Earl Havlin Selover US Navy USS Maryland

Earl Selover was living a contented life, never imagining that his world, and the course of modern history, was about to change dramatically. A cocky 24-year-old sailor with seven years in the Navy already under his belt, he was a respected chief radioman onboard the battleship Maryland stationed at Pearl Harbor in sunny Hawaii. He was living in a cozy Waikiki apartment with Ella Mae, his wife of six months.  The weather was great. Although the folks back home were already experiencing some winterlike weather, Selover and his bride were enjoying refreshing Hawaiian sea breezes, clear blue skies and 70 degree days. The pace of life was slow and relaxed.  The work wasn't too demanding and you could always catch the latest Tommy Dorsey or Glenn Miller tune on the radio. If you were hungry, the popular Black Cat Café in Honolulu offered a half-dozen raw oysters for 35 cents, roast turkey with dressing for a half-dollar and, if you wanted to shoot for the works, a Porterhouse steak with mushrooms for a buck.  If you wanted to go a little fancier, the nearby Wagon Wheel, touting itself as "Waikiki's Unique Garden Restaurant," served broiled filet mignon for $1.20, fresh shrimp curry with rice for a dollar and fried frog legs with tartar sauce for a whopping $1.40, all served with salad, vegetables, potatoes, dessert, rolls and coffee or tea. Cokes were a nickel, and beer set you back 25 cents. Earl was living his dream.  The son of a humble New Jersey waterman, he always wanted to be in the Navy.  For a solid week in Mr. McAndrew's eighth-grade class at Wildwood Junior High, he wore a set of hand-me-down dress blues specially altered by his mom.  Mr. McAndrew never objected.  I knew I was going into the Navy when I was 10 years old." "I didn't want to be nothing but a Navy man.  When I was 17, I hitched to Philadelphia to enlist, but the day I got there, the recruiting office was closed.  Later, I hitched a ride to Staten Island and finally signed up.  I had to report to Baltimore n June 7, but got it postponed so I could graduate from high school on the 11th." An early interest in ham radio helped him obtain his radio license in 1934, before his enlistment.  That, along with typing skills he learned in high school and his diploma, allowed him to become a specialized radio man. His serene Hawaiian life ended early in the morning of December 7, 1941. "Neighbors knocked on our door, woke us up and told us the Japs were bombing Pearl Harbor," he recalled.  "My neighbors, at the time, were real party people and I just told them to get back to their party.  But they insisted.  We turned on the radio and heard the news." The attack was "truly a surprise," he said.  "We had nothing to be alarmed about, we never realized what was going to happen," he said.  "We had carriers out on the lookout and then the Japanese took a northern route to get to us, which at the time was considered impossible." Selover said his first thought was to get to his ship as soon as he could.  Unfortunately, his battleship group (the Maryland, California, Oklahoma, West Virginia, Tennessee, Arizona and Nevada) was moored in a line on Ford Island, making perfect targets for the Japanese dive bombers. "That was rare to have all the battleships in a straight line like that," he said.  "Usually, half the fleet is out while the other half is in port.  This was perhaps the only time they were in the harbor like that.  But the Japanese had spies all over the place; they had every detail needed for all they did.  They did a perfect job." Selover was able to jump onto a catch used to ferry sailors from ship to shore.  As it navigated the waters to Ford Island, mayhem ensued. "High level bombing was going on, smoke was billowing all over, it was a confused mess," he said, his eyes tearing up at the recollection.  "We saw an upturned hull in the water and thought it was the Maryland, but when the smoke parted, we could see our ship's superstructure.  The ship in the water was the Oklahoma and when it rolled over in the water, it pinned the Maryland to the quay." The catch made it to the California, and Selover had to walk through it just to reach the island.  Once there, he walked in the direction of his ship.  The only way he could board the Maryland was by tight-rope, walking on a thin pipeline that stretched from the island to the boat.  About 100 yards away, the Maryland's anti-craft guns opened fire. Once he reached the Maryland, the attack was waning.  He spent the rest of the day and nignt manning the radio shack. "The following morning, it was five minutes to 8 and a beautiful clear blue day, we went to the edge of the deck and looked toward the California," he said .  "It was still smoking." A boat was patrolling around the Oklahoma, trying to locate possible survivors trapped in the overturned hull. "They tried to pull one body from the water by an arm and the skin slid off like an old glove." In the midst of swirling chaos, fires and continuous billowing black smoke, sailors began to engage in their routine jobs.  "The morning after, everybody did what they were supposed to do, what they were trained to do," he said.  "We were all in a 'stand easy' battle status." That included the morning routine of raising and saluting the ship's colors.  The Maryland's band assembled at the ship's fantail and played the national anthem as the Stars and Stripes were hoisted. "At the last note of the anthem, the band director brought his baton down vigorously and the band erupted in 'Anchors Aweigh' and everyone began to cheer, everyone," he said, his eyes misting again.  "It was beautiful, I wish someone could paint a picture of that.  An ensign, who was standing about 10 feet away, said, "Chief, those bastards are going to regret this day.'  I told him, 'I agree.'  To see those battleships in flames just sickened me and got me mad.  People everywhere were upset.  It got the country in high gear.  We got back at 'em.  A lot of people sacrificed in a hell of a way." After Pearl Harbor, Selover was in 10 major naval engagements, earning him the Asiatic-Pacific Campaign medal with two silver stars.  He was finally transferred to shore duty in September 1944.  He stayed in the Navy until 1954 and became quality control manager at a Naval electronics overhaul facility in Norfolk, retiring in 1979.  A recent widower, he enjoys his four children, nine grandchildren and five great grandchildren. For the past couple of decades, he's also enjoyed presenting programs about his Pearl Harbor experiences to school, church, civic, library and veteran groups, offering his comments highlighted by slides of maps, charts and old photographs along with recordings, including Franklin D. Roosefelt's "Day of Infamy" speech. He's made such presentations all over Hampton Roads and as far away as Cheyenne, Wyoming.  A few months ago, he spoke at a meeting of the Great Bridge Ruritans and a local Veterans Administration hospital. "I think people have enjoyed them," he said in his low-key way.  "I've never had a bad reception, and no one's ever walked out." With interest in the Pearl Harbor attack peaking with the premier of the blockbuster film of the same name, Selover was in demand.  He gave interviews about the film and his experiences to local and regional papers and on radio stations across North America, including Ontario, Canada; Kansas City, Mo.; Greensboro, N.C.; and Chicago. And using his ham radio skills, he created the national Pearl Harbor Survivors' Amateur Radio Net with a membership of more than 240.  Through the club, he keeps in contact with survivors across the country and talks to students, teachers and other veterans about the war and his experiences. An upstairs den in his comfy Chesapeake home has been converted into a combination radio shack and memory room with the walls covered with maps, charts, framed citations, related posters and photographs, family snapshots and a small shrine consisting of three small American flags in a row over a strip with the words: "Remember Pearl Harbor December 7, 1941."

Information provided by Earl Havlin Selover

Earl was living in a Waikiki apartment with Ella Mae, his bride of six months, on December 7, 1941