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