memories... a ship and a war 1944-1945 final

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Memories ... A Ship and A War

1944 - 1945

An account byJohn H. Moynahan

Lieutenant (SC) USNR

Author’s Note:

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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

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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.

Obviously, I am putting all this down to explain why I should write anything about myself. Probably I am trying to convince myself that I have other motives than to satisfy my ego. By the latter, I mean that without fully realizing it I want to project myself onto paper ... to catch and hold a part of my life which will not be re-lived. It is an egotistical thing to do for it shows that my thoughts are pretty well concentrated on myself rather than on the things around me. I have no ability as a writer, so my excuse is not to leave a story of myself to posterity. As a matter of fact I am not writing this for anyone but the person I shall be years from now. Thinking that he will probably enjoy, or even be embarrassed by the damn fool he was when he was 22 or 23 years old.

JANUARY 1944

My first hours of this year were spent in the conventional way - singing Auld Lang Syne with a hoarse voice, whiskey and soda in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Only the main course was largely missing - women with their New Year’s kisses and perfume

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were not available. So, we returned to the Bachelor Officers Quarters (BOQ) at Pearl Harbor to begin the New Year 1944.

Oahu is a beautiful island. We had arrived on a Liberty Ship three weeks earlier, and, although we were assigned to the USS Black Hawk (DD tender), we spent very little time aboard her. Every day I had to report for further transportation and was told to return next day. My original orders (issued upon graduation from the Supply Corps Training School at Harvard) were to report aboard the USS AMMEN (DD527), wherever she was. This meant she was moving around and they were trying to put me on another ship which might intercept her. Usually my friend Sam New and I slept late at the BOQ and then by bus, thumb or feet we toured the various sites of interest on the island.

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.

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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. Though I hated to think of leaving such a Paradise, I was anxious to

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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 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.

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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 liked Farley. He was a Lieutenant Junior Grade, trained as a gunnery officer. He was a thin energetic type with a strong Boston accent. His family was apparently well to do and he had graduated from Harvard College a year earlier. His peace time energy outlets had been driving race cars, sailing, flying and skiing, so I was impressed with his sense of adventure and impulsiveness. He and I made tentative plans to get together after the war to do some cruising. But in Espritu we learned the Hutchins was in Australia so he talked his way onto a military flight going there. I laid around for 5 days awaiting further orders and exploring the island with a red-haired fighter pilot I met, (Ensign Digby Baltzell, off the New Orleans).

One morning at muster, I was handed orders and given 20 minutes to grab my gear and get down to a ship he called the Zeal. I asked where I was heading and was told “Guadalcanal”. But I had just come from there! And had been told we had to come south to go to New Guinea to avoid enemy territory. “Never mind, hurry you’ll miss it!”. I thought quickly. It might be the submarine “Seal” and would be new adventure... But at the dock I was directed to a small boat...out to the harbor and onto the Zeal, a mine sweeper which had been waiting for me and immediately weighed anchor. With misgivings, I spent 5 miserable days in heavy seas going back north. At Guadalcanal the seas were so rough at the pier the crew dropped my cruise box full of books and uniforms which promptly sank to the bottom. Thank God I had made them tie a line around it so they were able to fish it out again...

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!

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

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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

I finally left Guadalcanal under its raincloud on a C-47 with aluminum bench seats and cargo, headed back to Espiritu. We got above the weather and I enjoyed watching the small islands and reefs through holes in the clouds. But I nearly froze in my wet shorts and shirt. It took only five hours to get back. In Espiritu I first worked on getting flying orders again, and succeeded in getting assigned to a flight to Brisbane, but waited another three days to take off. Even so, I had to leave all but a small bag of clothes and a few books behind me. It was a beautiful flight lasting 7 hours on a huge PB2Y operated by Pan American Air Lines. We even had a steak dinner served! I spent part time in the tail watching the clouds below.

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 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

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HOME! So what would her destiny be for the next year or more that I would be living on her?

I made my way aboard the AMMEN trying to look intelligent, cheerful, and in general the way I thought my future ship-mates would want me to look. After saluting and mumbling “..permission to come aboard, Sir?”, I found the O.D.(officer of the day, Herb Legg) was overjoyed to see me and he rushed a message to John Scott, the Supply Officer(Paymaster) I was relieving. “PAY” Scott was really happy I had finally arrived..yes, they had been expecting me for a long time; yes I had some mail, “come and meet the other officers, the skipper, my new storekeepers, etc”. After the big welcome, I felt pretty good. I was shown around the ship, meeting many of the crew, and temporarily installed in the captain’s sea cabin.

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 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

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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.

Scott and I were ready to transfer accounts by the time we reached Milne Bay in New Guinea. He left right away for his next assignment, leaving “Pay Moynahan” in charge. I began to feel the weight of responsibility and the realization of my lack of knowledge.. I was now Supply Officer, Stores Officer, Paymaster, Commissary Officer, Photography Officer and during combat, Assistant Gunnery Officer. Thank God for my good Storekeepers who went right ahead with the work and showed me how.

My Chief Stewards Mate, in charge of cooks, bakers and stewards, had been in the Navy for years and was experienced, but thought he knew it all. He had a poor record despite his experience. In Sydney he used to show up at muster badly hung over and I could see he commanded little respect from the men. Old Mike Costello( who looked old with his teeth out), didn’t fit his 37 years of age, except, while on liberty when he inserted his dentures. His stubbornness and obstinacy were a real trial for my limited experience as a leader.

The Captain, Commander Henry Williams, was the son of an Admiral..’. He vented his anger on Scott and me after the crew broke into our brig and drank much of the beer we had stowed aboard in Sydney. Again, shortly after Scott (who later became an Admiral) left, he reprimanded me because the wardroom steaks were tough. We had waited for him until 9 pm and he had finally returned from visiting one of the Aussie ships in our task force where drinking was permitted. He was in a bad humor and seeking someone on whom to vent his anger. Everyone needs a blame taker sometimes.

MARCH 1944

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My first war experience was soon to take place. We were to go north to the Admiralty Islands, and support the landing of a large raiding party of “dismounted U.S. cavalrymen” i.e. armored. The plan was for them to retreat if they met strong opposition. We laid offshore and fired 5" shells at targets designated by the army spotters. The landing was made on Los Negroes Island and we later learned we had killed hundreds of Japs. We had one minor air raid, but it lasted only minutes.

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.

Between operations, we were kept quite busy with AA practice, routine maintenance, loading stores, going to air craft recognition lectures etc. From the Admiralties, we returned to our home port of Milne Bay. There I made all day trips over to a supply depot where there were long rows of big Quounset warehouses, dusty roads, muddy trucks and cargo ships unloading. The procedure was to turn in requisitions for all needed supplies, then get one or two trucks and drive around from one shed to another picking the stuff up. Finally everything was loaded into a big lighter-usually an LCM and returned to the ship. Such a day was always a tough one. We often left the ship before dawn, myself, Chief Costello, a couple of storekeepers, and a working party of 15 or

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20 hands. It was a day of problems-such as feeding the men, keeping them from running off, watching pilferage of stores, making arrangements for trucks, boats, substitutes, etc.

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.)

Several times we went up to Buna and once my roommate and I took a long trip back thru the battle fields and jungles there. It was at Buna that I got one of my only souvenirs of the war–a Jap rifle. I paid an Australian soldier 6 pounds for it. (about $ 20.00). He claimed he took it off a dead Jap.

Buna Mission was an interesting spot. It was held by the Australians and they do not change a place like the Americans do. They make hap-hazard little camps, build few roads, and leave a place much the same. When the Americans occupy a place they so completely civilize it that it is not even colorful. They build big roads, cut down all the trees, fill in swamps and jungles, post “Off Limits” signs around the outskirts of the camp etc. One is hardly conscious of being away from the U.S. It is more like visiting the site of a big mining or drilling camp back home.

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.

MARCH 1944 WEWAK

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

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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.

We took a long deceptive course up north around the Admiralties, and after dark, raced southwest to hit Wewak about midnight. The moon was small, and the sky cloudy, so that the night seemed black as pitch. When we reached the target area, we slowed to 10 knots so our phosphorescent wake wouldn’t point us out to them. Three of the “cans” went around to the main harbor, while we came into position by two islands that formed the Jap sea plane base. This was to be our secondary target, but since we hadn’t spotted any ships, we prepared to bombard it on signal. Our first salvo was of star shells ( bright flares on parachutes) that lit up the black night and showed us some of the beaches and rocky hills of the island. Suddenly, they returned our fire with counter illuminating shells of their own. That is, they put their own star-shells up between our ships and themselves; It was impossible to see beyond the brilliant lights, making both sides invisible to each other.

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!

All this has been building up to an anti-climax, I’m afraid. As it turned out, there was no big shipping in the harbor. The Jap DD’s had either escorted all the AK’s out to sea for the night or else all were overlooked by our radar. The other ships in our force did shoot up some barges, but mostly they just shot and made noise. After making quite a disturbance we all cleared out at high speed to breathe a sigh of relief. Then we all felt foolish. I didn’t have to use any of the things I had fitted myself with in preparation for swimming ashore, hiding in the jungle and “beating my way back” to friendly territory. I had studied “How to survive in the Jungle”, I had on my life jacket, .45 pistol, canteen, emergency rations and first aid kit, fish line, knife, etc. I had prepared for the worst!

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Although we felt as though we had accomplished nothing, there was more to our raid than we thought. The Nips knew we were getting ready for another landing operation, for there were plenty of mountains around Milne from where their scouts could watch our ships. After our heavy plane raids...and finally our bold surface attacks, they were convinced Wewak was the base we were after. In order to surprise us, they pulled most of their troops out of bases farther west and marched them through the jungle along the coast, all the way from Hollandia to Wewak. It must have been a terrific trek for them for there are no roads and our planes prevented coastal shipping. After all their effort, they had again been out-guessed. We took Hollandia instead.

APRIL 1944

About this time, I got my automatic promotion from Ensign to Lt.jg (Lieutenant junior grade). I had been an Ensign since September 1942 while I was still in college.

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.

At Tanamerah we had our best day of bombardment–or at least the most gratifying. There were many mud and thatch houses in the village, all very clear in the early morning light. Also, there were several nice juicy barges and a small tanker lying close to the beach. The Aussies, being senior, took the first shots at them, but couldn’t hit them. Finally it was our turn, and we had a picnic. We set a fuel dump afire on the beach, blew up the tanker and sank the barges. The water was shallow, so the tops of the ships continued to stick out and make a big column of smoke. Soon the troops started shuttling past us in their landing boats, all looking pretty sober as they thought of the job ahead of them. All morning we scouted up and down the coast catching stray barges and fishing boats trying to escape. We sank several more, but all were very close to the beach and we could see the men in them scrambling out swimming and wading to the beach–and then running for the cover of the jungle. Due to shallow water we couldn’t move close enough for the machine guns (20 and 40 mm.)

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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.

In the little Dutch town of Hollandia, Americans looted houses, got drunk on Sake, robbed the Hollandia Bank of Jap invasion money and generally had a big party.

MAY 1944

In the evenings we always anchored offshore, and since there was little risk of air attacks, it was our practice, weather permitting, to show movies on the bow. Our skipper, Commander Henry Williams, Jr. was not popular with his crew and morale on the ship was declining. On May 11, we almost had a mutiny!

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.

Suddenly, there was a flash of thunder and lightning, followed by a heavy tropical rain storm, and everyone ran for shelter. During the 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.

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Before ending my stories about Captain Williams, I should relate one told to me by Charles Helmer (killed at Leyte) about one of the black stewards mates long after he left the Ammen. Williams liked to order coffee up on the bridge, and would have this steward stand there at attention, holding the cup and saucer as though he was part of the furniture. The captain would go back and forth to the bridge wings, stopping for a sip, then placing the cup back on the saucer. While he thought no one was watching the steward would stir the coffee with his finger, then pick his nose, and stir with the same finger before the captain had another sip. Helmer was on the helm and saw it happen several times, but wouldn’t think of squealing. No one liked the captain’s disdain for the enlisted men.

Our new captain, Lieutenant Commander James Harvey Brown was a politician type from the Naval Academy, who sat at the head of the wardroom table and bragged about what he would do for the ship, the crew and the officers. He referred to the “USS Abner Read” ( our sister ship, DD526, on which he had been the executive officer) so frequently that we began to hate the sound of it. But, he soon mellowed and tried to get on the right track. While he made examples of the sailors who got on report, he also gave them beer rations as often as possible,(consumed on a beach or whale boat); made big promises to them (the crew) and generally made a favorable impression all around. He loved the Navy, had a remarkable memory for details, liked to do things (like maneuvering) with snap and polish, liked to be the center of attention constantly, and was somewhat a show off! But, it was nearly a year before he really got on our nerves.

On 17 May, we took part in the bombardment of WADKE ISLAND, Sarmi and SAMAR prior to landing troops. There we blew up a large oil dump; other than that we did very little. On the 27th we helped bombard BIAK Island in the Shouten Island group prior to landing on the Bosnik sector of that island. We set fire to more fuel and damaged several huts, barracks and sheds.

JUNE 1944

On June 4th at dusk we were attacked by 4 or 5 Jap planes but they were back out of range before we could open fire. That same night,

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while going through a narrow strait a Jap BETTY made a torpedo run on our formation. I remember first seeing her passing our starboard beam. Our 40mm's opened fire then we joined them with all three of our fantail 20s...the port gun was firing almost over my head. We couldn’t have missed. I jumped up on an ammo ready box and just then heard over my ear phones that a torpedo had just slid past our starboard side. One of my men spotted it broaching in our wake, and the ship astern of us reported they saw the plane go down. The belly of that plane had stood out in the light of our tracers like the side of a barn door. It was very exciting.

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.

After that we stayed at GQ(general quarters =battle stations) until after dawn and had the torpedo attack about the middle of the night.

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

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anti-sub mine field. Subs had been replenishing the JAP garrison there.

By now we were based in the Seeadler Harbor at Manus Island. It had turned into a big base with lots of supply ships and onshore facilities already built by the construction battalions (CBs)since our venture there in February and we made several trips over to a small island to swim and drink. The Navy had completed an Officers club on the island which was exclusive to our group of American and Australian cruises and destroyers. We called it the Task Force 75 Club. There was a nice sand beach, lots of palm trees and a good breeze there, and it was pleasant to go over and drink and sing, mainly because it was an escape from the shipboard routine. There was also an army camp there and we made friends with several of the army officers... some of whom had stayed on our ship for short changes of scenery and rest.

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.

It was normal on most days to be drenched in one’s own perspiration have a shirt and pants clinging to the skin and to be constantly thirsty. Every few minutes someone went for more water and almost before he finished drinking it, the sweat popped out in large beads all over him, formed into drops and rolled down his back or dripped from his arms onto the paper he was writing on. It made his scalp itch, made his chin tender when shaving, and the brine in it made his skin soft and irritable until it broke out in a rash. The rash became little sores and the doctor used to paint peoples necks and armpits, waist, and crotch with some purple solution to cure it. The only defense was lots of talcum powder, plus a cool breeze.. A breeze could only be felt on certain parts of the ship while entering a rainstorm or in front of a fan or ventilator. To sleep below, it was necessary to have some sort of air current directed on the body to evaporate the moisture, and thereby cool, the flesh. It was hard to get a good suntan unless one’s work kept him topside most of the time. It was considered loafing and set a bad example to just sit in the sun, doing nothing, and it was too bright to read. The burn or tan that one might acquire in an hour or two, as hot as the sun was, seemed to disappear with the heavy perspiring by the end of the day.

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

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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. 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.

Whenever we were in dangerous waters, or going frequently to battle stations (which we always did routinely half an hour before and after sunrise and sunset) I would move my hammock back to the fantail and swing it between the splinter shield and the stern post, next to my battle station. But the flying bridge location was much nicer, and away from the soot from the smoke stacks.

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

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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 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.

Towards the latter part of July, we helped cover the landings at Sansapar, at the very western tip of NG. It meant except for mop up work, the New Guinea campaign was ended. There was no opposition at Sansapar, not even a man was lost, nor a shot fired. It was a

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deserted section of the coast and a stepping stone to the next big Jap stronghold at Halmehera. Halmehera was the capital of Netherlands East Indies in the Ceram Sea between NG and the Celebes.

When we returned from Sansapar, the skipper called everyone to listen to the loudspeaker for an announcement. The others and shouts were terrific when he announced the next campaign would be called the “Battle for Sydney” The Hutchins and ourselves were the lucky ships leaving first to go there for leave and recreation. It had been a long hot six months since we’d seen a white woman, a street light, taxis, trams, or any normal civilization!

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.

Sydney, NSW, Australia, has a big reputation in the US Navy as being the best #%$&% liberty port in the Western hemisphere. It tries hard to live up to its reputation. The people are poor in these days of low imports, but for a sailor with US Dollars, cigarettes (which cost him only .50 cents a carton at the ships little store), chewing gum, and an American sense of humor, there are plenty of girls, and plenty to drink. What more does a sailor want in a liberty port?

August means mid-winter in Australia, so it was pretty chilly for us. However, there was nothing that girls, jazz music, and Aussie brandy could not fix. So we had a great time. One the first nights I went out with Clayt Walker, our gunnery officer (who later became an admiral). He had been hard to know when I first came aboard, but in the course of time I had begun to think highly of him. Clayton was a musician..composed is own music and poetry and lyrics on a piano, and it was good. He was a sentimentalist, but a good party boy too who knew how to relax. He and I met a couple of chicks at the Australian Hotel where all the officers meet girls, and we went to the Roosevelt Club, a privately owned American Officers Club. It was great.. A real night club! I had been there the night before with Bob Morris but no particular party had developed. They had a good swing orchestra with a female vocalist, dim lights, and plenty of set ups. We brought our own liquor, part of our weekly ration. (Most Aussie liquor was lousy by US standards, but the brandy is good, the ale is excellent and the wine

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fair). This night the party really rolled when we got in with some American fighter pilots who had a big apartment right there in King’s Cross. When the Roosevelt shut down we moved our bottles to the apartment and things got even livelier until everyone got too tired and fell asleep. The girls left and Clayt and I prepared to turn in . But then we decided Captain Brown, an old maid type, was probably watching for any officers late for muster, and we started walking 2 or 3 miles back to the ship (No taxis after 2400). We were glad we did, because Dave Smith, our navigator, who had flown down to Brisbane to meet a nurse, got back later than his 48 hours allowed, and was confined to his cabin for a week. We became even more wary of Brown.. a rigid disciplinarian who was unbearable at times. The rest of our squadron arrived, then the cruisers came in so Sydney was no longer exclusively ours. American sailors were all over the place. But there was plenty for all and we got to wait and leave with the rest of our force...we had 18 wonderful days there.

Names of places escape my memory now, a year later, but I well remember our main hangout, Petty’s Hotel. There we rented several rooms, kept our liquor there, and sometimes took dates there to eat or drink in the lounge and meet friends. The Australia Hotel was the main hotel and where most girls congregated to meet American officers. Several of us rented an apartment at Bondi Beach but it hard to reach and good only for overnight and too cold for swimming. The Grace 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 themany 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).

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Incidentally, I had a moustache when we arrived, but shaved it off. I had felt rather self conscious, and believed the younger girls thought me older than I wanted to look. We organized several big parties for the ship’s crew and they were a big success. However we officers had to ease away as the sailors got drunk and started to become too familiar. The trip back to the war zone and our new base at Manus Island ( Seeadler Harbor) was rough but everyone had plenty to talk about.

After the usual practice and preparation, we started on our next operation. In our minds, it would be a rugged one supporting a landing on Morati Island...one of the Moluccas just north of Halmehera, said to be heavily fortified. We went in close and did our bombarding at dawn as prescribed. But there was no return fire, and next day we returned to Woendi to stand by. It was a large anchorage which had been attacked along with Palau and Morati, and it had brought most of the reaction.

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 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

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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 (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 7th 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

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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 remember well how at 0800 I was sitting in Wayne Byrd’s room, shooting the breeze over a cigarette, enjoying being clean after 5 days sleeping by my guns on deck. Then the alarm and “ all hands to general Quarters” .. Nothing unusual. Here we go again was the general feeling, and as we ran for our stations, everyone was joking and asking ”What’s the dope?” The dope was obvious, there were Japs already in the air, quite a few of them! Some of the ships were firing before we got to our guns.

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 the 40mm director platform on #2 stack just 30 ft. forward of us on the port side.

We opened fire on signal at several of the closest planes, and I ran back and forth from port to starboard trying to keep track of all the reported bogies. On the port side, I watched a plane that had just crossed our bow make a bombing run on the Killen, then ran back to the starboard where the Malone had just started shooting at another Jap plane passing our beam. When I got back to port, the “Francis” that had just bombed the Killen was trailing smoke and was banking sharply toward us! It was only about 50 feet above the surface, and coming at us at an angle that would hit our bridge. I realized it was going to hit us because it was so close to the water and trailing smoke. Our port 20mms and 40mms kept firing until she hit us, raking her wings and nose. And she was also shooting at us, while our other guns were busy firing at other targets to starboard.. I crouched against the bulkhead near my gunner, Kaufman, and watched the plane come. At the last second she veered slightly to the right, and I ducked as she hit us. I was surprised the noise was no louder than other battle noises and our 5" gun firing to port nearly over my head.

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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 “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

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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.

“Torpedoes!! Torpedoes approaching our formation” The ship shuddered as she tried to increase speed to dodge their path, and larger ships started firing at white streaks , seeming to wish they could get up and out of the water. We were maneuvering radically and gaining speed as black smoke and gas poured out of our torn gaping stacks. But the torpedoes passed harmlessly through the task force. It was decided they had come from the burning Abner Read, triggered by the heat and rushing aimlessly through the fleet. Indeed, the ship was still exploding as more ammo, then the fuel tanks blew up. As she 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.

The long eventful day gradually ended with periods of apprehension and strained humor or distorted stories of what had happened. Would the danger never cease? And what of the night approaching with a clear sky and full moon. ? We must get back to security and safety.

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

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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”.

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

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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.

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.

I had earned 4 stars to fit on my Asiatic Pacific campaign ribbon-the Bismarck Archipelago, Eastern New Guinea, Western New Guinea and Leyte. Also, I could sport the Philippine Liberation ribbon with 2 stars. (D-day plus 30 and enemy action) and the American Theater ribbon. I was all set to hold my own with the Market Street Commandos back in ‘Frisco and to impress the natives of Indiana.

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

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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.

All those civilians, running around nonchalantly, really looked strange, especially the pretty ones... they ALL appeared to be pretty young girls,...coming out of the offices and running errands on little scooters. I hardly knew how to act when I was first face to face with one of them. I must confess, I felt shy and bashful in this new, but familiar world. I don’t know what kind of look I had in my eye, but I was afraid the girl would turn and run any minute. She didn’t though. She got me the requested forms, as if she loved to waiting on people. Her office had a little Christmas tree set up, and I recollected there was a forgotten spirit of Holidays back here in the States.

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

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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.

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

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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 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

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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.

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

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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 when I kissed Sally, she made it plain I had been missing something, and that was the end of our platonic relationship.

Now I was involved again with a situation that would be embarrassing to get out of. Women can seldom understand that a man can be attracted to them for a short time, then forget all about them for something or someone of more immediate interest. I was beginning to feel trapped again. But, it was the end of 1944 and I was back home again, with the comfortable feeling of security and safety; the familiar sounds, sights, smells and noises I had known as a child, and the war became a very distant and unreal thing. And yet, between me and as these familiar things, there was a great barrier of time and the many changes it had made.

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

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the next day they went on to Chicago where my Uncle Bob is a surgeon.

The next evening I spent an embarrassing few hours at a party given by the Greens. Mother and Dad were both there as were many of their friends. When I arrived, Sally apologetically drew me aside to tell me that her fiancee was coming, a fact which mattered very little to me, but it seemed to disturb her. The evening would have been jolly enough if she hadn’t betrayed her ridiculous feelings through her eyes. Every time I came within range. I was of course amused by the suggested intrigue, but at the same time I liked her boyfriend when I met him. But I was embarrassed by the strained laughs and exaggerated frivolity that are obvious to anyone curious enough to observe. 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.

In Miami I was pleased to see the attractive little apartment building Dad had bought. We all moved into two adjoining units he had kept vacant for us. We went to the beach a few times in the car Dad had rented, and it was a pleasant relief from the zero weather at home. I finally shaved off my moustache as I had planned to do long ago, and I think everyone was a bit disappointed. They had liked it after they had grown used to it.

I spent most of my few days in Florida making arrangements to fly back to San Francisco via Army Transport Command, saving myself $175. After much hassle, I arranged it and on the night of January 12, the family drove me to the airport where we said our goodbyes.

I hated to go back. It meant much tough work for awhile, getting ready for sea, and later perhaps, more of the fear and disaster we had known in the Phillippines. However, the goodbyes were said cheerfully

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and I started my wait in the crowded Army terminal for the 3a.m. flight.

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 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.

Finally out of Dallas and on a flight I met an interesting chap just returning from the CBI Theater, (China, Burma, and India. He had some great stories to tell of his adventures in the far east, so the time went by quickly despite frequent stops. In Los Angeles the fog was closing in and I was told “no more flights until next morning”. Since I was due to report by 0800, I booked on the last commercial going north, and got back to Mare Island by midnight! But my anxiety was wasted. Both the skipper and executive were on leave and Clayt Walker was SOP ( Senior Officer Present) and he would have readily granted me an extension had I needed it.

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.

At night, tired from running around the yard accomplishing nothing, I would shave, shower, dress in blues and walk to the BOQ for three or four martinis before supper in the grill with friends, afterward dancing and talking until time to fold.

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

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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).

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.

One afternoon, we got back in time to go up to the famous Top of The Mark, the roof top bar on the Mark Hopkins Hotel. From there, over beer and pretzels, we watched the AMMEN...a tiny little toy warship in the distance, ..as she steamed proudly under the Golden Gate Bridge, then under the Oakland Bay Bridge to drop her hook.

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

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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.

Clayt Walker had been relieved as Gunnery Officer by Frank Reh, a product of Annapolis. We also lost other friends and officers; Byrd, Hunzeker, and Aldrich. Then in Pearl Harbor, we had other changes in the Ward Room. We lost Learmouth, and gained Bill Bennet, heavy set, with a huge moustache, as Assistant Gunnery. Also, Mac Millen had been relieved as Executive Officer by a sharp young man, Dan Ambercrombie III. Among the enlisted men, there had been a huge turnover, approximately 33%.

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

Again we headed west...out past Eniwetok, Ulithi, and down to Tacloban on Leyte Gulf. At Leyte I got ashore with Herb Legg and we drank in the foreign sights like the tourists that we were. We saw the dirty streets and houses, and an ancient Spanish church that had been converted to a hospital. The Army was camped all over Tacloban, but it was still colorful with its colonial Spanish culture. There were half-naked children, bashful, modest, young girls, and lots of photo subjects. The houses were mostly frame design and down by the waterfront, with thatched roofs, surrounded by pigs, chickens, and more children. Outrigger canoes like those we had seen last October

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were pulled up on the beaches, and larger ones were anchored close ashore.

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.

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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On the 11th we were happy to learn we were to escort some transports to Saipan Island in the Marianas. There we completed logistics in one afternoon, and I even squeezed in a couple of bottles of beer at the local Officers club. It was my first beer since early March and my last one for some long hectic months. We started back to Okinawa on the 17thth.

Our new assignment in Task Force 51 was as expected, and we looked forward to it with consternation. We were to be a radar picket ship, again. Picket stations consisted of 5 or 6 square miles of open 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.

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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.

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.

We were relieved next day and returned to Hagushi where we delivered our wounded to a hospital ship, and reported back to CTF 51.5 (Commodore, TF 51.5) for orders. Then on to Kerama Retto, now a designated supply and repair station for the picket ships. On the way we spotted a plane in trouble and saw the pilot bail out. We made full speed to where he was in the water, and picked him up in good condition. His oil line had broken and spurted oil all over his windshield. When he tried to land on the partially built airstrip, he had hit a truck and torn off his landing gear. He pulled up and was ordered to go out over water and bail out. This was considered safer than a splash landing. (He was Lt. Montgomery, USMC).

After repairs, our next assignment was to one of the anti-submarine stations (#B30 on the “ping line” inside the picket line.) Later we moved to “Baker 13" on the 27th . At dusk we opened fire on a bogie entering our risk zone, but recognized him in time as an F6F Hellcat. That night there were many bogies all around us.

On the 28th we were ordered out to “Roger Peter” 32 to support the USS Bennion (DD662) and 4 small boys. There were plenty of Japs around, and that afternoon, one of them broke through our CAP (Combat Air Patrol assigned to us) and made an unsuccessful suicide dive on the Bennion. I had run up to the flying bridge in time to take

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my first successful 16mm camera shot. I confess I was shaking so badly with fright, the final results looked like the plane was zig-zagging as it dove. But concussion from the #2 five inch gun muzzle didn’t help...it alone was enough to knock me down if not holding on. I was obliged to later turn over such film to officials, but I caught it all on film. The plane exploded when it hit the water about 25 yards off the ships beam, but until the Bennion moved proudly out from behind the huge black geyser of smoke and water, it looked like she was badly hit.

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

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trained soldier may be shaking with fright and still load a gun, shout and obey orders, and carry on more expeditiously than before

It was interesting to me to watch the men around me during these months of frequent danger. The strain showed on all their faces, made some irritable, some more patient. For some it was obviously more difficult to adjust themselves to the proximity to possible disaster, And it was comforting to me to observe my own spirits were generally 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

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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.

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.

On May 9 we were relieved by the W.D.Porter and returned to our base. On the way we spotted a body floating high in the water and stopped to investigate. It was a Jap infantry officer bloated until the skin was stretched white and shiny over his round face and overstuffed hands. His uniform was about to burst from the pressure of the rotted flesh beneath. With a grappling hook we tried to bring him aboard to search for intelligence but the stench was so nauseating the men tugging on the line got sick. They did manage to recover his sword, then let his remains fall back into the warm clear sea, where the current would carry him northward toward his homeland.

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.

At sundown on May 12 were anchored in a berth next to the battleship New Mexico. I was in the de-coding shack when the alert sounded and I heard firing. By the time I grabbed my helmet, life jacket, and camera, and climbed to to the flying bridge, I saw flames shooting out of the side of the New Mexico, where she had just been hit by a suicide “Tojo”.

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,

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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 .

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 next day on May 13, we proceeded to RP#16 north of Okinawa to relieve the Lowry (DD770) and join the Boyd(DD564). That night a big raid at high altitude passed over us without attacking. On the fifteenth, our team vectored our CAP out to shoot down a Zeke (float plane) which made a trail of smoke going down, and a big column of water on the horizon when she hit. There were many more bogies during the next two days but the CAP only scored on one of them, a Val (dive bomber).

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.

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Next day I was very busy replenishing stores, but stopped at the Manlove and took Roger with me on my rounds. That evening he 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.

We stayed in Kerama Rettto for four more days, tied up to destroyer tender for miscellaneous repairs. The tender was having a busy time of it....several ships tied up on both sides for servicing, most of them badly damaged from suicide planes. The fleet was averaging one destroyer per day, put out of action. When would it be our turn?

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

On June third, early in the afternoon, we spotted a large raid approaching and vectored our eager CAP out to intercept. They had a great time.. . got eight enemy planes altogether (6 Vals., 1 Tojo., and 1 Nate); one of them within visual range. It was a thrill to see one of our planes lock on to a Japs tail until it starts smoking, then diving earthward leaving a long black plume of smoke behind him .

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

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managed to hit 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.

The new Commanding Officer was Lt.Commander George V Rogers, from Annapolis, Class of ‘39, being transferred from being the Exec on the USS Collett. He was short of stature, quick in movements, and had a way of doing things quietly. The change of command took place on June 18, the day after he arrived. Although the Collett had been on some picket duty, they had not been in the fighting as long as the Ammen, and so he had much less experience. Naturally we were a bit apprehensive. As much as we were ready for a change, we had to admit Captain Brown had been good at” keeping the guns unmasked” whenever the enemy was starting to enter our own three mile limit.

On June 20 we got orders to proceed to RP#16....a pretty hot station. We were accompanied by the Converse and the Ingersoll. All was quiet until the 22nd when two large raids were detected coming down from the north. Our FD boys vectored our CAP of three Corsairs directly into them. Usually the Marine pilots will tackle anything, but this raid was too much. They counted 19 Jap planes and asked for reinforcements. We got another 5 or 6 fighters from the Marine airbase at Ie Shima and when they arrived it was a great show!

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 splashed it. But then we saw one of our own planes go down, a

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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.

Several weeks earlier ( I don’t remember when) we witnessed two of our Corsairs collide in mid-air while buzzing one of the destroyers against orders. Both pilots were probably looking back over their shoulders at the ducking sailors and didn’t see each other. The pilots used to get pretty bored with flying around in circles so much of the time.

We proceeded on to where the downed pilot was floating on his one man raft, with his wing-man circling overhead. He he was waving and grinning as our new captain maneuvered the Ship alongside and we lifted him aboard. He was unhurt except for minor burns and, after a medical examine, he put on dry clothes, and told us his story.

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 man “Pappy” had knocked down two Betty’s and were already

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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.

Everyone made themselves as comfortable as they could on their respective Stations. Those that had more active duties, traded around, so they could squeeze in a few hours of rest between alerts. The officers who could be spared while things were quiet usually stretched out on the army cots, or on the deck in the ward room. From there they could quickly get to their stations without going through any water tight hatches. Because of my duty as coding officer did not demand my presence except when messages piled up, I usually squeezed through the man hole sized hatch down to the second deck and stretched out on my bunk or wrote letters. Bob Morris was usually the only other officer on that deck because his station was in the computing room, so he and I often would sit up and shoot the breeze. Besides sex, we always used to get off on war strategy, economics, and our own pet gripes about our rules. Whenever we heard the words “all hands alert”, Bob would head for his station and I would climb to the flying bridge, where, for some reason, I felt most safe. It was probably on the false assumption I could see the enemy coming and

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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!

At Tacloban, on Leyte, we found the Navy had built a beautiful little Officers Club for “Destroyers Only” and we went there frequently during our two weeks stay. Mostly we drank beer and exchanged stories with other Ship’s officers, but sometimes played volleyball or passed a football around. The main club was a small Quonset Hut, but it was surrounded with little thatch-roof shelters under coconut trees. The site was on a small cove with huge towering cliffs and jungle covered mountains in the distance. And there were usually a few native children around selling souvenirs like Jap money, sea shells and hand crafts. Prices were naturally high; driven by supply and demand.

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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.

After a couple of weeks at Leyte, we headed back to Okinawa as part of an impressive looking force of cruisers and destroyers. The cruiser included the huge new ones: the “Guam and the Alaska”. Our new task was to make anti-shipping sweeps along the China coast. Once back in Okinawa, we learned the last big raid was the one we had repelled in June. Apparently, the Kamikaze war was about over, leaving only occasional small desperation raids.

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.

Our anti-shipping sweeps were so unsuccessful, the nearly called them off. It was becoming obvious they didn’t know what to do with us.

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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 rounds of ammunition discharged as fire works. And the war was NOT over!

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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,).

After two or three weeks at anchor in Buckner Bay, we finally did receive orders to join a task force and head for Kyushu. Now at least we would get to see Japan.. our ultimate goal during the war years. Our force was to act as a screen for the minesweepers working along the coast of Kyushu.

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 19th of September, joined by a hospital ship. Some ships had already arrived to prepare

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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.

Next morning, we learned a Jap destroyer had entered the harbor behind us and were signaling for instructions on how to surrender. Some how, I was among those selected to join the surrender party. There were four of us officers including the Exec, all wearing our .45 pistols, and several enlisted men with hand held machine guns. We used the captains gig and were piped aboard with much formality...all Japs rigid, saluting, and bowing. Somehow we conveyed that we wanted to inspect their ship, and in small groups did so. I was amazed at the low head room...the Japs all being short, and there were no bunks..they all slept on grass pads on the steel decks. Furthermore, I was impressed b the strong fish odors, noting that every available area had lines strung for drying small fish. After lots of saluting and bowing, we accepted their captain’s ceremonial sword as a token of surrender, and returned to our own ship. A memorable experience!

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!

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It always amused me how the Navy concerned itself with getting an Officer’s Club established first thing, in every port. This was no exception, we immediately learned that an OC was being set up in the Customs Building. A selected party of us, actually armed ourselves with .45s and a case of beer, and went over.

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.

The actual occupation troops weren’t scheduled to arrive for a few days, but several blocks near the docks and train station had been secured by the marines off the cruiser. As we walked along the dock to the OC, we saw lines of emaciated looking men being examined by medics, as prearranged by radio surrender terms. Most already had new and loose-fitting uniforms and they had just had showers and been sprayed with DDT. Many were obviously suffering from malnutrition and skin ailments, but they seemed pretty happy and cheerful to be free at last.

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

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again. It was so pathetic and yet so understandable when one realized they had been living like starved overworked animals for years, some, like the Chinese as much as ten years.

Within a week, I had an opportunity to ride in the back of a confiscated Japanese truck and tour the Atomic Bomb damaged part of the city. It was beyond some hills which had protected the harbor area from the blast, even though the bomb had exploded in the air and therefore had not caused widespread nuclear fallout.. “They” said it was safe, so those of us who volunteered went in like tourists to see what happened.

My first impression was that we were viewing a huge field of rubble...as far as one could see! What had been a thriving city of 250,000 was reduced to a rolling terrain of open space punctuated with scattered ruins of earthquake proof structures...broken walls, steel skeleton and twisted girders, plus many telephone poles and broken tree trunks, all scorched on one side. I estimated there was about ten square miles of such rubble. Nearly everything flammable had been consumed by the intense firestorm..with 50 mph winds created by the powerful updraft. The ground was covered with ashes, bricks, stones, roofing tiles, and chunks of concrete. We were on one of the few roads that had been cleared, enough to get through in our truck.

Miserable looking people, mostly bandaged or with slings, were trudging along both sides of the road , picking up items from the rubble, carrying baskets full of treasures they had salvaged from the ruins. Most of them would completely ignore the heavy trucks full of American sailors..some looking away. Many held handkerchiefs to their noses and mouths as if in fear of contaminations..maybe as an insult to us but probably to help avoid the many diseases that follow such catastrophes.

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 highly regimented, intense program which I completed in October 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.

I ended my Navy career as a Lieutenant; with the 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, the Ammen (DD527) was refurbished, served in Korea and then briefly in the Mediterranean. She continued to be active in

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all Pacific operations until May, 1960 when she was accidentally struck by the USS Collett (DD730) near San Diego. The collision killed 11 Ammen sailors and injured 20 others. Sadly, the ship was decommissioned 15 September 1960 and sold for scrap.

The USS Ammen received a presidential NAVY UNIT COMMENDATION for being one of five destroyers, (Radar Picket Ships) which survived the entire Okinawa campaign. Nearly 100 destroyers were sunk or damaged during the Battle for Okinawa.

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.

September 2010 John Moynahan

[email protected]

For Original Information and ResearchPlease contact:

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THE INSTITUTE ON WORLD WAR II AND THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE

Florida State University Tallahassee, Florida 32306-2200

Phone: (850) 644-5402 Fax: (850) 644-6402Email: [email protected]

Institute Purpose: To collect, preserve, and make available the social history and human experience of the World War II era.

The Institute holds the original 5"x8" handwritten diary in hardcover,( plus a 8 ½ x 11" copy for convenience.):

”Memories...A SHIP AND A WAR 1944-1945"

The Institute also holds original and copied photos together with many miscellaneous items related to the narrative.

A copy of this typewritten REVISION, as written in September 2010, is also being submitted. These items are all available to researchers at the Institute.

Email copies of the diary may be obtained directly from John Moynahan.

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memories... a ship and a war 1944-1945 final

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