It was the summer of 1942. I was nineteen years old and a signalman 3rd
class on the USS Astoria stationed in the South Pacific.
One hot night in August, we found ourselves skirmishing with the
Japanese for control of Guadalcanal, gearing up for the bloody battle
that soon followed. At midnight, I finished my duty on watch. Still
wearing my work detail uniform of dungarees and a tee shirt, and only
pausing long enough to unstrap my standard-issue lifebelt and lay
it beside me, I fell into an exhausted sleep.
Two hours later, I was awakened abruptly by the sound of an explosion. I
jumped to my feet, my heart pounding.
Without thinking, I grabbed my life belt and strapped it on. In the
ensuing chaos, I focused on dodging the rain of enemy shells that were
inflicting death and destruction all around me. I took some shrapnel in
my right shoulder and leg, but by some miracle, I avoided being killed.
That first battle of Savo Island lasted for twenty minutes. After the
enemy fire ceased, the men left standing helped with the wounded, while
others manned the guns.
I was making my way towards a gun turret, when suddenly the deck
disappeared. My legs windmilled beneath me as I realized that an
explosion had blasted me off the deck. My shock was immediately replaced
by a stomach-clenching fear as I fell like a stone - thirty feet into
the dark, shark-infested water below.
I immediately inflated my life belt, weak with relief that I'd somehow
remembered to put it on. I noticed between ten and thirty men bobbing in
the water in the area, but we were too far away from each other to
communicate.
I began treading water, trying to stay calm as I felt things brushing
against my legs, knowing that if a shark attacked me, any moment could
be my last. And the sharks weren't the only danger: the powerful current
threatened to sweep me out to sea.
Four agonizing hours passed this way. It was getting light when I saw a
ship - an American destroyer - approaching. The sailors on board threw
me a line and hauled me aboard.
Once on the ship, my legs buckled and I slid to the deck, unable to
stand. I was fed and allowed to rest briefly. Then I was transported
back to the Astoria, which though disabled, was still afloat. The
captain was attempting to beach the ship in order to make the necessary
repairs.
Back onboard the Astoria, I spent the next six hours preparing the dead
for burial at sea. As the hours passed, it became clear our vessel was
damaged beyond help. The ship was taking on water and finally, around
1200 hours, the Astoria began to roll and go under.
The last thing I wanted to do was to go into that water again, but I
knew I had to. Filled with dread, I jumped off the high side of the
sinking ship and began swimming. Although I still had my life belt on,
it couldn't be inflated a second time. Luckily, I was soon picked up by
another destroyer and transferred to the USS Jackson.
Against all the odds, I had made it - one of only 500 men to survive the
battle of Savo Island. We were issued Marine uniforms and I spent my
time, in between visits to the ship's doctors for treatment of my
wounds, sitting on the deck of the Jackson, waiting for our transport to
San Francisco's Treasure Island and the leave that would follow.
Though it felt odd to wear the unfamiliar uniform, I wasn't sad to lose
my old dungarees and tee shirt. The one thing I found I didn't want to
give up was my lifebelt. I hung on to the khaki cloth-covered rubber
belt, studying it sometimes as I sat around on the Marine ship.
The label on the belt said it had been manufactured by Firestone Tire
and Rubber Company of Akron, Ohio, which was my hometown. I decided to
keep the belt as a souvenir, a reminder of how lucky I'd been.
When I finally took my 30-day leave, I went home to my family in Ohio.
After a quietly emotional welcome, I sat with my mother in our kitchen,
telling her about my recent ordeal and hearing what had happened at home
since I had gone away. My mother informed me that "to do her part," she
had gotten a wartime job at the Firestone
plant. Surprised, I jumped up and grabbing my lifebelt from my duffel
bag, put it on the table in front of her.
"Take a look at that, Mom," I said, "It was made right here in Akron at
your plant."
She leaned forward and taking the rubber belt in her hands, she read the
label. She had just heard the story and knew that in the darkness of
that terrible night, it was this one piece of rubber that had saved my
life. When she looked up at me, her mouth and her eyes were open wide
with surprise.
"Son, I'm an inspector at Firestone. This
is my inspector number," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.
We stared at each other, too stunned to speak. Then I stood up, walked
around the table and pulled her up from her chair. We held each other in
a tight embrace, saying nothing. My mother was not a demonstrative
woman, but the significance of this amazing coincidence overcame her
usual reserve. We hugged each other for a long, long time, feeling the
bond between us. My mother had put her arms halfway around the world to
save me.