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Wednesday
March 17, 2010 Since 1922 |
A hero & local landmark that bears his name
Guest Columnist
Baytown Sun Published June 25, 2006 By ERIC and Glenda Sandifer
Nov. 1, 1945 was a quiet and uneventful day in world history. But had the events we’re about to relate never happened, Nov. 1, 1945 might have been remembered as the day the planned Allied invasion of Japan commenced—“D-Day” in the Pacific Theater of Operations during the Second World War.
It is and was the United States Navy’s deadliest offshore tragedy. It took place some four days outbound from Tinian Island—in the Philippine Sea. It is commemorated on a monument designated as one of only 26 National Memorials in the country—situated on the Downtown Canal Walk in a midwestern state’s capital city—and formally dedicated on Aug. 2, 1995.
“Little Boy” was the code name used to designate the second of three weapons created by the Manhattan Project. It was loaded aboard, then transported to the waiting crew of the Enola Gay by the ship’s company of the USS Indianapolis — and ultimately detonated 150 feet above Military Park in Hiroshima, Japan at 8:16 a.m. on Monday, Aug. 6, 1945.
Seventy-five hours later, “Fat Man” was let go in the skies above Nagasaki. And five days afterwards, President Harry S. Truman announced Japan’s unconditional surrender—and Thursday, Nov. 1, 1945 came and went quietly—and uneventfully.
After offloading her top secret cargo and being refueled at Tinian Island, the USS Indianapolis proceeded to Guam — where her captain received orders to sail for Leyte. The USS Underhill had been torpedoed along this same route only four days earlier. So Captain McVay requested a destroyer escort—a routine procedure for a state capital ship. But his request was denied.
A few minutes past midnight on Monday, July 30, 1945, a Japanese submarine fired a spread of six torpedoes at the Indianapolis. Two hit their intended target — blowing off a large section of the heavy cruiser’s bow, and striking her in the keel amidships—rupturing her water mains and electrical cables, and exploding one of her fuel tanks and a nearby powder magazine.
The Flagship of the 5th Fleet immediately listed hard to starboard. An SOS was sent, and her crew realized they must abandon ship. One survivor later recorded, “The Indy went suddenly dark, and heeled over 40 degrees. Then came that ominous groaning and grating of metal — the death rattle of a ship breaking up at sea.” A mere 12 minutes later, her fantail and four screws catapulted above the water line—and she went down by what was left of her forward compartments.
She sank with 300 souls on board. But 897 of her ship’s company had survived—and were now treading oil-soaked and shark-infested waters. Many were badly burned. When she exploded and then sank, the USS Indianapolis left behind an oil slick more than four feet deep. Within minutes, the strong fumes emitted by the floating oil made all her survivors severely nauseous.
The crew’s Kapok life vests became water logged after 48 to 72 hours. Adrift for four days and five nights, only 317 survived to be rescued. Five-hundred-and-eighty died from burns, shock, exposure, drowning—or from shark attacks.
World War II formally ended at 9:08 on Tuesday morning, Aug. 14, 1945 — amid a background of variously colored uniforms contrasted against the slate-gray deck of the USS Missouri — moored in Tokyo Bay. When the last signature was affixed to Japan’s articles of unconditional surrender, General Douglas MacArthur declared, “These proceedings are closed” — and the Second World War was remanded to history.
Three months later, the Japanese Premier freely admitted, “This terrific weapon was likely to obliterate the whole of the Japanese people. The threat is posed to our national survival prompted our immediate surrender.” Emperor Hirohito labeled Japan’s coerced capitulation, “The Atomic Peace.”
“Little Boy” weighed in at just under four hundred pounds. It killed 100,000 outright — and another 25,000 from burns, secondary infections and exposure to radiation—in the weeks to come. Its explosive force destroyed 60 per cent of what had been Hiroshima. “Fat Man’ was even more powerful—literally vaporizing an entire square mile of Nagasaki.
One of the sailors aboard the USS Indianapolis was a 22-year-old son, brother, husband, and uncle named Marvin. He was an Electrician’s Mate — First Class. His boyhood home was located 113 Elm St. in Pelly. Marvin survived the attack and the sinking, only to drown shortly before his fellow shipmates were rescued. There was no funeral, and he was afforded no military honors. No flag was folded and presented to his grieving family on behalf of a grateful nation. And there is no grave—and no marker.
But the obelisk in Baytown’s Veterans Memorial Park bears his name—as does the memorial plaque, carefully preserved and reverently displayed in the Commons at Robert E. Lee High School —Marvin’s alma mater. His name also appears on the Roll of Honor dedicated to the memory of our city’s native sons killed in wars waged during the 20th Century—and prominently displayed at the Baytown Historical Museum. And the name EM1/c William Marvin Baker, Jr. is immortalized on the National Memorial in Indianapolis, Indiana.
After Baytown was consolidated in 1948, a number of streets were named in honor of local veterans who lost their lives in service during the Second World War. One such street was nothing more than a dirt road—situated several miles from the center of downtown. But today, that street is a landmark address known as Baker Road.
The next time you happen to drive anywhere along it’s impressive length, remember Electrician’s Mate First Class William Marvin Baker, Jr.—the 22-year-old American sailor and hometown hero in whose cherished memory it is named. Recall to memory the event that claimed his life—but ultimately helped save the lives of countless numbers of his brothers-in-arms—and allowed Thursday, November 1st, 1945 to come and go—to be remembered simply as a quiet, uneventful day in world history. Because what matters most to our veterans—and their families—is that their service—and sacrifice—matters to us.
We wish to express our heartfelt appreciation to the following individuals for their willingness to share much-needed information: EM1/c William Marvin Baker, Jr.’s loving niece and Baytown resident, Mrs. Judy DeLoach—Mr. Lindsey Wilcox, a USS Indianapolis survivor and Baytown resident, and Mrs. Wanda Orton—a former Baytonian and current Baytown Sun columnist.
Baytown Sun Published June 25, 2006 By ERIC and Glenda Sandifer
Nov. 1, 1945 was a quiet and uneventful day in world history. But had the events we’re about to relate never happened, Nov. 1, 1945 might have been remembered as the day the planned Allied invasion of Japan commenced—“D-Day” in the Pacific Theater of Operations during the Second World War.
It is and was the United States Navy’s deadliest offshore tragedy. It took place some four days outbound from Tinian Island—in the Philippine Sea. It is commemorated on a monument designated as one of only 26 National Memorials in the country—situated on the Downtown Canal Walk in a midwestern state’s capital city—and formally dedicated on Aug. 2, 1995.
“Little Boy” was the code name used to designate the second of three weapons created by the Manhattan Project. It was loaded aboard, then transported to the waiting crew of the Enola Gay by the ship’s company of the USS Indianapolis — and ultimately detonated 150 feet above Military Park in Hiroshima, Japan at 8:16 a.m. on Monday, Aug. 6, 1945.
Seventy-five hours later, “Fat Man” was let go in the skies above Nagasaki. And five days afterwards, President Harry S. Truman announced Japan’s unconditional surrender—and Thursday, Nov. 1, 1945 came and went quietly—and uneventfully.
After offloading her top secret cargo and being refueled at Tinian Island, the USS Indianapolis proceeded to Guam — where her captain received orders to sail for Leyte. The USS Underhill had been torpedoed along this same route only four days earlier. So Captain McVay requested a destroyer escort—a routine procedure for a state capital ship. But his request was denied.
A few minutes past midnight on Monday, July 30, 1945, a Japanese submarine fired a spread of six torpedoes at the Indianapolis. Two hit their intended target — blowing off a large section of the heavy cruiser’s bow, and striking her in the keel amidships—rupturing her water mains and electrical cables, and exploding one of her fuel tanks and a nearby powder magazine.
The Flagship of the 5th Fleet immediately listed hard to starboard. An SOS was sent, and her crew realized they must abandon ship. One survivor later recorded, “The Indy went suddenly dark, and heeled over 40 degrees. Then came that ominous groaning and grating of metal — the death rattle of a ship breaking up at sea.” A mere 12 minutes later, her fantail and four screws catapulted above the water line—and she went down by what was left of her forward compartments.
She sank with 300 souls on board. But 897 of her ship’s company had survived—and were now treading oil-soaked and shark-infested waters. Many were badly burned. When she exploded and then sank, the USS Indianapolis left behind an oil slick more than four feet deep. Within minutes, the strong fumes emitted by the floating oil made all her survivors severely nauseous.
The crew’s Kapok life vests became water logged after 48 to 72 hours. Adrift for four days and five nights, only 317 survived to be rescued. Five-hundred-and-eighty died from burns, shock, exposure, drowning—or from shark attacks.
World War II formally ended at 9:08 on Tuesday morning, Aug. 14, 1945 — amid a background of variously colored uniforms contrasted against the slate-gray deck of the USS Missouri — moored in Tokyo Bay. When the last signature was affixed to Japan’s articles of unconditional surrender, General Douglas MacArthur declared, “These proceedings are closed” — and the Second World War was remanded to history.
Three months later, the Japanese Premier freely admitted, “This terrific weapon was likely to obliterate the whole of the Japanese people. The threat is posed to our national survival prompted our immediate surrender.” Emperor Hirohito labeled Japan’s coerced capitulation, “The Atomic Peace.”
“Little Boy” weighed in at just under four hundred pounds. It killed 100,000 outright — and another 25,000 from burns, secondary infections and exposure to radiation—in the weeks to come. Its explosive force destroyed 60 per cent of what had been Hiroshima. “Fat Man’ was even more powerful—literally vaporizing an entire square mile of Nagasaki.
One of the sailors aboard the USS Indianapolis was a 22-year-old son, brother, husband, and uncle named Marvin. He was an Electrician’s Mate — First Class. His boyhood home was located 113 Elm St. in Pelly. Marvin survived the attack and the sinking, only to drown shortly before his fellow shipmates were rescued. There was no funeral, and he was afforded no military honors. No flag was folded and presented to his grieving family on behalf of a grateful nation. And there is no grave—and no marker.
But the obelisk in Baytown’s Veterans Memorial Park bears his name—as does the memorial plaque, carefully preserved and reverently displayed in the Commons at Robert E. Lee High School —Marvin’s alma mater. His name also appears on the Roll of Honor dedicated to the memory of our city’s native sons killed in wars waged during the 20th Century—and prominently displayed at the Baytown Historical Museum. And the name EM1/c William Marvin Baker, Jr. is immortalized on the National Memorial in Indianapolis, Indiana.
After Baytown was consolidated in 1948, a number of streets were named in honor of local veterans who lost their lives in service during the Second World War. One such street was nothing more than a dirt road—situated several miles from the center of downtown. But today, that street is a landmark address known as Baker Road.
The next time you happen to drive anywhere along it’s impressive length, remember Electrician’s Mate First Class William Marvin Baker, Jr.—the 22-year-old American sailor and hometown hero in whose cherished memory it is named. Recall to memory the event that claimed his life—but ultimately helped save the lives of countless numbers of his brothers-in-arms—and allowed Thursday, November 1st, 1945 to come and go—to be remembered simply as a quiet, uneventful day in world history. Because what matters most to our veterans—and their families—is that their service—and sacrifice—matters to us.
We wish to express our heartfelt appreciation to the following individuals for their willingness to share much-needed information: EM1/c William Marvin Baker, Jr.’s loving niece and Baytown resident, Mrs. Judy DeLoach—Mr. Lindsey Wilcox, a USS Indianapolis survivor and Baytown resident, and Mrs. Wanda Orton—a former Baytonian and current Baytown Sun columnist.