LOCAL PEARL HARBOR survivors gather together at the American Legion Friday night. From left to right are Chuck Herndon, Wes Potts and Sam Merlo. Pearl Harbor survivor Gaylord Lyman and Gene Poiessen, who arrived at Pearl Harbor on Dec. 8, 1941, are not pictured. Pearl Harbor survivors Perry Conder, Bill Hart, Vernon Irvin, Jim Hinton, Pat Mallott and Jim Davenport, have passed away.

By Katharhynn Heidelberg
Journal Staff Writer

Sept. 11, 2001, was a tragedy no one will forget. But before Sept.11, there was another surprise attack that left scores of victims — and ordinary men who rose to the occasion to become heroes — at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, on Dec. 7, 1941.

Sixty years later, three local men who were stationed in Pearl Harbor on our first Day of Infamy modestly insist they were not heroes.

"I just happened to be there," said Sam Merlo, addressing a large crowd at the American Legion Friday night. "I’m no hero."

C.K. "Chuck" Herndon agreed. "I disavow the term Pearl Harbor hero ... I was there."

Merlo and Herndon, fellow Pearl Harbor veteran, Westley "Wes" Potts, and Gene Poiessen, who arrived at Pearl Harbor the day after the attack, shared vivid memories with those assembled. (Gaylord Lyman, who was also stationed at Pearl Harbor, was unable to attend the event).

Herndon, a native of Kansas, joined the Navy on Jan. 10, 1940. "How in the world does a guy in Kansas come to be in the Navy?" he joked. In Herndon’s case, he voluntarily enlisted as part of a family tradition — there were six boys in the Herndon family, and five would eventually serve, for various lengths of time, in the Navy.

"It seemed like a natural thing" to do, Herndon said.

Herndon served aboard the USS San Francisco, topside on the Fourth Deck Division, located on the well deck. The San Francisco, a heavy cruiser, was smaller than a battleship, and also had smaller guns. Although this made it a less attractive target for Japanese war planes, it was hardly a safe haven. The ship was being prepared for inspection that day, and so, had no armaments save a few rifles, Herndon recounted.

On Dec. 7, 1941, Herndon, then 19 years old, was on the signal bridge, about 60 feet above the water line. He was eagerly awaiting "shore liberty," and planned to play golf. But, he said, "lo and behold, I didn’t get to go!"

Herndon watched the Japanese planes sweep in from the northwest, but at first, it didn’t register that anything was wrong. "I had no knowledge of what was going to happen," he said. "It didn’t mean anything at first."

The San Francisco had better fortune than most of the fleet at Pearl Harbor — she sustained no damage during the course of the attack. However, the Japanese flew right across her deck.

"I remember seeing this pilot as he flew across the bridge," Herndon said. "He was looking down, almost as if you could reach up and shake hands with him."

He also watched his brothers in arms go down. "I saw the Arizona blow up and the Oklahoma turn upside down. It was just terrible. Looking back, I just shake with horror."

And the terrible memories don’t stop with Pearl Harbor. The San Francisco survived to do battle at Guadalcanal. There, Herndon saw his commander die scant paces from where he stood.

Merlo also joined the military voluntarily. Inspired by a history teacher, he tried to join in 1939, but was too young. It was in February 1940 that Merlo signed up on the "short discharge" option. Two years of service in Hawaii counted as three years toward retirement, he said.

Merlo served at Wheeler Field, as an Air Force squadron painter. On Dec. 7, he heard a noise, and "saw planes with fixed landing gear swoop down." Like Herndon, Merlo at first thought that it was normal, but when fired upon, quickly learned otherwise.

"I was the only one there," he said, "so I guess they were firing at me, but they missed."

For 60 years, Merlo has wondered why the fighter planes at Wheeler were "sitting ducks." The planes, unmanned, were left sitting in formation on the ground, but for this fatal error, Merlo blames bad information, rather than any deliberate choice on the part of the chain of command.

Potts, a Mancos High School graduate, joined the Navy in 1938, and was called up on Jan. 10, 1939. Although he was assigned to many different ships, Potts wound up on the ill-fated Oklahoma on Dec. 7, 1941. His account is riveting.

"I was just getting up from the breakfast table," he said, when all hands were called. Potts was halfway out of the hatch when he heard his commander utter words he will never forget: "Those are real bombs and real torpedoes and this is no (expletive)!" Potts counted five torpedo hits in the course of the attack.

Potts, a gun captain, recounted that the ship’s 14-inch guns were no good in the battle. "We couldn’t do anything but sit there and wait ... she (the Oklahoma) listed pretty fast."

Potts watched his comrades go out one by one and not come back, until the gunner mate advised: "Let’s get the hell out of here." Potts had made it halfway down the hatch to the deck, when two large batteries dislodged, hit him in the chest, and took him down to the water.

"That was my exit from the battleship Oklahoma," he said.

Potts had swum out about 100 feet when he spotted a U.S. seaplane. He struggled on board, working its canvas holdings with oil-slicked hands. "And there I was — a pilot," joked Potts. "I twisted and pulled every gadget it had," he added, confessing that he found the planes and torpedoes a little "distracting."

But there was no gun on board the seaplane, and as it was, Potts looked up just in time to see a falling mast from the USS Maryland headed right at him. He dove headfirst into the water and swam for his life. The mast took the plane — and hundreds of sailors aboard the Maryland — to the bottom of the harbor.

Potts was rescued by a fellow sailor aboard 40-foot motor launch. "Do you know how to operate this thing?" the panicked man asked. Potts, with two years of experience at that very task, was able to take over. Together, they cruised around the harbor, picking up other survivors.

The aftermath of Pearl Harbor was also unnerving. Poiessen, arriving at Pearl Harbor the day after the attack, recounted the carnage he witnessed.

"It was a mess," he said. "It looked like a big scrap pile."

Poiessen’s ship unloaded landing craft, then boarded officers’ families and took them to San Diego. The ship returned to Pearl Harbor, loaded with Army troops. After this, Poiessen was sent to the Pacific, and served at Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima.

"As the years go by, shadows get thinner and thinner ... there are fewer and fewer veterans that served in Pearl Harbor," Poiessen said. "I salute you fellahs."