Remembering the Sullivans

In the aftermath of Pearl Harbor, hundreds of thousands of young men crowded into Navy recruiting offices across the country. Among them were five brothers—George, Francis, Joseph, Madison, and Albert Sullivan of Waterloo, Iowa. Vowing to avenge the death of their mutual friend Bill Ball of Fredericksburg, Iowa, who had been killed on board the USS Arizona (BB-39), the brothers enlisted together on 3 January 1942 in Des Moines, Iowa.

Two of the Sullivans had been in the Navy before the war. In 1937, after three years of drought during which Iowa's com crops had been ruined and its pork industry crippled, the two older brothers—George and Frank—had enlisted. John Draude, a friend of the two older Sullivan boys who likewise served a second tour in the Navy after Pearl Harbor, enlisted with them, and remembered their reasons. "The Sullivan boys, like me, were hungry. I had quit school in the tenth grade. I'm sure they never finished, either. I worked shoveling snow for the [Illinois Central] railroad at 28 cents an hour. The Navy paid better." After training in San Diego, California, the Sullivan brothers were assigned to the USS Hovey (DD-208).

Before the war, the other Sullivan boys worked as laborers at Rath's Packing Company, a slaughterhouse and meatpacking plant. With George and Frank in the Navy, the next oldest Sullivan boy, Joseph (known as "Red"), spent much of his non-working time riding his motorcycle. Bob Pavich, another Waterloo native, remembers Albert Sullivan particularly well because they were the same age (both born in 1922). He also knew Madison ("Matt") Sullivan. Pavich recollects, "Al and I were about 15 when we started hanging around together. Matt was older (born in 1919). . . . [W]e used to caddy at the old Sunnyside Country Club. . . . Later, we worked at Rath's, pulling hand trucks around."

Mrs. Dean McFarland also remembers Albert Sullivan, for, as Katherine Mary Rooff, she married him on 11 May 1940.

The following February, their son, James Thomas Sullivan, was born. Mrs. McFarland recalls, "It was April or May 1939 when I met Al at a dance. We used to go to weekend dances. . . . Jobs weren't plentiful then [so] we weren't able to go on a honeymoon."

Although war meant that plenty of jobs would be available and enlistment meant leaving a young wife and baby, Al Sullivan wanted to be with his brothers when they went to war. Indeed, when the five brothers enlisted, it was on the condition that they would serve together.

One day shy of nine months after enlisting, the Sullivan brothers and the rest of their shipmates on board the new antiaircraft cruiser the USS Juneau (CL-52) crossed the International Date Line as they steamed westward across the Pacific toward the bitter struggle around the Solomon Islands. Less than two weeks later, on 15 September 1942, the Juneau and her crew had their first taste of war

As part of Task Force 18—operating with Task Force 17 east of the New Hebrides—the Juneau, along with the USS San Francisco (CA-38), the USS Salt Lake City (CA-25), the USS Helena (CL-50), and seven destroyers, formed a screen for the USS Wasp (CV-7). According to the war diary of Captain Lyman Swenson, captain of the Juneau, at 1444, as the Wasp was launching search aircraft, "two apparently shallow-running, closely bunched torpedo hits were observed on her [the Wasp's] starboard side amidships." Burning violently and trailing thick smoke, it was soon obvious that the Wasp was doomed. After the order to abandon ship was issued, the Juneau and the rest of the task force took aboard survivors.

After dropping off the Wasp's survivors at Espiritu Santo, the Juneau joined Task Force 18, centered on one of the two remaining U.S. carriers in the South Pacific, the USS Hornet (CV-8). The Juneau's crew continued to hone their skills through drills and simulated attacks of all types, in preparation for the inevitable battle. On 26 October 1942, near the island of Santa Cruz, the Juneau and her men had their baptism of fire.

The U.S. task force had been expecting contact with the enemy after reconnaissance planes had spotted a large Japanese surface force several hundred miles to the north. Nevertheless, even with radar warnings of approaching enemy aircraft, the attack by Japanese bombers was sudden and devastating.

As the Japanese planes zeroed in on the Hornet, the Juneau tried desperately to protect the carrier, expending 30% of her 5-inch ammunition in doing so. But the Japanese determinedly pressed home their attack and hit the Hornet, setting her aflame. Eventually, the Hornet would sink, leaving only one U.S. carrier—the USS Enterprise (CV-6)—operational in the South Pacific. Despite having been in the thick of the fighting, the Juneau had suffered no casualties beyond three men slightly injured by splinters.

By the end of October, the Juneau was anchored in Noumea, New Caledonia. On 8 November 1942 she sailed out of Dumbea Bay as part of a three-prong major U.S. task force, the mission of which was to tip the scales in favor of the U.S. Marines on Guadalcanal. Unfortunately, the Japanese had other ideas.

On Thursday, 12 November 1942, the Juneau was in Iron Bottom Sound, standing watch over U.S. transports that were unloading badly needed men and materiel. When U.S. radar and scout planes reported approaching enemy aircraft, the unloading was halted abruptly and the transports sent south.

At approximately 1405, 30 to 35 enemy bombers were sighted. The constant drilling and the experience at Santa Cruz would now pay off for the Juneau. Although courageously executed, the Japanese attack was beaten back by the antiaircraft fire from the five U.S. cruisers. Lieutenant Roger W. O'Neill, junior medical officer of the Juneau, described how his ship fared in this fight:

"The Captain and the Gunnery Officer I know were very much satisfied with the anti-aircraft performance of the Juneau during this afternoon attack by Japanese planes. They felt that we had accounted for a very good percentage of those planes destroyed."

The Juneau's luck had held during this encounter, too. Lieutenant O'Neill wrote:

"We did have one near miss which lifted us out of the water, but no men were hit. Our ship was strafed by enemy machine guns and there were evidences of this in different parts of the ship. As a matter of fact, we had already recovered some of the Japanese slugs and were going to keep them as souvenirs."

Except for an enemy plane crashing on the San Francisco which killed 17 men and the damage to the USS Buchanan (DD-484) which caused her to withdraw from the area, the other U.S. ships had emerged relatively unscathed. But, the air attack was only a prelude.

Rear Admiral Daniel J. Callaghan, officer in tactical command, was aware that a sizable Japanese force—two battleships, a cruiser, and 11 destroyers—were steaming down the Slot toward Guadalcanal. To stop this potent force, he had only two heavy cruisers, three light cruisers, and eight destroyers. Not only were the Americans outnumbered, they were outgunned as well. The main armament of two of Admiral Callaghan's light cruisers—the USS Atlanta (CL-51) and the Juneau— consisted of 16 5-inch guns, no match for the 14-inch guns of the Japanese battleships. To make matters worse, the fight would take place on a moonless night, preventing any air support for the U.S. ships.

Undaunted, Admiral Callaghan ordered his ships into a column formation and moved to give battle. But instead of sweeping around the perimeter of the Japanese task force, he chose to attack head-on, and at approximately 0145, the opposing forces met.

All hell broke loose as the battle deteriorated quickly into a close-quarters melee illuminated eerily by searchlights, star shells, and gun flashes. After less than 30 minutes of this nightmarish combat, two Japanese destroyers had been sunk and a battleship — the Hiei — was crippled. Five U.S. warships had been sunk or were sinking and hundreds of U.S. sailors—including Admiral Callaghan—were dead or dying. The Juneau's luck had run out. She had taken a torpedo in her port forward fire room that not only caused a slight list, but also killed 17 men.

By morning, the Juneau was 10 to 12 feet down by the bow—Lieutenant O'Neill wrote that the ship's chief engineer believed the keel had been broken by the torpedo hit. The ship was being nursed to safety by her crew. Lieutenant O'Neill continues:

"By dawn, we had accomplished sufficient repairs at sea so that we had local fire control in one turret at a time. Shortly after this we sighted a group of ships on the horizon. At the time we sighted them we did not know whether they were friendly or enemy ships. However, we flashed them on the blinker and they returned the signal. They were on our starboard side and we proceeded to join them."

The Juneau had found the battered survivors of Admiral Callaghan's force—the San Francisco, the Helena, the USS O'Bannon (DD-450), the USS Sterett (DD-407), and the only undamaged ship, the USS Fletcher (DD-445). Two others—the USS Portland (CA-33) and the USS Aaron Ward (DD-483)—were being towed toward Tulagi. This sextet of ships set course for the naval base at Espiritu Santo.

As the little fleet reached the vicinity of San Cristobal Island, Captain Gilbert C. Hoover of the Helena—upon whom command had devolved—had the ships circle while four of the Juneau's medical personnel—including Lieutenant O'Neill —were transferred by motor launch to the San Francisco in order to help treat the wounded.

Allen Clifton Heyn, then a young gunner's mate second class on the Juneau, described what happened next,

"[I]t was kind of quiet . . . sort of a lull for a few minutes, and everybody was. . . talking and breathing a little easy, everybody was pretty well shook up from the night before. ... I remember I was just relieving another man on my [ 1.1 -inch antiaircraft] gun on the fantail . . . and I said to him, 'Are you all ready?' And he just looked at me, with his mouth open. I didn't know what it was . . . everybody was just standing there and then [there was] an explosion."

At approximately 1100 on 13 November 1942, the Japanese submarine I-26 fired three torpedoes at the San Francisco. All three missed the crippled heavy cruiser, but one of the torpedoes struck the Juneau in the vicinity of the earlier torpedo hit.

The effects of the resulting explosion were catastrophic: in less than a minute the Juneau completely disappeared. The men on the remaining ships saw no survivors and no floating debris, although some debris landed more than half a mile away. Only a pall of smoke showed where the "Mighty J" and her 700 men had been.

Captain Hoover signaled a nearby B-17 Army bomber to report the incident and then, fearing for the safety of the rest of his crippled force, he ordered it out of the area. This action contributed to Vice Admiral William F. Halsey's decision to relieve him of command.

Gunner's Mate Heyn had been thrown against his gun mount, one foot painfully pinned by the gun shield. Grabbing a nearby lifejacket, he took a deep breath as the water closed over him. Miraculously, the sheet of steel pinning his foot moved, and he floated to the surface. He was not alone.

Estimates vary, but perhaps as many as 100 of the Juneau's crew had survived the explosion and sinking—among them George Sullivan. These men—many severely burned or injured—found themselves afloat in a thick layer of oil. Three "doughnut" life rafts had popped to the surface and the men headed for them. By nightfall, the three rafts had been secured together.

Although the survivors were hurt and scared, they believed that help was on the way. It wasn't. For whatever reason, no message had been relayed requesting a search for survivors of the Juneau. After nine days had passed and the sun, sharks, salt water, and delirium had taken their toll, only ten men were still alive. George Sullivan was not among them.

Heyn tells what happened one night after dark. "George Sullivan said he was going to take a bath. He took off all his clothes and got away from the raft a little way and the white of his body must have flashed and showed up more because a shark came and grabbed him and that was the end of him. I never [saw] him again."

Thus, the five Sullivan brothers from Waterloo, Iowa, who wanted to stick together perished together. The death of the five was the greatest loss of life from one family in the annals of U.S. naval history.

Within weeks, the whole country would learn of their fate. Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Sullivan learned unofficially from Lester Zook, one of the ten survivors, who wrote them that "George died on a life raft I was on. . . . The other boys went down with the ship." John Draude learned of the Sullivans' fate in January 1943 when he — then a member of a U.S. Navy Armed Guard detachment — returned to New York after being deployed with a convoy. Approaching a subway entrance, "I saw this poster of the Sullivan boys with something like 'They did their part' written beneath it. That was how I learned that they were missing and presumed dead."

The official word did not come until 6 August 1943, when Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox wrote: "Eight months have now elapsed since the loss of the USS Juneau. . . . This lapse of time, in view of the circumstances surrounding the disaster as officially reported by close witnesses, forces me reluctantly to the conclusion that the personnel missing, as a result of the loss of the Juneau, were in fact killed by enemy action."

For months thereafter, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan toured war plants and shipyards and urged workers to increase production. On 4 April 1943, Mrs. Sullivan christened a new Fletcher-class destroyer: the USS The Sullivans (DD-537). In January 1944, the parents accepted the boys' five Purple Hearts.

That same month, when the USS Iowa (BB-61) made her debut as the flagship of Battleship Division 7, she was escorted—most fittingly—by the USS The Sullivans.