13 December 1944
13 December 1944
A father's tragedy inspires a future chaplain
Every day some thirty to fifty photos of various pieces of military hardware scroll through my Facebook feed — tanks, planes, ships, all manner of weapons — to which I pay little attention, which is why I couldn’t tell you the difference between a Firefly and a Matilda, other than that one lights up at night and the other is likely to have me humming the theme from On the Beach. But a few days ago a picture showed up that gave me pause, thank you Naval Historia, of a gun turret on the USS Nashville after the ship was struck by a kamikaze during World War 2.
In 2014 I was writing “Semper Fi, Padre” with co-author John Caruso about his brother Mathew. Mathew Caruso was a 19-year-old Marine sergeant in the Korean War who was assigned as a chaplain’s assistant. On December 6, 1950, during the breakout from the Chosin Reservoir, he was killed saving the life of the chaplain, Father Cornelius Griffin. Six days later, Mathew’s son was born.
The chaplain was wounded but recovered, and later had a chapel built in Mathew’s honor. The Mathew Caruso Chapel is still active today, thanks to members of the Church of Latter Day Saints who gave it a makeover about twelve years ago.
John Caruso, one of Mathew’s younger brothers, enlisted in the Marines after Mathew was killed and caught the tail end of the Korean War. In 1955, while he was at Camp Pendleton, he was called in to Father Griffin’s office. Mathew’s remains, which were buried in a mass grave at Koto-Ri, had been repatriated as part of an exchange with North Korea, and Griffin wanted John to accompany Mathew’s body by train from San Francisco to Hartford for a proper burial.
For John, who would go to law school and eventually become a judge, it was a life-changing experience. For three days on the train, people would ask him why he was wearing a black armband on his dress uniform, and he would say he was a burial escort for a fallen Marine. And then someone would ask, “Did you know him?”
While we were writing the book, John and I would meet for an hour once a week at a Dunkin Donuts in Avon, Connecticut to discuss the story. I was full of ideas back then, or at least I was full of something. Mathew dropped out of high school to enlist, so I suggested that John contact the high school and see if they would award him a posthumous diploma. Next thing you know the school put up a display about Mathew in its history room, had John address an assembly, and gave him a cap and gown, which he passed on to Mathew’s son, Dan Caruso.
Then I suggested that John contact the chapel and let them know we were writing a book about the hero it was named after. Not only was the chaplain thrilled, he organized a rededication of the chapel. John and I went out to Camp Pendleton, where we met Mathew’s son and his widow, who had remarried and was widowed again, and I was able to interview them for the book.
Which brings me to the chaplain, Lieutenant Commander Evan Adams, US Navy (chaplains and medics for the Marines are part of the Navy).
I asked Evan why he became a chaplain. His answer reminded me of Robert Shaw’s speech about the USS Indianapolis in “Jaws.” I thought it was because of the raw power of his answer, but on listening to it again it was more because of the way he said “13 December 1944,” like Shaw recited with a chilling matter of factness the date “June 29, 1945” when the Indianapolis was torpedoed and sank, leaving its survivors for days in shark-infested waters. And also because of the graphic details of the kamikaze strike.
Evan Adams Part 1
Evan Adams Part 2
From “Semper Fi, Padre”:
Adams says it was his father who inspired him to go into the ministry.
“My dad was a World War II United States Marine,” he says, “and he was in the Pacific along with all the other Marines, and they had to do some horrific things out there. And my dad, he was an alcoholic, and I think that by what he told me, drinking was a way of escape, to escape the horrific things that happened during the war.
“I can remember my dad telling me a story about when he was on a ship, the date was 13 December 1944, and he used to like to go out to the bow of the ship and watch the sun break the horizon. And one day, on 13 December 1944, while he was out there he noticed a black dot in the sky. He pulled out his spectacles and realized that that was an enemy plane and it was loaded with bombs. It was a kamikaze on a one-way mission. And the primary mission of the cruiser that he was stationed on was to protect the carrier at all costs, and so the horn for battle stations sounded, and he strapped himself in his dual .40s and he said, ‘Son, we unleashed Hell.’ And he said they laid a spray of cover fire in front of the carrier to protect the carrier. Well, the pilot made the escort the target so instead of ramming the carrier he rammed the cruiser, and he said, ‘Son, there was an explosion and there was fire and smoke.’ And he said, ‘My best friend, Kevin, was stationed back there in a turret astern near the impact,’ and so he unharnessed himself and ordered another Marine to take his place and he started to run down there and he began to splash on the deck, and he said ‘Son, I couldn’t believe it. We’re way up here on the deck line and we’re already getting seawater.’ He looked down at the sole of his boot and it wasn’t seawater. It was pools of human blood. He began to run further astern and he began to trip over debris on the deck and he said ‘Son, I looked down and there were the dismemberments of sailors and Marines and they were dead, laying on the deck, and there were arms and legs and decapitations and all kinds of horrific things.’ And he got back as close as he could, he said the fire was too hot, the smoke was too thick, and damage control was out there trying to put out the fire, and he said, ‘Son, it didn’t matter because Kevin’s turret had been totally obliterated in the explosion.’ He said, ‘Son, I just began to run myself all the way around and I would pick somebody up but they were already dead, and i looked in the distance,’ and he said, ‘Son, I saw someone lying flat on their back, and their arms were flailing around,’ and he ran over there and he grabbed his hand. It was like a cooked chicken wing, and the smell of burning flesh, if you’ve evere smelled burning flesh that’s not a smell you soon forget. And he said, ‘Son,’ he looked down, he couldn’t believe it. It was Kevin. And his eyes are rolled back in his head, he’s in shock I guess, I mean I’m not a doctor, he said he’s in shock, and Daddy said, ‘Son, I did all I knew to do. I looked right in his face and yelled “KEVIN!”’ And Daddy told me, ‘Son, when I yelled at Kevin he snapped out of it and our eyes met, and he looked up at me,’ and he said, ‘Kevin said these words: “Gun. I knew you’d come. Gun. I knew you’d come.” And he kept saying over and over again. “Gun. I knew you’d come.” And Daddy said, ‘Son, I thought he was gonna die right there on the deck.’ So he scooped him up in his arms and he carried him down to sick bay, and as he was going, Kevin’s arm dismembered from his body just like a Thanksgiving turkey leg on Thanksgiving Day. And there were some sailors and Marines down there in sick bay. They were yelling for their mothers, they were yelling for Jesus, they were yelling for whoever they thought was listening to them.’ And he said, ‘Son, there was a dead sailor laying there on the rack but I took Kevin and I scooped him up and put him down there but Kevin had already died.’
“In all there were 330 souls, 330 that were either killed or wounded in the kamikaze attack of 13 December 1944 on the USS Nashville. And when my dad told me these stories, it seemed to give him a degree of peace, some sense of closure, that he could tell these stories, someone would listen, and someone would be interested and care enough to provide support, and at a very early age I realized that I had a gift. People would tell me things, and after they would talk to me about it, they would feel better. And as a very young person it’s hard to understand at the time, but then I realized that I want to help American service members heal from their moral wounds, so that’s why I joined the United States Navy Chaplain Corps. When I was ten years old I knew I wanted to be a chaplain in the United States Navy.”
