rest. It was at least 75 feet from the deck to the water and I still had some 20
feet to go. I worked along the armor belt to a spot which was immediately above
a life raft. The line there was a small one and soon after I started down a
corner of my life jacket got inside my grip and I began slipping. The fingers of
both my hands were rather badly burned before I realized it. The I released the
line and dropped the remainder of the way into the water and swam through the
oil to the raft. We took on board several wounded who were close by until the
raft was overflowing and the few of us with life preservers had to get out and
swim or hold on with one hand. As each wave broke over our heads the oil burned
our eyes and noses like liquid fire. It was impossible to keep from swallowing
some of it. Someone would swim alongside and say hold me up a minute please and
proceed to vomit the oil and then swim on. We had nine stretcher cases and about
25 men on or hanging on to our raft. We tried to flutter kick and paddle our
raft away from the side of the ship, but each wave seemed to bring us back
against her side. If she capsized we would be carried down by suction and not
have a chance. Finally, someone got the bright idea of paddling aft along the
side of the ship and we began to make some headway. By doing this we finally got
free of her stern.
Meanwhile, our destroyers were weaving back and forth about 300 yards away
picking up survivors. Captain Buckmaster swam alongside the raft that I was
holding on to but would not come aboard as we were so overcrowded. Instead he
swam to a nearby raft and hung on to it. A passing motor whaleboat threw his
raft a line and was towing it to the Russell but with too much speed and
a mess attendant was pulled off. Instead of treading water, he began screaming
and wearing himself out. Captain Buckmaster turned loose of his raft and swam to
the mess attendant. They were both about gone when a man from our raft swam out
and helped keep both of them afloat. We took the mess attendant aboard but the
Captain preferred to swim.
About this time the Hughes threw us a line - two or three of them. All
were short and as enemy planes were reported coming in our chances seemed to be
at an all time low; but the Hammann finally came alongside and got us.
She was a wonderful ship. We had been in the water two and one-half hours
(picked up at 1930). Just as we hit the deck of the Hammann, there was
another general quarters alarm (enemy planes) and she went to full speed but the
planes proved to be friendly. Fortunately, the Japs seemed unaware of our
predicament.
22 July 1999