I attended a birthday and a wake, of sorts, on Saturday in Groton. Practically under the Gold Star Bridge in Groton, besides the Thames River, is a small but very well-kept bridge of a submarine, USS Flasher, which forms the centerpiece for the World War II Submarine Veterans Memorial. It's surrounded by polished granite tablets listing every US Navy submarine Sailor who lost his life during World War II, thousands of names etched into the cool stone to be preserved forever or for as long as human memory permits. It is quite beautiful and an oasis, of sorts, along a very busy stretch of road that runs to and through Electric Boat and Pfizer in Groton. You can see the Thames from behind the memorial and while I didn't see any of the submarines stationed up river at the base returning or departing on Saturday, it wasn't hard to imagine sixty-five years ago when that happened on practically a daily basis.
I didn't have to strain too hard to see those ghost ships and Sailors on the Thames as many of their shipmates, now in much older clothes, were reminiscing together in the sudden sunshine of an April midday. It had rained over night and into the early morning, but it was warming and dry by the time the two hundred or so submarine Sailors and their family and friends took an hour to observe the 108th birthday of the US Submarine Force, when the US Navy purchased USS Holland (making it the first USN submarine) and, sadly, a grim reminder of what every submariner of every nation knows can happen, the 45th anniversary of the loss of USS THRESHER.
There were Sailors of practically every decade for the last six or so to include a man I met briefly a number of years, LT Ernie Plantz, who had been captured by the Japanese after his submarine, USS PERCH was so badly damaged that the crew had scuttled it. He survived the Bataan Death March and 1,297 days as a prisoner of war. He was among friends from what I saw on Saturday, because he was among shipmates.
There were fine and kind words from senior leaders, officer and enlisted, still on active duty at the base, and a large contingent of very young Sailors from the Submarine School, each holding a flag of a submarine still on 'Eternal Patrol.' It was interesting to watch the old submariners look at the kids and see themselves as they were back when, and the junior Sailors, looking at those who had gone down to the sea long ago, some so long ago their parents hadn't yet been born, and realizing perhaps for the first time that they were the latest link in a chain of service to country that stretched back 108 years.
For the submarine veterans, they know far more about the life and times aboard a sub like THRESHER than will ever be spoken about in a speech on an anniversary and many of them served aboard submarines commissioned decades before the advent of nuclear power. For them, "DBF", Diesel Boats Forever, isn't just a slogan, it's an affirmation. And all the while, the eyes on the youngest Sailors grew larger as all this history, in their blue vests, some (the World War II Sailors) with their hats with large plumes, sat and sunned themselves more in the warmth of memory and remembrance than in the early April rays.
Each year, the dual commemoration is held and as the years have passed, the number of World War II veterans has declined for sad and obvious reasons. But the memorial continues and, I suspect, will always continue as long as there are submariners to stand the watch until relieved.
"They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe."
-bill kenny
2 comments:
Hello Bill - your Thresher "thoughts" commentary was absolutely stunning. This is the most beautiful prose I have read in some time about the Thresher's tragic loss; and telescoping our thoughts to include all Navy sailors helps us to understand that there is indeed a very large family out there who continue to reach across invisible boundaries to provide support, when this sad day rolls around each year. My brother Peter J. DiBella, 19 at the time, was lost aboard the Thresher and only time teaches us just how short his life truly was. At the age of 11 I thought he was old, but at the age of 56, I realize he was just a boy.
Our family's roots are deeply embedded in the Portsmouth (NH) area. My mother's family were real "down easters" and my Italian dad (originally from Hartford) grew to love even the toughtest Yankee there in Portsmouth. Oddly enough Pete's very first Naval post was to the Thresher, which was docked at the Portsmouth Navy Yard for overhaul. I still have the letters he wrote home to my parents; clearly impatient while awaiting his first assignment. In those letters he imagines how great it would be to be stationed in his own home town of Portsmouth. What my parents thought was good fortune, obviously turned out not to be so.
I will be flying from Los Angeles to attend the 45th anniversary memorial being held in Portsmouth this Saturday, April 12. You are so right about the crowd getting smaller each year. I attend not only to honor my brother's memory, but to continue the annual pilgrimage undertaken by my parents - even if it was just across the bridge from Portsmouth to Kittery.
The reason I write - I would like your permission to forward your beautiful thoughts to the editor of the local newspaper (Portsmouth Herald) so the locals can read them. There are not only many service families but many civilian families still living in the Portsmouth area who were impacted by this tragedy and perhaps your thoughts could provide some measure of comfort to them - as they did for me.
I would only introduce your letter with a note reminding readers that the memories reach far beyond Portsmouth.
Sorry this is so long, but as you can see, I do not have your gift for writing. Please email me with your permission ASAP so I can get this ball rolling. Heartfelt thanks for expressing so beautifully what the rest of us feel.
Elizabeth DiBella
eadibella@ttlc.net
Thank you for your kind words on my feeble attempt to capture a moment.
I would be honored by any use you might wish. My condolences, long delayed, on the loss of your brother and my thanks for his sacrifice and service.
Bill Kenny
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