Jane Williams, the daughter of John W Gray has forwarded some of her fathers school essays that she would like to share. After his service, John returned to the states to finish High School.
DANGEROUS CALLINGS
Over the micky system comes the insistent voice of the Air Officer,
“Bogey closing in, bearing 150, distance 80 miles”. The Captain orders
“General Quarters” sounded. Over the today bong, bong, bong, of the
alarm system, can be heard the shrill notes of the bugler double-timing
“Battle Stations” men hurry to their assigned stations, preparing for
the on-coming action.
A low-flying, single-engined Jap torpedo plane had somehow slipped
past the combat air patrol and is boring in on the carriers.
The Jap was barely skimming the tops of the waves, and at tremendous
speed. First the destroyers, then the cruisers, and finally the
battleships open fire on the Jap, but he still he comes on. The torpedo
plane is now in range of one of the carriers, coming in low and fast on
the carrier’s starboard bow. Suddenly the vessel’s guns cut loose with
a blast that shakes her decks. Three five-inch, then the forty milli-
meters and finally the rows of twenty millimeters in the starboard gal-
lery concentrate all their fire on that single torpedo plane. Hundreds
of tracers seem to be cutting right into the plane; black puffs of ack-
ack explode all around her, big shells hit the water ahead, throwing up
tall columns of water—but miraculously the Jap seems to fly through them,
unharmed, apparently. It looks as though every shot were a hit, but
the plane doesn’t seem damaged.
On deck, men look in astonishment at the on-coming plane, getting
ready to duck. In a 200-mile-an-hour roar, the Jap plane flashes across
the carrier’s bow, wobbling crazily, trying to nose up, just as the car-
rier’s port machine guns let go all directly over the water. Flames
burst out of his wing roots, then out of his fuselage by the cockpit, and
in one huge sheet of fire, the torpedo plane splashes into the sea a few
hundred feet from the carrier. A billowing type of black smoke marks the
spot for minutes afterwards.
The Jap’s approach was perfect, the crew of the carrier feels he
must have dropped his “fish”. It will hit in a few moments! Every man
feels tense and utterly useless and helpless. Some men stand riveted
to the decks, others nervously clinging their fists in their braces themselves
against the shock of the torpedo, a few men pray, some start counting the
seconds, without knowing why; their lives thirty seconds hence. Those
who had flopped, pick themselves up again in some embarrassment.
Miraculously, the explosion never comes. Evidently the pilot was
badly wounded or killed or his release gears damaged or shot away and
the torpedo was not released and most likely did not explode until the
plane had hit the water.
Men engaged in dangerous callings all agree that the “pangs of
anticipation” are greater than those of “realization”.
RECOLLECTIONS IN SOLITUDE
Often in the still of the night my thoughts sometimes wander to
the fateful Ides of March of the year 1944 and again the vivid
picture of a mighty carrier, whose lines and curves are graceful
as those of a woman’s, takes form before my eyes — a gallant
ship, manned by a gallant crew, many of whom gave their lives
in order to preserve the liberty we all cherish so much.
Each event of that fateful day passes before my vision and I
see myself standing on the flight deck with my buddies, our
eyes not yet accustomed to the lessening darkness which con-
trasted so strongly with the brilliant illumination we had
left below decks, each ambling along to our respective stations
in the still hush before dawn. And again my ears are startled
by the sudden, Bong, Bong, Bong, of the alarm system, mingled
with the shrill notes of the bugler, double-timing all men to
battle stations. Many were never to reach them in time, for
in the space of seconds, a Jap bomber was upon us and had re-
leased his three deadly missiles upon the unsuspecting carrier
and her crew, leaving in its wake a scene of indescribable horror
and suffering. Before my very eyes men with whom I had toiled,
slept, and ate beside, many of whom I had grown to love as
brothers, were burned to a crisp in the searing white hot flash
of flame that swept the flight and hangar decks. Others appeared
as giant pyres of flame darting to and fro, zig-zag across the
decks. By all laws of science and nature those men were dead,
but their muscular impulses had not yet ceased and their agonized
faces were their sole resemblance to men. Other scores were
ripped to shatters by flying steel and shrapnel and hundreds
blown into the murky sea. Many more suffocated from smoke.
Men whom I had known to be once whole and full of life and
laughter were now just mutilated hulks of flesh. To top the
horror of this sinister ordeal is the picture stamped so vividly
in my mind of men who were blown up thru the catwalks and steel
decks by the concussion of the explosion and hung dangling by
their necks, swaying with every motion of the ship. Other sights
that I beheld are too horrible to describe but remain in my
heart and in the hearts and minds of those who witnessed these
happenings and our solitudes are disturbed by these harrowing
memories.
As I ponder this orgy of horrors, I remember myself looking into
the waters below, in which I could see floating lifeless bodies
illuminated and dismembered by the constant explosions of star
shell and rockets bellowing forth from the magazines in the
bowels of the vessel, and wondering at what precise time my turn
was coming. I said a prayer, which was the only relief I could
obtain for myself. Then my thoughts wandered back home and some-
how and in some way they made me chuckle for I remember so vividly
saying to myself: “If Mom and Dad could only see me now!” As
I stood looking out over the waters, beyond the horrors, at that
very moment I started to wonder what my mother and father were
doing and thinking at that very moment and I asked God, in the
name of Jesus, to please let me see my Mom and Dad just once more,
so that I could tell them how much I really loved and cared for
them, for before leaving home, I felt all this, but was too timid
to come out and tell them how I really felt, and just hoped that
they knew and understood; but now, above all, I wanted them to
know, for I had a premonition that I would never see them again.
My thoughts of home were suddenly drowned out by the screams and
cries of trapped men, praying and pleading for help, that came up
from all ventilators from below decks. My mind was not as yet
functioning nor did I grasp the reality of what was occurring
about me. I could not make myself think or believe that what was
happening was real; I thought it must be a dream, for I could not
believe such horrors possible. Events of my past life continually
passed before my mind’s eye in the space of seconds, and made me
feel contrite and sorry for the wrongs which I had done which were
many and remember asking and pleading with God that when my turn
came He would grant forgiveness and take me into His house that
day. After I had spoken, I was not afraid, since I knew that He
was near.
Then came the harrowing job of fighting smoke and fire for hours
without end, not knowing when or at what precise moment the deck
might collapse from under my feet or I’d be blown in shatters into
the air or sea. My mind is filled with wonders and awe, for why
should I have survived this holocaust, when men I felt were more
worthy of life than I, men who had families and children dependent
upon them, men whose every thought and action were to help others
and give of themselves that others might live, had perished. The
ways of God are strange and not known to me, and I guess it was
just His way of saving me to do a job I had not yet accomplished
and my constant prayer is that I shall be worthy of the miraculous
escape I was granted by God and daily I am searching to know what
is expected of me in life that could have impelled Him to spare me
and take the lives of more worthy men.
(This action took place aboard the carrier “Franklin”, March 19, 1944.)
USSFRANKLIN.ORG 