Ivan A. Harris US Navy USS Nevada |
The air at Pearl Harbor that Sunday morning of December 7, 1941, was soft and balmy, as it usually is that time of year. My ship, the USS Nevada (BB36), was tied up at the end of battleship row near Ford Island. At that time, I wasn't concerned about it's location, for I was on "detatched duty" with my launch and crew of five men; a motor machinist made third class, a gunner's made third class, and three seamen. It was the Nevada's turn to supply a crew and launch for patrol at night of the waterways near the military in installations. Each man was equipped as follows: life-jacket, a Springfield rifle, a hard-hat helmet (like the Army wore), a folding cot, mesquito netting, a web-belt with water canteen, and bedding to accompany that cot, of course. I don't recall where we ate, probably aboard several ships but our base of operations was our number three motor launch. We'd stop the civilian craft we'd encounter, check the boat's papers, count noses and look for suspicious people. There would be a grandma, grandpa, uncle, aunt and a family of oriental people calling the boat home. Apparently the people we encountered were of Japanese descent. America was having trouble with Japan, and therefore the Japanese in our Pearl Harbor channels were under suspicion. Sabatoage was a strong possibility. We operated from dark to about 0730. We'd pick up an ensign at the Officer's Club after supper each evening and return him to the club at 0700. My crew and I were free for the weekend. We prepared for showering on the pier at Aiea where some enterprising personnel had rigged an outdoor shower that we were able to use. To do so, we had to wear swim trunks, since women worked in the general store near the head of the dock. I was struggling into a pair of tight trunks, when the man I had on the tiller (steering the launch) yelled something about being under attack. I hobbled up to him to better hear what he was yelling. He pointed out the "rising sun" emblems on the planes that were suddenly circling the harbor. Definitely we were under attack! I got those trunks up in a rush and took over the tiller, heading at full-speed toward the Aiea pier. We did a speedy job of tying-up, and ran at a good clip for the trees and bushes nearby. It was 0800. For just a few minutes we watched the mayhem taking place the fire and smoke, hearing the chaos of battle. I suppose we were scared definitely in an excited state. Near us was the crew of the Admiral's barge in the same trauma as we. "Come on men," I hear the chief tell his crew, "we've got to get back. The 'Old Man' may need us!" His words awakened me to our duty, so I yelled at my crew to high-tail it to our launch. I had them remove the panels of canvas canopy, depositing them near the head of the pier. On the way to the Nevada, we dunked our bedding overboard so that we'd have better means of fighting fire should our launch catch fire, a distinct possibility. Upon hailing a CPO on the main dock about coming aboard, we were told to remain in the launch and pick-up more stricken sailors. Everything was just a big blur to me. I was at the tiller, maneuvering around the sinking and burning ships. My men hoised dozens aboard. I recall assisting another man to bring aboard a badly burned sailor. His bare arms were blackened with burned skin and oil "Don't touch me!" he pleaded, but we had to handle him to get him aboard. His skin appeared to be coming off. We knew he was in intense pain. We rushed him immediately to medical help. Hope the poor guy recovered. During the mayhem, I turned once to my left and saw what turned out to be the USS Oklahoma Capsized! What a shock to me! I wasn't even aware that the "Okie" was going over. (The Oklahoma is the Nevada's sister ship). I never felt worse for the entire war, seeing my sister ship on its side! I recall that afternoon stopping at one of the ships, temporarily. The ship's baker handed down to me six loaves of freshly baked bread. My smelly hands, even after wiping them on my clothes made the bread less appealing, when I tore the loaf open, so I tore out the white interior and ate the crust. Delicious! Should that baker be reading this account, I want him to know that his thoughtfulness and generosity were certainly appreciated. I'm sure my crew felt the same. A bit of humor to share. I had a friend who was like a mother to me, a member of my church. She had arranged a picnic for several sailors and marines. We were to go to the far side of the island to a residence of church members who were in California for a few-months. They lived right on the shore. I was so concerned about my inability of getting touch with her. How will I let her know I won't be able to be with her for her picnic? I honestly was concerned, as though she had to be told of my predicament! Her name was Florence Astley, a secretary to one of the head honchos for Union Oil Company in the Dillivingham building. When I spent liberties with Flo Astley, we'd get very familiar with many of our church hymns. Those hymns kept me company throughout my Navy experience but especially there at Pearl that Sunday Other than that loaf of fresh bread mentioned, I don't recall the act of eating during the few weeks following the attack, until we ate Christmas dinner on December 25th. Isn't that something?! And we ate that dinner aboard our ship, the good old Nevada! Our Christmas dinner was special: toasted cheese sandwiches, (I had two) a bowl of soup, a small can of pineapple juice, a slice of chocolate cake and all the coffee I could hold. Oh yes, I believe we had an orange, too. It was good sitting down at a table to share Christmas dinner with the crew. As I recall, about half the crew had gradually been transferred to other ships. I considered myself fortunate to have been able to remain on the "Cheer-up Ship". Those remaining crew members stayed at Block Arena. Three things I recall, vividly: we slept on the concrete tiers under the stars, arranging our mattresses end-to-end. At down we'd made our way through the lounge storing our bedding in one of the compartments of the lounge building. We'd eat "somewhere there at the area", then go to the clothesline to help ourselves to "anything we wanted to wear." Everything was dripping wet from dew. One morning I chose a white sheet, dressing like a roman. We were taken to the Nevada in a launch (probably the same one we'd used on our patrolling) where we did what we could to make Nevada more shipshape. |
Information provided by Ivan A. Harris. |
