Don Lowery

Unlike many of the veterans who fought in World War Two, I joined the service before the United States had officially declared war. In June of 1941, I was a Junior at the University of Missouri, studying business. The war was already raging in Europe, and it looked like it would be just a matter of time before the US would become involved. When I learned I was next in line for the Army draft, I decided to enlist. I signed on with US Marine Corps in June 16, 1941. The Marines appealed to me because I was young, and I thought they looked pretty sharp in their uniforms. They also had a great reputation as the toughest soldiers in the Armed Forces.

Just three weeks after enlisting, I left my home in Kansas City, Missouri, to begin boot camp training in San Diego, California. Boot camp was a strenuous introduction to army discipline, physical fitness, and weaponry. Each day we heard the timeless Marine refrain, "Your rifle is your buddy," After leaving boot camp in August of 1941, I attended a few additional weeks of Sea School to receive further instruction in Marine combat duties aboard ship.

On September 17, 1941, now stationed in San Francisco, California, I was assigned to the Marine Detachment on the USS Oklahoma. When I arrived, the Oklahoma was in dry dock for maintenance and retooling. It wasn’t until late September that we went to sea. Our destination: Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

The USS Oklahoma was a proud ship, carrying a crew of nearly 1,300 devoted men. One of the largest ships in the United States' fleet, she had an overall length of 583’ and a beam of 107’11". Though first launched in 1912, the ship had been refitted with many of the latest innovations in military technology. She was one of the first ships to carry a three-gun turret, and boasted anti-torpedo bilges which were said to provide extra resistance to torpedo attack.

My duty aboard ship was primarily to stand guard. Each watch lasted 4 hours, with 8 hours in between. Sometimes it was 12 hours on, 12 hours off. It didn’t matter to me, because didn’t have any place to go anyway. At first, I was assigned to Life Buoy watch, walking back and forth from port side to starboard, or guarding the gangway while we were in port. My job was to keep unauthorized persons from coming aboard. I also worked the Brig Watch, keeping an eye on guys who had broken the law or acted up. The brig was a special hold in the ship, something like a cage. We weren’t allowed to speak to the prisoners, and it was tiresome duty spending so many hours down there. After some weeks, I was assigned to the Bridge Watch. I liked this job better, because the bridge is where the action is, it's the brains of the ship. I looked out to sea for the enemy, and rang the ship’s bell on the quarter hour. There was less marching back and forth, and it was interesting to see the high-ranking officers at work.

Every man on the ship was assigned a specific battle position during combat. My position was in ammunition handling, working below decks placing ammunition on conveyor belts running to the gunners on deck. It was vital to keep the ammo moving.

Oklahoma.jpg (50906 bytes) On the morning of December 7, 1941, the USS Oklahoma was moored outboard the USS Maryland in the calm waters of Pearl Harbor. It was 7:55 on a Sunday morning, and I was below decks in my bunk. I had just been awakened by my buddy, Ted Hall, who had dropped by to ask if I wanted to join him at breakfast. Suddenly, a sharp voice on the loudspeaker ordered, "MAN THE ANTI-AIRCRAFT BATTERIES! MAN THE ANTI-AIRCRAFT BATTERIES!" Like many of my crew men, I thought it was a typical Sunday morning Navy drill.

Moments later, there was a great thud as the USS Oklahoma took her first torpedo hit. "THIS IS NOT A DRILL! MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!" As I leapt into my khaki trousers, I could feel the ship already beginning to list to the starboard side. As she listed, the torpedoes kept coming, each hitting higher and higher up in the superstructure, causing terrible damage to the housing above the main deck. We took five more torpedoes in rapid succession.

I raced to my battle station, but by the time I reached the ladder going down to the ammo oklahoma4.jpg (47186 bytes) handling compartment below decks, I saw water gushing in. It was rising fast, and would soon fill the entire chamber. Just then, I heard the hammering sound of Japanese planes strafing along the deck just above me. The choice was clear: drown or get shot! It was strange -- I didn’t panic, but became suddenly calm, knowing that if I lost it now I’d never make it out alive.

I climbed up the nearest hatch, and found myself on deck at the base of the third turret. The deck was at a severe angle and I saw nothing but smoke, fire, explosions, and men running every which way. As I looked amidships, I could see people scrambling to get over the side. I reached for a metal link of the life line surrounding the deck, crawled over, and jumped.

As soon as I hit the water, I swam for the USS Maryland. Within minutes, I reached her blister ledge -- an extra amount of steel armor about 4 ft. wide, reaching from bow to stern. As I climbed onto the ledge, I could see that other men were swimming towards me. Many were half-dressed and covered with oil. I found that by calling to them and hanging my legs over the ledge, I could help them climb to safety.

Oklahoma2.jpg (59593 bytes) That’s when the oil on the water caught fire. Everyone who had made it to the blister ledge had to abandon rescue efforts and go above. There was nothing else to do.

We climbed a ladder onto the USS Maryland. A bomb must have hit the scullery, because the walkway was covered with potatoes – round russets, to be precise. We had to get those potatoes out of the way, so we just chucked them overboard. Later, it was reported that the US Marines were defending the Maryland by throwing potatoes at the Japanese planes.

By this time it was about 10:00 a.m., and I had gone amidships to hunt for something dry to put on. Suddenly, the Japanese were back, and the Maryland was hit with a 500 lb. bomb. Instantly the ship filled with smoke, and we scrambled for our masks, fearing a gas attack. Luckily, it wasn’t. Although the Maryland was badly hit, she was protected from torpedo hits by the capsizing Oklahoma, and didn’t sink.

By 11:30 a.m., it was all over. The USS Maryland was moored at Ford Island in Pearl Harbor, so we simply went down gangplank. Ford Island was chaos. On one end of the island was a station for PBY flying boats, which was now nothing but smoking wreckage. Emergency stations had been set up for survivors to report to, and I checked in five different times, wanting my mother to know that I had made it through alive.

Later I learned that my buddy Ted Hall had been killed. During an explosion aboard the Oklahoma , a gear locker had flown loose and crushed him. The ninth, and final, torpedo had created a sort of water wedge which succeeded in flipping the Oklahoma over onto her beam end. About 20 more survivors had to be cut out of the capsized ship by cutting a hole through the hull.

On Ford Island, we hastily prepared for an invasion. Rumors flew that the Japanese fleet was on the way. I was put to work cleaning greasy rifles that has been kept in storage – many left over from the First World War. But the Japanese didn’t show.

A few days later, the surviving Marines from the Oklahoma were put onboard the Maryland. Everyone was tense and we couldn’t get along with the Maryland’s crew, so we were soon returned to Ford island.

On Friday, we were sent to live in the Marine barracks on the other side of the harbor. By Saturday evening, things were looking brighter. Finally, I had had a good night’s sleep and a decent meal. The very next morning, we were called to form outside the barracks. We had all been assigned to new ships. I was to join the crew of the cruiser Chicago, which had fortunately been at sea during the Pearl Harbor bombing.

"We’re glad to have you aboard," the captain said. "Now we’re going to go chase the Japs out of the Pacific."

Mine was one of three task forces heading for reinforce Wake Island, an isolated dot on the map where there was already fierce fighting. Our task force included the cruiser Chicago, the cruiser Indianapolis, the aircraft carrier Lexington, and several destroyers. On December 14, 1941, just one week after the Pearl Harbor bombing, we sailed out for battle. We were just four hours away from our destination when Wake Island fell to the Japanese. The Navy had decided not to risk any more of its depleted fleet, and our ships were ordered to turn back. We were all stricken to know that we couldn’t rescue the American infantrymen left on the island, and without our help they were left to die or became prisoners of war.

On returning to Pearl Harbor, I worked for a few miserable weeks in an anti-aircraft battery situated in cane field by the town of West Loch, near Pearl Harbor. The field was hot, muggy and mosquito-ridden, but we needed to stay alert to be ready to man the guns at a moment’s notice.

Luckily, I knew how to type. This skill earned me a transfer to the main Marine barracks next to Hickam Field, near Pearl Harbor. I spent the next few years there, doing office work and keeping records on "casual companies" -- men who were unassigned to particular units.

I was still working at Hickam when the USS Oklahoma was raised from the harbor. I asked to go onboard to empty my locker. That was probably the most traumatic experience of the war. I was issued a hard hat equipped with a miner’s lamp, and descended alone into the darkness and stench. As I waded through the thick, oily water, I knew I was sloshing through the bones of the dead. Even today, certain smells will send a shiver down my spine. keepsakes2.jpg (4976 bytes)

In March of 1944, with the war still raging, I was sent to Camp La Jeune, North Carolina, to be re-assigned. I quickly learned that the Army wanted to send me back to fight in the Pacific, but I had seen enough of the fighting. Instead, I enrolled in a 16-week Scout Sniper training camp on the edge of a nasty swamp. I managed to complete my stint with the Marines as an instructor at the Officer Candidate School, and by providing secretarial and technical support for the war effort.

The Marines offered to make me a Second Lieutenant, but I was perfectly happy with just three stripes. I never returned to combat. However, I consented to remain in the service for a few months even after the war was over, because our office was busier than ever processing discharge papers for the returning soldiers.

Finally, on October 15, 1945, I received my discharge. It was one of the happiest days in my life.

I have been asked, "Was the war worth it?" As far as I’m concerned, no war is worth the price of friends dying. There must be some reason why I returned home, and so many of my comrades didn’t. To this day, I wonder, "Why me? Why did I come out alive?"

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