A Veteran's Journey

My dad fought in Europe during WWII. He was one of the reasons I joined the military. While he served as an officer in the U.S. Army, I joined as an enlisted man in the U.S. Navy. We periodically talked from time to time about the service. But he rarely, if ever, talked about what he did, what he saw, what he endured, and like many veterans, what he could never forget.

He was attending The Citadel in Charleston, South Carolina, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. This is his story…

The following is an excerpt from my book, “You Can’t Get Much Closer Than This – Combat with the 80th ‘Blue Ridge’ Division World War II Europe.” It was published in 2005 by Casemate Publishers.

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December 7, 1941, began just like any other Sunday at The Citadel in Charleston, South Carolina. Early morning reveille, followed by physical training and a good breakfast, then Sunday service in the Summerall Chapel. Little did we know this would be the “date which will live in infamy.”

As part of our education in world politics, we stayed informed of current events around the world. But like most other twenty-year-olds in a military college, my main focus was on education and an eventual commission, not world politics. I was still eighteen months away from graduation.

In July 1941, Western powers effectively halted trade with Japan. From then on, as the desperate Japanese schemed to seize the oil and mineral-rich Netherlands East Indies and Southeast Asia, a Pacific war was virtually inevitable. By late November 1941, with peace negotiations clearly approaching an end, American officials expected a Japanese attack into the Indies, Malaya, and probably the Philippines.

No one expected an attack on Hawaii.

I think I first learned of the attack on Pearl Harbor late in the afternoon. Most cadets were spending their casual Sunday sleeping or listening to music on the radio when the reports began. “Pearl Harbor bombed” and “Japanese attack the Philippines.” Word traveled fast through The Citadel.

At first we thought the stories were rumors or somebody’s idea of a bad joke. However, our worst fears proved to be true: Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor.

The first of two waves of attacks hit its target beginning at 7:53 A.M. Hawaii time; 366 Japanese fighters and bombers attacked the airfields and battleships. The second wave of 168 planes attacked other ships and shipyard facilities at 8:55 A.M. It was all over by 9:55. By one in the afternoon, the carriers that launched the planes from 274 miles off the coast of Oahu were heading back to Japan.

The Citadel cadets received the news with surprising calmness, almost as if it had been expected. We later learned that 2,403 men and women had died in the unprovoked attack, and another 1,178 were wounded. The attack destroyed 188 planes and crippled a Pacific Fleet that included eight damaged or destroyed battleships.

Nearly half of the dead were aboard the USS Arizona. Innocent men and women had given their lives protecting our country. That night we marched to dinner chanting “Beat Japan” to the rhythm of the old Bulldog cadence.

On Monday, December 8, 1941, President Roosevelt signed the declaration of war granted by Congress.

In the most historic speech of modern times, the President of the United States stated that his goal of the country would be the “absolute abolishment” of Japan, no matter what the cost. “The rising sun has risen; and it must now set never to rise again” was the opinion of one congressional observer.

The next day, Germany and Italy, as partners of Japan in the Tripartite Pact, declared war on the United States. The shock of these declarations of war was to change the entire future for most of us. It was then that we knew, deep down inside, that we were destined to be The Citadel’s second war class.

My first instinct, like that of most cadets, was to drop out of college, join the Army, and fight those cowardly bastards who had murdered innocent Americans. In fact, some of my Citadel buddies did just that.

In a letter dated December 9, 1941, I wrote my dad. “All the cadets, just like everybody else, are gravely concerned with matters. None of us want to sit still, but we all realize that is the only thing to do. So we will just continue our regular schedule.”

My father’s advice was solid: “Finish school, son. This will be a long war and you’ll have your chance to serve your country and fight.” As usual, my father was right.

The Citadel, like many other American institutions, began planning for possible repercussions by unknown enemies. General Charles Pelot Summerall, president of The Citadel, issued General Order No. 14 on December 12, 1941, giving precise instructions to cadets, faculty, and administration in case The Citadel was attacked:

1. At the sounding of the City Siren for the air raid alarm, all members of the faculty and their families will remain in their houses until the alarm ceases.
2. The Commandant of Cadets will issue orders to carry out the instructions of the President as to the formation and security of the Corps of Cadets.
3. The employees in the mess and the laundry will remain indoors.
4. The Commandant of Cadets will appoint a fire marshal and will organize the companies into firefighting units with assignments to all buildings on the campus. Requisitions will be submitted for all equipment needed.
5. The Commandant of Cadets will cooperate with the aircraft warning service in operating a warning station. He will secure the necessary equipment and have the Officer-in-Charge turn off the current at the master switch when the blackout is ordered.
6. All persons will turn out all lights immediately when the air raid alarm sounds at night.
7. The Commandant of Cadets will order practice alarms and practice the Corps of Cadets in the alert, the blackout and in fighting fire.

By Command of General Summerall

I continued my studies in Political Science, but with a renewed sense of strength, courage, and focus.

When I first entered The Citadel in September 1939, I was eighteen years old, full of exuberance and young foolishness. My father was a lawyer, and I was a spoiled brat, or so my two older sisters told me. My father insisted that I attend The Citadel and become a man.

After the bombing at Pearl Harbor, it meant more to me than ever to be an American–a feeling that would surface again and again in my years in the U.S. Army and continue throughout the rest of my life.

February 16, 1942, was another important day in the life of a cadet at The Citadel. Several hundred Citadel cadets, who reached the age of twenty on or before December 31, 1942, and who were not in the Reserve Officers Training Corps or the Naval Reserve, registered for the Draft and became eligible for service in the armed forces of the United States. Although they didn’t expect to be called into service before the end of the present college term, they were subject to immediate call if they were needed.

Quoted from the 1943 Citadel yearbook, The Sphinx. “There were Citadel men at Pearl Harbor when the enemy struck so violently and unsuspectingly. There were sons of The Citadel on Bataan and Corregidor. They fought and some of them died, though the task was hopeless, and only then did the survivors submit in body as prisoners of war.

“They are now present in Africa, India, China, Australia, Persia, and Iceland; in short, wherever the American flag is flying as a symbol of freedom and liberty, there are Citadel men there to guard it. In all parts of the world, in every climate, they have fought as they were taught, that right is might and that a free people with the love of God and mankind firmly embedded in their hearts could never be crushed or moved from the pedestal on which they stand as living symbols of truth and freedom.”

Those words echo in my mind and heart every day.

I graduated from The Citadel on Saturday, May 29, 1943. Four years earlier, we had started out with five hundred and one entering cadets. It had been whittled down to two hundred and eighteen.

Chief Justice George W. Maxey of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, told the two hundred and eighteen members of The Citadel’s 1943 graduating class, “You young men are now going forth to fight for civilization against barbarism. Whenever the armies of Germany and Japan have exercised their furious and brutal power, they have trodden under every decency of life and established new landmarks of infamy . . . America accepts the challenge and answers ‘present’ when the roll is called of nations which love liberty and the right enough to fight for them.”

My class, The Citadel Class of 1943, would be the last graduating class for the duration of the war.

Underclassmen, as well as graduating seniors, had also received orders to report for active duty. Besides a diploma, it was also customary for graduating seniors to receive graduation rings. Realizing that there would be no senior class the following year, the Class of 1943 voted that the Class of 1944 also be given rings as departing juniors, bearing the numerals “44.”

It was an exciting time for me. I’ll admit, I was a little nervous, because I didn’t know where I might end up fighting what was now known as World War II.

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As most of you know, I enlisted in the United States Navy in July 1973 for a 4-year term. I served as an ABH (Aviation Boatswain’s Mate-Handler) at NAS Agana, Guam and aboard USS Kitty Hawk, an aircraft carrier. The Vietnam War was “winding down” when I joined. Even so, my four years in the Navy set the course for my life’s “journey.”

Stay safe, my friends.

Until we meet again,
Andy

Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.

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My father fought with the 80th Infantry Division during World War II. He was a “mortar man,” an officer in Company H, 2d Battalion, 317th Infantry Regiment. He joined the 80th at the California-Arizona Maneuver Area for desert training in November 1943 after graduating from OCS, and sailed with the division on the Queen Mary, leaving the United States in early July 1944.

After a month of organization & training, he landed on Utah Beach on August 6, 1944. From there, his unit fought its way across France, Luxembourg (Battle of the Bulge), Germany, and ended the war in Austria. He received two Purple Hearts and the Bronze Star Medal for Valor.

While in England recovering from a wound received in October 1944, he started a journal and kept that up throughout the war.

For Christmas 1984, my dad gave me a two hundred page, three ring binder—“A World War II Diary.” I never knew he’d kept a diary of his time in the war. Of course, I knew he was in the war and that he served in the infantry. But this, a day-to-day account of one of the most tumultuous times in his life, was quite a surprise.

Like many sons of World War II veterans, I had grown up knowing about the war and had heard several “war” stories time and time again. But my father, like many other veterans, didn’t talk much about the blood, the death, and what hurt the most—the loss of his men and his buddies.

I think this diary helped him bring a little more closure in his personal struggle to put the war far behind him. He was proud of serving his country and proud of his accomplishments. Although he was awarded the Bronze Star, he never considered himself a hero. “The heroes were the ones who didn’t come home,” he once said. I’ve heard that same phrase time and time again from many veterans.

When my parents were first married, my mother had taken all his medals and placed them in a Shadow Box display case. One day, I asked my dad which of the medals was his favorite. Without hesitation, he pointed to the Combat Infantryman Badge. I asked him why that one, and not the Bronze Star. He said that being in the infantry and on the front lines, “You can’t get much closer than that.”

At the time, I thought he meant closer to the war. But as I’ve grown older, with a family of my own, I’ve learned what he really meant was you can’t get much closer to your buddies, you can’t get much closer to your own fears, and you can’t get much closer to God.

More information, including reviews and excerpts, are on my website: www.azadkinsiii.com.