I think my experience in that war, which really was a war, is a little bit unique. My father, a career submarine sailor, was attacked by the Japanese on the first day of the war at Cavite in the Philippines, where his boat had recently arrived from Pearl Harbor. Both places were simultaneously bombed and strafed on Dec. 7. Various speculations exist to this day on whether the Japanese sneak attack was actually unexpected. It has never been a mystery in my family.
Early in November 1941 my father telephoned my mother and I in California to tell us we were going to go to war with Japan and that his boat was leaving Pearl Harbor for an as-yet undeclared destination. He said they were ridding the boat of all unnecessary gear to make room for equipment more suited to wartime patrols and that he was sending all of his valued personal property, including his ring, home. He explained his statement that we were going to war with Japan by describing an incident that had recently taken place while his sub was patrolling on the surface off of Wake Island. He said another sub had fired a couple torpedoes at them and that they had tracked the attacker for several days before giving up the effort to return the favor. I don’t know how they knew it was Japanese, or why it had tried to sink them, but from subsequent events it turned out to be an accurate conclusion.
My father’s boat was tied up behind the Sea Lion at the dock in Cavite on Dec. 7. The Sea Lion was sunk by a direct hit from a bomb that went straight down an open hatch. My father’s boat made it out to sea as the dock was on fire and blowing up. It and a few other submarines became the most effective American instruments of war directed in retaliation against the Japanese during the early months of the war. All told we lost 55 submarines in the war. I was born and raised among submariners. Many of the men I grew up around went down in a number of the lost subs. The seasoned submariners who were serving at the beginning of the war were spread among the crews of the new boats being rapidly built to supply the wartime need. Because of this spreading of experience throughout the increasing size of the fleet friends of my family were lost with many of the boats that went down. It has always given me a sense of special privilege that my early years were spent among such courageous men. Other kids had family friends who worked with their fathers at ordinary jobs.
My family friends had an sort of aura about them others almost always seem to recognize as special. A nation that knows little or nothing of the devotion to their country of these brave and largely anonymous men owes them a great deal.
What I think was sort of unique to my wartime experience was that at the age of 17, I joined the Navy, over the violent objections of my father, who knew that war was not a John Wayne movie, and while he was there on the first day of the war I was there on the last day at the Japanese surrender in Tokyo Bay on Sept. 2. It would take too much space to describe the unbelievable events of the surrender activities, but I have to comment on the incredible fact that I actually fell into step next to MacArthur as he was pacing about less than an hour before he signed the surrender papers. My walk next to him was brief and he took no notice of me, but it doesn’t stop me from telling people I went for a walk with “Mac” just before the surrender. Honest to God, I did.
W.J. Gould lives in Oriental.
I never tire of stories like this. A few years back, I wrote a series of biographical articles on WWII vets for the local paper. Every single one--from the Seabee, to the submariner, to the glider pilot who survived all four combat glider assaults in Europe, to the ammo truck driver, to the B17 pilot who limped home in a technically unflyable airplane, to the infantry company commander (decorated by Patton himself) who ended his war in Europe as acting mayor of a small German town--is a fascinating tale that should never be forgotten...just like Mr. Gould's.
ReplyDeleteYes, it's stories like this one that fill me with a feeling of regret for never having spent enough time with my grandfathers when they were still alive. The one on my mother's side died suddenly, and the one of my father's side slid into years of dementia. Now there's only my grandmother left; I intend to keep her memories recorded.
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