Awakened that morning by the mess cooks as they brought strong black coffee to help us wake up and to help settle our jittery nerves, we knew this was our day of battle in the Coral Sea–the day for which all our training and preparation had pointed. We hoped we had learned our lessons well.

We ate well that morning, May 8, 1942. Steak and eggs were served for all hands. They knew we would need all the energy we could muster. Up until that day, unlike the flight crews who had performed so well and valiantly, we of the ground crew and ship’s company aboard Lexington had been but spectators in the war. All this was to change, and we knew it would not be too many hours away.

We had time for a quick cigarette before flight quarters sounded. We then hurried to the flight deck to make last-minute checks and adjustments to our aircraft. Since our fighters had already had their ammunition loaded, there was little we ordnancemen had to do with them, except load the auxiliary gas tanks on the planes accompanying the attack group. But there had been some changes made in the dive bombers’ armament. One-half of them were loaded with demolition bombs, 500-pounders, and the other half with 1,000-pound armor-piercing bombs. They were going after big game, and although the demolition bombs were very effective, particularly if some aircraft were caught on the flight deck, a 1,000-pound armor piercing bomb could sink a ship.

The torpedo planes were loaded with their deadly cargoes, and although we had lost two from the squadron, we were still able to put up 10 ready and eager to go. Our hearts went out to the brave crews of these slow and cumbersome aircraft. The dive bombers and fighters had the ability to dodge and take evasive action, with the exception of the dive bomber’s final run. Even that was at a terrific speed and took at most about one-half minute. The torpedo planes had to make a long, slow approach to their target and could not take evasive action until after they had dropped their ‘fish.’

Either way, the time had come! The announcement over the loud speaker was ‘Pilots, man your planes.’ It was a moment no man who was there that day would ever forget–a moment each and every man on that flight deck had etched in his memory. For this was to be our first battle, the first time in our lives that other men, with malice in their hearts, were to level their guns, bombs and torpedoes at us, with our death as their main purpose and desire. It was a moving moment, and of course those exact thoughts did not really enter our minds. We were too busy doing the jobs for which we had been trained, but I am sure that subconsciously our mind recorded thoughts along that vein.

The first aircraft launched were the torpedo bombers. As the slowest, they had to be given a head start toward the enemy, estimated to be at that time a little over 100 miles away. This meant about an hour after forming up as a group over our ship, Lexington, they finally would be in a position to start the long flight toward the enemy–to the end of their lives or the destruction of some of the first major elements of the Japanese fleet. The second wave to be launched consisted of the SBDs (dive bombers) laden with their demolition and armor-piercing bombs, a deadly armada that would soon join the torpedo squadron to coordinate their attack under the direction of the air group commander, who would direct the action once it had begun. One-half of the F4F fighters, with wing tanks to augment their gasoline supply, were assigned to protect the bombers and torpedo planes from enemy fighters protecting their ships, as our fighters would in turn be charged with the job of protecting us.

The odds were pretty close. Our air group, combined with the air group from Yorktown, put us at about the same offensive level as the Japanese. The key, it seemed, was to be defense. Would the air defenses of the Japanese prevent our assault forces from getting through? Or would our air defense drive the enemy aircraft from the skies before they could unleash their lethal cargoes on us and the rest of our task force? Fate, the ultimate referee in the deadly game of war, was to make the final decision.

With our aircraft gone, the flight-deck crews had no further duties until they returned. We were free to wander around, filling in time and doing whatever we pleased. We clustered about on the flight deck trying to make small talk, which fell pretty flat, while awaiting some word as to the progress of our group or the word of the expected enemy action. The ship’s company was at general quarters. All the armament of the ship was primed and ready for action.

The first word we received was that our aircraft had spotted the enemy fleet and were preparing to attack. This word came over the loudspeaker system from the bridge and was received with cheers and much backslapping and glee. Once the planes had started their attack there was no need of radio silence. The air group commander was sending back a blow-by-blow description in the clear.

This description was interrupted by an announcement from the flight bridge that our radar had picked up enemy aircraft approaching at about 65 miles away. This brought another cheer from the flight-deck cheering section. This entire group, fresh out of high school and thinking of war as a game, still had the feeling that this was a sporting contest rather than the deadly experience that really lay ahead for us all.

The next report was that our fighters had intercepted the incoming enemy flight and had started an attack. There were one, two, and then two more reports of the enemy planes being shot down by our planes, and at each report the flight-deck cheering section gave vent to their emotions with loud cheers and clapping hands. The flight deck was full of crewmen who did not have battle stations, and the atmosphere was almost festive as the enemy planes drew closer and closer.

The next startling announcement was that torpedo planes were sighted on the port beam. We turned our attention to that area, and in the distance we saw the Japanese torpedo planes begin their long, low approach. Because of the nature of an aerial torpedo, it requires an extra long, flat approach so that the torpedo will run close to the surface and not dive to the bottom. At this time the guns of Lexington and the rest of the task force came into action. All the guns that could bear on the approaching planes were firing as fast as they could. It was amazing that through all that concentrated firepower the planes kept coming.

Soon, though, a hit was scored and an enemy went down in flames. The cheering section sounded off again, then for another and another. Our guns were getting the range, and with each hit the flight-deck cheering section gave its all.

Then another announcement came from the bridge. This one to strike a chill in our hearts. Dive bombers overhead! How could this be?

How did they get through our defensive fighter screen? I am sure the same thoughts were going through the minds of the deck crews of the Japanese carriers that our air group was attacking at this very moment.

As my eyes went skyward in response to the announcement, I saw a dive bomber release his bomb and pull out of his dive. The bomb was coming right at me, it seemed. I realized that being on the open flight deck was foolish and I looked for some place that had some protection. There was a door close by–I decided it was as good a place as any to go. I turned my head just before I entered the compartment and saw that the flight deck, which moments before had been filled with cheering sailors, was practically empty. For us, the game of war was over–it would be deadly serious from now on!

The din was terrific. With practically every gun on the ship firing as fast as it could, I could hardly hear myself think. As a crew member of this ship that was fighting for its life, I felt you had to join and help in its defense in any way you could.

As a member of the air group I had no battle station, and with our aircraft aloft my only obligation was to be ready when they returned to serve their needs. But I could not stand idly by while other men were fighting for their lives. Chance had led me to the door into the ammunition ready room of one of our pom-pom guns. This was the room where a supply of ammunition was stored above decks so that the gun could go into action until its supply could be replenished from the magazines below. It was a room about 20 feet square directly under the gun. There was a trestle (stand) about 2 feet high on which a crewman was standing and passing clips of ammunition up to the gun through a slot in the overhead.

I quickly decided the place I could be of most help was next to the man on the trestle, handing the clips to him as they in turn were passed to me. There were perhaps six or eight other men in the compartment opening cases and otherwise forwarding the ammunition to us. With the ship shuddering from all the guns firing, I braced my leg against the side of the stand to steady myself because the clips of six or eight rounds were quite heavy.

In minutes, the outboard side door of the compartment opened and other crewmen started to bring in the ammunition coming up from the magazines below. The next thing we knew, the compartment was filled with acrid-smelling smoke. Our first reaction was to wonder if it might be poison gas, and we, of course, had no gas masks but we settled down when we realized it was the smoke from the cordite of the 5-inch anti-aircraft guns on the starboard bow.

I was able to look up through the slot in the overhead and observe the demeanor of the young lieutenant junior grade who was in command of the pom-poms. I was very impressed with his calmness and the way he kept his crew and guns firing at maximum efficiency–a fine example of courage in this, his first taste of combat.

It was then we felt the shock of a torpedo striking the ship. Although my leg was braced against the side of the stand, I almost lost my footing.

I could not imagine anything that would take a ship almost 50,000 tons and shake it like a dog would shake a bone, but that one torpedo did it. I recall my first reaction was that we would probably have to go back to the States and the navy yard for repairs, and that didn’t seem bad. Later, another torpedo struck, and then in a few moments it seemed another. (Actually, two torpedoes struck, followed by bomb hits.)

We could feel the deck tilt as we started to list to port, and we knew we were in big trouble, and still it continued. By now, I wasn’t thinking about the navy yard. I was thinking about my life insurance policy and how long it would take care of my wife and two sons.

Then it was over. The guns grew silent and a stillness seemed to settle over the ship. We shook hands all around, each of us glad to be alive. As I reached for the door to the flight deck, I was ready to do the job I was trained to do–to service the needs of the fighters of VF-2 and the other squadrons. Our part in the battle was not yet over. They had to find their way back to their floating home, to be refueled, rearmed and made ready to fight again. Then I opened the door!

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