Ship’s Surgeon

I recall thinking he looked old and frail. I was 14, it was my freshman year in high school and I remember him sitting there, on one of the love seats that my mom and dad had in the den, between the dining room and the living room, in that beautiful house we lived in on Centre Street… He sat facing the windows, I think there might have been a fire in the fireplace to his right, but it had faded, he sat with his hands in his lap and talked, almost no emotion, speaking quietly, in very close control of his emotions, as if to let the littlest hint of his feeling out would be to lose it all, and he would burst. I was only 14 and yet I understood that, it was that clear.

He was a man of “ferocious intellect.” In fact, they were all men of “ferocious intellect.” I steal that line from Richard Dreyfuss, a fantastic actor who used it to describe another fabulous actor: Robert Shaw. I bring them up because the two men are, oddly,  connected to the men I remember. 

As virtually the entire world knows - or at least that part that watches movies - the two men were, along with Roy Scheider - the central figures in one of the great movies: JAWS. It is in one of the most gripping scenes in movie-making history that they connect to the subject I want to write about today. The scene, of course, is the moment when Quint, the cranky and slightly crazy shark-hunter, played to perfection by Shaw, tells Hooper (Dreyfuss) and the Sheriff (Scheider) about the scar on his forearm - where he had removed a tattoo that read: USS INDIANAPOLIS.

The man that I recall is Captain Lewis “Lew” Haynes, who in 1945 was a Lieutenant Commander and ship’s surgeon onboard the USS INDIANAPOLIS.

There is too much to tell the whole story, and much of it has been written down over the years as the survivors were all interviewed, and I encourage you to read the books, search for the stories on line. As it turned out, eventually, Capt. McVay, the commanding officer, court martialed by the Navy, was exonerated, but none of that changes the story itself, and the horror that nearly 900 sailors faced in the sea. 

Capt. Haynes and my dad and a few of their friends were a core of perhaps a dozen surgeons in the Navy, there was another similar group into the Army, who in the the years between the end of WWII and Vietnam helped develop the treatment protocols for burns. They were all men of ferocious intellect.

Three of them served on cruisers as ship’s surgeon during World War II, as lieutenants or lieutenant commanders, though all retired as captains: Ted Starzynski, Lew Haynes and Roger O’Neil. O’Neil also survived a sinking: he was the assistant ship’s surgeon aboard USS JUNEAU and on 13 November 1942, after night action off Guadalcanal, found himself sent by small boat to USS SAN FRANCISCO. SAN FRANCISCO was barely afloat, her keel had been broken, and the bridge had been hit by enemy fire, which had killed Rear Admiral Callaghan and mortally wounded the captain of the ship, Captain Cassin Young, the man O’Neil was operating on in the admiral’s cabin. And at that point JUNEAU was hit by a torpedo and blew up, resulting in the death of all but 10 of the 690 man crew; O’Neil lived.

As for Capt. Haynes and INDIANAPOLIS, they had, as you will recall, just delivered “Little Boy” - the bomb dropped on Hiroshima - to Tinian, and were returning to Leyte in the Philippines when they were torpedoed. The ship was struck by two torpedoes, forward of the bridge, on the starboard side, about 15 minutes past midnight on July 30th. The ship sank in 12 minutes, but still some 900 men, of a crew of 1,196 ended up in the sea, about 720 miles west-south-west of Guam, and 560 miles east-north-east of the Philippines, in about 18,000 feet of water, in 12 foot swells, the moon ducking in and out of clouds, the water they were in covered in several thousand tons of fuel oil.

He had been sleeping when the torpedo hit and it threw him out of his bunk. Fire chased him out of his stateroom, the second torpedo threw him to the floor and he burned his hands. He stumbled around in the smoke and fire, looking for a way out. I recall him saying that he ended up in the wardroom and fell into an easy chair and said that it felt very comfortable and for just an instant he thought about remaining there. He knew he would die but “that was okay.” Then someone fell on him and he “woke up” and stood and began to find his way out. He crawled through a porthole on the starboard side (the ship was listing to starboard and the water was getting closer), climbed a ladder up onto the deck, then as the ship continued to list and sink bow first he simply walked into the water and began to swim away in the darkness.

He ended up as the senior officer in what turned out to be the largest group of men, perhaps 200 or more. Many were wounded, most of those died in the first 24 hours. As he told the story, he went from being a doctor to a coroner, swimming around, testing to see if someone had died - he would gently tap the eyes - if the eyeball itself didn’t respond, the man was dead. He would pull off the dog-tags and slide the chain over his arm. Other men would then pull the life vest off and push the body away.

Eventually, he had so many dog-tags on chains hanging around his arm they began to pull him down. The other sailors had to wrestle them off his arm, and he fought them, trying to keep the dog-tags, and he spoke of the trauma of letting that last little bit of his shipmates slip into the sea.

Perhaps the most remarkable piece of the story was when they were finally picked up, after 4-and-a-half days in open ocean, and they ended up in and around large rubber rafts dropped out by the seaplane. Several dozen men were huddled on and around the rafts. There was a large container of fresh water, but just one small cup to drink from. So, he began passing out drinks, one at a time, passing the water past men who hadn’t had any fresh water for, at that point 110 hours. He noted that each man passed the cup along, waiting his turn, that not one man cheated.

Eventually, 317 men were pulled from the sea, though one sailor died shortly after being rescued. Only 316 survived the ordeal.

The next time you watch JAWS, remember Capt. Haynes, and remember the others, those ferocious intellects; Haynes, Starzynski, O’Neil, Stephen Ryan et al, who went on to save the lives of literally thousands of wounded Sailors and Marines and Soldiers and Airmen…