Friday, May 26, 2017

Memorial Day – Uncle Al’s Unknown Adventures

Next Monday is Memorial Day, when we commemorate all those who gave their lives in defense of our country. One person who should’ve been listed as a war casualty, but somehow avoided certain death, was my Uncle Al, known in 1941 as Seaman First Class Albert A. Arcand.

Like most members of the “Greatest Generation,” Uncle Al never talked about his war experiences. He didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

Uncle Al died a few years ago at the age of 87. Only in the final years of his life did he start to talk about the war, somewhat surprised that reporters wanted to interview a genuine Pearl Harbor survivor.

As the age of 18, Uncle Al was a crewman on the battleship U.S.S. Nevada. On Sunday morning, December 7th, 1941, he was asleep in his bunk when the fire alarm shook him awake. At first, he was annoyed that a drill was being conducted so early, but then bombs started dropping. He ran topside and emerged from a hatch just in time to see the nearby U.S.S. Arizona explode in a massive fireball.

For a while he assisted anti-aircraft gunners by passing shells. Suddenly, a bomb exploded near him, sending out a wave of fire and tossing Uncle Al against a bulkhead. His legs were burned raw, with the skin pealing down in rolls. His face was burned and his eyebrows were gone. Everyone around him was dead. He speculates some sailors ran in front of him at the moment the bomb went off, and were hit by the shrapnel heading directly for him.

Two sailors ran past and leaped overboard, so Uncle Al decided to follow. But as he was about to jump, he stopped. Over six decades later he explained: “I thought, ‘What in the hell am I doing? I can't swim!’” Apparently, in the early 1940s, you could join the Navy without being able to swim.

Later on, doctors told Uncle Al that even if he could swim, jumping into oily saltwater with his extensive burns would’ve killed him.

So far, that’s pretty dramatic, but then the story took a bizarre twist. Uncle Al eventually made it to a hospital to begin painful treatment. However, in all the confusion of that horrible event, his worried parents back in Sanford, Maine, received a grim telegram signed by Rear Admiral Chester Nimitz. The message stated that their son had been “lost in action” during the attack.

The town of Sanford mourned, with flags flying at half-mast and selectmen voting to rename the town library after young Al. Then, on December 25th, the U.S. military informed his family that Al was actually alive. Boy, talk about a great Christmas present!

Anyway, Uncle Al recovered, went back to sea on a different ship, which was promptly sunk by Japanese torpedoes during the battle of Guadalcanal, killing three-quarters of the crew. He now had his second purple heart. Uncle Al managed to go the rest of the war without getting sunk again. When it was over, he came back to the states, married my father’s sister, moved to Washington state, raised eight kids, lived an honorable and decent life, and never once told any of us about his experiences, figuring it wasn’t very interesting.

Well, Uncle Al, your story is interesting, damn interesting. I wish we had the chance to talk about it before you died. I wish I had the chance to hear you laugh and say, “When the town of Sanford found out I wasn’t dead, they rescinded their order and renamed the library after someone else. But that was OK with me!” 

God bless our veterans, especially those who paid the ultimate price to defend freedom.

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