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NOVEMBER 19th, 2008
JOHNSON CITY, Tenn. – Serving aboard the USS Indianapolis in 1945, Seaman James Smith was sent to the brig for five days for leaving the ship to visit a girlfriend. What would happen next would make him long for the jail diet of bread and water.
Smith was released from the brig on July 30, 1945, four days after the USS Indianapolis delivered critical parts for the atomic bombs that would end World War II.
That fateful evening, Smith settled into his bunk but was jolted awake by explosions that would sink the ship in the worst single loss in U.S. Navy history.
Smith, 84, a Mississippi native who now lives in Johnson City, related his World War II naval nightmare recently at a Bristol meeting of the Tri-State Ch apter of the Destroyer Escort Sailors Association.
Smith, along with nearly 1,200 other sailors, were the targets of two torpedoes fired into the Indianapolis by an Imperial Japanese submarine.
“Capt. [Charles Butler] McVay had asked for an escort for us, but it was refused,” Smith said. “They [the U.S. Navy] felt the waters were secure.”
The first thing that crossed Smith’s mind was, “Boy, I’m in hell now!” When ordered to abandon ship, Smith strapped on a life jacket and jumped into the sea.
The ship sank in 12 minutes, killing about 300 men. Another 900 terrified survivors were pitched into the floating darkness without lifeboats, food or water. They engaged in an epic struggle against nature, including hypothermia, mental and physical exhaustion, and sharks.
The sailors were due in the Philippines the next morning and felt secure knowing they would be rescued. Yet incredibly, the ship was never missed because its mission was top secret.
“Every day we kept hoping a ship would come and take us home,” Smith said. “We lived every minute thinking if you died, there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.”
The sailors floated for four days.
“It was so cold at night, and then you’d burn up during the day,” Smith said.
When the cries of “sharks” went out, Smith would pull his legs up as far as he could. “The sharks seemed to pick the men that were on the outside of the group,” he noted.
Local resident Darrell Fleming, author of the book “Family, Friends and War Heroes, Reflections from World War Two,” agreed.
“As long as they stayed together, mostly holding hands and encouraging each other, they kept their dreams and goals alive just to survive whatever they faced,” Fleming said. “When one broke ranks, most often because of hallucinations, he did not survive either the sharks or drowning.”
Unable to contain their thirst, some men drank the sea water. “That’d make them crazy,” Smith said. “They’d just go berserk.”
Others, due to the miserable dryness of their mouths, risked rinsing them out with the salt water and suffered throat ulcers and painful swelling. Being covered in oil and suffering from sun blindness – too much UV radiation – also were big problems.
“We were doused in oil, and it was hard to see,” Smith said.
But the oil also was a blessing, as it turned out. Besides keeping many of the men protected from the sun’s brutal rays, it was the huge oil slick that attracted the attention of a submarine patrol plane.
“The pilot investigated when he saw the oil,” Smith said. “That’s when he saw all us men waving.”
When help finally arrived, only 317 men had survived. Smith is one of only 112 still living.
“I slept for the first two or three days after our rescue,” he said. He spent three weeks in a hospital on Guam and then was shipped back to San Diego. Despite a Purple Heart and other medals, Smith rejects the notion that he’s a hero. He credits the toughness that helped him survive to his Mississippi grandfather.
Smith’s speech touched members of the Destroyer Escort Sailors Association, one of whom said, “I want to shake your hand. God bless you.”
Smith, in return, paid homage to the group. “Thank you for this great country and to those who sacrificed their lives,” he said. “Please don’t let them be forgotten.”