I enlisted in the Navy at age 16 and had duty on a Destroyer the first year. On September 9, 1940, we formally transferred the ship to British consignors. My picture was in Life Magazine (September 23, 1940), teaching the British to fire American guns.
At age 17, I was transferred to a battleship on the West Coast, Port of Long Beach. On New Years' Eve, 1940, my shipmate, Johnson, and I received liberty to go ashore on a 48-hour pass. We rode a trolley car from Long Beach to Los Angeles and got off near 7th and Broadway. 7th Street being closed to traffic, we joined a huge walking party going west on 7th. A few hours passed and after too many drinks, my shipmate passed out in the street along the curb (we used to call it the gutter). Three young female Samaritans stopped to help. The young man got strong coffee from a nearby café, and with the help of the Samaritans, we managed to get him on his feet. Soon he was in shape to return to the ship. I continued to walk with three young ladies.
At midnight, bells, whistles, firecrackers and noisemakers filled the air. Of course, being a sailor, I had to get a small kiss from Marie, one of the three young ladies. Before saying goodnight I got the most important phone number of my life. The next day, New Years, our picture appeared on the front page of the Los Angeles Times under the headline, "Even the Navy gets into the New Year's spirit."
I called Marie and took a taxi to her residence and met the family. Her mother had prepared a large Italian dinner and her father was proud of his five barrels of homemade wine in the cellar.
Our ship was in and out of port for a few months. Marie and I were walking on Pine Street in Long Beach, passing windows, and suddenly stopped by a jewelry store. We entered the store and purchased two rings on time payments.
Without notice, our ship left for the South Pacific to engage in exercises in and out of Pearl Harbor.
I was on the top deck at 7:55 am, December 7, 1941, when I saw Japanese bombers roar out of the overcast sky. Being a First Class gun pointer, I raced to my battle station gun number 9 even before general quarters sounded. A short time later, into battle, our gun ran out of ammunition. I left my crew at the gun to get more shells and as I was returning, a bomb struck my gun, wiping out the entire crew. The planes severely strafed the ship and surrounding docks.
Being the flagship of the fleet, the Japanese reported the Pennsylvania had been sunk. Hearing this news, Marie pictured the worst. Nearing Christmas, we were issued a postcard to be mailed, with small squares to check off wounded or not wounded.
We got patched up enough to return to Hunter's Point, San Francisco. On arrival, I called Marie. She promptly told her parents she was going to San Francisco to get married. Her old-fashioned Italian parents tried in vain to keep her home. We were married January 10, 1942.
In a couple of months and with new guns, we were ready to leave this port. We served in a seven-battleship task force. We participated in 17 major battle campaigns from the far North Aleutian Islands to the South Pacific.
Just before the end of the war, a Japanese plane launched a torpedo that struck our ship, causing extensive damage. From the first action at Pearl Harbor to the end of World War II, the Pennsylvania steamed almost 150,000 miles and fired more ammunition than any other ship in history. She was the only battleship to take part in every amphibious combat operation in the Pacific.
Although hit at Pearl Harbor and again at the end of the war, the "Pennsy" had a career between those disasters so distinguished, it would make any man proud to number himself a member of her crew.
My experience at Pearl Harbor and through World War II makes me more aware and more appreciative of my freedom and my wonderful country. Each time I see our flag and hear "God Bless America" my heart swells with pride.
We now have two sons and three grandchildren. In 1996, I was honored to carry the Olympic Torch on Pacific Coast Highway in Capistrano Beach, California.
Over 50 years passed before I could share with others of my involvement in World War II. Eight years ago, my then seven-year-old grandson asked me to speak to his class about Pearl Harbor and World War II. I went to the attic and took out some of the memorabilia I had stored since 1945; my tailor-made dress blues, a piece of fragment from the bomb that struck my gun, a piece of the "skin" I cut off a plane we shot down at Pearl Harbor, a 1940 menu from a Honolulu café, my Olympic Torch, my dog tags and much more. My sons, ages 52 and 45, never knew of the memorabilia I possess or any of my war actions. I still go to different schools on Memorial Day, Pearl Harbor Day and other special days throughout the year.
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