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East met West on board the North Carolina 44 years after the former enemies encountered each other in the South Pacific and the crew members of three U. S. ships, including this battleship, were left wondering who and what hit them.
Conspicuously absent from my account of the September 1942 torpedoing of the USS Wasp (CV-7), North Carolina (BB-55), and O’Brien (DD-415) (“Whodunnit?” Proceedings, July 1982) was the Japanese perspective on that action. For readers unfamiliar with the incident, only the North Carolina survived, and she was knocked out of the war for two months. The enemy suffered no losses and no damage.
Since the evidence is irrefutable that the Imperial Japans6 Navy (IJN) submarine 1-19 alone, with one spread of S'X torpedoes, scored all five hits made in the encounter— lhe most damaging spread of “fish” ever launched in the history of submarine warfare—I certainly would have ^plained the submarine’s tactics, had I known them. However, because the 1-19 was lost with all of her 100- rtian crew a year after the event, I believed until recently that her version of the story must have perished with her.
In 1983,1 discovered that 14 men of the 1942 1-19 crew ^ere alive and well in Japan. It was like learning of both a resurrection and a gold mine of history. These men sur- Vlved the loss of their submarine because some had been transferred and others were on sick leave when the boat sailed for her last war patrol.
The senior survivor, Ikuo Shibuya, then a lieutenant, ^as the 1-19’s engineer officer in September 1942. Another officer to survive is Dr. Juichiro Miyazawa, the °at’s surgeon. The remaining 12 include various enlisted ratings: the most notable being Torpedoman Shichiro ange, who served as the “captain’s orderly” during the action, relaying the skipper’s orders to other stations in the boat; Rishichi Sugiyama, who was the equivalent of the U. S. Navy’s general quarters quartermaster in the conning tower; and Torpedoman Tadataka Ohtani, whose battle station was in the torpedo room and who launched the three torpedoes fired from the port tubes.
From early 1983 through 1985, with the help of a bilingual Japanese businessman, I corresponded at length with some of these long-lost former enemies. This correspondence filled in most of the gaps in my knowledge of what happened under the sea that fateful afternoon 44 years ago. Moreover, my relationship with these men gradually grew more cordial, culminating in a joint reunion between a small delegation of 1-19 men and wartime crew members of the North Carolina, in June 1986, in Wilmington, North Carolina.
That rare turn of events led me to write this sequel to “Whodunnit?” My purpose is not only to record for history the Japanese side of the 1942 encounter (Part I) but also to share a few thoughts about how men who were once mortal enemies can, in good conscience, become friends (Part II).
Part I: The Torpedo Attack of the 1-19
For those of us who served in the South Pacific in 1942, Torpedo Junction remains to this day a place-name as real as Times Square. We did not know then that, as of mid- September of that year, no less than 12 enemy submarines prowled the waters guarding the southeastern approaches to Guadalcanal.
Among these submarines was the 1-19, a 2,400-ton, long-range scouting submarine, commissioned into the Imperial Japanese Navy in April 1941. Her skipper was 40-year-old Lieutenant Commander Takaichi Kinashi, a 1923 graduate of the Japanese Naval Academy. The 1-19 was the ninth submarine in which Kinashi had served and his fourth submarine command. During several earlier war patrols, he had proved himself both a bold and tenacious fighter and a cool man at the conn in tight situations.
Resting in the 1-19's bow tubes were six gleaming new Type-95 torpedoes, patterned after the deadly “Long Lance.” The Type-95’s warhead was a devastating 891 pounds of high-explosive picric acid. This torpedo, pow-
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Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgement Seat, But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
From “The Ballad of East and West,” by Rudyard Kiplin"
ered by oxygen, was capable of an almost wakeless run of 13,000 yards at 45 knots—nearly three times the range of the Mk. 14 torpedo the U. S. submarines carried at that time.
Figure 1 illustrates the incident as recorded by Engineer Officer Shibuya in an account previously published only in Japanese (Ikuo Shibuya, “Sinking of the WASP”; Nihon Kaigun Sensuikan-shi, History of Japanese Navy Submarines-, Nihon Kaigun Sensuikan-shi Kankokai; Tokyo, Japan, 1979; translated by Masaru Yotsuzuka). All times have been advanced to zone-12 to conform with those kept by the U. S. participants:
“At 1250 on September 15, while submerged as usual, our hydrophones detected a ‘sensitivity three’ contact. This meant massive collective sound indicating the approach of a huge enemy fleet.
“The skipper, Commander Kinashi, ordered the boat up to periscope depth. Nothing was yet sighted. At 1350 the periscope was raised again. Sure enough, it was a Kidobuti, or task force. Bearing 045° T., at a range Kinashi estimated at 15,000 meters, were an aircraft carrier, one heavy cruiser and several destroyers. Estimated course was 330.”
This periscope sighting, which occurred 55 minutes before the 1-19 launched her spectacular torpedo attack, placed the submarine in visual contact with the Wasp and some of her ten escorts. The U. S. ships were actually zigzagging at 16 knots on base course 280°. Unknown to the Japanese until after the war, several miles northeast of the Wasp steamed a similar 11-ship task force built around the USS Hornet (CV-8) and North Carolina.
High above the ships, fleecy white clouds floated lazily across an azure sky, while the inky blue of the South Pacific sparkled with whitecaps—perfect cover for the feathery wake of Kinashi’s periscope. With the 1350 sighting, that wake curved slowly around to a northerly heading, as the 1-19 began to stalk her prey. At 1405, Kinashi again observed the Wasp, now on a westerly zig. From Shibuya’s narrative, we learn what happened 15 minutes later: “Great luck was with us. The enemy fleet again changed course ... at 1420 to south-southeast. They were voluntarily placing themselves in ideal position for us to attack.”
Unfortunately for the Wasp, that is exactly what happened. The 1-19, limited to eight knots submerged, would never have caught up with the Wasp if the flattop had continued on base course. But the Wasp was the duty carrier that day, and at 1420 her time came to launch and recover aircraft. With signal flags fluttering down from her yardarms and all other ships following her motions, she turned left into the wind, which was blowing steadily from the southeast at a brisk 20 knots. The screening destroyers of both task forces raced to new stations to provide the best antisubmarine protection on the southeasterly course.
Captain Kinashi, squinting through his periscope, estimated at 1423 that his target was on course 130°, speed 12—an almost precisely correct estimate. From Figure 1,
any experienced shiphandler can deduce the quick calculations the skipper would have made to intercept. It would be duck soup, provided he could get past the destroyers. Kinashi ordered the helm hard right to course 040°, speed eight knots. Writes Shibuya: “It is indeed a windfall, a regular fleet carrier, the most prized target of all. Kinashi patiently and cooly closes in.”
Here, an incident that historians seem to have overlooked needs to be discussed, because it explains why the Wasp’s antisubmarine protection, inadequate to begin with, was further weakened in the very quadrant through which the 1-19 was about to penetrate. At about 1215, some two hours before the submarine began her final approach, fighter planes from the Wasp had shot down a snooping four-engined enemy flying boat about 20 miles ahead of the task force. At 1330, wreckage of that plane and bodies of two airmen were sighted in the water through which the ships were then steaming.
The ship ordered to investigate the incident was the destroyer that normally would have occupied screen station 1 when the formation was on course 125°. This destroyer was absent on this mission throughout the Wasp’s flight operations, until after the carrier had been torpedoed. To fill the gap, the destroyer that normally would have occupied station 3 advanced to station 1. This left only the destroyer that normally would have occupied station 5 to provide antisubmarine protection over the entire arc from station 1 clockwise to the Wasp’s starboard beam. There is no known record indicating exactly where that destroyer
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was positioned to accomplish that impossible task.
It can be assumed that screen stations 1 and 3 were occupied, with station 5 left vacant. In any case, the right side of the Wasp’s screen was very weak, and the submarine’s approach could hardly have been better timed or aimed to minimize the likelihood of detection. The 1-19 never entered the effective sonar search arc of screen station 1, and it appears the closest she came to station 3 was about 2,000 yards. According to several 1-19 crew mem-
1-19 | U. S. Carrier Task Forces |
1250—Hydrophones detect approach of large fleet 1350—Wasp sighted by periscope, bearing 045° T., estimated range 15,000 meters (16,400 yards) 1405—Wasp observed on estimated course 270 1423— Wasp observed on estimated course 130, speed 12. 1-19 to course 040, speed 8 1445—Wasp in ideal target position | Until 1420—Two task forces, steaming in company, zigzagging at 16 knots on base course 280 1420—All ships cease zigzagging, turn left to course 125, speed 12, for Wasp air operations x1445—Wasp completes air operations, commences right turn, intending to resume base course, 280 Note: Courses shown for USN ships from 1350 to 1423 are based on estimates of C. O.. 1-19. Actual courses cannot be ascertained from available action reports |
bers’ recollections today, Kinashi “went deep” as he Passed under the screen, further reducing the probability °f detection. Sometime between 1444 and 1445, still undetected, the submarine reached firing position, broad on the Wasp's starboard bow, at a range of 985 yards.
‘‘At long last,” writes Shibuya, “we have come within the ideal torpedo range. The time is now. It is 1445. All six torpedoes are launched. ... It is a sure kill.”
It was, indeed, a sure kill, because Kinashi’s order to tire torpedoes was given a few seconds after the Wasp, "ith flight ops completed, commenced a right turn intended to return her to course 280°. This shortened further a torpedo run that was already point-blank.
Shibuya continues: “The no-wake oxygen torpedoes, the pride of the IJN, must now be speeding toward the enemy, carrying our desires and aspirations. Everybody Patiently waits. . . . Dull sounds of explosions are heard. °eyond any doubt they are hit sounds. We’ve made it! What a great feeling it is. Everybody is tempted to shout a hearty ‘banzai,’ but swallows it down. . . .We must now tan deep and silent.”
Torpedoman Tange then picks up the story: “I heard the explosions of our torpedoes and thought to myself how sad 11 was that brave American sailors were at that instant tying. Then the captain ordered a dive at a 45° angle. It ^as frightening, and I thought now it is our turn to die. Vivid scenes of my life’s story passed before my eyes, and i knew this was the end.”
Shibuya’s narrative continues, “We remain submerged at a depth of 80 meters [260 feet], and hide under the wake of the carrier.”
Figure 2, which essentially duplicates Figure 2 in “Whodunnit?” incorporates new details provided by the 1-19 men about the torpedo spread. These details do not change our previous understanding, based on the U. S. ships’ action reports, of the remarkable combination of intended and chance results.
For about 90 minutes after the Wasp was hit, the 1-19’s crew thought they were being subjected to a series of highly aggressive depth charge attacks. Lieutenant Shibuya, keeping score by making marks on the door of the submarine’s motor room, concluded that a total of 85 charges were dropped, none damaging the 1-19.
The U. S. action reports reveal that only 30 depth charges were actually dropped. After 1520, when the carrier was ordered abandoned, antisubmarine warfare operations were severely inhibited by the presence of more than 2,000 of the Wasp's crew in the water around the ship and by the destroyers’ intense preoccupation in rescuing these men. Thus, most of the explosions heard under water were obviously from other causes, including secondary explosions within the stricken carrier and the detonations of the second and sixth torpedoes of the spread as they hit the O'Brien and North Carolina, respectively.
At 2310, after the moon had set, Kinashi surfaced the 1-19 to find the scene deserted. (The Wasp had gone down at 2100, having been given the coup de grace by torpedoes from the Lansdowne [DD-486].) The 1-19 immediately
transmitted a radio report of the action to her headquarters at Truk, claiming hits on an aircraft carrier of the Wasp type, with no mention of any other results. The Japanese were totally unaware that they had torpedoed any ships other than the Wasp. Some of the 1-19 men state now that they did not learn of the hits on the battleship and destroyer until about 1965.
Thus did the 1-19 inflict upon the U. S. Navy what many regarded as the single most damaging blow of the entire war after Pearl Harbor. Rarely have the Gods of War smiled so warmly upon the actions of one side, while scowling with such cold disdain upon the fortunes of the other. And yet, the results the 1-19 achieved were certainly not all due to luck.
Captain Kinashi recognized his opportunity and seized it, making all the right moves with skill and precision. The performance of his crew, his boat, and his torpedoes varied only from the flawless to the near miraculous. He served his country well. The UN gave him a most unusual two-grade meritorious promotion to rear admiral, announced following his death in another submarine in July 1944. The few sailors of his crew who live today deserve the respect of navymen the world over for having served their country with honor, while helping to accomplish a feat unparalleled in naval history.
Part II: The Reunion and Reconciliation
The story of the reunion between crew members of the North Carolina and 1-19 seems almost as improbable as the submarine’s chance hit on the battleship in 1942. It begins in the summer of 1982, when Masaru Yotsuzuka, a Tokyo-based executive of Japan’s Takeda Chemical Corporation, started making frequent visits to Wilmington where his firm was preparing to establish a plant.
Wilmington is the home of the North Carolina, now a state war memorial. Yotsuzuka became so fascinated by that ship, which had earned 15 battle stars in combat with his countrymen, that he visited her several times that summer. Learning of this interest, I sent him a copy of my “Whodunnit?” in March 1983, asking whether he might obtain an evaluation of it from the UN point of view.
Much to my surprise, I soon received a very helpful and favorable response from former IJN Commander Kazuaki Uesugi, of Hiroshima, who had been the executive officer of the 1-19 prior to September 1942. It was Uesugi who put Yotsuzuka in touch with the other 141-19 veterans. A most interesting correspondence ensued, with Yotsuzuka devoting hundreds of hours to translations and personal interviews for a full exchange of information about the wartime encounter. Without his help, neither this article nor the reunion would have been possible.
As time passed and the relationship grew more friendly, plans gradually took shape for the reunion, which occurred on 22-24 June 1986. Four of the 1-19 men flew from Tokyo to North Carolina at their own expense, solely to meet with members of the battleship’s wartime crew. The visitors were: Dr. Miyazawa, age 70; Torpedoman Tange, age 70; Quartermaster Sugiyama, age 65; and Tor-
pedoman Ohtani, age 65.
For the first two and a half days, ten North Carolina volunteers were on hand to serve as “designated hosts.” Then, on the third afternoon, the regular annual reunion of the battleship’s crew began, with about 245 people attending—including wives and other guests.
When it was over, all agreed the meeting had succeeded beyond our most optimistic expectations; some called it one of the most rewarding experiences of their lives. But first, we should set the stage.
Ever since we discovered there were living survivors of the 1-19, some of us who took part in that incredibly onesided clash at sea have been haunted by the question, “What kind of men are these guys who pulled that thing off?”
Yet, before any of us on either side could seriously consider meeting with our former adversaries, we needed to address gut-wrenching questions of principle. Foremost was the matter of loyalty to shipmates and others who gave their lives in that war. After all, nearly 200 Americans died and more than 400 were wounded, mostly on the Wasp, at the hands of the 1-19. Untold hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Japanese were killed or wounded by the North Carolina's guns. Could we, or they, in good conscience, make friends with some of the very men who had done the killing?
Having reflected on this question countless times since the war, my own answer—and 1 am quite comfortable with it now—is that to go to our graves still seething with hatred would serve no good purpose. Our lifelong obligation to the dead will be far better honored if we do what we can to build harmony and goodwill in the world, in order that our children and grandchildren may be spared the violence and sacrifices suffered by our generation.
Underlying any meaningful friendship must be mutual fespect. Anyone who lacks respect for the Japanese never faced them in battle. The Imperial Japanese Navy of 194143 was a match for any in the world in seamanship, gunnery, tactics, spirit, and overall ability to fight at sea. ^hen it became their patriotic duty to go to war, the Japanese consistently demonstrated the utmost skill and bravery in combat, willingness to sacrifice their lives in the service of their emperor and country, and dogged determination never to surrender as long as there remained the slightest hope of Japan’s survival. These are traits universally admired throughout history, and they are among the reasons why the Japanese have our respect and friendship today. As for how they esteem us within this same context, it is enough to say that they know all too well who won the war.
With regard to Japan’s guilt for such offenses as the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor and the Bataan Death March, the Samurai warrior and his code of Bushido no longer guide that now-democratic nation. More to the point, the !-19 men had nothing to do with those events. They simply performed their duty—as we did.
A compelling reason for a reunion was a shared feeling that it is not enough for former enemies merely to decide in the privacy of their own minds that they no longer hate or distrust each other. To give that decision any real meaning, we believed we had to meet and express our feelings man to man.
From the perspective of the North Carolina's crew, it would be hard to find any other group of Japanese war veterans more clearly identified as having been our direct antagonists in combat. The rest either are dead or have faded into anonymity. Thus, as the date of the reunion approached, we began to think of the 1-19 men as a sort of quintessence of “the enemy” of “our war.” Coming to terms with them would bring a sense of finality, which we hoped would end our whole war experience on a note of harmony.
Both sides expressed concern about publicity. At least a year before the meeting, the Japanese sent word that they
Some uneasiness among these old warriors—evident during the tour of the battleship—gave way to feelings of comradery by the second evening when the Japanese entertained their hosts with old Japanese Navy songs while pantomiming sub skippers raising their periscopes.
would prefer minimal media attention. Because privacy would be necessary for a candid exchange of personal feelings, and because the space in which we were to meet on board the ship was quite limited, we chose not to solicit news media coverage. We especially did not want our reunion to be perceived as a publicity stunt.
On the other hand, we believed our reconciliation might signal a message to others, especially terrorists and the like, who seem to live only to perpetuate ancient blood feuds. The message was that if these Americans and Japanese who fought in the most terrible of all wars can bury their grievances and become friends, others can too.
As a compromise, arrangements were made for production of a television documentary, not merely to record our reunion, but to explore the moral questions faced by former enemies when they resolve to make peace. Thus, an experienced crew of TV professionals under the auspices of the State of North Carolina videotaped almost every moment of the reunion, and is now at work on a program we hope will be aired over public TV in 1987.
All participants knew from the start, of course, that we were not the first Americans and Japanese to strive for reconciliation. Underscoring this, on the eve of the reunion we received letters from former Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Arleigh Burke, and then-Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral James D. Watkins, giving our plans their strong endorsement. Thus, all of us arrived in Wilmington firmly convinced of the fundamental rectitude of our purpose and eager to get on with it.
The 1-19 men were no less anxious to meet with us, as their long journey attests. They were apprehensive, however, about the reception they might receive. Commander Bob Lowell, one of the battleship’s veterans, expressed similar concern that “embarrassing confrontations might occur.” Fortunately, nothing like that happened. Fortunately, also, there were individuals on both sides with a sense of humor and the wisdom not to take themselves too seriously. There were no hitches.
The three-day schedule included a tour of the battleship, a step-by-step review of the action of 1942, luncheons and dinners with the Japanese and Americans alternating as hosts, a luncheon given by the local chamber of commerce, a joint memorial service honoring the dead of both ships, and a typical American outdoor picnic. The assistance of three language interpreters made everything click.
At dinner the first night, after 1 had welcomed the 1-19 men and assured them of our respect and goodwill, their spokesman, Yotsuzuka, responded with remarks that included the following:
“We are here on a mission of peace and friendship, as a manifestation of the reconciliation which has trans- “Since the end of the war the Japanese people have worked very hard, but their success could not have been achieved without your help. After the war, America was forgiving and generous in helping her former enemies rebuild their countries. (This) gives us Japanese cause to seriously examine ourselves—would we have been as generous and forgiving if the outcome of the war had been the other way around? The answer is speculation, but the example you set is a historic fact worthy of study, admiration, and respect. Japan will long be in your debt.”
Yotsuzuka’s rhetorical question was perhaps best answered by Quartermaster Sugiyama, who said later in a personal interview for our TV documentary: “We were invited to Wilmington as former crew members of 1-19. This is almost incomprehensible by Japanese standards. We are very much impressed with the broadmindedness and generosity of Americans.”
Our three-hour review of the f.942 torpedoing was fascinating. Here were these men who once sought to kill each other discussing calmly each side’s performance on that day. Our purposes were clearly stated from the start: to satisfy ourselves as to exactly what happened and preserve the facts for history. No apologies, no excuses, no rancor or vindictiveness, and no arrogance or embarrassment were voiced by either side. Only the facts were examined, openly and honestly, in an atmosphere of easy informality, but always with the utmost courtesy, dignity, and mutual respect.
As we pored over the charts together, the remarks Admiral Watkins sent seemed apt: “. . . the bonds between sailors are strong. In war we may fight each other, but be it wartime or peacetime, sailors must always contend with the sea. The closeness that results seems to survive the most difficult of conflicts. It is based on respect, honor and kinship unmatched in any other profession.”
In one-on-one conversations, the 1-19 veterans expressed deep regret that Japan’s rulers of 1941 had led them into the “folly” of war with the United States. At the same time, if anyone had expected them to show remorse or abject humility over their own conduct during the
been
recovered from the damaged area of the ship while in
FRAGMENT OF A STRAY TORPEDO
Fired by 1-19, retrieved by BB-55, Sept. 15, 1942. Returned to 1-19 June 24, 1986, with apologies for damage done to it when we hit it.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★A
USS North Carolina Battleship Association
war, he was disappointed. No maudlin pantywaists these. The second evening, at a dinner hosted by the Japanese at an oriental restaurant, they sang several spirited old Japanese Navy songs for us. One included a chorus in which all pantomimed sub skippers raising their periscopes for a quick look around the horizon. They sang with gusto, still proud to have served their emperor in the elite submarine service, and delighted to demonstrate it to such a peculiarly appreciative audience.
The joint memorial service on the afternoon of the third day, in a grandstand facing the battleship’s port bow, was die reunion’s climactic event. It was truly memorable, not °nly because of the participants, but also because of the dramatic setting, the selections of Japanese and U. S. Navy music played by the 42-piece Marine band, and the solemn dignity of the service.
The principal speakers, as well as guests for the entire reunion, were retired Rear Admiral Julian T. Burke, Jr., a°d Captain Yasuo Wakabayashi, Japanese Naval Attache ln Washington. Both have served extensively in submarines, while Rear Admiral Burke is a North Carolina Plankowner and former Commander U. S. Naval Forces, •Japan.
As a highlight of the service, identical commemorative Plaques were exchanged, inscribed in both languages as follows:
“Having endured the perils of World War II as mortal enemies, we now offer io each other the hand of friendship, fervently sharing the hope that the sacrifices made in that war will never be forgotten or repeated.”
After the service, all hands—now numbering about 250 People—adjourned to a wooded park for a picnic. Our "aPanese guests, after being lionized by the ladies who kept them busy autographing memorial service programs, again sang lustily for us. This time they performed on top °f a table, proudly wearing BB-55 baseball caps, which 'W had given them in exchange for silver necktie pins in he form of crossed torpedoes. The Yanks responded with Anchors Aweigh” and “Bell Bottom Trousers,” the men joining in on the choruses.
As a sort of piece de resistance, we presented the 1-19 !fen with a framed fragment of their 1942 torpedo. It had drydock at Pearl Harbor. We explained to our guests, “We Can spare it because we never really wanted it in the first place.” A brass plate fixed beneath the fragment was engraved to read:
We thought the 15 bronze battle stars gave it a subtle touch of nostalgia.
When the reunion was over, the Japanese submariners’ reactions were best summed up by Torpedoman Tange’s comments:
“It gave me the most exalted experience of my life to participate in the solemn joint memorial service. I humbly take off my cap before the broad-mindedness and tolerance of the American spirit. An old Japanese proverb says, ‘You have to meet people in person to understand them.’
“I never felt we were with former enemies. Rather I felt we were among comrades with whom we had risked our lives in common in the battlefield. My heart was filled with fond feeling that I was able to meet these comrades after 40 years.
“If only all the people in the world can proceed hand in hand with courage and determination to maintain peace in the world after the pattern set by this reunion! We have a solemn obligation to convey this feeling to our descendants.”
One of the finest moments of the reunion occurred just before the memorial service. For the first time, the 1-19 men were to meet with the entire battleship reunion group. When the four Japanese submariners arrived and began their walk along the ramp leading to the grandstand, they found themselves being warmly greeted, one by one, by more than 100 American battleship sailors, formed in one long receiving line. Neither side could speak the other’s language, but that did not matter. It was an inspiration to see the pleasure it gave these aging warriors to take each other by the hand.
Here, face to face, were Kipling’s “strong men . . . from the ends of the earth,” united, no longer divided, by their confrontation in battle long ago.
A graduate of George Washington University, Captain Blee served as a line officer from 1940 to 1967. As officer of the deck of the USS Pensacola (CA-24), he was an eyewitness to the torpedoing he reexamines in this article. From 1944 to 1945, he was Combat Intelligence Officer of the North Carolina. Thereafter, he commanded the USS Meredith (DD- 890), Shadwell (LSD-15), and General W. A. Mann (TAP-112). He served on the staffs of CinCNELM, CinCLantFlt, and CinCPacFlt and as the naval attache in Singapore and Malaysia. Captain Blee retired from the Navy in 1967 and resides in Jacksonville, North Carolina. He is currently the Chairman of the USS North Carolina Battleship Commission.
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