Chats with my dad

Initially I would like to apologize to the reader that these conversations may not be either word-for-word exact or chronological in order. These just pop into my head from time to time as I lovingly and respectfully recollect my chats with my dad.

My dad was and is to this day my hero. He was a humble and courteous gentleman. He was a model from our “greatest generation.” I tried to always listen to him. In my younger years that was a tough sell. But as Mark Twain alluded, I was amazed at the intelligence that he acquired from my 16th year to my 21st year.

During WWII, my dad was a Navy pilot. He flew F4F Hellcats as part of Task Force 58, Fast Carrier Attack. His ship was the USS Essex (CV9). His air group was CVG 83. Since he flew the Hellcat he was in CF83 (F for fighter). He saw his first combat missions flying CAP (combat air patrol), providing an air umbrella over the fleet to deal with the new threat of the kamikaze attacks.

On his third combat sortie on March 19, 1945, over the fleet at Okinawa, he saw a kamikaze heading for the USS Bunker Hill (CV17). Starting from 3,500 feet. he dived down to engage the enemy. As he told me, he ignored his radio telling “all friendly chicks clear the area” and contiued to close on the enemy. He was able to shoot the kamikaze down before it got to the Bunker Hill.

Admiral Marc Mitscher, the task force commander, was onboard the Bunker Hill (his flagship) and recommended my dad for the Navy Cross. This was approved by James Forrestal (Secretary of the Navy). But this was the type of thing that would happen to him—only out on the third time and awarded the second-highest decoration for heroism in the U.S. Navy.

So he and I were chatting about this unbelievable accomplishment. I asked him: What did it take to do this remarkably heroic deed? He pondered a moment. He was a terrific ponderer. Then in complete transparency he said,” Too much adrenaline and bad judgement.” He went on to recount how young he was at the time (22) and other reasons to minimize or downplay his actions on March 19, 1945.

He’s gone now. Like so many of the veterans of WWII. But I have his pilot’s log book, and he can still instruct me on what it means to be an American, a gentleman, and above all a decent human being. Thanks, Pop.

CAVU (ceiling and visibility unlimited) Your son,

STEVE CLARK Springdale