AFTER GUADALCANAL

 

 

    I have digressed somewhat from the recounting of my experiences onboard the O'Bannon to follow the final outcome of the struggle for Guadalcanal because of its monumental importance to our country. For us, cruising just off shore, we pay little attention to the demise of the Japanese since we know there are many more islands in the Solomon chain where they are firmly entrenched. And after the Solomon battles, what next? From our vantage point, we see many islands between our ship and the islands of Japan.

    With the end of the Guadalcanal campaign, comes a lull in the fighting as both sides gird for the next operation. From February through March, things remain relatively quiet for the O'Bannon as we perform routine escorting operations, occasional shelling and what are called fleet maneuvers and training exercises, or training and more training.

    February 15th, we move north to cover the landing of Marines on the Russell Islands. No enemy opposition is encountered except for an occasional enemy aircraft.

    March 6th, after some lull, we return to the job of bombarding shore installations at Munda Point in the New Georgia Islands.

    April 5th, returning from a night shelling deep in the New Georgia area, the sound gear picks up a contact that turns out to be a large Japanese submarine cruising on the surface and apparently unaware of our presence. The Japanese lookouts must have fallen asleep. We approach rapidly and are preparing to ram the sub. Those on the bridge are trying to identify it by type and decide at the last minute that it is a mine layer. Not wanting to blow ourselves up along with the sub, a quick decision is made not to ram the sub. At the last moment, the rudder was swung hard to avoid a collision and we find ourselves, rather embarrassed, sailing along side the sub.

    On board the sub, sailors in dark shorts and dinky blue hats are sleeping on deck and awaken to see an American destroyer along side. Our ship is too close to the sub to allow any of our guns to be depressed enough to fire at the sub and of course no one on deck ever carries a hand gun. Ditto on the Japanese sub, no one there has anything to fire there either. This is the kind of event that, at the time, no one seems to have any idea of what to do and everyone just stares and seems spellbound.

    The Japanese sailors do have a gun a 3-inch deck gun and finally decide to use it. Seeing this our deck parties grab potatoes out of the storage bins that are located close by and throw them at the Japanese on the deck of the sub. A potato battle ensues. Apparently the Japanese sailors think the potatoes are hand grenades so they keep busy throwing them back and over the side. This keeps them from manning their deck gun until we can put enough distance between our ship and the sub. As we move away, our guns are now able to be brought to bear. One of our shells manages to hit the subs conning tower but the sub is able to submerge anyway. At this time we are able to pass directly over the sub for a depth charge attack. Later information shows that we did indeed sink the sub. When the Association of Potato Growers of Maine heard of this episode, they sent a plaque to commemorate the event. The plaque was mounted in an appropriate place near the crews messhall for all to see.

    May 5th, attached to Task Force 18, we proceed to the northern Solomons to lay mines in Blackett Strait. Enemy warships proceeding through this narrow channel run the risk of hitting one of our mines. Shortly after this operation, three of Japan's finest destroyers (DesDiv 15) sink after hitting these mines.

    May 11th to 14th , we are underway with task force 18 to shell Japanese positions at the Vila-Stanmore Plantation in Kula Gulf and expend 901 rounds of 5-inch shells. Then we take part in more mining laying operations by providing protection for the mine-laying ships as they sow their deadly seed.

    May 16th to June 7th , underway to Sydney, Australia for rest and relaxation. Though our memories of Guadalcanal are unhappy ones this visit does much to give us the feeling that we are helping to protect a very wonderful people and our sacrifices were truly appreciated. We find the Australian girls especially attractive. Back in the States American girls ask, "What do the Australian girls have that we don't have?" And the answer is quickly given, "Nothing, but they have it here."

    June 9th, back from Australia and a return to the boredom of training exercises with Task Force 18.

    June 11th to June 14th , we are detached for escort duty to bring supply ships from New Caldonia to Guadalcanal.

    June 16th, we arrive at Guadalcanal and the supply ships head toward shore to start unloading. But in main radio, we are aghast as we receive the report from the coast-watchers that sixty bombers and sixty fighters are heading towards Guadalcanal. Our usually calm Captain, upon hearing this, jumps up spilling his coffee. Down in main radio, we are flabbergasted at the odds, there are just too many planes for too few ships. In the harbor, there are two Liberty ships, a small oil tanker, a barge carrying aviation gas and ammunition (being pulled by the tanker), a PT boat, an old 4-stacker (a World War One ship), a few small craft, a new destroyer (the Taylor) and ourselves. Again we ask ourselves, why would the Japanese risk this much air power for so few ships. From the bridge, ninety fighter planes are counted taking off from Henderson Field. In the radio shack, you can feel the relief as most of us are happy to know that we even have that many planes at Henderson Field.

    In the harbor, all ships are now maneuvering violently to present the most difficult kind of target for the now overdue planes. In an instant, planes arrive coming down almost vertically from 15,000 feet. One minute, no planes, the next minute, they are everywhere. The first thing hit, naturally, is the oil tanker, next the bombers dive at the destroyer Taylor which someone describes as zigzagging like a frightened chicken, but the bombs miss and three of the attacking planes are blown into splintered wreckage. Two planes bore in on the O'Bannon, also maneuvering like a frighten chicken, and both planes are shot down. Are our gun crews good or what?

    Along side of our ship, one dive bomber closes in on a PT boat. It looks like no contest as the PT boat has only one 20mm gun firing away at the plane. But, in a instant the plane is in the water, shot down by the PT boat. With a lull in the action, I hurry across to see what is happening on the other side of the ship.

    There a bomber levels off and is flying between our ship and the old 4-stacker. The 4-stacker is firing away with its 20mm guns. The plane is in a location with no target in sight but I see the plane jettison its bomb into the water anyway as it starts its climb. I notice though, that the gunners on our sister ship continue firing. In an instant, I can see that the tracers coming just as if the gunners were aiming at me. Another frightened chicken takes off running away from the direction of fire. The shells hit our number two gun about thirty feet from where I had been a moment ago. The 5-inch gun jerks violently and oil flies everywhere. Inside the gun mount, the gun crew is showered with oil but no one is injured. Again it's the friendly shells that get you.

    From my new vantage point behind the main radio shack, I watch as another Japanese plane flies on a ninety degree course to our ship and is apparently little noticed. The few shells sent his way miss completely. My eyes are fastened on the big "red meatball" (the rising sun emblem) on the side of the plane. The pilot zooms low over our ship and casually looks down at us. He appears little concerned and seems to be just checking us out. Apparently in no particular hurry, he flies off unharmed and into the horizon.

    And just as quickly, everything is quiet again, the attack is over. Those that have been doing the counting say ninety-seven planes have been shot down this day for an all time record here. The planes of Henderson Field have had a field day and sustain only moderate losses. The Captain reports some damage on the bridge, though. In the excitement, he has managed to smash his coffee cup. Amazingly, damage to other ships is also minimal with only the small tanker and a landing craft are left burning. This day was the high water mark of Japanese air power at Guadalcanal. Never again do the Japanese attack in such numbers.

    June 23rd, we are heading south and hopefully out of danger when torpedoes manage to find the remaining ships of our convoy, the Liberty ships Diemos and Aludra. In an instant, they are on fire and exploding. In minutes, they are sliding under the water. The other escort in our convoy, the destroyer Radford picks up survivors while we search for the submarine that launched the torpedoes. The sub escapes. We are now heading toward our base empty handed since we have lost all the ships in our convoy. The soundman on duty refuses relief as he, and I guess everyone else on board, feels badly because the ships we were there to protect have been sunk. Our faithful sound-gear produced no echoes of the sub so we assume the sub came in from the opposite side of the supply ships.

    July 4th, fireworks tonight! We are back with our task group again (Task Group 36.1) and are far to the north of Guadalcanal as we move in to shell a Japanese troop build-up at the Vila-Stanmore plantation on the island of Kolombangara. It is a pitch black night as the moon descends behind the large mountain range on the island. As our cruisers and destroyers open fire, Japanese shore batteries open up with a heavy return fire. As we finish our part of the cannonade, we breath a sigh of relief as we move out of the gulf. Word is received on the bridge that one of our group has not made it out of the Gulf. It is the destroyer Strong. It has been torpedoed and is sinking fast. Orders are for the O'Bannon along with the destroyer Chevalier to swing back into the gulf to rescue survivors on the Strong.

    As we try to move in close to the Strong, a near collision with the Chevalier puts us dead in the water. Our position is made even more precarious since our 5-inch guns are overheated from the shelling and we are left with only one gun that will fire. As the Chevalier tries to move in along side of the Strong in total darkness, it collides with the Strong. Three destroyers are now dead in the water as the Japanese shoot flares to light up the area.

    The Chevalier in a desperate rescue effort tries to shoot a hawser across the sinking ship but the stern of the Strong is already under water. Shore batteries open up with renewed fury as shells splash around the three destroyers with the Strong receiving a hit that blows off a gun mount. At 1:22 a.m. the Chevalier pulls away from the Strong as it plunges down stern first amid acres of hissing and bubbling foam and vanishes. (19) The torpedo that hit the Strong was fired from the amazing distance of twelve miles.

    As the O'Bannon and Chevalier slowly pull away, the Strong's depth charges go off shaking both ships severely but both destroyers are able to pull away with only minor damage. Many officers and crew from the Strong go down with the ship but the Chevalier manages to rescue most of the crew as the O'Bannon takes on the shore batteries with its one remaining gun. Fortunately, Japanese gunnery is not up to standard tonight. All but 46 survivors are rescued from the Strong.

    July 6th, this night we encounter a Japanese force of ten destroyers in the Battle of Kula Gulf. The Japanese have troops on several of their destroyers as they do when using this type of ship as a troop transport. Our force consists of three light cruisers and four destroyers which gives us a considerable advantage in both size and numbers of ships. One of the light cruisers is the Helena.

    Since joining Task Force 67 in November of 1942, our crew marvels at way the Helena is able to spit out shells out with such speed that it looks like water coming out a hose. While in the company of the cruiser Helena, we feel a certain degree of safety. But this night there is no answer from the Helena on a roll call of ships departing the battle area. A lookout calls out there is an object on the starboard bow and a spotlight flickers on briefly to reveal the bow of a ship sticking up vertically out of the water. "From the bridge they could see a jagged bow of a ship, the large numerals, 50, plainly visible.  'Good God,' MacDonald cried, it's the Helena .' "  (20)

    We have seen most of the cruisers we accompany sunk by Japanese torpedoes but somehow this is different. If a ship as able as the Helena can finally be sunk, what are our chances. Before leaving the area, our force is able to save many of the Helena's crew from a watery grave.

    After the loss of the Helena, we seem to be living on a day to day basis when just hanging on is the best we can do. Daily we are tormented not only by the fear of losing our lives but by the fear of burning, drowning or being blown to pieces. We slowly realize that it is extremely unlikely that we will get out of this alive. The heat, along with boredom, bad food, frazzled nerves and the thought that the years are sailing by without us, are all part of the torment. Another horrible thought is that even dead, our bodies, or what's left of them, are doomed to be here forever. After the Battle of Kula Gulf, our ship is placed on a steady twenty-four-hour-a-day duty.

    July 13th, the O'Bannon as part of a quickly formed task force is back up in the northern Solomons off the island of Kolombangara. Replacing the cruiser Helena lost on the 6th is the New Zealand cruiser Leander. This is a bad sign to us since we rarely operate with ships of other countries unless the situation is desperate. In addition, tonight is the 13th day of the month and again, as in the battle of November the 13th, we have 13 ships in our task force. But, at least it isn't Friday.

    Another bad sign is that Japanese planes spot and track us early on, but keep themselves at a safe distance. They hang on like vultures and drop flares occasionally. The Japanese are transporting troops from island to island using barges. We are now closing in on these barges and are preparing to sink them. Between the barges and our ships are ten Japanese destroyers that must make a stand or run the risk of losing the troops they are there to protect.

    We soon pick up the Japanese ships on radar. Our torpedoes are swung out and fired. Once the torpedoes are off and running, we commence firing using the big guns. The delay between the firing of the torpedoes and the guns is done with the hope of catching the Japanese by surprise. Fat chance tonight.

    The torpedoes are barely off when the Japanese illuminate the area with their searchlights and the battle is on. Initially, our side looks good as our gunfire cuts into the Japanese ships and explosions and fires erupt. But, we know their torpedoes are on their way. Our three heavy cruisers are hammering away with salvos of eight-inch guns but with a lot of misses. Within minutes the Japanese torpedoes find our cruisers along with two destroyers. The results are devastating.

    We will certainly miss our new friends from New Zealand since the cruiser Leander and three American cruisers are seriously damaged and will be out of service for many months after this run-in with the Japanese Long Lances torpedoes. Of the ten Japanese warships we encountered this night, four are reported as sunk. But, as a result of this action, from this day on we will operate as a destroyer squadron without the benefit of cruisers. Our cruisers are either on the bottom or in repair docks. On the bridge of the O'Bannon, an officer remarks, "so from now on we'll be the 'big boys' and maybe Halsey will throw us a couple of minesweepers to do our screening." (21)

    July 15th, this night we are heading up to the island of Vella Lavella on a mission to rescue 175 survivors of the Helena who paddled there using rafts and rubber boats. We are to provide a screen for other ships that will move into the beach area to pick up the survivors. We will have to penetrate Japanese territory and be within thirty miles of a large Japanese base in the Shortland Islands. Our orders are not to return fire if attacked because this might reveal the rescue operation at the shoreline. Our ship is discovered by planes and bombed over a five hour period. Luckily, we are not hit and the rescue operation goes undiscovered by the Japanese. With the Helena's survivors successfully recovered, we finally get permission to fire at our tormentors. They make a hasty exit.

    August 15th, the Japanese troops are defeated on the island of New Georgia but are still entrenched of the island of Kolombangara. In the first instance of island hoping, we are covering the landing of our marines on the island of Vella Lavella. If successful, this landing will bypass the island of Kolombangara and the Japanese there will be placed in a precarious position.

    Supplies for Japanese troops must be brought in by barges coming down from Rabaul at night. Our job is to intercept and sink these barges while dodging Japanese bombs. On this night eighty bombs are dropped on our force of four destroyers. No destroyer is damaged but one bomb is close enough to dent the steel plates on the starboard bow of our ship. Darkness and our ability to generate a lot of smoke is our best defense from the planes.

    August 18th, our destroyer group DesDiv 41 encounters four Japanese destroyers accompanying the supply barges and we engage the destroyers with gunfire. The Japanese destroyers flee leaving the barges to the protection of the their planes. We manage to sink five barges but bombs from the protecting planes shatter lights in our fire-room.

    August 20th, our destroyer group is again hunting enemy barges around Vella Lavella where we manage to sink two more barges but are hammered with no less that 60 bombs. These are dropped by the Japanese planes trying their best to protect the barges. Tired from many hours on duty, I am not required on watch this night and manage to sleep through most of the bombing while lying in the corner of main radio. I couldn't see much difference between being blown up while asleep or while wide awake. Upon awaking, I receive the happy news that all bombs have missed.  It's this kind of news that can make your day.

    August 28th, we receive the news that we will be heading for Noumea, New Caledonia for a few days. This is not really great news as Noumea is more akin to an Army Camp and has very few available young ladies. So the most you can look forward to is a few cold beers or maybe a dish of ice cream, if you so desire. However, this visit is to be a very special occasion.

    The Free French people of Noumea, are going all out to hold a dance for our destroyer squadron. It has been nine months since we have had a chance to see or touch anything as fragile as a young lady. All stops have been pulled to make it a great evening. Someone has been able to find nine young French girls to attend the dance. And they are all quite attractive, or at least they seem so to me. Of course, the number of chaperones in attendance insures the young ladies will leave the dance as nice as when they arrived. Everyone seems to greatly appreciate a fine evening.

    September 1st, it's back to the old routine in a hurry, as we quickly forget Noumea and return to the pattern of daily trips up the Solomon Island chain un-affectionately know as the "Slot."

    We continue this duty with little let up through September...... "September slipped into October. As the days went on the officers and crew of the O'Bannon began to accept the sounds of their ship daily preparing for battle as commonplace, just as a man who works in a noisy office comes to accept its sounds as part of his daily environment.

    The fear that death might be their shipmate any night, the drudging ordeal, the confinement, the tension, the oppressive feeling from watching scurrying barges loaded down with men and deserted by their navy being blasted to flaming death, all assumed the proportions of a horrible normality.

    The men were listless. Officers and crew alike had lost much weight. Captain MacDonald found his clothes hung on his body like a badly fitted suit; .......To talk in more than monosyllables was an effort. Meals in the wardroom would open with a bustle of conversation, only to die away in complete silence before they finished.

    Acute sense of time and space was benumbed. The only thing that was real was the ship, the commands, the sun scorching like a branding iron -- and the sea, always motionless and reflecting the white-hot glare.

    Death, heretofore a taboo subject, was openly discussed...."(22)

    We are told that we are winning the war; we hope we never have to find out what it is like to be on the losing side.

    October 4th, we return to Vella Lavella with two other destroyers to intercept and destroy two barges and one gunboat.

    October 5th, we return again to Vella Lavella but make no contacts, we make a sweep around the island before returning to base.

    October 6th, we return to Vella Lavella but this night Japanese planes spot us and drop flares but, oddly enough, no bombs. A Japanese force of nine destroyers and twenty barges is trying to rescue 600-some soldiers who are stranded on Vella Lavella. Our force consists of three destroyers with the remaining three destroyers of our force some distance away. Japanese planes drop dazzling lights which slowly float down held suspended by small parachutes. These lights outline our force of three destroyers.

    We close on the Japanese destroyer force and firing commences on both sides. Flames flare up from two of the Japanese ships as they are hit by our shells. But within seconds one of their torpedoes rips into the Chevalier. "The entire ship separated as if a giant knife had sliced her in two. The stern turned about and swung into the path of the O'Bannon as if steered by a phantom quartermaster." The command "Hard right rudder" and then "Back emergency" was not good enough and it was evident the ships would collide. The order was given : "Stand by for a ram.... stand by for a ram.... and every officer on the bridge grabbed the small brass rail running around the pilothouse. Crew members lunged for metal supports, gun mounts. In the fireroom men who might be trapped in an inferno of scalding steam dropped their tools and held onto railings and ladders, their faces tight with apprehension. In the handling room and magazine, men threw themselves on the deck, eyeing the stacks of shells and tins of powder."  (23)

    The O'Bannon, unable to avoid hitting the Chevalier, crashes into her after engine room. Our luck holds however as we hit a glancing blow and bounce clear. Our bow is ripped back more than twenty-five feet and water pours in. In the emergency radio room, another radioman and I happen to belong to that two percent who never get the word and the impact throws us a short distance but we are unhurt. The crash knocks out all power on the ship and even the emergency battle lights at our location fail to light. Fortunately the sound powered phone works fine and we are back in communication with all stations on the circuit. While we sit in total darkness we are informed that our ship may be sinking as water is pouring into the forward compartments. And at this time more Japanese planes arrive. Luckily for us, the phrase "Have a nice day" has not yet been invented.

    "...three Jap bombers zoomed down and released a stick of bombs. They exploded with a roar off the O'Bannon's stern and sent sheets of water high in the air. More bombs are dropped, followed by showers of flares. Against the backdrop of harsh white light the Chevalier settled rapidly. Boats were being lowered off the O'Bannon and the screech of protesting davits could be heard plainly. Less than 6,000 yards ahead a Jap destroyer was still burning." ( 24)

    Now alone, the destroyer Selfridge continues to fire at the Japanese destroyers and scores a hit but in return receives a torpedo that blows up the forward area of the ship engulfing it in flames. All three ships in our force are now dead in the water and without power. Within minutes however, our damage control crew has the emergency generating system in operation and power is restored to the O'Bannon.

    With the restoration of power comes word there are emergency messages to be sent back to our base. While hurrying to the bridge to pick up these messages, I have a chance to look out across the water. What I see is rather amazing. There are many small lights out in the water, maybe a hundred of them. They turn out to be flashlights being held and waved by sailors from the Chevalier who are jumping from the rapidly sinking ship and are swimming toward the O'Bannon, a distance of about 40 yards. It seems that everyone in the water has a flashlight and is waving it to get attention (later information indicated that some type of fish that emitted light was in the surrounding water in record numbers, probably stirred up by the torpedo explosion).  Messages coming in from the Chevalier stress that they are sinking rapidly and need assistance. Our whale boats are already heading out to pick up survivors.

    After sending the radio messages, a quick acknowledgment is received from our base radio station at Guadalcanal. They will be providing air cover at daylight. It is comforting to know that everyone is now aware of our present predicament. Word from our damage control parties indicate that they have been able to shore up the damage to our bow and we are no longer in danger of sinking. Word is received from the other destroyers of our force that they are just over the horizon and have been watching the gun flashes of the battle and will be coming to our assistance shortly.

    More good news and bad news. The good news is that remaining ships of the Japanese task force are not attacking. The bad news is the 600 Japanese troops have been safely evacuated and will be around to fight another day. But the Japanese are not looking for further adventures this night. They make a hasty exit except for one of their destroyers that is on fire and slowly sinking.

    With 85 percent of the Chevalier's crew accounted for and no more that can be located on board, the O'Bannon heads for home at one-third speed, leaving behind the ship's whaleboats for any survivors that may have been missed. The whaleboats were found the following day and were full of survivors, seventy-eight in all. However, all were Japanese.  American PT boats took the Japanese to Vella Lavella as prisoners. The badly damaged Selfridge finally gets underway at three knots as the Chevalier sinks beneath the waves. Every bit of available deck space on our ship is taken by the Chevalier survivors. Her dead are stacked respectfully on the fantail and along the sides of our ship and are covered with tarpaulins. For the crews of the O'Bannon, the Selfridge and the Chevalier, the battle of Guadalcanal is finally over. For those under tarpaulins, the war is finally over.  But, even for those dead who may have dreaded the thought of their body being left at this forsaken location, we are all, dead or alive, -- going home.

 

REMEMBRANCES:

Although these events occurred over a half century ago, some are still easy to remember, while some are not. Therefore, I have checked thoroughly as possible through many sources to insure that the information presented is as accurate as possible and that nothing knowingly has been entered that isn't true.

One message that will never be forgotten came into our radio room from someone we thought provided the inspiration for those of us at Guadalcanal during those trying months. It was from The Commanding General of the First Marine Division, General Vandegrift written after the battle of November 13, 15 and it reads as follows:

To: Task Force 67

We believe the enemy has undoubtedly suffered a crushing defeat. We thank Admiral Kinkaid for his intervention yesterday. We thank Lee for his sturdy effort last night. Our own aircraft has been grand in its relentless hammering of the foe. All those efforts are appreciated but our greatest homage goes to Callaghan, Scott and their men who with magnificent courage against seemly hopeless odds drove back the first hostile attack and paved the way for the success to follow. To them the men of Cactus lift their battered helmets in deepest admiration.

Another radio message that meant much to the O'Bannon crew:

To: U.S.S. O'Bannon September 13, 1943

This is just a short note to express the appreciation of the men on the island and of course me, for the splendid job you and that gang of yours did in getting us off. And also to thank you for the highest tribute, in my estimation, that could have been paid any of us -- the expressed wish of your bunch to come back and pick us up. That to me means more than all the medals in the world. This appreciation comes from the bottom of my heart.

Lieutenant Commander Chew USN, One of the survivors rescued off Vella Lavella Island.

 

 

From:  Vice Admiral Richmond K. Turner, USN who initiated the orders for the battle of November 13th:

    Please inform every man of the force who so successfully assisted in reinforcing the brave men on Guadalcanal and then magnificently and with eagerness became the sharp edge of the sword which cut the enemy's throat, as follows:

    In your brave night action I knew the odds were against you but also felt it was the time which brave men  and fine ships could be called upon for their supreme effort.  You more than justified my confidence and expectations.  You took from the enemy a toll of strength far greater than your losses.  I grieve with you for the cherished comrades who gave their all and for the lost ships.  The names of those men and those ships will be enshrined in history and the name of your force should be reserved for all time for ships and men as ready as you have been for the highest patriotic endeavor.
 

 

 

AFTER THOUGHTS:

 

    The O'Bannon was back on the West Coast for repairs by December and received a Presidential Unit Citation for the period of October 7th, 1942 to October 7th, 1943. The ship again sailed to the Pacific and was soon back in action at New Guinea. Much of the original crew remained aboard. Although not involved in as much action as earlier days no one seemed to mind and the ship finally got to steam into Tokyo Bay with the other remaining destroyers of the Cactus Strike Group leading the USS Missouri. Our Captain, Commander Donald J. Macdonald was one of the most decorated officers in the Navy and was eventually promoted to Rear Admiral.

    Many of the O'Bannon's officers and crew were transferred to other newly commissioned ships and facilities when the O'Bannon arrived on the West Coast. I was one of those transferred and after a month's leave, returned to the Pacific as a Chief Radioman onboard an aircraft carrier. This duty differed so much from the destroyer duty that it seemed like I was serving in a different navy. I don't think anyone ever heard me say that I longed for the good old destroyer days. The kind of excitement that one experiences on an aircraft carrier are quite different than those experienced on a destroyer, but that's another story.

    One of the many experiences that left a lasting impression on me occurred after the battle of November 15th. A few days after the battle, our ship tied up along side of one of the surviving destroyers and I had a chance to see first hand the effects of 14 inch shell hits. The holes were much larger than you might expect but there was not much damage as the shells went through the quarter inch aluminum top deck without exploding. They did clear everything in their paths, however. A pair of sound power phones dangled from a mount, their wearer having disappeared along with the 14 inch shell that struck there. No one was shedding any tears for their lost shipmates but a very respectful silence was being maintained throughout the ship.

    A similar case is that of Admiral Callaghan and many of his staff where no bodies were ever found. In the case of Admiral Scott, no body was found either but an arm was found and on the finger was the Naval Academy class ring of the year 1911, the year Admiral Scott graduated.
 

 
 

ADDENDUM
THE PERSONAL SIDE OF COMBAT

 

      Some readers, after reading the O'Bannon story, expressed interest in finding out more of the personal side of the life of the combat sailor. There is little social life to report since we were at sea almost continuously, therefore personal stories are rather few, but there are a couple of  incidents that come to mind.  Expanding on our visit to the city of Balboa might give some insight to the younger members of our crew anyway.

     Well documented, of course, are  the love lives of sailors with girls in every port, etc.  However, this appears to be an exaggeration, at least on our ship, as many sailors would return from liberty rather sad and lonely.  Most were rather backward and hesitated to ask girls to dance or to go out.  Instead of a night of revelry, it was more likely that a group of sailors would end up half drunk and stagger back to the ship in a group.  Typical of the average liberty is this account of a group of O'Bannon sailors on their first real liberty far from home.

      After finishing the first leg of our journey to the South Pacific, we steamed into  the port city of Balboa at the western end of the Panama Canal Zone. With high excitement, about a half-dozen of us left the ship together.  We were undoubtedly a sight to be seen coming down the gangway, shoes shined and dress whites pressed to perfection.   At the end of the gangway, we found a large touring car waiting to be our taxi to the city. We were all teenagers or in our early twenties.  The big touring car with its open top, high polish and its big wheels with highly varnished wooden spokes made a big impression on our gang.  We had arrived, and were heading into town with great expectations.

     Expectations withered as we alighted from our taxi.  We had been dropped off on a rather shabby street lined with row houses.  Most were two stories high.  On the second floor, sitting on porches and hanging out of windows, were rather young dark-skinned girls with fine features.  The first floors had more of the same except considerably older, heavier and minus the sharp features.  As young and inexperienced as our group was, it didn't take a brick wall falling on us to guess where we had landed.  If it had been in the evening, the red lights would have probably been a dead giveaway.  Apparently, this was a customary first stop.

      Somewhat taken back but not wanting to show our inexperience, we tried to look nonchalant and worldly as we sauntered slowly down the street toward the more central part of the city.  One of the older women came over and pinched the cheek (the one on the face) of one young sailor of our group and laughed and yelled "chicken."  It was probably the only English word she knew.  Everyone chuckled as we watched the young sailor's embarrassment.  Although no one said anything, the feeling: "Let's get out of here," seemed to sweep over the group.

     Down the street we went, getting ever closer to the center of the city.  At the end of the street was a small bar and, as sailors are known to do, we quickly dropped in for a beer. Well, nothing less was expected of us. To show our worldliness, we drank from the bottle; no glasses for us, we didn't want to catch anything.  The bartender went down to the end of the bar and dragged in a girl from the back room (young but homely) as a possible source of additional revenue for his establishment.  We finished our beer and left.  Maybe it was the dire warning from the ship's doctor of catching something worse than the Bubonic Plague -- whatever.  We continued onward.

      As we walked ever closer to the downtown section, young boys (about ten or 12 years old) would run up to us asking if we would care for a romantic adventure (not the exact words) with their mothers or sisters for twenty-five cents.  Again, no one left the group for such high adventure but at least the price was right.  We did dally to watch a gathering of local men of all ages who were watching a "cockfight" but, having been raised on baseball and football, we did not find roosters running around in circles to be of great interest.

     We finally entered the main part of the city.  There must have been nothing much of interest happening there that day for I can remember nothing after the "cockfights" except maybe getting a little something to eat at one of the booths in the market area.  So much for Balboa in the 1940's.  Upon my return to the ship late that evening, I must have had one beer too many as all I wanted to do was to "hit the sack."  But, even this was not without hazard.

      As I staggered toward sleeping quarters, I noticed an inebriated sailor on the second deck urinating over the railing.  He must have thought he was going over the side with his stream but alas, he was hitting the sailors on the deck below.  These were poor souls who had passed out had been laid out like dead bodies by the "Shore Patrol" and were being allowed to sleep it off.  Fortunately, they were too far gone to notice anything as minor as this gentle "rain."  I can't remember whether I tried to stop him or whether I tried to wake the sleeping sailors or whether I just ignored the whole thing; probably the latter.  Maybe this was good training for the sleepers as it could have been conditioning them for what lay ahead.

     In the combat section of my story, I wrote about the occasion in New Caledonia where the citizens of Noumea (the capitol) had held a dance for our destroyer squadron.  Not mentioned was my romantic interlude with one of the young ladies as the dance drew to a close.  When the dance first started, the young Free French girls (free in this case referring to not being under control of the Nazis) knew nothing of the American dance craze jitterbugging.  Boy, but were they quick to learn.  In about a half-hour,  you would have thought they were professionals  (dancers, that is).  And consider this, they could not speak English and of course how many American sailors could speak French; none of us.

     There was one young lady, and only one, who could speak English quite well.  She was not my first choice as to beauty and in fact was probably the least attractive of the girls there, but still well within the acceptable range (of course, after nine months at sea, even the "Bride of Frankenstein" may have fallen into this range).  So, I set my sights on her and managed to drag her away from the dance floor for a drink (only soft drinks provided) and a conversation.  What could we possibly have in common though, she living in such a remote and inaccessible corner of the earth and myself having grown up in a big city half a world away?  Turned out though that we had no problems what-so-ever.

     She was charming and delightful to talk to.  It seems was infatuated with American movies and culture and would like nothing more than to go to America.  Since meeting with her that night was out of the question due to the nature of the gathering,  I proposed a date for the following day.  By the end of the evening, I found myself becoming more attracted  to this young lady.  We were to meet at the corner of Sevastopol Street (I still remember the street fifty-five years later) and the main drag the following day at noon.  Of course, everything hinged on whether or not our squadron would still be in port the following day.  She could look out into the harbor and easily make out if our squadron of six ships was still lying at anchor so at least she would not be left standing on a street corner.  When she looked out the following morning, our ships had indeed departed.  I hope she was not as disappointed as I was.

      Another type of incident that occurs in the military especially after long hours of continuous duty is sleeping on watch.  It doesn't happen often because of dire consequences it might cause but it does happen, unfortunately.  Although it is possible to end up being shot for this, usually the consequences were usually not that dramatic.  On one occurrence, I happen to walk into the Sonar-Radar room located directly off the bridge and found everyone there asleep.  These sailors were the eyes and ears of the ship.  Since I was well acquainted with all of them, I knew this was a highly unusual situation.  Nevertheless, I gave them a rude awaking but did not pursue any kind of reprimand, luckily, for a short time later I would find myself in the same predicament.

     In this incident, our ship was proceeding deep into the Kula Gulf.  This night we had a "black cat" patrol plane out ahead of us looking for any Japanese ships that might be waiting for us.  A radio circuit was established to monitor any transmissions from the plane. To put this circuit as close to the captain as possible, the two chief radiomen (we had two of them) had set up a circuit in the captain's cabin on the bridge.  The reason for doing this was that the warning messages from the "black cats" radio operator was to be sent in Morse code.  This required some light for the operator at this end (in this case, me) to write down the messages.  The only place this would be possible close to the captains location was from his cabin on the bridge.

      I got as comfortable as possible sitting in a chair in the captain's cabin. It was rather nice in there but very hot and stuffy as the ducts that supply air were shut down for general quarters.  The Captain came in a few times to see that everything was functioning okay.  Now the long wait started as hour after hour we steamed deep into Japanese territory.  It was deathly quiet in the cabin as there was little noise on the bridge and even that did not trickle into my location.  The cabin was nice and neat with the customary pictures of the wife, etc.

     After a few hours, I found I was starting to nod off.  To counter this I picked up a book that was lying on a table (can't remember what the captain was reading, however) and held it up in the air so that if I fell asleep, it would drop and wake me.  This worked quite well for a couple of times until I woke up only to see the book on the floor.  How long did I doze off?  I had no idea as I could see no clock.  I hope that if a message had come in, the loud signal in my earphones would have awakened me.  From then on I started to stand and move around which proved much more successful in keeping me awake than the dropping of a book.

      After we were had accomplished our mission and were well back out of enemy territory we secured from general quarters.  As I left the captain's cabin, I noticed how haggard everyone looked from the long hours of tension.  Oddly enough though,  I didn't feel all that bad.

     Spaghetti Food Fight -- we had one and with Mother Nature, no less.  The sequence of events that ended in hysterical laughter started on a calm Pacific morning.  The ocean was tranquil (I guess that's why they called it the Pacific in the first place) as we glided somewhere in its broad expanse.  Our Chief Commissary Steward (you would call him the cook) was not the most popular man on board and this day he decided to do something to enhance his image.  He decided to make spaghetti for the crew.  The Navy is not noted for spaghetti (except perhaps, the Italian Navy) but he decided to make it anyway.  All went well with the spaghetti that day but not with the weather.  A breeze picked up sometime during the day, then dark clouds and finally a gale.  By the time the evening meal was to be served, we were in a raging storm.  Too late for sandwiches which would have been the proper fare for heavy seas, so the spaghetti would have to be served anyway.  Making it to the galley and getting in line was no small task either as the ship rolled and heaved.

     I finally made it into the chow line and had a load of spaghetti dumped on my metal tray. Proceeding with all caution, holding on here and grabbing on there,  I reached an empty seat at a table and actually managed to get into a position suitable for eating.  By holding onto the table and letting go a moment as the ship passed through a position that was level, it was possible to take a few bites of food before the next roll. Everyone was eating this way giving the impression that it was not all that unusual. There were about a dozen sailors at each table and about three tables in the galley.  Had not the unexpected happened, this event would have been quickly forgotten and there would have been no story to remember.

     However, the unexpected did happen as the cotter pin that held the table in place finally gave under the pressure of about a dozen sailors using it to keep themselves from flying through space.  The cotter pin snapped in two allowing the table to flip over along with all the sailors that were using it for a "hand hold." I and five other sailors were seated on the inboard side of the table and about a half dozen sailors  were sitting on the outboard side of the table.  Those on the outboard side were thrown over our heads by the ships motion.  Everyone went crashing to the deck.  The decks were hard steel with all the paint having been scraped off since paint fumes were a great hazard during combat.  This high polished steel now had a good coating of spaghetti sauce making it the equivalent of highly polished ice.

     What had promised to be our best evening meal for some time turned into a disaster after only a few bites of food.  Everyone was lying on the deck and was slipping and sliding around with each motion of the ship and, to make matters worse, all were draped in long pieces of spaghetti and covered with sauce.  Trying to stand up could have resulted in broken limbs so everyone decided to crawl or slide toward the exit hatches. What could have been a stupid disaster suddenly turned into uproarious laughter.  Sailors slipping and sliding covered with spaghetti sauce was ridiculously funny to everyone.  After climbing out of this mess and onto a dry area, laughter continued for another half hour.  Well, at least we hadn't lost our sense of humor.

     There are a few other stories but they might be a bit boring even for those who have read this far.  Imagine trying to make a story sound interesting when it only entails running up and down a few hills.  That's something you see kids do every day -- hardly something to write about.  But if you've been confined on a destroyer for six months without a chance to stretch your legs, it is a big deal.  And we ran and laughed like we had just discovered something new.

     Swimming in a muddy river in the Solomons might seem like a nice way to cool off a bit, but having a soldier with a rifle looking out for alligators who might want to join you puts a damper on the fun.  Especially when someone jumps six foot out of the water just because he was brushed by a tree limb floating by.  When I returned to the States, the movie "Guadalcanal Diary" was playing at a local theater, so I went to see it.  The way the movie was portrayed, Guadalcanal didn't seem all that bad.  But then I had to remember -- the movies were trying to entertain you, the Japanese were not.

 

Credits:

Many thanks to the following authors:

Richard B. Frank and his book GUADALCANAL. Maintaining the correct chronological order for my story was made possible by following the sequence of events in his fine book. He recaptured the spirit and drama of that time so long ago. I ended up reading and rereading his great narrative so many times that eventually the book started to fall apart and required some maintenance.

Robert D. Ballard and his book THE LOST SHIPS OF GUADALCANAL. It is a wonderful story with remarkable pictures showing the ships on the bottom of "Iron Bottom Sound" at their final resting place. The pictures were made possible by the use of deep sea diving equipment.

James D. Horan and his book ACTION TONIGHT telling the stories of the officers and crew of the O'Bannon as they related them to him after the return of the O'Bannon to the U.S. after its first voyage.

John J. J. Attwood and his article THE NAVAL BATTLE OF GUADALCANAL and the series of articles on the Internet under the site "World War II - Keeping The Memory Alive."

My wife Virginia for her great job done years ago preparing many albums filled with materials relating to my service adventures.

Notes 1: The numbers listed with the story refer to excerpts taken from the book "GUADALCANAL" by Richard B. Frank. The material relating to the numbers can be found on the following pages of that book.

   

1. Page 145	2. Page 157	3. Page 232	4. Page 317	5. Page 332
6. Page 433	7. Page 435	8. Page 440	9. Page 451	10. Page 459
11. Page 499	12. Page 499	13. Page 521	14. Page 527	15. Page 533
16. Page 534	17. Page 586	18. Page 595

 
 

Notes 2: These numbers listed with the story refer to excerpts taken from the book "ACTION TONIGHT" by James D. Horan and can be found on the following pages of that book.

 

 

 

19. Page 96	20. Page 107	21. Page 121	22. Page 142	23. Page 149
24. Page 151