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PEARL HARBOR REMEMBERED
On Sunday morning, Dec. 7, 1941. America was caught sleeping _ but
never again. Most of the Pacific Fleet - 96 warships - including the
battleships Nevada, Arizona, Tennessee, West Virginia, Maryland,
Oklahoma, Pennsylvania and California were riding anchor in the
peaceful waters that Sunday morning.
The Japanese attack came in two waves, the first at 7:55 a.m.,
consisting of 183 planes and the second of 180 planes.
THE LOSSES
Eight battleships, three destroyers and three cruisers were damaged
and sunk, along with 169 aircraft completely destroyed. Another 159
planes were damaged. More than 2,400 servicemen were killed.
Approximately 1,100 were wounded. The Arizona blew up and sunk,
carrying nearly 1,000 men to a watery grave. Strangely, it was the
explosion of the Arizona that saved the repair ship Vestal, anchored
nearby and engulfed in flames. The concussion snuffed out the fire,
showering bits of charred debris on her deck. Parts of the ship and
of men rained down through acrid black air.
Meanwhile, in a radio broadcast to the Japanese Empire, Prime
Minister Tojo foretold victory. He boasted that in the 2,100 years
of Japanese history their armies had never lost a war.
Seaman Edward David Gross of the Carriger community, 40-year-old
husband of the former Pearl Marbut had been called back into the
Navy after 16 years service and was in the engine room of the
Oklahoma when the Japanese struck. Two weeks after the attack, Mrs.
Gross, then living in Long Beach, California, received this message:
"The Navy Department regrets to inform you that your husband, Edgar
David Gross, is missing." His body was never recovered.
OTHER LIMESTONIANS MISSING
Details of the Japanese attack were slow in materializing. Most
Limestonians got their information the following day listening to
their battery-powered radios as President Roosevelt addressed a
joint session of Congress. Families who had sons stationed on Oahu
could only wait.
Otis Cook, of Athens, whose son, Earl, was stationed in Pearl
Harbor, didn’t receive a cablegram from the Navy stating that Earl
was safe until after New Years Day.
Mrs. Lena Morris didn't know for weeks if her son, Pvt. Pryor
Morris, was dead or alive. Then, in January 1942, she received a
letter saying he was safe.
More than 60 years later, we "Remember Pearl Harbor," not in
revenge, but in reverence as we pause to honor the brave men and
women who were America's first line of defense.
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JAMES A. BROWN
James A. Brown, a Navy veteran of nearly two decades, was eating
breakfast with his wife of less than a year when they heard gunfire
and rushed to the back porch. Black smoke already enshrouded Pearl
Harbor. Shells burst in midair. The couple rushed back into the
house and turned on the radio. "The island of Oahu is under attack
by enemy forces," the announcer said. "All military personnel are to
return to their posts, ships or stations."
Brown dressed, kissed his bride goodbye, rejoined his unit and went
to Ford Island in the middle of Pearl Harbor. "There was devastation
everywhere," Brown recalls. "The battleships Arizona, Oklahoma and
Utah were tied to concrete pillars near the beach at the end of Ford
Island. Smoke rose a half-mile into the air over the Arizona.
Japanese torpedoes had hit its oil tank from underneath and the oil
was ablaze on top of the water. Sailors were jumping overboard to
get away. It was awful."
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CLAYTON S. EZELL
Clayton S. Ezell of the Mt. Rozell Community in Northwest Limestone
County was aboard the U.S.S. Solace, the only Navy hospital ship at
Pearl Harbor. It was anchored off the east end of Ford Island, not
far from the Arizona. General Quarters alarms sounded. Everyone
rushed for his station, "IT'S A DRILL - IT'S A DRILL!" Nearby
sailors shouted. He soon learned that Japanese planes were attacking
the fleet and the Naval Air Station on Ford Island. "Ships were
being hit with bombs and torpedoes and burning fuel oil from the
damaged and sinking ships spread around the ships and harbor. I was
one of many corpsman that brought the wounded from motor launches as
they pulled alongside our ship."
The U.S.S. Vestal, anchored nearby, was engulfed in flames and the
Arizona exploded, its magazine struck by a torpedo. After nightfall,
Ezell was ordered to the Naval Hospital, where he helped load sheet
or blanket-wrapped bodies brought in from ships in the harbor. "We
loaded them in trucks and transported them to the hospital compound
and laid their bodies out under trees until room could be made
inside the hospital."
The following Monday, Ezell was assigned the grisly task of patrol
duty. "Several motor launches daily would patrol around the harbor
at sunup and for an hour before sundown to pick up body parts that
had floated to the surface."
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GILBERT CRUTCHFIELD
Pvt. Gilbert Crutchfield of Tanner, a rifleman in the 27th
"Wolfhound" Infantry Regiment was bivouacked on Roosevelt High
School Football Field overlooking Pearl Harbor. Most of the men in
his unit were in Honolulu on weekend passes and all of the officers
were absent from camp. Crutchfield didn't have a rifle. It had been
sent off for repair several days earlier. Asleep on his folding cot,
Crutchfield was jarred awake by exploding artillery shells falling
nearby. He sprang from his bed, clad only in his skivvies, and ran
out to witness Pearl Harbor under attack. "Everybody was asking,
'What's going on?'" Crutchfield remembers. "There were planes in the
air. Finally, somebody said, 'That's Japanese Planes! They're
attacking us!' We realized that those exploding shells were
anti-aircraft being fired at the planes and it was falling on us."
Crutchfield dressed and found a shotgun and five shells. The first
sergeant organized the men and they went down to Pearl to guard a
railroad track against sabotage.
Crutchfield and three men were dropped off by the side of the road
and they walked to the railroad bridge about a half-mile from
Battleship Row and took up guard positions. Japanese planes were
flying around. "They had expended all of their bombs and ammo and
flew over and could look you right in the eye," Crutchfield says, "
I looked up directly in the face of one of them. But of course, I
had a shotgun and there wasn't much I could do with that."
Crutchfield and his men, with no means of communications, took
shelter under a railroad flat car. They knew nothing of what was
occurring elsewhere, only what they were witnessing. "We were
surprised and we were angry," he says. Sunday night was spent in
complete blackout and no chow. The Japanese living in the nearby
settlement stayed inside. There was no trouble. Monday, a top boxcar
was switched onto the track and Crutchfield and his men positioned a
.30-caliber machine gun. Still no food came. Crutchfield dispatched
two men to the Japanese settlement to buy food. They returned 30
minutes later, reporting they had found a store, but the proprietor
refused to sell them anything. "We'll take care of that. You take me
back," Crutchfield said, and went to the store where a lot of people
were sitting around. "The Japanese proprietor told me that the
military put a restriction on selling anything. I got a loaf of
bread, stick of bologna and a carton of Luckys and left the silver
dollar on the counter and walked out."
At a nearby garbage dump, Crutchfield's men found an old mattress
and made a bed in the boxcar. On Tuesday, water and food arrived.
Communications were reestablished and they learned for the first
time that the U.S. was at war. The blackout was still in effect.
"The civilian train engineer switching cars that night refused to
turn off his headlights, said he couldn't see what he was doing. Our
First Sergeant walked out on the track and shot out the light with
his .45," Crutchfield says. The engineer stopped the train and fled.
On December 6, 1942, Crutchfield sailed with the "Wolfhounds" for
Guadalcanal.
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J. MONROE BIRDSONG
Pvt. J. Monroe Birdsong of the Carey Community was in the Army
Hospital at Schofield Barracks on the morning of the attack. His
ulcer was acting up. But being sick didn't mean that he could lounge
around. Birdsong and other soldiers were cleaning a doctor’s office.
And then a terrifying sound split the peaceful morning. One plane
swept low. Says Birdsong, "About that time bullets splattered right
down the wall beside us. We made a mad dash back inside. We knew it
was the real thing."
Casualties started pouring into the hospital. "Some of them were
shot all to pieces," Birdsong says. "They had us out there picking
them up and bringing them in and laying them up and down the hall."
All the while Japanese planes were strafing with machine guns,
flying so low Birdsong could see the pilots’ faces. "If I'd had a
weapon, I could have shot 'em, I know. I wished a thousand times
that I had one."
Meanwhile, across the street from the hospital where the 27th
Infantry Division was housed, soldiers positioned a 30-caliber
machine gun on top of the barracks and began firing at the attacking
planes. The Japanese repeatedly attempted to bomb a water tank,
apparently thinking it was a container tank, but missed.
Shortly, the doctor arrived. He laid a notepad on a table and said,
"If anybody feels like going on active duty sign this, get your
clothes and take off." Birdsong didn't hesitate. "I was second to
sign. I wanted to get out of that hospital."
Birdsong ran to his barracks. His unit, the 1341st Engineer Combat
Battalion, was out on the north shore of the island and the
battalion commander with them. Only a skeleton crew remained on
post. "Our weapons were locked up and nobody had a key except the
commander," Birdsong says.
Unarmed and a Japanese invasion expected at any moment, Birdsong
spent all day Sunday on the drill field. "We had reports that
Japanese were on the island. Everybody was confused and didn't know
what was going on. I guess if they had landed with any force, they
would have taken the island because we didn't have enough people to
defend it."
Birdsong, cut off from communications, knew Oahu had been bombed,
but didn't know how extensively. He learned the next day. "I was
assigned as a driver to a survey party and we went all around Pearl
Harbor. Ships were lying over on their sides still burning. Even
from Schofield Barracks about 15 miles away, you could see the black
smoke. And that lasted a week."
There was total blackout ordered at the base, all windows covered so
that no light could escape. Armed sentries walked their posts around
the clock with orders from the Colonel to shoot out lights after two
verbal warnings. Birdsong grins as he recalls one incident. "We had
an ol' boy that didn't care for nothing. He was nuts. He was
guarding around the officers quarters and saw a light. He hollered
'turn it out,' made his round and came back the second time. Same
thing. Next time he came around the light was still on and he fired
right through the window. It was the Colonel's quarters. Nobody ever
said a word."
In 1940, when the draft was initiated, Birdsong had gone to the
board. "I didn't want my mother to know I was volunteering," he
says. He left home July 11, 1941. The next time he saw his family
was May 1945..
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JAMES W. JONES
Pvt. James W. Jones, reared at Piney Chapel, had just eaten morning
chow and returned to the barracks. He lit a Lucky Strike and lay
back on his bunk, smoking and shooting the breeze with other GI's of
the 1341st Combat Engineers at Schofield Barracks. He heard aircraft
overhead, which wasn't unusual since Wheeler Field Wheeler Field, a
fighter base was just across the road from Schofield Barracks. The
planes were lined up in a row on the concrete pad in front of the
hangars like birds on a fence. The ammo belts had been removed from
the planes.
Suddenly, the metal legs of empty bunks danced on concrete floor as
explosions shook the barracks. Jones and his buddies dashed outside.
"We saw planes coming in dropping bombs and we were confused and
didn't know what was happening until we saw that big rising sun on
the planes," he says. "The Japanese pilots dropped their bombs, then
flew in low, strafing with machine guns. You could see the pilots
sitting in there. One crashed close to our barracks. We started
going into the barracks and taking cover, but we didn't have much
cover to get under."
The hapless soldiers had no weapons with which to fight back. "Our
guns and rifles were locked up in the armory room and our supply
sergeant was on pass in Honolulu. We didn't have anything. The ammo
was up in the mountains in a concrete igloo."
Fortunately, for Jones and his unarmed buddies, the Japanese
concentrated their attack on Wheeler Field across the road where
"they tore it to pieces with bombs."
Next day, Jones was issued a rifle and ammo and loaded into the back
of a truck and driven down to Pearl Harbor to help clean up the
destruction. Ships were burning and the blue sky was filled with
roiling black smoke. Rumors ran rampant that a Japanese invasion was
imminent. Jones remained at Pearl Harbor three days, camping out at
nights in a pineapple field. "I remember burying the dead. They dug
a long trench and we wrapped 'em -- arms, legs, whatever we could
find -- up in sheets and put 'em in there and covered 'em up. I
don't know if any dog tags was on 'em or not."
Jones remained on Oahu until he departed to participate in the
invasion of Saipan and Tinian. Later he landed on Okinawa, where the
final battle of the war was fought.
Jones was on Okinawa when the atomic bomb was dropped.
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JAPANESE ALIEN SEIZED
Meanwhile, on Sunday evening a Limestone County sheriff's deputy
continued surveillance of a Japanese alien who was living in a room
at Trinity School in Athens. Sheriff Martin F. Whitt, 47, a big man,
6'2", with bright blue eyes, had been Limestone County sheriff since
Jan. 16, 1939. Busting up moonshine stills was one thing, dealing
with a possible saboteur was something else. Why was a Japanese
alien in Athens? Why was he living at the Negro school?
Whitt knew what he had to do. He lifted the black phone receiver on
his desk and heard the operator say, "Number please?" "Connect me
with the FBI in Birmingham," Whitt said in a commanding baritone
voice.
"Yes sir!"
A man answered. Whitt identified himself and got down to business.
He reminded the FBI agent of the Japanese alien's presence in
Athens. They talked.
"Sure, we can handle that," Whitt finally said, then replaced the
receiver.
It was late at night when two FBI special agents arrived in Athens
and drove directly to the jail. After being briefed by Sheriff
Whitt, they went to Trinity School and observed the surveillance
operation. Satisfied that the situation was well in hand, they
checked in at Athens’ best, the Ross Hotel on East Washington
Street.
Monday morning. The FBI Agents, accompanied by Sheriff Whitt and a
deputy, entered the Trinity dormitory, walking briskly down the
hallway and stopping in front of the room where the Japanese was
staying. An agent rapped on the door. A small man, maybe 5'4" and
weighing no more than 128 pounds stood in the doorway obviously
bewildered.
An agent flashed his credentials. "FBI. You'll have to come with
us!"
The Japanese man meekly complied.
Tsuyoshi Matsumoto, his breakfast barely eaten, slipped on his coat
and was escorted to the black Ford, placed in the backseat, then
whisked to the county jail where he was booked and fingerprinted.
Shortly, a reporter from the Limestone Democrat, following a tip,
arrived at the jail and photographed Matsumoto. The FBI intervened.
"No pictures!" They asked for the negatives and the reporter handed
them over.
The reporter's keen eyes observed Matsumoto place an Air Mail letter
in his inside coat pocket. He asked Matsumoto what he thought of the
conflict between Japan and America.
"I think it very regrettable for both countries," Matsumoto said. "I
believe the people of the South realize it more than those of other
sections."
"Are you a citizen of the United States?"
"Asiatics are not eligible for citizenship. I wish I were,"
Matsumoto added wistfully.
Meanwhile, FBI Agents searched Matsumoto's room and found four boxes
of materials. The reporter quizzed the agents about the contents of
the boxes.
"Stuff we don't like," an agent replied, grimly, but admitted that
there were no photographs found in the alien's room.
At the jail, in a concrete room where confiscated moonshine was
often stored, Sheriff Whitt interrogated Matsumoto and learned that
he was born in Hokkaido, Japan, in 1908.
"How long have you been in the United States?"
"I was first here in 1930 and stayed until 1935, went back to Japan
for two years and came back in 1937. I've been here ever since."
Sheriff Whitt immediately got to the point. "Why are you in Athens?"
"I am a minister of the Presbyterian Church."
Whitt leaned back and studied Matsumoto as he told his story.
"I was ordained in San Francisco in 1933, after receiving my college
education in Tokyo. I attended San Francisco Theological University
and the Union Seminary of Sacred Music in New York," Matsumoto said.
"It was at Sacred Music that I met Mr. J.T. Wright, director of
Trinity School. I have been his guest here since September."
Reverend Matsumoto remained in jail until Wednesday when Army
officers arrived and took him to Ft. McClellan. The Air Mail letter
found inside his coat was apparently from a friend on the West
Coast.
When Athens mailman, Dewey L. Barker, at FBI request, he had been
reporting all of Matsumoto's incoming and outgoing mail for months.
FBI Agents arrested seven persons in Alabama on the Monday following
the attack on Pearl Harbor. All were listed as "Dangerous Aliens."
Five were German, one Italian and one was Matsumoto.
Bennett Higgins, local funeral home operator, remembers the event
well. He says that Matasumoto worked for the American Missionary
Association and taught music at Trinity, at the time a private
school for black children. Neither Higgins, nor anyone else
contacted, knows of Matsumoto's fate.
(Author's Note. This story is based on article that appeared in the
December 11, 1941, Limestone Democrat and from an interview with
Bennett Higgins, Richard Barker and Anna Lee, daughter of Sheriff
Whitt.
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DELLA TRIBBLE
On Tuesday morning following the attack, Della Tribble, a slender
23-year-old, red-headed farm girl from the Coxey community made
local history. Della was the first Limestonian after Pearl Harbor,
to volunteer for service.
Della Elaine Tribble had spunk. She boarded a Greyhound bus bound
for Athens. After several stops along the way, the bus finally
rumbled into Athens. Della got off and walked directly to the
courthouse and into the Selective Service office.
"I want to volunteer," she said to the male clerk behind the desk.
He had expected volunteers to show up after the bombing, but
certainly not a pretty, freckle-faced woman with aqua blue eyes. She
was the first to step forward.
"For what?" he asked.
"Anything."
He explained to Della that the Army wasn't accepting women at the
present time, but was considering it. Disappointed, Della left the
office and walked across Marion Street to Elmore's 5 & 10.
The Selective Service clerk tipped off the Limestone Democrat and
reporter Bob Henry Walker hailed Della on the street.
"This guy from the newspaper come and caught me and hollered, 'Hey,
I want to talk to you. I heard you wanted to join the Army.' I said
yes."
Della accompanied Walker to the Democrat office where he took her
photograph and interviewed her for a story.
"I told him I felt like every American should help the country in
the present crisis and I'd like to be a nurse."
Her story was front page news. "COUNTY'S FIRST VOLUNTEER," trumpeted
the Democrat. Of course, she wasn't accepted into service, but she
had tried. Della returned home to the hard, dull life of tenant
farming. One of 14 children born to William Wesley and Ida Ann
Tribble, Della had quit school in the sixth grade. Her opportunities
were limited. She'd ever traveled farther from home than Athens.
In May 1942, Congress authorized the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps.
The WAACs worked alongside the Army but were not a part of it. In
1943, Congress brought them into the Army and they became the
Women's Army Corp. Before the war ended, 150,000 American women
served in the WACs.
In February 1943, Della received her call for induction into the
WACs and the first stop was Ft. McClellan. "I remember there was one
girl had on high heels and she had knocked her heel off her shoe and
she was hippity-hopping down through there on one high heel and one
low heel."
After taking the oath, Della was sent to Daytona Beach. "They made
us clean up the yards and pick up sticks," she says. "They sat us
down in the sunshine and read the Articles of War. My girlfriend
said I looked like a frog, I was so burned."
In the barracks at night, Della couldn't sleep. "They hollered and
told jokes and acted crazy." And she was awfully homesick too. "I'd
never been away from home a week in my life. We'd come to Athens on
Saturday after chopping or picking cotton all week."
A fellow WAC, Catherine S. Scott, sister of movie star Randolph
Scott, befriended Della. It's a friendship that lasted through the
years. But Della, whose sister, Irene, and three brothers were in
service, wasn't long for the WACs. Her career ended honorably after
one month and 14 days. "I got sick and went to the hospital. The
doctor said I had an ulcer. They let me go home." She grins, "Boy,
was I proud to be home!"
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