BURIAL AT SEA

For Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day our residents gathered in the community center to share their personal stories of where they were when the tragic attacks happened, what they remember about their lives during the war, and how their lives were affected after the war. The following is a story written and shared by resident Jim Rickard about his time spent at Pearl Harbor after the war.

A few weeks after WWII officially ended, I was assigned to the Naval Receiving Station at Pearl Harbor. My primary duty was to give lectures to discharging sailors and marines concerning readjustment to civilian life. One of several secondary duties was to be in charge of the Receiving Station Armory.

That armory was pretty much like any other armory: a secure and safe place to store all kinds of weaponry, particularly guns and ammunition. The circumstances of the times induced a significant variable to our particular situation, however. During the course of the war many naval personnel, particularly marines, came into possession of weapons that were not exactly theirs but which might have been needed to fight the war. But no longer was that true.

Navy regulations demanded that any person in possession of government property hand over that property forthwith, or at least prior to discharge. Failure to do so could result in a court martial and a delay in discharge. Most people were unwilling to jeopardize their future, so they turned in undocumented rifles, pistols, and cutting devices of all types.

My armory was staffed with two second class gunner’s mates who were both experienced and good. When I saw they were handling the armory’s business satisfactorily, I paid them very little day to day attention. One morning, however, the lead gunner’s mate, Orville Gaither, came to me with a problem. The armory, he said, was being physically overwhelmed by the sheer volume of weapons being returned by servicemen on their way back to the states.

We researched this problem and could find no precedent for handling he vast numbers of surplus weapons. We finally decided, with the quiet approval of higher authorities, to conduct a burial at sea. One bright morning we commandeered an ocean-going navy tug at Pearl Harbor and chugged out to black water. One by one we consigned those beautiful wonderfully built expensive guns to the ocean deep.

Several decades later I ran into Orville at an out of town professional society meeting. We had not seen each other since those World War II days. We took the time to bring ourselves up to date. We were not terribly surprised that we each ended up in the oil business, he via Rice University and me via Texas U. We were surprised, however, that we each had risen to be vice presidents of rival major international oil companies.

Of course we talked about our days at Pearl Harbor. The one incident that we both remembered best was the burial at sea of all those guns. Orville confessed that as a conscientious gunner’s mate and a lover of fine weapons, that day was the worst one of his life. You know, I sorta felt that way too.