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Infamous Day:

Marines at Pearl Harbor

by Robert I. Cressman and 1. Michael Wenger

n the afternoon of 6

December 1941, Tai

Sing Loo, the colorful

Pearl Harbor Navy

Yard photographer, arranged with Platoon Sergeant

Charles R. Christenot, the noncommissioned-officer-in-charge of the

Main Gate at the Navy Yard, to have

his Marines pose for a photograph

between 0830 and 0930 Sunday

morning, in front of the new concrete

main gate. The photo was to be for

a Christmas card.

As war clouds gathered over the

Pacific basin in late 1941, the United States Pacific Fleet operated, as it

had since May 1940, from Pearl Harbor. While the security of that fleet

and for the island of Oahu lay in the

Army's hands, that of the Navy Yard

and the Naval Air Stations at Pearl

Harbor and Kaneohe Bay lay in the

hands of Marines. In addition, on

board the fleet's battleships, aircraft

carriers, and some of its cruisers, Marines provided security, served as orderlies for embarked flag officers and

ships' captains, and manned secondary antiaircraft and machine gun

batteries — seagoing duties familiar to

the Corps since its inception.

The Marine Barracks at Pearl Harbor comprised a Barracks Detachment and two companies, A and B,

the men living in a comfortable

three-story concrete barracks. Company A manned the main gates at the

Submarine Base and Navy Yard, and

other "distant outposts," providing

yard security, while Company B enforced traffic regulations and mainNational Archives Photo 80-G-279375

Ford Island, seen on 10 October 1941

from much the same angle as Japanese

bomber pilots viewed it on 7 December.

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tamed p.roper police and order under

the auspices of the Yard Police

Officer. In addition, Marines ran the

Navy Yard Fire Department. Elements of Marine defense battalions

made Pearl Harbor their home, too,

residing in the several 100-man temporary wooden barracks buildings

that had been completed during 1940

and 1941. Less commodious but no

less important was the burgeoning

airbase that Marines of Marine Aircraft Group (MAG) 2 (later 21) had

hewn and hammered out near Barbers Point — Ewa Mooring Mast Field,

home for a Marine aircraft group

consisting of fighting, scoutbombing, and utility squadrons.

On 27 November, having been privy to intelligence information

gleaned from intercepted and translated Japanese diplomatic message

traffic, Admiral Harold R. Stark, the

Chief of Naval Operations, and General George C. Marshall, the Army's

Chief of Staff, sent a war warning to

their principal commanders on

Oahu, Admiral Husband E. Kimmel,

the Commander in Chief, Pacific

Fleet, and Lieutenant General Walter

C. Short, the Commander of the

Hawaiian Department. Thus adjured

to take appropriate defensive measures, and feeling that his more exposed advance bases needed

strengthening, Kimmel set in motion

a plan that had been completed as

early as 10 November, to provide

planes for Midway and Wake. The

latter was to receive fighters—12

Grumman F4F-3 Wildcats of Marine

Fighter Squadron (VMF) 211—while

Midway was to get scout bombers

from Marine Scout-Bomber Squadron (VMSB) 231. The following day,

28 November 1941, the carrier Enterprise (CV-6) departed Pearl in Task
4j$4'u.; ! ______ _____

Force 8 under Vice Admiral William

F. Halsey, Jr., Commander, Aircraft,

Battle Force, embarking VMF-211 at

sea. VMSB-231 was to embark in

another carrier, Lexington (CV 2), in

Task Force 12 under Rear Admiral

John H. Newton, on 5 December.

At the outset, apparently no one

except the squadron commanders

knew their respective destinations,

but the men of VMF-211 and

VMSB-231, meanwhile, apparently

ordered their affairs and made ready

for what was to appear as "advanced

base exercises:' Among those men

seeing to his financial affairs at Ewa

Mooring Mast Field on 3 December

1941 was First Lieutenant Richard E.

Fleming, USMCR, who wrote to his

widowed mother: "This is the last

time I'll be able to write for probably some time. I'm sorry I can't give

you any details; it's that secret:'

On the 5th, Task Force 12 sailed

from Pearl. Eighteen light gray

Vought SB2U-3 Vindicators from

VMSB-231, under 41-year old Major

Clarence J. "Buddy" Chappell, then

made the 1.7-hour flight from Ewa

and landed on board Lexington,

along with the "Lady Lex" air group.

Planes recovered, the force set course

for Midway. The Lexington departed Pearl Harbor on the morning of

5 December. That afternoon saw the

arrival of Battleship Division One

from gunnery exercises in the

Hawaiian Operating Area, and the

three dreadnoughts, Arizona

(BB-39), Nevada (BB36), and Oklahoma (BB 37), moored in their assigned berths at the quays along Ford

Island. The movements of the ships

in and out of Pearl Harbor had been

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the object of much interest on the

part of the espionage system operating out of the Japanese consulate in

Honolulu throughout the year 1941,

for the information its operatives

were providing went to support an

ambitious and bold operation that

had taken shape over several months.

Unbeknownst to Admiral Kimmel,

a Japanese task force under the command of Vice Admiral Chuichi

Nagumo, formed around six carriers

and the most powerful force of its

kind ever assembled by any naval

power, had set out from the remote

Kurile Islands on 27 November. It

observed radio silence and steamed

via the comparatively less traveled

northern Pacific.

Nagumos mission was to destroy

the United States Pacific Fleet and

thus ensure its being unable to threatPearl Harbor Navy Yard, looking south, on 13 October 1941.

Marine Barracks complex is located to the left of the tank farm

National Archives Photo 80-G-451123

visible just to left of center. Several temporary wooden barracks, completed in early 1941, ring the parade ground.
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en the Japanese Southern Operation

poised to attack American, British,

and Dutch possessions in the Far

East. All of the warning signs made

available to Admiral Kimmel and

General Short pointed toward hostilities occurring within the forseeable

future, but not on Oahu. War,

however, was about to burst upon

the Marines at Pearl Harbor "like a

thunderclap from a clear sky:'

Some 200 miles north of Oahu,

Vice Admiral Nagumo's First Air

Fleet — formed around the aircraft

carriers Akagi, Kaga, Soryu, Hiryu,

Shokaku and Zuikaku — pressed

southward in the pre-dawn hours of

7 December 1941. At 0550, the dark

gray ships swung to port, into the

brisk easterly wind, and commenced

launching an initial strike of 184

planes 10 minutes later. A second

strike would take off after an hour's

interval. Once airborne, the 51 Aichi

D3A1 Type 99 dive bombers (Vals),

89 Nakajima B5N2 attack planes

(Kates) used in high-level bombing

or torpedo bombing roles, and 43

Mitsubishi A6M2 Type 00 fighters

(Zeroes), led by Commander Mitsuo

Fuchida, Akagi's air group commander, wheeled around, climbed to

3,000 meters, and droned toward the

south at 0616. The only other military planes aloft that morning were

Douglas SBD Dauntlesses from Enterprise, flying searches ahead of the

carrier as she returned from Wake Island, Army Boeing B-17 Flying Fortresses heading in from the mainland,

and Navy Consolidated PBY Catalinas on routine patrols out of the

naval air stations at Ford Island and

Kaneohe.

Jordan Collection, MCHC

The centrally located airship mooring

mast at Ewa from which the field derived

its distinctive name, 13 February 1941.

That morning, 15 of the ships at

Pearl Harbor numbered Marine

detachments among their complements: eight battleships, two heavy

cruisers, four light cruisers, and one

auxiliary. A 16th detachment, assigned to the auxiliary (target/gunnery training ship) Utah

(AG-16), was ashore on temporary

duty at the 14th Naval District Rifle

Range at Puuloa Point.

At 0753, Lieutenant Frank Erickson, USCG, the Naval Air Station

(NAS) Ford Island duty officer,

watched Privates First Class Frank

Dudovick and James D. Young, and

Private Paul 0. Zeller, USMCR— the

Marine color guard — march up and

take post for Colors. Satisfied that all

looked in order outside, Erickson

stepped back into the office to check

if the assistant officer-of-the-day was

ready to play the recording for

sounding Colors on the loudspeaker. The sound of two heavy explosions, however, sent the Coast Guard

pilot running to the door. He reached

it just in time to see a Kate fly past

1010 Dock and release a torpedo.

The markings on the plane —"which

looked like balls of fire"— left no question as to its identity; the explosion

of the torpedo as it struck the battleship California (BB-44), moored

Aerial view of Ewa Mooring Mast Field, taken 2 December 1941, showing various

types of planes arrayed on the mat and living accommodations at middle and right.

Jordan Collection, MCHC

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Suddenly Hurled into War
near the administration building, left

no doubt as to its intent.

"The Marines didn't wait for

colors;' Erickson recalled later, "The

flag went right up but the tune was

general quarters." As "all Hell" broke

loose around them, Dudovick,

Young, and Zeller unflinchingly

hoisted the Stars and Stripes "with

the same smartness and precision"

that had characterized their participation in peacetime ceremonies. At

the crew barracks on Ford Island,

Corporal Clifton Webster and Private

First Class Albert E. Yale headed for

the roof immediately after general

quarters sounded. In the direct line

of fire from strafing planes, they set

up a machine gun. Across Oahu, as

Japanese planes swept in over NAS

Kaneohe Bay, the Marine detachment there — initially the only men

who had weapons —hurried to their

posts and began firing at the attackers.

Since the American aircraft carriers were at sea, the Japanese targeted the battleships which lay moored

off Ford Island. At one end of Battleship Row lay Nevada. At 0802, the

battleship's .50-caliber machine guns

opened fire on the torpedo planes

bearing down on them from the

direction of the Navy Yard; her gunners believed that they had shot one

down almost immediately. An instant later, however, a torpedo

penetrated her port side and exploded.

Ahead of Nevada lay Arizona,

with the repair ship Vestal (AR-4)

alongside, preparing for a tender

availability. Major Alan Shapley had

been relieved the previous day as

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detachment commanding officer by

Captain John H. Earle, Jr., who had

come over to Arizona from Tennessee (BB-43). Awaiting transportation

to the Naval Operating Base, San

Diego, and assignment to the 2d Marine Division, Shapley was lingering

on board to play first base on the battleship's baseball team in a game

scheduled with the. squad from the

carrier Enterprise (CV-6). After the

morning meal, he started down to his

cabin to change.

Seated at breakfast, Sergeant John

M. Baker heard the air raid alarm,

followed closely by an explosion in

the distance and machine gun fire.

Corporal Earl C. Nightingale, leaving the table, had paid no heed to the

alarm at the outset, since he had no

antiaircraft battle station, but ran to

the door on the port side that opened

While a Marine, foreground, looks skyward, the torpedoed

battleship California (BB 46) lists to port. In the left backNational Archives Photo 80-G-32463

ground flies "Old Glory," raised by PFCs Frank Dudovick

and James D. Young, and Pvt Paul 0. Zeller, USMCR.
out onto the quarterdeck at the

sound of the distant explosion. Looking out, he saw what looked like a

bomb splash alongside Nevada. Marines from the ship's color guard then

burst breathlessly into the messing

compartment, saying that they were

being attacked.

As general quarters sounded, Baker and Nightingale, among the

others, headed for their battle stations. Aft, congestion at the starboard ladder, that led through

casemate no. 9, prompted Second

Lieutenant Carleton E. Simensen,

USMCR, the ship's junior Marine

officer, to force his way through.

Both Baker and Nightingale noted,

in passing, that the 5-inch/51 there

was already manned, and Baker

heard Corporal Burnis L. Bond, the

gun captain, tell the crew to train it

out. Nightingale noted that the men

seemed "extremely calm and collected:'

As Lieutenant Simensen led the

Marines up the ladder on the starboard side of the mainmast tripod,

an 800-kilogram converted armorpiercing shell dropped by a Kate

from Kaga ricocheted off the side of

Turret IV. Penetrating the deck, it exploded in the vicinity of the captain's

pantry. Sergeant Baker was following Siménsen up the mainmast when

the bomb exploded, shapnel cutting

down the officer as he reached the

first platform. He crumpled to the

deck. Nightingale, seeing him flat on

his back, bent over him to see what

he could do but Simensen, dying,

motioned for his men to continue on

up the ladder. Nightingale continued

up to Secondary Aft and reported to

Major Shapley that nothing could be

done for Simensen.

An instant later, a rising babble of

voices in the secondary station

prompted Nightingale to call for silence. No sooner had the tense quiet

settled in when, suddenly, a terrible

explosion shook the ship, as a second

800-kilogram bomb — dropped by a

Kate from Hiryu — penetrated the

deck near Turret II and set off Arizona's forward magazines. An instant

after the terrible fireball mushroomed

upward, Nightingale looked out and

saw a mass of flames forward of the

mainmast, and much in the tradition

of Private William Anthony of the

Maine reported that the ship was

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afire.* 'We'd might as well go below;'

Major Shapley said, looking around,

"we're no good here:' Sergeant Baker started down the ladder. Nightingale, the last man out, followed

Shapley down the port side of the

mast, the railings hot to the touch as

they made their way below.

Baker had just reached the searchlight platform when he heard someone shout: "You can't use the ladder:'

Private First Class Kenneth D. Goodman, hearing that and apparently assuming (incorrectly, as it turned out)

that the ladder down was indeed unusable, instinctively leapt in desperation to the crown of Turret III.

Miraculously, he made the jump with

only a slight ankle injury. Shapley,

Nightingale, and Baker, however,

among others, stayed on the ladder

and reached the boat deck, only to

find it a mass of wreckage and fire,

with the bodies of the slain lying

thick upon it. Badly charred men

staggered to the quarterdeck. Some

reached it only to collapse and never

rise. Among them was Corporal

Bond, burned nearly black, who had

been ordering his crew to train out

no. 9 5-inch/51 at the outset of the

battle; sadly, he would not survive

his wounds.

Shapley and Corporal Nightingale

made their way across the ship between Turret III and Turret IV, where

Shapley stopped to talk with Lieutenant Commander Samuel G. Fuqua, Arizona's first lieutenant and,

by that point, the ship's senior officer

on board. Fuqua, who appeared "exceptionally calm;' as he helped men

over the side, listened as Shapley told

him that it appeared that a bomb had

gone down the stack and triggered

the explosion that doomed the ship.

Since fighting the massive fires consuming the ship was a hopeless task,

*Private Anthony, an instant after the explosion

mortally damaged the battleship Maine in Havana

harbor on 15 February 1898, made his way to the

captain's cabin, where he encountered that officer

in the passageway outside. Drawing himself to attention, Anthony reported that the ship was

sinking.
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Fuqua told the Marine that he had

ordered Arizona abandoned. Fuqua,

the first man Sergeant Baker encountered on the quarterdeck, proved an

inspiration. "His calmness gave me

courage;' Baker later declared, "and

I looked around to see if I could help:'

Fuqua, however, ordered him over

the side, too. Baker complied.

Shapley and Nightingale, meanwhile, reached the mooring quay

alongside which Arizona lay when

an explosion blew them into the

water. Nightingale started swimming

for a pipeline 150 feet away but soon

found that his ebbing strength would

not permit him to reach it. Shapley,

seeing the enlisted man's distress,

swam over and grasped his shirt

front, and told him to hang onto his

shoulders. The strain of swimming

with Nightingale, however, proved

too much for even the athletic

Shapley, who began to experience

difficulties himself. Seeing his former detachment commander foundering, Nightingale loosened his grip on

his shoulders and told him to go the

rest of the way alone. Shapley

stopped, however, and firmly

grabbed him by the shirt; he refused

to let go. "1 would have drowned;'

Nightingale later recounted, "but for

the Major:' Sergeant Baker had seen

their travail, but, too far away to

help, made it to Ford Island alone.

Several bombs, meanwhile, fell

close aboard Nevada, moored astern

of Arizona, which had begun to

hemorrhage fuel from ruptured

tanks. Fire spread to the oil that lay

thick upon the water, threatening

Nevada. As the latter counterflooded to correct the list, her acting commanding officer, Lieutenant

Commander Francis J. Thomas,

USNR, decided that his ship had to

get underway "to avoid further

danger due to proximity of Arizona."

After receiving a signal from the yard

tower to stand out of the harbor,

Nevada singled up her lines at 0820.

She began moving from her berth 20

minutes later.

Oklahoma, Nevada's sister ship

moored inboard of Maryland in

berth F-5, meanwhile manned airdefense stations at about 0757, to the

sound of gunfire. After a junior

officer passed the word over the

general announcing system that it

was not a drill — providing a suffix of

profanity to underscore the fact — all

View from a Japanese plane taken around 0800 on 7 December

1941. At lower left is Nevada (BB 36), with Arizona (BB 39)

ahead of her, with the repair ship Vestal (AR 4) moored outboard; West Virginia (BB 48) (already beginning to list to port)

alongside Tennessee (BB 43); Oklahoma (BB 37) (which has already taken at least one torpedo) with Maryland (BB 46)

moored inboard; the fleet oiler Neosho (AO 23) and, far right,

California (BB 44) , which, too, already has been torpedoed.

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 50931

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to come up from below at the time

Harry was trying to close the hatch

• :' Backus never saw Gayer again.

As the list increased and the oily,

wet decks made even standing up a

chore, Oklahoma's acting commanding officer ordered her abandoned to

save as many lives as possible.

Directed to leave over the starboard

side, away from the direction of the

roll, most of Oklahoma's men

managed to get off, to be picked up

by boats arriving to rescue survivors.

Sergeant Thomas E. Hailey, and Privates First Class Marlin "S" Seale and

James H. Curran, Jr., swam to the

nearby Maryland. Hailey and Seale

turned to the task of rescuing shipmates, Seale remaining on

Maryland's blister ledge throughout

the attack, pulling men from the

water. Later, although inexperienced

with that type of weapon, Hailey

and Curran manned Maryland's antiaircraft guns. West Virginia rescued

Privates George B. Bierman and Carl

Authors Collection

Col Alan Shapley, in a post-war

photograph taken while serving as an

aide to Adm William F Halsey, Jr.

men not having an antiaircraft

defense station were ordered to lay

below the armored deck. Crews at

the 5-inch and 3-inch batteries,

meanwhile, opened ready-use lockers. A heavy shock, followed by a

loud explosion, came soon thereafter

as a torpedo slammed home in the

battleship's port side. The "Okie"

soon began listing to port.

Oil and water cascaded over the

decks, making them extremely slippery and silencing the ready-duty

machine gun on the forward superstructure. Two more torpedoes struck

home. The massive rent in the ship's

side rendered the desperate attempts

at damage control futile. As Ensign

Paul H. Backus hurried from his

room to his battle station on the signal bridge, he passed his friend Second Lieutenant Harry H. Gayer, Jr.,

one of Oklahoma's Marine detachment junior officers, "on his knees,

attempting to close a hatch on the

port side, alongside the barbette [of

Turret I] . . . part of the trunk which

led from the main deck to the magazines . . .

. There were men trying

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R. McPherson, who not only helped

rescue others from the water but also

helped to fight that battleship's fires.

Sergeant Woodrow A. Polk, a

Sgt Thomas E. Hailey, 18 May 1942, one

month after he had been awarded the

Navy Cross for heroism he exhibited on

7 December 1941 that followed the sinking of the battleship Oklahoma (BB37).

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 102556

bomb fragment in his left hip,

sprained his right ankle in abandoning ship, while someone clambered

into a launch over Sergeant Leo G.

Wears and nearly drowned him in

the process. Gunnery Sergeant Norman L. Currier stepped from Oklahoma's red hull to a boat, dry-shod.

Wears — as Hailey and Curran — soon

found a short-handed antiaircraft

gun on Maryland's boat deck and

helped pass ammunition. Private

First Class Arthur J. Bruktenis,

whose column in the December 1941

issue of The Leatherneck would be

the last to chronicle the peacetime activities of Oklahoma's Marines, dislocated his left shoulder in the

abandonment, but survived.

A little over two weeks shy of his

23d birthday, Corporal Willard D.

Darling, an Oklahoma Marine who

was a native Oklahoman, had meanwhile clambered on board a motor

launch. As it headed shoreward,

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Darling saw 51-year-old Commander

Fred M. Rohow (Medical Corps), the

capsized battleship's senior medical

officer, in a state of shock, struggling

in the oily water. Since Rohow

Cpl Willard A. Darling, circa 1941, was

awarded the Navy Cross for heroism in

the aftermath of the Japanese air attack

on the battleship Oklahoma (BB 37).

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 102557

Along Battleship Row, beneath a pall of smoke from the burning Arizona (BB 39) lies Maryland (BB 46), her 5-inch/25

antiaircraft battery bristling. Oklahoma (BB 37) lies "turned

National Archives Photo 80-G-32549

turtle, "capsized, at right. This view shows the distance "Okie"

survivors swam to the inboard battleship, where they manned antiaircraft batteries and rescued their shipmates.

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seemed to be drowning, Darling unhesitatingly dove in and, along with

Shipfitter First Class William S. Thomas, kept him afloat until a second

launch picked them up. Strafing

Japanese planes and shrapnel from

American guns falling around them

prompted the abandonment of the

launch at a dredge pipeline, so

Darling jumped in and directed the

doctor to follow him. Again, the Marine rescued Rohow —who proved

too exhausted to make it on his

own — and towed him to shore.

Maryland, meanwhile, inboard of

Oklahoma, promptly manned her

antiaircraft guns at the outset of the

attack, her machine guns opening

fire immediately. She took two bomb

hits, but suffered only minor

damage. Her Marine detachment

suffered no casualties.

On board Tennessee (BB-43), Marine Captain Chevey S. White, who

had just turned 28 the day before,

was standing officer-of-the-deck

watch as that battleship lay moored

inboard of West Virginia (BB-48) in

berth F-6. Since the commanding

officer and the executive officer were

both ashore, command devolved

upon Lieutenant Commander James

W. Adams, Jr., the ship's gunnery

officer. Summoned topside at the

sound of the general alarm and hearing "all hands to general quarters"

over the ship's general announcing

system, Adams sprinted to the bridge

and spotted White en route. Over the

din of battle, Adams shouted for the

Marine to "get the ship in condition

Zed [ZI as quickly as possible:' White

did so. By the time Adams reached

his battle station on the bridge,

White was already at his own battle

station, directing the ship's antiaircraft guns. During the action (in

which the ship took one bomb that

exploded on the center gun of Turret II and another that penetrated the

crown of Turret III, the latter breaking apart without exploding), White

remained at his unprotected station,

coolly and courageously directing the

Marine Corps Historical Collection

Capt Chevey S. White was a veteran of

service in China with the 4th Marines,

where he had edited the Walla Walla, the

regiment's news magazine. White had

become CO of Tennessee's (BB 43) Marine Detachment on 3 August 1941. Ultimately, he was killed by enemy

mortar fire on Guam on 22 July 1944.

battleship's antiaircraft battery. Tennessee claimed four enemy planes

shot down.

West Virginia, outboard of Tennessee, had been scheduled to sail for

Puget Sound, due for overhaul, on

17 November, but had been retained

in Hawaiian waters owing to the

tense international situation. In her

exposed moorings, she thus absorbed

six torpedoes, while a seventh blew

her rudder free. Prompt counterflooding, however, prevented her

from turning turtle as Oklahoma had

done, and she sank, upright, alongside Tennessee.

On board California, moored singly off the administration building at

the naval air station, junior officer of

the deck on board had been Second

Lieutenant Clifford B. Drake.

Relieved by Ensign Herbert C. Jones,

USNR, Drake went down to the

wardroom for breakfast (Kadota

figs, followed by steak and eggs)

where, around 0755, he heard airplane engines and explosions as

Japanese dive bombers attacked the

air station. The general quarters

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alarm then summoned the crew to

battle stations. Drake, forsaking his

meal, hurried to the foretop.

By 0803, the two ready machine

guns forward of the bridge had

opened fire, followed shortly thereafter by guns no. 2 and 4 of the antiaircraft battery. As the gunners

depleted the ready-use ammunition,

however, two torpedoes struck home

in quick succession. California began

to settle as massive flooding occurred. Meanwhile, fumes from the

ruptured fuel tanks — she had been

fueled to 95 percent capacity the

previous day — drove out the men assigned to the party attempting to

bring up ammunition for the guns by

hand. A call for men to bring up additional gas masks proved fruitless,

as the volunteers, who included Private Arthur E. Senior, could not

reach the compartment in which they

were stored.

California's losing power because

of the torpedo damage soon relegated Lieutenant Drake, in her foretop,

to the role of ' . . a reporter of what

was going on . . . a somewhat confused young lieutenant suddenly

hurled into war:' As California began

listing after the torpedo hits, Drake

began pondering his own ship's fate.

Comparing his ship's list with that of

Oklahoma's, he dismissed California's rolling over, thinking, "who ever

heard of a battleship capsizing?" Oklahoma, however, did a few moments later.

Meanwhile, at about 0810, in

response to a call for a chain of

volunteers to pass 5-inch/25 ammunition, Private Senior again stepped

forward and soon clambered down

to the C-L Division Compartment.

There he saw Ensign Jones, Lieutenant Drake's relief earlier that

morning, standing at the foot of the

ladder on the third deck, directing

the ammunition supply. For almost

20 minutes, Senior and his shipmates

toiled under Jones' direction until a

bomb penetrated the main deck at
Iabout 0830 and exploded on the second deck, plunging the compartment into darkness. As acrid smoke

filled the compartment, Senior

reached for his gas mask, which he

had lain on a shell box behind him,

and put it on. Hearing someone say:

"Mr. Jones has been hit;' Senior

flashed his flashlight over on the ensign's face and saw that "it was all

bloody. His white coat also had

blood all over it." Senior and another

man then carried Jones as far as the

M Division compartment, but the

ensign would not let them carry him

any further. "Leave me alone;' he

gasped insistently, "I'm done for. Get

out of here before the magazines go

off!" Soon thereafter, however, before

he could get clear, Senior felt the

shock of an explosion from down below and collapsed, unconscious.

Jones' gallantry — which earned

him a posthumous Medal of

Honor— impressed Private Howard

M. Haynes, who had been confined

before the attack, awaiting a bad

conduct discharge. After the battle,

a contrite Haynes —"a mean character who had shown little or no

respect for anything or anyone" beGySgt Charles E. Douglas, 24 February

1941, later awarded the Navy Cross for

heroism on board Nevada at Pearl Harbor. He had seen service in Nicaragua

and in the Legation Guard at Peking, as

well as at sea in battleships Pennsylvania (BB 38) and New York (BB 34).

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 102552

fore 7 December —approached Lieutenant Drake and said that he

[Haynes] was alive because of the actions that Ensign Jones had taken.

"God;' he said, "give me a chance to

prove I'm worth it." His actions that

morning in the crucible of war

earned Haynes a recommendation

for retention in the service. Most of

California's Marines, like Haynes,

survived the battle. Private First

Class Earl D. Wallen and Privates

Roy E. Lee, Jr. and Shelby C. Shook,

however, did not. Nor did the badly

burned Private First Class John A.

Blount, Jr., who succumbed to his

wounds on 9 December.

Nevada's attempt to clear the harbor, meanwhile, inspired those who

witnessed it. Her magnificent effort

prompted a stepped-up effort by

Japanese dive bomber pilots to sink

her. One 250-kilogram bomb hit her

boat deck just aft of a ventilator

trunk and 12 feet to the starboard

side of the centerline, about halfway

between the stack and the end of the

boat deck, setting off laid-out 5-inch

ready-use ammunition. Spraying

fragments decimated the gun crews.

The explosion wrecked the galley

and blew open the starboard door of

the compartment, venting into casemate no. 9 and starting a fire that

swept through the casemate, wrecking the gun. Although he had been

seriously wounded by the blast that

had hurt both of his legs and stripped

much of his uniform from his body,

Corporal Joe R. Driskell disregarded his own condition and insisted

that he man another gun. He refused

medical treatment, assisting other

wounded men instead, and then

helped battle the flames. He did not

quit until those fires were out.

Another 250-kilogram bomb hit

Nevada's bridge, penetrating down

into casemate no. 6 and starting a

fire. The blast had also severed the

water pipes providing circulating

water to the water-cooled machine

guns on the foremast — guns in the

charge of Gunnery Sergeant Charles

10

E. Douglas. Intense flames enveloped

the forward superstructure, endangering Douglas and his men, and

prompting orders for them to abandon their station. They steadfastly

remained at their posts, however,

keeping the .50-caliber Brownings firing amidst the swirling black smoke

until the end of the action.

Unlike the battleships the enemy

had caught moored on Battleship

Row, Pennsylvania (BB-38), the fleet

flagship, lay on keel blocks, sharing

Dry Dock No. 1 at the Navy Yard

with Cassin (DD-372) and Downes

(DD-375) — two destroyers side-byside ahead of her. Three of Pennsylvania's four propeller shafts had been

removed and she was receiving all

steam, power, and water from the

yard. Although her being in drydock

had excused her from taking part in

antiaircraft drills, her crew swiftly

manned her machine guns after the

first bombs exploded among the PBY

flying boats parked on the south end

of Ford Island. "Air defense stations"

then sounded, followed by "general

Cpl Joe R. Driskell, circa 1941, later

awarded the Navy Cross for heroism on

board Nevada at Pearl Harbor. Driskell

had been in the Civilian Conservation

Corps in Wyoming before he had enlisted in the Corps. When general quarters

sounded on board Nevada (BB 36) on 7

December, he took up his battle station

as gun captain of no. 9 5-inch/51 gun,

in casemate no. 9, on the starboard side.

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 102554

'U'
Close-up of the forward

supei5tructure of Nevada (BB 36) taken a few

days after the Japanese

mack as the battleship lay

!eached off Waipio Point. In

- upper portion of this view

can be seen the forward

machine gun position with its

four .50-caliber water-cooled

Brownings — the ones manned

by Gunnery Sergeant Douglas

and his men during the battle

n 7 December. Note the extensive fire damage

to the superstrucbelow. In the lower

portion of the picture

--ri be seen one of the

ship's 5-inch/51s, of

the type manned by

Corporal Driskell at

the start of

the action.
quarters." Men knocked the locks off

ready-use ammunition stowage and

Pennsylvania opened fire about

0802.

The fleet flagship and the two destroyers nestled in the drydock ahead

of her led a charmed life until dive

bombers from Soryu and Hiryu targeted the drydock area between 0830

and 0915.* One bomb penetrated

Pennsylvania's boat deck, just to the

rear of 5-inch/25 gun no. 7, and

detonated in casemate no. 9. Of

Pennsylvania's Marine detachment,

two men (Privates Patrick P. Tobin

and George H. Wade, Jr.) died outright, 13 fell wounded, and six were

listed as missing. Three of the

wounded — Corporal Morris E. Nations and Jesse C. Vincent, Jr,. and

Private First Class Floyd D.

Stewart— died later the same day.

As the onslaught descended upon

the battleships and the air station,

Marine detachments hurried to their

battle stations on board other ships

elsewhere at Pearl. In the Navy Yard

lay Argonne (AG-31), the flagship of

the Base Force, the heavy cruisers

Nezi, Orleans (CA-32) and San Francisco (CA-38), and the light cruisers

Honolulu (CL-48), St. Louis (CL-49)

*For what became of the two destroyers, and the

Marines decorated for bravery in the battle to try

to save them, see page 28-29.

ieutenant Colonel Daniel

Russel Fox, USMC, as the

Division Marine Officer on the

staff of Rear Admiral Isaac C. Kidd,

Commander, Battleship Division

One, was the most senior Marine

officer to die on board Arizona on

the morning of 7 December 1941. Fox

had enlisted in the Marine Corps in

1916. For heroism in France on 4 October 1918, when he was a member

of the 17th Company, Fifth Marines,

he was awarded the Navy Cross. He

also was decorated with the Army's

Distinguished Service Cross and the

French Croix de Guerre. Fox was

commissioned in 1921 and later

served in Nicaragua as well as China.

and Helena (CL-50). To the northeast

of Ford Island lay the light cruiser

Phoenix (CL-43).

Although Utah was torpedoed and

sunk at her berth early in the attack,

her 14 Marines, on temporary duty

at the 14th Naval District Rifle

Range, found useful employment

combatting the enemy. The Fleet

Machine Gun School lay on Oahu's

south coast, west of the Pearl Harbor entrance channel, at Fort Weaver.

The men stationed there, including

several Marines on temporary duty

from the carrier Enterprise and the

battleships California and Pennsylvania, sprang to action at the first

sounds of war. Working with the

men from the Rifle Range, all hands

set up and mounted guns, and broke

out and belted ammunition between

0755 and 0810. All those present at

the range were issued pistols or rifles

from the facility's armory.

Soon after the raid began, Platoon

Sergeant Harold G. Edwards set

about securing the camp against any

incursion the Japanese might attempt

from the landward side, and also supervised the emplacement of

machine guns along the beach. Lieutenant (j.g.) Roy R. Nelson, the

officer in charge of the Rifle Range,

remembered the many occasions

when Captain Frank M. Reinecke,

12

commanding officer of Utah's Marine

detachment and the senior instructor at the Fleet Machine Gun School

(and, as his Naval Academy classmates remembered, quite a conversationalist), had maintained that the

school's weapons would be a great

asset if anybody ever attacked

Hawaii. By 0810, Reinecke's gunners

stood ready to prove the point and

soon engaged the enemy —most likely torpedo planes clearing Pearl Harbor or high-level bombers approaching from the south. Nearby

Army units, perhaps alerted by the

Marines' fire, opened up soon thereafter. Unfortunately, the eager gunners succeeded in downing one of

two SBDs from Enterprise that were

attempting to reach Hickam Field.

An Army crash boat, fortunately,

rescued the pilot and his wounded

passenger soon thereafter.

On board Argonne, meanwhile,

alongside 1010 Dock, her Marines

manned her starboard 3-inch/23 battery and her machine guns. Commander Fred W. Connor, the ship's

commanding officer, later credited

Corporal Alfred Schlag with shooting down one Japanese plane as it

headed for Battleship Row.

When the attack began, Helena lay

moored alongside 1010 Dock, the

venerable minelayer Oglala (CM-3)

outboard. A signalman, standing

watch on the light cruiser's signal

bridge at 0757 identified the planes

over Ford Island as Japanese, and the

ship went to general quarters. Before

she could fire a shot in her own

defense, however, one 800-kilogram

torpedo barrelled into her starboard

side about a minute after the general alarm had begun summoning her

men to their battle stations. The explosion vented up from the forward

engine room through the hatch and

passageways, catching many of the

crew running to their stations, and

started fires on the third deck. Platoon Sergeant Robert W. Teague, Privates First Class Paul E Huebner, Jr.
I

c: C

-

I

and George E. Johnson, and Private

Lester A. Morris were all severely

burned. Johnson later died.

To the southeast, New Orleans lay

across the pier from her sister ship

San Francisco. The former went to

general quarters soon after enemy

planes had been sighted divebombing Ford Island around 0757.

At 0805, as several low-flying torpedo planes roared by, bound for Battleship Row, Marine sentries on the

fantail opened fire with rifles and

.45s. New Orleans' men, meanwhile,

so swiftly manned the 1.1-inch/75

quads, and .50-caliber machine guns,

under the direction of Captain Wi!-

ham R. Collins, the commanding

officer of the ship's Marine detachment, that the ship actually managed

to shoot at torpedo planes passing

her stern. San Francisco, however,

under major overhaul with neither

operative armament nor major

caliber ammunition on board, was

thus restricted to having her men fire

small arms at whatever Japanese

planes came within range. Some of

her crew, though, hurried over to

New Orleans, which was near-missed

by one bomb, and helped man her

5-inchers.

St. Louis, outboard of Honolulu,

went to general quarters at 0757 and

opened fire with her 1.1 quadruple

mounted antiaircraft and .50-caliber

machine gun batteries, and after getting her 5-inch mounts in commission by 0830— although without

power in train — she hauled in her

lines at 0847 and got underway at

0931. With all 5-inchers in full corn13

mission by 0947, she proceeded to

sea, passing the channel entrance

buoys abeam around 1000.

Honolulu, damaged by a near miss

from a bomb, remained moored at

her berth throughout the action.

Phoenix, moored by herself in

berth C-6 in Pearl Harbor, to the

northeast of Ford Island, noted the

attacking planes at 0755 and went to

general quarters. Her machine gun

battery opened fire at 0810 on the attacking planes as they came within

range; her antiaircraft battery five

minutes later. Ultimately, after two

false starts (where she had gotten underway and left her berth only to see

sortie signals cancelled each time)

Phoenix cleared the harbor later that

day and put to sea.

For at least one Marine, though,

Beneath a leaden sky on 8 December 1941, Marines at NAS

Kaneohe Bay fire a volley over the common grave of 15 ofNational Archives Photo 8O-G-32554

ficers and men killed during the Japanese raid the previous

day. Note sandbagged position atop the sandy rise at right.
_______________ ____________

- 1.t -

the day's adventure was not over

when the Japanese planes departed.

Search flights took off from Ford Island, pilots taking up utility aircraft

with scratch crews, to look for the

enemy carriers which had launched

the raid. Mustered at the naval air

station on Ford Island, Oklahoma's

Sergeant Hailey, still clad in his oilsoaked underwear, volunteered to go

up in a plane that was leaving on a

search mission at around 1130. He

remained aloft in the plane, armed

with a rifle, for some five hours.

After the attacking planes had retired, the grim business of cleaning

up and getting on with the war had

to be undertaken. Muster had to be

taken to determine who was missing,

who was wounded, who lay dead.

Men sought out their friends and

shipmates. First Lieutenant Cornelius

C. Smith, Jr., from the Marine Barracks at the Navy Yard, searched in

vain among the maimed and dying

at the Naval Hospital later that day,

for his friend Harry Gayer from Oklahoma. Death respected no rank.

The most senior Marine to die that

day was Lieutenant Colonel Daniel

R. Fox, the decorated World War I

hero and the division Marine officer

on the staff of the Commander, Battleship Division One, Rear Admiral

Isaac C. Kidd, who, along with Lieutenant Colonel Fox, had been killed

in Arizona. The tragedy of Pearl

Harbor struck some families with

more force than others: numbered

among Arizona's lost were Private

Gordon E. Shive, of the battleship's

Marine detachment, and his brother,

Radioman Third Class Malcolm H.

Shive, a member of the ship's

company.

Over the next few days, Marines

from the sunken ships received reassignment to other vessels — Nevada's

Marines deployed ashore to set up

defensive positions in the fields adjacent to the grounded and listing

battleship — and the dead, those who

could be found, were interred with

appropriate ceremony. Eventually,

the deeds of Marines in the battleship

detachments were recognized by appropriate commendations and advancements in ratings. Chief among

them, Gunnery Sergeant Douglas,

Sergeant Hailey, and Corporals

Driskell and Darling were each

awarded the Navy Cross. For his

"meritorious conduct at the peril of

his own life;' Major Shapley was

commended and awarded the Silver

Star. Lieutenant Simensen was

awarded a posthumous Bronze Star,

while Tennesseds commanding officer

commended Captain White for the

way in which he had directed that

battleship's antiaircraft guns that

morning.

Titanic salvage efforts raised some

of the sunken battleships — California, West Virginia, and Nevada—

and they, like the surviving Marines,

went on to play a part in the ultimate

defeat of the enemy who had begun

the war with such swift and terrible

suddenness.

At 0740, when Fuchida's fliers had

closed to within a few miles of Kahuku Point, the 43 Zeroes split away

from the rest of the formation,

swinging out north and west of

Wheeler Field, the headquarters of

the Hawaiian Air Force's 18th Pursuit

Wing. Passing further to the south,

at about 0745 the Soryu and Hiryu

divisions executed a hard diving turn

to port and headed north, toward

Wheeler. Eleven Zeroes from

Shokaku and Zuikaku simultaneously left the formation and flew east,

crossing over Oahu north of Pearl

Harbor to attack NAS Kaneohe Bay.

Eighteen from Akagi and Kaga headed toward what the Japanese called

Babasu Pointo Hikojo (Barbers Point

Airdrome) — Ewa Mooring Mast

Field.

Sweeping over the Waianae Range,

Lieutenant Commander Shigeru

Itaya led Akagi's nine Zeroes, while

Lieutenant Yoshio Shiga headed

another division of nine from Kaga.

After the initial attack, Itaya and Shiga were to be followed by divisions

from Soryu, under Lieutenant Masaji

Suganami, and Hiryu, under Lieutenant Kiyokuma Okajima, which

were, at that moment, involved in attacking Wheeler to the north.

In the officers' mess at Ewa, the

officer-of-the-day, Captain Leonard

W. Ashwell of VMJ-252, noticed two

formations of aircraft at 0755. The

first looked like 18 "torpedo planes"

flying at 1,000 feet toward Pearl Harbor from Barbers Point, but the second, to the northwest, comprised

about 21 planes, just coming over the

Ewa Mooring Mast Field, later a Japanese target, is seen hazily through the windshield of a Battleship Row-bound Kate shortly before 0800 on 7 December 1941.

Author's Collection

14
Browning Machine Gun Drill On Board Ship

M

arines man a water-cooled, .50-caliber

Browning M2 machine gun during a drill

on board the gunnery training ship Wyoming (AG 17) in late 1941. The M2 Browning weighed

(without water) 100 pounds, 8 ounces, and measured

five feet, six inches in length. It fired between 550 and

700 rounds per minute to a maximum horizontal range

of 7,400 yards. The two hoses carry coolant water to

the gun barrel. The gun could be fired without the

prescribed two and a half gallons of cooling water — as

Gunnery Sergeant Douglas's men did on board Nevada (BB 36) on 7 December 1941—but accuracy

diminished as the barrel heated and the pattern of

shots became more widely dispersed. Experience

would reveal that a large number of .50-caliber hits

were necessary to disable a plane, and that only a

small number of hits could be attained by any single

ship-mounted gun against a dive bomber.

15
S

hills from the direction of Nanakuii, also at an altitude of about 1,000

feet. Ashwell, intrigued by the sight,

stepped outside for a better look. The

second formation, of single-seat

fighters (the two divisions from Akagi and Kaga), flew just to the north

of Ewa and wheeled to the right.

Then, flying in a "string" formation,

they commenced firing. Recognizing

the planes as Japanese, Ashwell burst

back into the mess, shouting: 'Air

Raid . . . Air Raid! Pass the word!"

He then sprinted for the guard house,

to have "call to arms" sounded.

That Sunday morning, Technical

Sergeant Henry H. Anglin, the

noncommissioned-officer-in-charge

of the photographic section at Ewa,

had driven from his Pearl City home

with his three-year-old son, Hank, to

take the boy's picture at the station.

The senior Anglin had just positioned the lad in front of the camera

and was about to take the photo —

the picture was to be a gift to the

boy's grandparents —when they

heard the "mingled noise of airplanes

and machine guns." Roaring down to

within 25 feet of the ground, Itaya's

group most likely carried out only

one pass at their targets before moving on to Hickam, the headquarters

of the Hawaiian Air Force's 18th

Bombardment Wing.

Thinking that Army pilots were

showing off, Sergeant Anglin stepped

outside the photographic section tent

and, along with some other enlisted

men, watched planes bearing

Japanese markings strafing the edge

of the field. Then, the planes began

roaring down toward the field itself

and the bullets from their cowl and

wing-mounted guns began kicking

up puffs of dirt. "Look, live ammunition;' somebody said or thought,

"Somebody'lI go to prison for this:'

Shiga's pilots, like Itaya's, concentrated on the tactical aircraft lined up

neatly on Ewa's northwest apron

with short bursts of 7.7- and

20-millimeter machine gun fire. Shiga's pilots, unlike Itaya's, however,

Prange

LCdr Shigeru Itaya, commander of Akagi's first-wave fighters, which carried out

the initial strafing attacks at Ewa Field.

reversed course over the treetops and

repeated their blistering attacks from

the opposite direction. Within

minutes, most of MAG-2rs planes sat

ablaze and exploding, black smoke

corkscrewing into the sky. The enemy spared none of the planes: the

gray SBD-ls and -2s of VMSB-232

and the seven spare SB2U-3s left behind by VMSB-231 when they embarked in Lexington just two days

before. VMF-211's remaining F4F-3s,

left behind when the squadron

deployed to Wake well over a week

before, likewise began exploding in

flame and smoke.

At his home on Ewa Beach, three

miles southeast of the air station,

Captain Richard C. Mangrum,

VMSB-232's flight officer, sat reading the Sunday comics. Often residents of that area had heard gunnery

exercises, but on a Sunday morning?

The chatter of gunfire and the dull

thump of explosions, however, drew

Mangrum's attention away from the

cartoons. As he looked out his front

door, planes with red ball markings

on the wings and fuselage roared by

at very low altitude, bound for Pearl

Harbor. Up the valley in the direction of Wheeler Field, smoke was

boiling skyward, as it was from Ewa.

As he set out for Ewa on an old country road, wives and children of Marines who lived in the Ewa Beach

neighborhood began gathering at the

Mangrums' house.

Elsewhere in the Ewa Beach community, Mrs. Charles S. Barker, Jr.,

wife of Master Technical Sergeant

Barker, the chief clerk in MAG-21's

operations office, heard the noise and

asked: "What's all the shooting?" Barker, clad only in beach shorts, looked

out his front door, saw and heard a

plane fly by at low altitude, and then

saw splashes along the shoreline from

strafing planes marked with red

hinomaru. Running out to turn off

the water hose in his front yard, and

seeing a small explosion nearby

(probably an antiaircraft shell from

the direction of Pearl), Barker had

A Mitsubishi A6M2 Zero, flown by P02 Masao Taniguchi in the 7 December attack on Ewa Mooring Mast Field, takes off from the carrier Akagi, circa spring 1942.

Author's Collection

16

- 1

/
seen enough. He left his wife and

baby with his neighbors, and set out

for Ewa.

The strafers who singled out cars

moving along the roads that led to

Ewa proved no respecter of persons.

MAG-21's commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Claude A. "Sheriff"

Larkin, en route from Honolulu, was

about a mile from Ewa in his 1930

Plymouth when a Zero shot at him.

He momentarily abandoned the car

for the relative sanctuary of a nearby ditch, not even bothering to turn

off the engine, and then, as the

strafer roared out of sight, sprinted

back to the vehicle, jumped back in,

TSgt Henry H. Anglin, the non-commissioned officer in charge of Ewa's

Photography Section, stands before the mooring mast field's dispensary on 8

December 1941, solemnly displaying the slug that wounded him on the 7th.

Jordan Collection, MCHC

and sped on. He reached his destination at 0805—just in time to be

machine gunned again by one of Admiral Nagumo's fighters. Soon thereafter, Larkin's good fortune at

remaining unwounded amidst the attack ran out, as he suffered several

penetrating wounds, the most painful of which included one on the top

of the middle finger of his left hand

and another on the front of his lower left leg just above the top of his

shoe. Refusing immediate medical attention, though, Larkin continued to

direct the defense of Ewa Field.

Pilots and ground crewmen alike

rushed out onto the mat to try to save

their planes from certain destruction.

At least a few pilots intended to get

airborne, but could not because most

of their aircraft were either afire or

riddled beyond any hope of immediate use.

17

Captain Milo C. Haines of

VMF-211 sought safety behind a

tractor, he and the machine's driver

taking shelter on the side opposite to

the strafers. Another Zero came in

from another angle, however, and

strafed them from that direction.

Spraying bullets clipped off Haines'

necktie just beneath his chin. Then,

as a momentarily relieved Haines put

his right hand at the back of his head

a bullet lacerated his right little finger

and a part of his scalp.

In the midst of the confusion, an

excited three-year-old Hank Anglin

innocently took advantage of his

father's distraction with the battle

and wandered toward the mat. All of

the noise seemed like a lot of fun.

Sergeant Anglin ran after his son, got

him to the ground, and, shielding

him with his own body, crawled

some 35 yards, little puffs of dirt

coming near them at times. As they

clambered inside the radio trailer to

get out of harm's way, a bullet made

a hole above the door. Moving back

to the photo tent, the elder Anglin

put his son under a wooden bench.

As he set about gathering his camera

gear to take pictures of the action, a

Prange

Lt Yoshio Shiga, commander of Kaga's

nine Zeroes which strafed Ewa soon after Itaya, was assigned the task of reducing the "Barbers Point Airdrome."

I 'a

a
C

r

4.

bullet went through his left arm.

Deprived of the use of that arm for

a time, Anglin returned to the bench

under which his son still crouched

obediently, to see little Hank point

to a spent bullet on the floor and hear

him warn: "Don't touch that, daddy,

it's hot:'

Private First Class James W. Mann,

the driver assigned to Ewa's 1938 Ford

Col Claude A. "Sheriff" Larkin, Commanding Officer, Marine Aircraft Group

21, photographed circa early 1942.

Larkin Collection, MCHC

ambulance, had been refueling the

vehicle when the attack began. When

Lieutenant Thomas L. Allman, Medical Corps, USN, the group medical

officer, saw the first planes break into

flames, he ordered Mann to take the

ambulance to the flight line. Accompanied by Pharmacist's Mate 2d

Class Orin D. Smith, a corpsman

from sick bay, they sped off. The

Japanese planes seemed to be attracted to the bright red crosses on the

ambulance, however, and halted its

progress near the mooring mast.

Realizing that they were under attack, Mann floored the brake pedal

and the Ford screeched to a halt.

Rather than leave the vehicle for a

safer area, Mann and Smith crawled

underneath it so that they could they

could continue their mission as

quickly as possible. The strafing,

however, continued unabated. Ironically, the first casualty Mann had to

collect was the man lying prone beside him. Orin Smith felt a searing

pain as one of the Japanese

7.7-millimeter rounds found its mark

in the fleshy part of his left calf. Seeing that the corpsman had been hurt,

Mann assisted him out from under

18

the vehicle and up into the cab.

Despite continued strafing that shot

out four tires, Mann pressed doggedly ahead and delivered the wounded Smith to sick bay.

After seeing that the corpsman's

bleeding was stopped and the painful wound was cleaned and dressed,

Private First Class Mann sprinted to

his own tent. Grabbing his rifle, he

then returned to the battered ambulance and, shot-out tires flopping,

drove toward Ewa's garage. There,

Master Technical Sergeant Lawrence

R. Darner directed his men to replace

the damaged tires with those from a

mobile water purifier. Meanwhile,

Smith resumed his duties as a member of the dressing station crew.

Also watching the smoke beginning to billow skyward was Sergeant

Duane W. Shaw, USMCR, the driver

of the station fire truck. Normally,

during off-duty hours, the truck sat

parked a quarter-mile from the landing area. Shaw, figuring that it was

his job to put out the fires, climbed

into the fire engine and set off. Unfortunately, like Private First Class

Mann's ambulance, Sergeant Shaw's

bright red engine moving across the

One of the seven Vought SB2U-3s destroyed on the field at

Ewa. All of VMSB-231's spares (the squadron was embarked

Larkin Collection, MCHC

in Lexington, en route to Midway, at the time) were thus destroyed. In the background is one of VMSB-232's SBDs.
1.

embattled camp soon attracted strafing Zeroes. Unfazed by the enemy

fire that perforated his vehicle in

several places, he drove doggedly

toward the flight line until another

Zero shot out his tires. Only then

pausing to make a hasty estimate of

the situation, he reasoned that with

the fire truck at least temporarily out

of service he would have to do something else. Jumping down from the

cab, he soon got himself a rifle and

some ammunition. Then, he set out

for the flight line. If he could not put

out fires, he could at least do some

firing of his own at the men who

caused them.

With the parking area cloaked in

black smoke, Japanese fighter pilots

shifted their efforts to the planes

either out for repairs in the rear areas

or to the utility planes parked north

of the intersection of the main runways. Inside ten minutes' time,

machine gun fire likewise transformed many of those planes into

flaming wreckage.

Firing only small arms and rifles

in the opening stages, the Marines

fought back against Kaga's fighters

as best they could, with almost reckless heroism. Lieutenant Shiga

remembered one particular Leatherneck who, oblivious to the machine

gun fire striking the ground around

him and kicking up dirt, stood transfixed, emptying his sidearm at Shigas Zero as it roared past. Years later,

Shiga would describe that lone, def iant, and unknown Marine as the

bravest American he had ever met.

A tragic drama, however, soon unfolded amidst the Japanese attack.

One Marine, Sergeant William E.

Lutschan, Jr., USMCR, a truckdriver,

had been "under suspicion" of espionage and he was ordered placed under arrest. In the exchange of gunfire

that followed his resisting being

taken into custody, though, he was

shot dead. With that one exception,

the Marines at Ewa Field had fought

back to a man.

As if A kagi's and Kaga's fighters

had not sown enough destruction on

Ewa, one division of Zeroes from

Soryu and one from Hiryu arrived

on the scene, fresh from laying waste

to many of the planes at Wheeler

Field. This second group of fighter pilots went about their work with the

same deadly precision exhibited at

Wheeler only minutes before. The

raid caught Master Technical Sergeant Darner's crew in the middle of

changing the tires on the station's

Ewa's 1938 Ford ambulance, seen after the Japanese raid, its Red Cross status violated, took over 50 hits from strafing planes.

Larkin Collection, MCHC

19
ambulance. Private First Class Mann,

who by that point had managed to

obtain some ammunition for his rifle, dropped down with the rest of

the Marines at the garage and fired

at the attacking fighters as they

streaked by.

Lieutenant Kiyokuma Okajima led

his six fighters down through the rolling smoke, executing strafing attacks

until ground fire holed the forward

fuel tank of his wingman, Petty

Officer 1st Class Kazuo Muranaka.

When Okajima discovered the

damage to Muranaka's plane, he

decided that his men had pressed

their luck far enough, and began to

assemble his unit and shepherd them

toward the rendezvous area some 10

miles west of Kaena Point. The retiring Japanese in all likelihood then

spotted incoming planes from Enterprise (CV-6), that had been launched

at 0618 to scout 150 miles ahead of

the ship in nine two-plane sections.

Their planned flight path to Pearl

was to take many of them over Ewa

Mooring Mast Field, where some

would encounter Japanese aircraft.

Meanwhile, back at Ewa, after

what must have seemed an eternity,

the Zeroes of the first wave at last

wheeled away toward their rendezvous point. Having made a shambles

of the Marine air base, Japanese pilots claimed the destruction of 60 aircraft on the ground: Akagi's airmen

accounted for 11, Kaga's 15, Soryu's

12, and Hiryu's 22. Their figures were

not too far off the mark, for 47 aircraft of all types had been parked at

the field at the beginning of the onslaught, 33 of which had been fully

operational.

Although the Japanese had

wreaked havoc upon MAG-2rs complement of planes, the group's casualties seemed miraculously light.

Apparently, the enemy fighter pilots

in the first wave maintained a fairly

high degree of discipline, eschewing

attacks on people and concentrating

their attacks on machines. Many of

Ewa's Marines, however, had parked

their cars near the center of the station. By the time the Japanese departed, the parking lot resembled a junk

yard of mangled automobiles of various makes and models.

Overcoming the initial shock of

the first strafing attack, Ewa's Marines took stock of their situation. As

soon as the last of Itaya's and Shiga's

Zeroes had departed, Marines went

out and manned stations with rifles

and .30-caliber machine guns taken

from damaged aircraft and from the

squadron ordnance rooms. Technical

Sergeant William C. Turnage, an armorer, supervised the setting up of

the free machine guns. Technical Sergeant Anglin, meanwhile, took his

little boy to the guard house, where

a woman motorist agreed to drive

Hank home to his mother. As it

would turn out, that reunion was not

to be accomplished until much later

that day, "inasmuch as the distraught

mother had already left home to look

for her son:'

Master Technical Sergeant Emil S.

Peters, a veteran of action in

Nicaragua, had, during the first attack, reported to the central ordnance

tent to lend a hand in manning a gun.

By the time he arrived there,

however, there were none left to

man. Then he saw a Douglas SBD-2,

one of two spares assigned to

VMSB-232, parked behind the squadron's tents. Enlisting the aid of Private William C. Turner, VMSB-231's

squadron clerk, Peters ran over to the

ex-Lexington machine that still bore

her USN markings, 2-B-6, pulled the

after canopy forward, and clambered

in the after cockpit, stepping hard on

the foot pedal to unship the free

.30-caliber Browning from its housing in the after fuselage, and then

locking it in place. Turner, having obtained a supply of belted ammunition, took his place on the wing as

Peters' assistant.

Elsewhere, nursing his painfully

wounded finger and leg, Lieutenant

Colonel Larkin ordered extra guards

posted on the perimeter of the field

20

and on the various roads leading into

the base. Men not engaged in active

defense went to work fighting the

many fires. Drivers parked what

trucks and automobiles had remained intact on the runways to prevent any possible landings by

airborne troops. Although hardly

transforming Ewa into a fortress, the

Marines ensured that they would be

ready for any future attack.

Undoubtedly, most of the men at

Ewa expected — correctly — that the

Japanese would return. At about

0835, enemy planes again made their

appearance in the sky over Ewa, but

this time, Marines stood or crouched

ready and waiting for what proved

to be Lieutenant Commander Takahashi's dive bombing unit from

Shokaku, returning from its attacks

on the naval air station at Pearl Harbor and the Army's Hickam Field,

roaring in from just above the

treetops. Initially, their targets appeared to be the planes, but, seeing

that most had already been destroyed, the enemy pilots turned to

strafing buildings and people in a

"heavy and prolonged" assault.

Better prepared than they had been

when Lieutenant Commander Itaya's

Zeroes had opened the battle, Ewa's

Marines met Takahashi's Vals with

heavy fire from rifles, Thompson

submachine guns, .30-caliber

machine guns, and even pistols. In

retaliation, after completing their

strafing runs, the Japanese pilots

pulled up in steep wing-overs, allowing their rear seat gunners to take advantage of the favorable deflection

angle to spray the defenders with

7.7-millimeter bullets. Marine observers later recounted that Shokaku's planes also dropped light

bombs, perhaps of the 60-kilogram

variety, as they counted five small

craters on the field after the attack.

In response to the second onslaught, as they had in the first, all

available Marines threw themselves

into the desperate defense of their

base. The additional strafing attacks
I

.1

Sgt William G. Turnage enlisted in the

Corps in 1931. Recommended for a letter of commendation for his "efficient action" at Ewa Field on 7 December, he

ultimately was awarded a Bronze Star.

Marine Corps Historical Collection

started numerous fires within the

camp area, adding new columns of

dense smoke to those still rising from

the planes on the parking apron. Unfortunately, the ground fire seemed

far more brave than accurate, because

all of Shokaku's dive bombers

repeatedly zoomed skyward, seemingly unhurt. Even taking into account possible damage sustained

during attacks over Ford Island and

Hickam, only four of Takahashi's

planes sustained any damage over

Oahu before they retired. The departure of Shokciku's Vals afforded Lieutenant Colonel Larkin the

opportunity to reorganize the camp

defenses. There was ammunition to

be distributed, wounded men to be

21

TSgt Emil S. Peters, seen here on 11 October 1938, was a veteran of service in

Nicaragua and a little more than three

weeks shy of his 48th birthday when

Japanese bombers attacked Ewa Field.

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 102278

Lord Collection, USMC

At their barracks, near the foundation of a swimming pool ing their eyes peeled for attacking Japanese planes. Headgear

under construction, three Marines gingerly seek out good van- varies from Hawley helmet to garrison cap to none, but the

tage points from which to fire, while two peerskyward, keep- weapon is the same for all—the Springfield 1903 rifle.
succored, and seemingly innumerable fires burning amongst the tents,

buildings, and planes, to be extinguished.

However, around 0930, yet

another flight of enemy planes

appeared — about 15 Vals from Kaga

and Hiryu. Although the pilots of

those planes had expended their

250-kilogram bombs on ships at

Pearl Harbor, they still apparently retained plenty of 7.7-millimeter ammunition, and seemed determined to

expend much of what remained upon

Ewa. As in the previous attacks by

Shokaku's Vals, the last group came

in at very low altitude from just over

the tops of the trees surrounding the

station. Quite taken by the high

maneuverability of the nimble dive

bombers, which they were seeing at

close hand for the second time that

day, the Marines mistook them for

fighter aircraft with fixed landing

gear.

Around that time, Lieutenant

Colonel Larkin saw an American

plane and a Japanese one collide in

mid-air a short distance away from

the field. In all probability, Larkin

saw Enterprise's Ensign John H. L.

Vogt's Dauntless collide with a Val.

Vogt had become separated from his

section leader during the Pearlbound flight in from the carrier, may

have circled offshore, and then arrived over Ewa in time to encounter

dive bombers from Kaga or Hiryu.

Vogt and his passenger, Radioman

Third Class Sidney Pierce, bailed out

of their SBD, but at too low an altitude, for both died in the trees when

their 'chutes failed to deploy fully.

Neither of the Japanese crewmen escaped from their Val when it crashed.

Fortunately for the Marines,

however, the last raid proved comparatively "light and ineffectual;'

something Lieutenant Colonel Larkin

attributed to the heavy gunfire

thrown skyward. The short respite

between the second and third strafing attacks had allowed Ewa's

defenders to bring all possible

weapons to bear against the

Japanese. Technical Sergeant Turnage, after having gotten the base's

machine guns set up and ready for

action, took over one of the mounts

himself and fired several bursts into

the belly of one Val that began trailing smoke and began to falter soon

thereafter.

Turnage, however, was by no means the only Marine using his

weapon to good effect. Master Technical Sergeant Peters and Private

Turner, from their improvised position in the lamed SBD, had let fly at

whatever Vals came within range of

their gun. The two Marines shot

down what witnesses thought were

at least two of the attacking planes

and discouraged strafing in that area

of the station. However, the Japanese

soon tired of the tenacious bravery

of the grizzled veteran and the young

clerk, neither of whom flinched in

the face of repeated strafing. Two

particular enemy pilots repeatedly

peppered the grounded Dauntless

with 7.7-millimeter fire, ultimately

scoring hits near the cockpit area and

wounding both men. Turner toppled

from the wing, mortally wounded.

Another Marine who distinguished himself during the third

strafing attack was Sergeant Carlo A.

Micheletto of Marine Utility Squadron (VMJ) 252. During the first

Japanese attack that morning,

Micheletto proceeded at once to

VMJ-252's parking area and went to

work, helping in the attempts to extinguish the fires that had broken out

amongst the squadron's parked utility planes. He continued in those

labors until the last strafing attack

began. Putting aside his fire-fighting

equipment and grabbing a rifle, he

took cover behind a small pile of

lumber, and heedless of the heavy

machine-gunning, continued to fire

at the attacking planes until a burst

of enemy fire struck him in the head

and killed him instantly.

Eventually, in an almost predictable way, the Japanese planes formed

22

up and flew off to the west, leaving

the once neatly manicured Mooring

Mast Field smouldering. The Marines had barely had time to catch

their collective breath when, at 1000,

almost as a capstone to the complete

chaos wreaked by the initial Japanese

attack, seven more planes arrived.

Their markings, however, were of

a more familiar variety—redcentered blue and white stars. The

newcomers proved to be a group of

Dauntlesses from Enterprise. For the

better part of an hour, Lieutenant

Wilmer E. Gallaher, executive officer

of Scouting Squadron 6, had circled

fitfully over the Pacific swells south

of Oahu, waiting for the situation

there to settle down. At about 0945,

when he had seen that the skies

seemed relatively clear of Japanese

planes, Gallaher decided rather than

face friend'y fire over Pearl he would

go to Ewa instead. They had barely

stopped on the strip, however, when

a Marine ran out to Gallaher's plane

and yelled, "For God's sake, get into

the air or they'll strafe you, too!"

Other Enterprise pilots likewise saw

ground crews frantically motioning

for them to take off immediately. Instructed to "take off and stay in the

air until [the] air raid was over;' the

Enterprise pilots took off and headed for Pearl Harbor. Although all

seven SBDs left Ewa, only three (Gallaher's, his wingman, Ensign William

P. West's, and Ensign Cleo J. Dobson's) would make it as far as Ford

Island. A tremendous volume of antiaircraft fire over the harbor rose to

meet what was thought to be yet

another attack; seeing the reception

accorded Gallaher, West, and Dobson, the other four pilots—

Lieutenant (jg) Hart D. Hilton and

Ensigns Carlton T. Fogg, Edwin J.

Kroeger, and Frederick T. Weber —

wheeled around and headed back to

Ewa, landing around 1015 to find a

far better reception that time around.

Within a matter of minutes, the Marines began rearming and refueling

Hilton's, Kroeger's and Weber's SBDs.
Wheeler Field Control of the SBDs Colonel William E. Farthing,

Marine Corps Historical Collection

Sgt Carlo A. Micheletto had turned 26

years old less than two months before

Japanese planes strafed Ewa. He was

recommended for a letter of cornmendation, but was awarded a Bronze Star.

The Marines discovered that Fogg's

Dauntless, though, had taken a hit

that had holed a fuel tank, and

would require repairs.

Although it is unlikely that even

one of the Ewa Marines thought so

at the time, even as they serviced the

Enterprise SBDs which sat on the

landing mat, the Japanese raid on

Oahu was over. Vice Admiral Nagumo, already feeling that he had

pushed his luck far enough, was

eager to get as far away from the

waters north of Oahu as soon as possible. At least for the time being, the

Marines at Ewa had nothing to fear.

Not privy to the musings of Nagumo and his staff, however, Lieutenant Colonel Larkin could only

wonder what the Marines would do

should the Japanese return. At 1025,

he completed a glum assessment of

the situation and forwarded it to Admiral Kimmel. While casualties

among the Marines had been light—

two men had been killed and several wounded — the Japanese had destroyed "all bombing, fighting, and

transport planes" on the ground. Ewa

had no radio communications, no

power, and only one small gas generator in commission. He also informed the Commander-in-Chief,

Pacific Fleet, that he would retain the

four Enterprise planes at Ewa until

further orders. Larkin also notified

being held at his field.

At 1100, Wheeler called and

directed all available planes to rendezvous with a flight of B-17s over

Hickam. Lieutenant (jg) Hilton and

the two ensigns from Bombing Squadron 6, Kroeger and Weber, took off

at 1115 and the Marines never heard

from them again. Finding no Army

planes over Hickam (two flights of

B-17s and Douglas A-20s had only

just departed) the three Navy pilots

landed at Ford Island. Ensign Fogg's

SBD represented the sole naval strike

capability at Ewa as the day ended.

"They caught us flat-footed;' Larkin unabashedly wrote Major General Ross E. Rowell of the events of 7

December. Over the next few

months, Ewa would serve as the focal point for Marine aviation activities on Oahu as the service acquired

replacement aircraft and began

rebuilding to carry out the mission

of standing ready to deploy with the

fleet wherever it was required.

Although the Japanese accorded

the battleships and air facilities priority as targets for destruction on the

morning of 7 December 1941, it was

natural that the onslaught touched

the Marine Barracks at Pearl Harbor

Navy Yard as well.

23

Army Air Forces, commanding

officer of Hickam Field, thought that

he was witnessing some very realistic maneuvers shortly before 0800

that morning. From his vantage

point, virtually next door to the

Navy Yard, Farthing watched what

proved to be six Japanese dive bombers swooping down toward Ford Island. He thought that MAG-21's

SB2Us or SBDs were out for an early morning practice hop. "1 wonder

what the Marines are doing to the

Navy so early Sunday?"

Over at the Marine Barracks, the

officer of the guard, Second Lieutenant Arnold D. Swartz, after having inspected his sentries, had retired

to the officer-of-the-day's room to

await breakfast. Stepping out onto

the lanai (patio) at about 0755 to talk

to the field music about morning

colors, he noticed several planes diving in the direction of the naval air

station. He thought initially that it

seemed a bit early for practice bombing, but then saw a flash and heard

the resulting explosion that immediately dispelled any illusions he might

have held that what he was seeing

was merely an exercise. Seeing a

plane with "red balls" on the wings

roar by at low level convinced Swartz

that Japanese planes were attacking.

Over in the squadroom of Barajor Harold C. Roberts

had earned a Navy

Cross as a corpsman assigned to Marines during World

War I, and a second award in 1928

as a Marine officer in Nicaragua.

As acting commanding officer of

the 3d Defense Battalion at Pearl

Harbor on 7 December, he was a

veritable dynamo, organizing it to

battle the attacking Japanese. He

was killed at Okinawa in June

1945 while commanding the 22d

Marines, but not before his performance of duty had merited him

the award of his third Navy Cross.

They're Kicking the Hell

Out of Pearl Harbor
jjii L

'aracks B, First Lieutenant Harry F.

Noyes, Jr., the range officer for Battery E, 3-inch Antiaircraft Group, 3d

Defense Battalion, heard the sound

of a loud explosion coming from the

direction of the harbor at about

0750. First assuming that blasting

crews were busy— there had been a

lot of construction recently —Noyes

cocked his ears. The new sounds

seemed a bit different, "more higherpitched, and louder." At that, he

sprang from his bed, ran across the

room, and peered northward just in

time to see a dirty column of water

rising from the harbor from another

explosion and a Japanese plane pulling out of its dive. The plane, bearing red hinomaru (rising sun insignia)

under its wings, left no doubt as to

its identity.

The explosions likewise awakened

Lieutenant Colonel William J. Whaling and Major James "Jerry" Monaghan who, while Colonel Gilder D.

Jackson, commanding officer of the

Marine Barracks, was at sea in mdicina polls (CA-35) en route to Johnston Island for tests of Higgins

landing boats, shared his quarters at

Pearl Harbor. Shortly before 0800,

Whaling rolled over and asked: "Jerry, don't you think the Admiral is a

little bit inconsiderate of guests?"

Monaghan, then also awake, replied:

"I'll go down and see about it." Whaling, meanwhile, lingered in bed until more blasts rattled the quarters'

windows. Thinking that he had not

seen any 5-inch guns emplaced close

to the building, and that something

was wrong, he got up and walked

over to the window that faced the

harbor. Looking out, he saw smoke,

and, turning, remarked: "This thing

is so real that I believe that's an oil

tank burning right in front there:'

Both men then dressed and hurried

across the parade ground, where they

encountered Lieutenant Colonel Elmer E. Hall, commanding officer of

the 2d Engineer Battalion. "Elmer,"

Whaling said amiably, "this is a

mighty fine show you are putting on.

Department of Defense Photo (USMC) 65746

Col William 1. Whaling, seen here circa

1945, was an observer to the Pearl Harbor attack, being awakened from slumber while staying in Col Gilder Jackson's

quarters on the morning of 7 December.

I have never seen anything quite like

it:'

Meanwhile, Swartz ordered the

field music to sound "Call to Arms:'

Then, running into the officers' section of the mess hall, Swartz informed the officer-of-the-day, First

Lieutenant Cornelius C. Smith, Jr.,

who had been enjoying a cup of

coffee with Marine Gunner Floyd

McCorkle when sharp blasts had

rocked the building, that the

Japanese were attacking. Like

Swartz, they ran out onto the lanai.

Standing there, speechless, they

watched the first enemy planes diving on Ford Island.

Marines began to stumble, eyes

wide in disbelief, from the barracks.

Some were lurching, on the run, into

pants and shirts; a few wore only

towels. Swartz then ordered one of

the platoon sergeants to roust out the

men and get them under cover of the

trees outside. Smith, too, then ran

outside to the parade ground. As he

looked at the rising smoke and the

Japanese planes, he doubted those

who had derided the "Japs" as "crosseyed, second-rate pilots who couldn't

hit the broad side of a barn door:' It

was enough to turn his stomach.

"They're kicking the hell out of Pearl

Harbor;' he thought.

24

Meanwhile, unable to reach

Colonel Harry B. Pickett, the 14th

Naval District Marine Officer, as well

as Colonel Jackson, and Captain

Samuel R. Shaw, commanding

officer of Company A, by telephone,

Swartz sent runners to the officers'

respective quarters. He then ordered

a noncommissioned officer from the

quartermaster department to dispense arms and ammunition.

While Swartz organized the men

beneath the trees outside the barracks, Lieutenant Noyes dressed and

then drove across the parade ground

to Building 277, arriving about 0805.

At the same time, like Swartz, First

Lieutenant James S. O'Halloran, the

3d Defense Battalion's duty officer

and commanding officer of Battery

F, 3-inch Antiaircraft Group, wanted to get in touch with his senior

officers. After having had "assembly"

sounded and signalling his men to

take cover, O'Halloran ordered Marine Gunner Frederick M. Steinhauser, the assistant battalion communications officer, to telephone all

of the officers who resided outside

the reservation and inform them of

the attack.

In Honolulu, mustachioed Major

Harold C. Roberts, acting commanding officer of the 3d Defense Battalion since Lieutenant Colonel Robert

H. Pepper had accompanied Colonel

Jackson to sea in Indianapolis, after

taking Steinhauser's call with word

of the bombing of Pearl, jumped into

his car along with his neighbor,

Major Kenneth W. Benner, commanding officer of the 3-inch Antiaircraft Group and the

Headquarters and Service Battery of

the 3d Defense Battalion. As Roberts'

car crept through the heavy traffic

toward Pearl, the two officers could

see Japanese aircraft flying along the

coast. When they reached the Water

Street Fish Market, a large crowd of

what seemed to be "Japanese residents . . . cheering the Japanese

planes, waving to them, and trying

to obstruct traffic to Pearl Harbor by
e -- - -. - ie --• r

;....

•

'j .4nt1t

• -

-• •• --

-

pushing parked cars into the street"

blocked their way.

Meanwhile, as his acting battalion

commander was battling his way

through Honolulu's congested streets,

O'Halloran was organizing his Marines as they poured out of the barracks into groups to break out small

arms and machine guns from the various battalion storerooms. After Harry Noyes drove up, O'Halloran told

him to do what he could to get the

3-inch guns, and fire control equipment, if available, broken out and set

up, and then instructed other Marines to "get tractors and start hauling guns to the parade ground:'

Another detail of men hurried off to

recover an antiaircraft director that

lay crated and ready for shipment to

Midway.

Marines continued to stream out

onto the grounds, having been ordered out of the barracks with their

rifles and cartridge belts; they doubled the sentry posts and received instructions to stand ready and armed,

to deploy in an emergency. Noyes

saw some Marines who had not been

assigned any tasks commencing fire

on enemy planes "which were considerably out of range:' At the main

gate of the Navy Yard, the Marines

fired at whatever planes came close

enough — sailors from the high-speed

minelayer Sicard (DM-21), en route

to their ship, later attested to seeing

one Japanese plane shot down by the

guards' rifle fire.

Tai Sing Loo, who was to have

photographed those guards at the

new gate, had left Honolulu in a hurry when he heard the sound of explosions and gunfire, and saw the

rising columns of smoke. He arrived

at the naval reservation without his

Graflex and soon marveled at the

cool bravery of the "young, fighting

Marines" who stood their ground,

under fire, blazing away at enemy

planes with rifles while keeping

traffic moving.

Finally, the more senior officers

quartered outside the reservation began showing up. When Colonel Pickett arrived, Lieutenant Swartz

returned to the officer-of-the-day's

room and found that Captain Shaw

had reached there also. Securing

from his position as officer of the

guard, Swartz returned to his 3-inch

gun battery being set up near Building 277. Ordering Marines out of the

building, he managed to obtain a

steel helmet and a pistol each for

himself and Lieutenant O'Halloran.

Captain Samuel G. Taxis, commanding officer of the 3d Defense Battalion's 5-inch Artillery Group,

meanwhile, witnessed "terrific confusion" ensuing from his men's efforts

to obtain "ammunition, steel helmets,

and other items of equipment:'

Meanwhile, the comparatively few

Smoke darkens the sky over the Marine Barracks complex at to be holding his head in disbelief. Marines at far left in backthe Pearl Harbor Navy Yard; Marine in foreground appears ground appear to be unlimbering a 3-inch antiaircraft gun.

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 50926

25
Marines of Lieutenant Colonel Bert

A. Bone's 1st Defense Battalion —

most of which garrisoned Wake,

Johnston, and Palmyra — made their

presence felt. Urged on by Lieutenant

Noyes, one detail of men immediately reported to the battalion gun shed

and storeroorns, and issued rifles and

ammunition to all corners, while

another detachment worked feverishly assembling machine guns. Navy

Yard workmen — enginemen Lokana

Kipihe and Oliver Bright, fireman

Gerard Williams, and rigger Ernest

W. Birch — appeared, looking for

some way to help the Marines, who

soon put them to work distributing

ammunition to the machine gun

crews. Soon, the Marines at the barracks added the staccato hammering

of automatic weapons fire to the

general din around them. Meanwhile, other Marines from the 1st

Defense Battalion broke out firefighting equipment, as shrapnel from exploding antiaircraft shells began to

strike the roof of the barracks and

adjacent buildings.

At about 0820, Majors Roberts

and Benner reached the Marine Barracks just in time to observe the beginning of the Japanese second wave

attacks against Pearl. Roberts found

that Lieutenant O'Halloran had gotten the 3d Battalion ready for battle,

with seven .50-caliber and six

.30-caliber machine guns set up and

with ammunition belted. Under Captain Harry 0. Smith, Jr., commanding officer of Battery H, Machine

Gun Group, 3d Defense Battalion,

the 3d's Marine gunners had already

claimed one Japanese plane shot

down. Lieutenant Noyes was, meanwhile, in the process of deploying

seven 3-inch guns — three on the west

end of the parade ground and four

on the east.

Sergeant Major Leland H. Alexander, of the Headquarters and Service Battery of the 3d Defense

Battalion, suggested to Lieutenant

O'Halloran that an armed convoy be

organized to secure ammunition for

the guns, as none was available in the

Navy Yard proper. Roberts gave

Alexander permission to put together

the requisite trucks, weapons, and

men. Lieutenant Colonel Bone had

the same idea, and, accordingly dispatched a truck at 0830 to the nearest

ammunition dump near Fort Kamehameha. Bone ordered another

group of men from the 5-inch battery

to the Naval Ammunition Depot at

Lualualei just in case. He hoped that

at least one truck would get through

the maelstrom of traffic. Marines

from the 2d Engineer Battalion made

ammunition runs as well as provided men and motorcycles for messengers.

Meanwhile, Roberts directed

Major Benner to have the 3d Battalion's guns operational before the ammunition trucks returned, and to set

the fuzes for 1,000 yards, since the

guns lacked the necessary heightfinding equipment. The makeshift

emplacements, however, presented

less than ideal firing positions since

the barracks and nearby yard buildings restricted the field of fire, and

many of the low-flying planes appeared on the horizon only for an

instant.

Necessity often being the mother

of invention, Roberts devised an impromptu fire control system, stationing a warning section of eight men,

equipped with field glasses and led

by Lieutenant Swartz, in the center

of the parade ground. The spotters

were to pass the word to a group of

field musics who, using their instruments, were to sound appropriate

warnings: one blast meant planes approaching from the north; two blasts,

from the east, and so on.

Taking precautions against fires in

the temporary wooden barracks,

Roberts ordered hoses run out and

extinguishers placed in front of them,

along with shovels, axes, and buckets of sand (the latter to deal with incendiary bombs); hose reel and

chemical carts placed near the center

hydrant near the mess hall; and all

26

possible containers filled with water

for both fighting fires and drinking.

In addition, he ordered cooks and

messmen to prepare coffee and fill every other container on hand with

water, and organized riflemen in

groups of about 16 to sit on the

ground with an officer or noncommissioned officer in charge to direct

their fire. He also called for runners

from all groups in the battalion and

established his command post at the

parade ground's south corner, and

ordered the almost 150 civilians who

had showed up looking for ways to

help out to report to the machine gun

storeroom and fill ammunition belts

and clean weapons. Among other actions, he also instructed the battalion sergeant major to be ready to

safeguard important papers from the

headquarters barracks.

Prior to Roberts' arrival, Lieutenant (j.g.) William R. Franklin

(Dental Corps), USN, the dental

officer for the 3d Defense Battalion's

Headquarters and Service Battery,

and the only medical officer present,

had organized first aid and stretcher

parties in the barracks. As the other

doctors arrived, Roberts directed

them to set up dressing stations at

each battalion headquarters and one

at sick bay. Elsewhere, Marines vacated one 100-man temporary barracks, the noncommissioned officer's

club and the post exchange, to ready

them for casualties. Parties of Marines also reported to the waterfront

area to assist in collecting and transporting casualties from the ships in

the harbor to the Naval Hospital.

By the time the Marines had gotten their new fire precautions in

place, the Japanese second wave attack was in full swing. Although

their pilots selected targets exclusively from among the Pacific Fleet warships, the Marines at the barracks in

the Navy Yard still were able to take

the Japanese planes, most of which

seemed to be coming in from the west

and southwest, under fire. While

Marines were busily setting up the
I

S

tI, c'i ::

3-inch guns, several civilian yard

workmen grabbed up rifles and

"brought their fire to bear upon the

enemy;' allowing Swartz's men to

continue their work.

The Japanese eventually put Major

Roberts' ingenious fire control

methods — the field musics — to the

test. After hearing four hearty blasts

from the bandsmen, the .50-calibers

began hammering out cones of tracer

that caught two low-flying dive bombers as they pulled out of their runs

over Pearl, prompting Roberts' fear

that the ships would fire at them, too,

and hit the barracks. One Val slanted earthward near what appeared to

be either the west end of the lower

tank farm or the south end of the

Naval Hospital reservation, while the

other, emitting great quantities of

smoke, crashed west-southwest of the

parade ground.

Although the Marines' success

against their tormentors must have

seemed sweet indeed, a skeptical

Captain Taxis thought it more likely that the crews of the two Vals

bagged by the machine gunners had

just run out of luck. Most of the firing, in his opinion, had been quite

ineffectual, mostly "directed at enemy planes far beyond range of the

weapons and merely fired into the air

at no target at all ." Gunners on board

the fleet's warships were faring little

better!

Almost simultaneously with the

dive-bombing attacks, horizontal

bombing attacks began. Major

Roberts noted that the 18 bombers

"flew in two Vees of nine planes each

in column of Vees and [that] they

kept a good formation:' At least

some of those planes appeared to

have bombed the battleship Pennsylvania and the destroyers Cassin and

Downes in Dry Dock No. 1. In the

27

confusion, however, Roberts probably saw two divisions of Kates from

Zuikaku preparing for their attack

runs on Hickam Field. A single division of such planes from Shokaku,

meanwhile, attacked the Navy Yard

and the Naval Air Station.

Well removed from the barracks,

Marines assigned to the Navy Yard's

Fire Department rendered invaluable

assistance in leading critical f irefighting efforts. Heading the department, Sergeant Harold F. Abbott supervised the distribution of the

various units, and coordinated the

flood of volunteers who stepped forward to help.

One of Abbott's men, Private First

Class Marion M. Milbrandt, with his

1,000-gallon pumper, summoned to

the Naval Hospital grounds, found

that one of Kaga's Kates — struck by

machine gun fire from the ships

moored in the Repair Basin—had

Oily smoke from the burning Arizona (BB 39) boils up in the

background beyond the Navy Yard water towers, one of them,

Naval Historical Center Photo NH 50928

in center, signal-flag bedecked. Note several Marines attempting to deploy a 3-inch antiaircraft gun in the foreground.
crashed near there. The resulting fire,

fed by the crashed plane's gasoline,

threatened the facility, but Milbrandt

and his crew controlled the blaze.

Other Marine firefighters were

hard at work alongside Dry Dock

No. 1. Pennsylvania had not been the

only ship not fully ready for war,

since she lay immobile at one end of

the drydock. Downes lay in the

dock, undergoing various items of

work, while Cassin had been having

ordnance alterations at the Yard and

thus had none of her 5-inch/38s

ready for firing. Both destroyers soon

came in for some unwanted attention.

As bombs turned the two destroyers into cauldrons of flames and their

crews abandoned ship, two sailors

from Downes, meanwhile, sprinted

over to the Marine Barracks: Gunner's Mate First Class Michael C.

Odietus and Gunner's Mate Second

Class Curtis P. Schuize. After the

order to abandon ship had been

given, both had, on their own initiative, gone to the Marine Barracks to

28

assist in the distribution of arms and

ammunition. They soon returned,

however, each gunner's mate with a

Browning Automatic Rifle in hand,

to do his part in fighting back.

Utilizing three of the department's

pumpers, meanwhile, the first firefighters from the yard, who included Corporal John Gimson, Privates

First Class William M. Brashear, William A. Hopper, Peter Kerdikes,

Frank W. Feret, Marvin D. Daliman,

and Corporal Milbrandt, among

them, soon arrived and began to play
—It]'

water on the burning ships. At about

0915, four torpedo warheads on

board Downes cooked off and exploded, the concussion tearing the

hoses from the hands of the men

fighting the blaze and sending f ragments everywhere, temporarily forcing all hands to retreat to the nearby

road and sprawl there. Knocked flat

several times by the explosions, the

Marines and other firefighters, which

included men from Cassin and

Downes, and civilian yard workmen,

remained on the job.

Explosions continued to wrack the

two destroyers, while subsequent

partial flooding of the dock caused

Cassin to pivot on her forefoot and

heel over onto her sister ship. Working under the direction of Lieutenant

William R. Spear, a 57-year-old retired naval officer called to the colors,

the firemen were understandably

concerned that the oil fires burning

in proximity to the two destroyers

might drift aft in the partially flooded dry dock and breach the caisson,

unleashing a wall of water that

would carry Pennsylvania (three of

whose four propeller shafts had been

pulled for overhaul) down upon the

burning destroyers. Preparing for

that eventuality, Private First Class

Don 0. Femmer, in charge of the

750-gallon pumper, stood ready

should the conflagration spread to

the northeast through the dock.

Fortunately, circumstances never

required Femmer and his men to defend the caisson from fire, but the

young private had more than his

share of troubles, when his pumper

broke down at what could have been

a critical moment. Undaunted, Fernmer made temporary repairs and

stood his ground at the caisson

throughout the raid.

At the opposite end of the dry

dock, meanwhile, Private First Class

Omar E. Hill fared little better with

his 500-gallon pumper. As if the fire

fighting labors were not arduous

enough, a ruptured circulating water

line threatened to shut down his fire

engine. Holding a rag on the broken

line while his comrades raced away

to obtain spare parts, Hill kept his

pumper in the battle.

Meanwhile, firefighters on the

west side of the dock succeeded in

passing three hoses to men on Pennsylvania's forecastle, where they

directed blasts of water ahead of the

ship and down the starboard side to

prevent the burning oil, which resembled a "seething cauldron," from drif ting aft. A second 500-gallon engine

crew, led by Private First Class

Dallman, battled the fires at the

southwest end of the drydock,

despite the suffocating oily black

smoke billowing forth from Cassin

and Downes. Eventually, by 1035,

the Marines and other volunteers —

who included the indomitable Tai

Sing Loo — had succeeded in quelling

the fires on board Cassin; those on

board Downes were put out early

that afternoon.

More work, however, lay in store

for Corporal Milbrandt and his crew.

Between 0755 and 0900, three Vals

had attacked the destroyer Shaw

(DD-373), which shared YFD-2 with

the little yard tug Sotoyomo. All

three scored hits. Fires ultimately

reached Shaw's forward magazines

29

and triggered an explosion that sent

tendrils of smoke into the sky and

severed the ship's bow. Several other

volunteer units were already battling

the blaze with hose carts and two

350-gallon pumpers sent in from

Honolulu. Milbrandt, aided as well

by the Pan American Airways fire

boat normally stationed at Pearl

City, ultimately succeeded in extinguishing the stricken destroyer's fires.

In the meantime, after having

pounded the military installations on

Oahu for nearly two hours, between

0940 and 1000 the Japanese planes

made their way westward to return

to the carrier decks from whence they

had arisen. With the respite offered

by the enemy's departure (no one

knew for sure whether or not they

would be back), the Marines at last

found time to take stock of their situation. Fortunately, the Marine Barracks lay some distance away from

what had interested the Japanese the

most: the ships in the harbor proper.

Although some "shell fragments literally rained at times" the material loss

sustained by the barracks was slight.

Moreover, it had been American

gunfire from the ships in the harbor,

rather than bombs from Japanese

planes overhead, that had inflicted

National Archives Photo 80-G-32739

While firefighters train massive jets of water from dockside at left, Shaw (DD 373)

burns in the Floating Drydock YFD 2, after being hit by three bombs. Tug Sotoyomo (YT 9), with which Shaw has been sharing the drydock, is barely visible ahead

of the crippled destroyer. Marines led these firefighting efforts on 7 December 1941.
the damage; at one point that morning a 3-inch antiaircraft shell crashed

through the roof of a storehouse —

the only damage sustained by the

barracks during the entire attack.

Considering the carnage at the airfields on Oahu, and especially,

among the units of the Pacific Fleet,

only four men of the 3d Defense Battalion had been wounded: Sergeant

Samuel H. Cobb, Jr., of the 3d

Defense Battalion's 3-inch Antiaircraft Group, suffered head injuries

serious enough to warrant his being

transferred to the Naval Hospital for

treatment, while Private First Class

Jules B. Maioran and Private William

J. Whitcomb of the Machine Gun

Group and Sergeant Leo Hendricks

II, of the Headquarters and Service

Battery, suffered less serious injuries.

In addition, two men sent with the

trucks to find ammunition for the

3-inch batteries suffered injuries

when they fell off the vehicles.

In their subsequent reports, the

defense battalion and barracks

officers declined to single out individuals, noting no outstanding individual behavior during the

raid — only the steady discharge of

duty expected of Marines. To be sure,

great confusion existed, especially at

first, but the command quickly settled down to work and "showed no

more than the normal excitement and

no trace of panic or even uneasiness."

If anything, the Marines tended to

place themselves at risk unnecessarily, as they went about their business

coolly and, in many cases, "in utter

disregard of their own safety." Major

Roberts recommended that the entire

3d Defense Battalion be commended for "their initiative, coolness under fire, and [the] alacrity with which

they emplaced their guns:'

Commendations, however, were

not the order of the day on 7 December. Although the Japanese had left,

the Marines expected them to return

and finish the job they had begun

(many Japanese pilots, including

Fuchida, wanted to do just that). If

National Archives Photo 80-G-19943

In the aftermath of the attack, Pennsylvania (BB 38) lies astern of the wrecked

destroyers Cassin (DD 372) and Downes

(DD 375) in Dry Dock No. 1. Light

cruiser Helena (CL 50) lies alongside

1010 Dock in right background; pall of

smoke is from the still-burning Arizona

(BB 39). Marine firefighters distinguished

themselves in battling blazes in this area.

another attack was to come, there

was much to do to prepare for it. As

the skies cleared of enemy planes, the

Marines at the barracks secured their

establishment and took steps to complete the work already begun on the

defenses. At 1030, the 3d Defense

Battalion's corporal of the guard

moved to the barracks and set the

battalion's radio to the Army Information Service frequency, thus enabling them to pass "flash" messages

to all groups. The Marines also distributed gas masks to all hands.

The morning and afternoon passed

quickly, the men losing track of time.

The initial confusion experienced

during the opening moments of the

raid had by that point given way to

at least some semblance of order, as

officers and noncoms arrived from

leave and began to sort out their

commands. At 1105, the 3d Defense

Battalion's Battery G deployed to

makeshift defense positions as an infantry reserve in some ditches dug for

building foundations. All of the

messmen, many of whom had taken

an active hand in the defense of the

barracks against the Japanese attack,

30

returned to the three general mess

halls and opened up an around-theclock service to all corners, including

"about 6,000 meals. . . to the civilian

workmen of the navy yard," a service discontinued only "after the food

supply at the regular established eating places could be replenished:'

By 1100, at least some of the

3-inch batteries were emplaced and

ready to answer any future Japanese

raids. At the north end of the parade

ground, the 3d Defense Battalion's

Battery D stood ready for action at

1135 while another battery, consisting of three guns and an antiaircraft

director (the one originally earmarked for Midway) lay at the south

end. At 1220, Major Roberts organized his battalion's strength into

six task groups. Task group no. 1 was

to double the Navy Yard guard force,

no. 2 was to provide antiaircraft

defense, and no. 3 was to provide

machine gun defense. No. 4 was to

provide infantry reserve and firefighting crews, no. 5 was to coordinate transportation, and no. 6 was

to provide ammunition and equipment, as well as messing and billeting support.

By 1300, meanwhile, all of the fires

in Dry Dock No. 1 had been extinguished, permitting the Marine and

civilian firefighters to secure their

hard-worked equipment. Although

the two battered destroyers, Cassin

and Downes, appeared to be total

losses, those who had battled the

blaze could take great satisfaction in

knowing that they had not only

spared Pennsylvania from serious fire

damage but had also played a major

role in savihg the drydock. As Tai

Sing Loo recounted later in his own

brand of English: 'The Marines of the

Fire Dep[artmen]t of the Navy Yard

are the Heroes of the Day of Dec. 7,

1941 that save the Cassin and

Downes and USS Pennsylvania in

Dry Dock No. 1'

Later that afternoon, Battery D's

four officers and 68 enlisted men,

with four .30-caliber machine guns
Photo courtesy of Mrs. Evelyn Lee, via Paul Stillwell, U.S. Naval Institute

Tai Sing Loo and His Bright Red 'Putput'

T

ai Sing Loo, Navy Yard photographer, had scheduled an

appointment to take a picture of the Main Gate guards at the

Navy Yard on the morning of 7 December 1941. While he ended up not taking pictures of the Marines, he gallantly helped the Marines of the Navy Yard Fire Department put out fires in Dry Dock No.

1 and later delivered food to famished Leathernecks. He is seen here

on his famous bright red "putput" that he drove around the yard that

day delivering sandwiches and fruit juice.

sent along with them for good measure, moved from the barracks over

to Hickam Field to provide the Army

installation some measure of antiaircraft protection. Hickam also

benefitted from the provision of the

2d Engineer Battalion's service and

equipment. After the attack, the battalion's dump truck and two bulldozers lumbered over to the stricken air

base to assist in clearing what remained of the bombers that had been

parked wingtip to wingtip, and f illing bomb craters.

Around 1530, a Marine patrol approached Tai Sing Loo, a familiar

figure about the Navy Yard, and

asked him to do them a favor. They

had had no lunch; some had had no

breakfast because of the events of the

day. Going to the garage, Loo rode

his bright red "putput" over to the 3d

Defense Battalion mess hail and

related to his old friend Technical Sergeant Joseph A. Newland the tale of

the hungry Marines. Newland and

his messmen prepared ham and

chicken sandwiches and Loo made

the rounds of all the posts he could

reach.

In the afternoon and early evening hours of 7 December, the men

received reports that their drinking

water was poisoned, and that various points on Oahu were being

bombed and/or invaded. In the absence of any real news, such alarming reports — especially when added

to the already nervous state of the

defenders — only fueled the fear and

paranoia prevalent among all ranks

and rates. In addition, most of the

men were exhausted after their exertions of the morning and afternoon.

Dog-tired, many would remain on

duty for 36 hours without relief.

Drawn, unshaven faces and puffy

eyes were common. Tense, expectant

and anxious Marines and sailors at

Pearl spent a fitful night on the 7th.

It is little wonder that mistakes

would be made that would have tragic consequences, especially in the

stygian darkness of that first blackedout Hawaiian night following the

raid. Still some hours away from

Oahu, the carrier Enterprise and her

air group had been flying searches

and patrols throughout the day, in a

so-far fruitless effort to locate the

Japanese carrier force. South of

Oahu, one of her pilots spotted what

he thought was a Japanese ship and

Enterprise launched a 31-plane strike

at 1642. Nagumo's fleet, however,

was homeward bound. While Enterprise recovered the torpedo planes

and dive bombers after their fruitless

search, she directed the fighters to

land at NAS Pearl Harbor.

Machine guns on board the battleship Pennsylvania opened fire on the

flight as it came for a landing,

though, and soon the entire harbor

exploded into a fury of gunfire as

cones of tracers converged on the incoming Wildcats" Three of the F4Fs

slanted earthward almost immediately; a fourth crashed a short time

later. Two managed to land at Ford

31

Island. The 3d Defense Battalion's

journalist later recorded that "six

planes with running lights under 400

feet altitude tried Ford Island landing and were machine gunned:' It was

a tragic footnote to what had been

a terrible day indeed.

The Marines at Pearl Harbor had

been surprised by the attack that

descended upon them, but they rose

to the occasion and fought back in

the "best traditions of the naval service:' While the enemy had attacked

with tenacity and daring, no less so

was the response from the Marines

on board the battleships and cruisers, at Ewa Mooring Mast Field, and

at the Marine Barracks. One can only

think that Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto's worst fears of America's "terrible

resolve" and that he had awakened

a sleeping giant would have been

confirmed if he could have peered

into the faces, so deeply etched with

grim determination, of the Marines

who had survived the events of that

December day in 1941.
Pearl Harbor Remembered

Several of the many memoirs in the Marine Corps Oral

History Collection are by Marines who were serving at

Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941, and personally witnessed the Japanese attack. Two such memoirs—one by

Lieutenant General Alan Shapley and a second by Brigadier

General Samuel R. Shaw—vividly describe the events of

that day as they remembered it. General Shapley, a major

in December 1941, had been relieved as commander of Arizona's Marine detachment on the 6th. He recalled:

I was just finishing my breakfast, and I was just

about ready to go to my room and get in my baseball

uniform to play the Enterprise for the baseball championship of the United States Fleet, and I heard this

terrible bang and crash. I thought it was a motor sailer that they dropped on the fantail, and I ran up there

to see what it was all about. When I got up on deck

there, the sailors were aligned on the railing there, looking towards Pearl Harbor, and I heard two or three of

them say, 'This is the best damned drill the Army Air

Corps has ever put on.' Then we saw a destroyer being

blown up in the dry dock across the way.

The first thing I knew was when the fantail, which

was wood, was being splintered when we were being

strafed by machine guns. And then there was a little

bit of confusion, and I can remember this because they

passed the word on ship that all unengaged personnel

get below the third deck You see in a battleship the 'f"

third deck is the armored deck, and so realizing what

was going on this attack and being strafed the unengaged personnel were ordered below the third deck.

That started some people going down the ladders.

rhen right after that the Pennsylvania which was the

flagship of thewhole fleet, put up these signals Co

to#eneral quarters" So that meant that the people were

going the other way too Lt I Carleton E Simensen did

quite a job of turning some of the sailors around, and

we went up in the director. [On the way up the mainmast tripod, Lt Simensen was killed.] He caught a burst

through the heart and almost knocked me off the tripod because I was behind him on the ladder and I

boosted him up in the searchlight platform and went

in to my director. And of course when I got up there,

there were only seven or eight men there and I thought

we were all going. to get cooked to death because $

couldn't see anything but fire below after a while. I

stayed there and watched this wo1 attack, because

I had a grandstand seat for that, and th,n it go..pretty

hot Anyway the wind was blowing from the stern to

the stem and tsent the men down and got those men

off Then I apparently got knocked off or blown off

I was pretty close to shore There was a dredging pipeline that ran between the ship and Ford Island

And I guess that I was only about 25 yards from the

pipeline and 10 yards from Ford Island, and managed

to get ashore. I wasnt so much covered with oil. I didn't

have any clothes on. [The burning fuel oil] burnt all

my clothes off. I walked up to the airfield which wasn't

very bright of me, because this was still being attacked

at first. I wanted to get a machine gun in the administration building but I couldn't do that. Then I was given

a boat cloak from one of my men. It was quite a sight

to see 400 or 500 men walking around all burnt, just

like charred steak. You could just see their eyes and

their mouths. It was terrible. Later I went over to the

island and went to the Marine barracks and got some

clothes.

At the Marine Barracks, Captain Samuel R. Shaw, who

commanded one of the two barracks companies, vividly

remembered that Sunday morning as well:

The boat guards were in place, and the music was

out there, and the old and new officer of the day. And

we had a music, and a hell of a fine sergeant bugler

who had been in Shanghai. He would stand beside the

officers of the day, and there came the airplanes, and

he looked up and he said, "Captain, those are Japanese

war planes." And one of the two of them said, "My

God, they are, sound the call to arms:' So the bugler

started sounding the call to arms before the first bomb

hit.

Of course they bad already started taking out the

machine guns They didntwalt for the kn the ODs

office, they just broke the'door down atd hauled out

the machine guns, put them in position. Everybody

that wasn t involved in that drill grabbed their rifles

and ran out in the parade ground' and starting'firing

at the airplanes. They must have hfseveral hundred

men out there with rifles. And every [Japanese) plane

that was recovered there, or pieces of it, had lots of

.30-caliber holes — somebody was hitting them.

machine guns or rifles.

Then I remembered — here we had all these guys on

the post who had not been relieved and they had been

posted at 4 o'clock, and come 9 o'clock,: 9:30 they not

only had not been relieved but had no chow and no

water. So I got hold of the mess sergeant and told him

to organize, to go around to the posts.

They had a depot At the beginning it was a supply

depot. I told him to send aparty over there and draw

a lot of canteens and make sandwiches and wed send

wate x and sandwiches around to the guys on posts until

we found out some way to relieve all these guys, and

get people back. Then he..told me that it was fine except that he didn t have nearly enough messmen they

were all out in the parade ground shooting I think the

second phase of planes came in at thatime and we

had a hell of an uproar

Photo of USS Arizona Memorial, 1991, by Maj Charles D. Melson, USMC (Ret)
The authors consulted primary

materials in the Marine Corps Historical Center Reference Section

(November/December 1941 muster

rolls) and Personal Papers Section

(Claude A. Larkins, Roger M. Emmons, and Wayne Jordan collections),

as well as in the Naval Historical

Center Operational Archives Branch

(action reports and/or microfilmed

deck logs for the 15 ships with embarked Marine Detachments, and

those units included in the Commandant, 14th Naval District, report), in

the office of the Coast Guard Historian, and in the Gordon W. Prange

Papers.

The Pearl Harbor Attack: Hearings

Before the Joint Committee on the Investigation of the Pearl Harbor Attack (Washington, D.C.: Government

Printing Office, 1946) contains useful

accounts (Lieutenant Commander Fuqua, Lieutenant Colonel Whaling,

and Lieutenant Colonel Larkin), as

does Paul StillweIl, ed., Air Raid:

Pearl Harbor! Recollections of a Day

of Infamy (Annapolis: Naval Institute

Press, 1981).

General works concerning Pearl

Harbor that were consulted include

Gordon W. Prange, et al., December

7, 1941: The Day The Japanese Attacked Pearl Harbor (New York:

McGraw Hill, 1987), Walter Lord,

Day of Infamy (Henry Holt & Co.,

1957), and Japanese War History

Office, Senshi Sosho [War History

Series], Vol. 10, Hawaii Sakusen

(Tokyo: Asagumo Shimbunsa, 1970).

Articles from the Naval Institute

Proceedings include: Cornelius C.

Smith Jr., A Hell of a Christmas:' (Dec68), Thomas C. Hone,

"The Destruction of the Battle Line at

Pearl Harbor:' (Dec77) and Paul H.

Backus, "Why Them And Not Me?"

(Sep81). From Marine Corps Gazette:

Clifford B. Drake, "A Day at Pearl

Harbor:' (Nov65). From Shipmate:

Samuel R. Shaw, "Marine Barracks,

Navy Yard, Pearl Harbor:' (Dec73).

From Naval History: Albert A. Grasselli, "The Ewa Marines" (Spring

1991). From Leatherneck: Philip N.

Pierce, "Twenty Years Ago

(Dec61)

R

obert J. Cressman is currently a civilian historian in the Naval

Historical Center's Ships' Histories Branch. A graduate of the

University of Maryland with a bachelor of arts in history in 1972,

he obtained his master of arts in history under the late Dr. Gordon W. Prange at the University of Maryland in 1978. Mr. Cressman, a former reference historian in the Marine Corps Historical

Center's Reference Section (1979-1981), is author of That Gallant

Ship: USS Yorktown (CV-5), and editor and principal contributor of A Glorious

Page in Our History: The Battle of Midway, 4-6 June 1942. He and the co-author

of this monograph, J. Michael Wenger, also co-authored Steady Nerves and Stout

Hearts: The USS Enterprise (CV-6) Air Group and Pearl Harbor, 7 December 1941.

J Michael Wenger, currently an analyst for the Square D Company in Knightdale, North Carolina, graduated from Atlantic Christian College in 1972, and obtained a master of arts from

Duke University in 1973. Mr. Wenger has taught in the Raleigh,

North Carolina, school system and writes as a free-lance military

historian. He is the co-author of The Way It Was: Pearl Harbor—

The Original Photographs. His publication credits include the

Raleigh News and Observer and Naval Aviation News.

About the Cover: In the aftermath of the attack, Pennsylvania (BB 38) lies astern

of the wrecked destroyers Cassin (DD 372) and Downes (DD 375).

For sale by the U.S. Government Printing Office

Superintendent of Documents, Mail Stop: SSOP, Washington, DC 20402-9328

/ A

11941 W'W' (II 11945

THIS PAMPHLET HISTORY, one in a series devoted to U.S. Marines in the

World War II era, is published for the education and training of Marines by

the History and Museums Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps,

Washington, D.C., as a part of the U.S. Department of Defense observance

of the 50th anniversary of victory in that war.

Editorial costs of preparing this pamphlet have been defrayed in part by

a bequest from the estate of Emilie H. Watts, in memory of her late husband,

Thomas M. Watts, who served as a Marine and was the recipient of a Purple

Heart.

WORLD WAR II COMMEMORATIVE SERIES

DIRECTOR OF MARINE CORPS HISTORY AND MUSEUMS

Brigadier General Edwin H. Simmons, IJSMC (Ret)

GENERAL EDITOR,

WORLD WAR II COMMEMORATIVE SERIES

Benis M. Frank

EDITING AND DESIGN SECTION, HISTORY AND MUSEUMS DIV1SION

Robert E. Struder, Senior Editor; W. Stephen Hill, Visual Information

Specialist; Catherine A. Kerns, Composition Services Technician

Marine Corps Historical Center

Building 58, Washington Navy Yard

Washington, D.C. 20374-0580

1992

PCN 190 003116 00

II

About the Authors