Guy Herman Hardin US Navy USS Medusa |
Information provided by Guy Hardin. |
Born October 13, 1923 in Kansas, Oklahoma Graduated from Corcoran, California High School on June 3, 1941 Joined the US Navy on June 6, 1941 Discharged from the US Navy on December 20, 1946 Jack Evans, Reno Jacobs and I joined the US Navy at the same time. We thought we could go straight into pilot training, but that was not to be. We decided to get into aviation through aviation radio. Sixty of us took the test in boot camp. Only five passed. Three of the five were Jack, Reno and myself. Jack and I were on minority cruises. Reno had joined the reserves and was the only one of us sent to aviation radio school. Jack went to the USS Tennessee, a battleship, and I took my place on the USS Medusa, a repair ship. On board the Tennessee, Jack became an aviation ordinance man and applied for aviation pilot's school, earned his wings and was commissioned as an Ensign. He stayed in the Navy for thirty years, retiring as a Captain. The Medusa, two battleships, two cruisers and two destroyers left San Pedro, California, and arrived at Pearl Harbor six days later. That night, I worked until dawn helping to unload cars carried by the Medusa to Hawaii. While taking a shower that morning, I noticed that I had a hernia. The doctor sent me to the Naval Hospital at Pearl Harbor for surgery. Six weeks later, I returned to the Medusa. My division officer had me do paperwork and a few days later asked if I would like to attend Yeoman School. "Will it be in the States?" I asked. He stated that it would be. Probably unknown to him, but a Yeoman School was in operation at the Submarine Base in Pearl Harbor. I started school there, on November 3, 1941. On Sunday, November 30, we received a Gideon Bible at the chapel service. It was the first shipment sent overseas by the Gideons. I kept that Bible and read it wherever I went while in the Navy. I met Don Morgan, who became a close friend, from the state of Washington. About 7:45 a.m., December 7, 1941, Don and I played tennis on the court next to the four-story, U-shaped building which served many purposes, including our living quarters. On the other side of the tennis court were a road and a dock at which motor torpedo boats were tied. We had planned to attend chapel after our tennis workout. During the tennis match, Don retrieved a ball at the net. As he straightened, he looked up and said, "Look at those planes in the sky." As I looked up, a plane turned it's nose straight down and as the pilot pulled the plane out of the dive, he dropped the first bomb on Pearl Harbor. The other planes, which had been sailing around like a flock of birds, dove according to a predetermined sequence. One bomb resulted in a tremendous explosion, I thought, "Wow, he really hit his target!" On previous Sundays, mock attacks and dogfights took place. Therefore, I thought this was another scenario of the same thing. A peninsula called, "Magazine Island", obstructed my view of "Battleship Row". I assumed that whatever target had exploded with such force was on shore, probably near Aiea. Sometime later I learned the USS Arizona had been the unfortunate target. Don and I stopped our game to watch the action. Suddenly an airplane came from behind our four-story, U-shaped building and flew just above the tennis court fence. The airplane was black with a red rectangle and a red "rising sun" on the fuselage. A bright, brass-colored torpedo hung beneath the airplane. I said to Don, "They painted the planes to make them look just like the Japanese!" Seconds later, another Japanese torpedo plane flew over the court. Both planes were so low, so close, that I could have hit them with my tennis racquet, had I thrown it. This time, however, the rear gunner turned his machine gun in our direction and fired. My response? "You crazy @/*%&?#!!, you're liable to hit somebody doing that!" Looking up the barrel of that gun was frightening as little puffs of smoke were darting straight at me. In hindsight, how could that machine gunner have missed us at such close range? Obviously, the gunner was firing at something beyond me because I'm still here. While I'm still fuming, a tall, lanky sailor nonchalantly walked toward us from one of the torpedo boats and said, "You fellows better get out of here. That's the Japs." He didn't have to repeat himself. I ran to the top floor, breaking the crystal of my watch on a doorknob as I raced along the corridor. No sooner had I reached my bunk than a voice over the loudspeaker said, "Everybody clear the building." "Where should I go?" I wondered. I went out the back, walked a few steps, stopped and leaned against the wall to watch the action. A large plane, one of ours I think, was flying slowly back and forth. Shells were bursting just short of the plane. I saw something bounce in the road in front of and coming at me. I froze. The fragment, a piece of shrapnel, hit the wall next to my ear. Both ends of the shrapnel were like short needles. It's length was three to four inches, a rectangle about the size of my middle finger. I wish now I had kept it as a souvenir. A safe place, it seemed, would be in a ball field dugout. I checked both dugouts which were already filled with civilians. So I decided to stand in the middle of the ball field and observe the fighting. I saw a group of high-level bombers flying in a direction that would bring them directly overhead. They dropped their bombs. I waited and soon realized they would never reach me. Instead, they fell on the Navy Yard and dry docks. I saw one Japanese fighter plane shot down somewhere in the vicinity of Aiea. Carloads of sailors were brought to the Submarine Base. The men were covered with oil, some were burned, and all were ushered inside the building for immediate attention. Several of us went to the armory where we were issued a rifle and two belts of ammunition. A rumor had spread that the Japanese were landing somewhere on the Island. Later, word was passed to return the rifles and ammunition. Immediately, they were reissued but required our names and signatures. Again, they were returned to the armory the next day. The night of December 7, three of our Navy airplanes flew over Ford Island. They were to fly over, bank to the right, circle and land (so rumor had it). Two planes banked to the right and one to the left. The latter was shot down almost as soon as he started his left turn. In the dawn of December 8, two P-40's took off from Hickam Field, flying directly over the Submarine base. Everybody, almost, seemed to be trigger-happy. How those pilots managed to get through that hail of bullets, only God knows. It must have been a miracle. After that episode the collective adrenalin of the fleet in Pearl Harbor subsided. It was time for roll call. Personnel of the Submarine Base stood at attention while the Navy band bravely and beautifully played our National Anthem at 8:00 a.m., December 8, 1941. Our flag, the stars and stripes, slowly rose to the top of the pole. War had begun. A new scene of American history was unfolding. Our flag was rising in the midst of chaos. Never in my life had I encountered such a majestic, heart-bursting, hair-raising and tear-streaming experience. Ships were still burning. I knew many had lost their lives. Others were wounded and/or burned. Devastation of ships, planes, hangers, buildings and equipment was discouraging. Watching that flag ascend brought home. Like a hammer to my heart and mind, how closely I am identified with those stars and stripes. We were one. I belonged to it and it belonged to me, a survivor without a scratch. I had inherited something precious just by being there. A hero I am not. Today, over sixty years later, when I hear our National Anthem and see those stars and stripes ascending, my heart pounds, tears roll, sometimes, and it feels like the hair on my head crawls. |
