By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the lives and legacies of U.S. sea service men and women. 

You are unlikely to encounter anyone with a greater sense of purpose, responsibility or obligation than Norman Peden. From his initial enlistment in the Navy, to his refusal to sit out the war in a safe posting, to his decision to leave a secure job shortly before retirement in order to conduct missionary work in the Caribbean, Norman Peden was the definition of a man on a mission. And those missions took him to hell and back more than once.

Still in high school, Norman felt certain that the United States would be pulled into the wars raging across Europe and Asia. Before America even entered the fray, Norman had enlisted in the U.S. Navy. He would participate in several voyages across the Atlantic Ocean before his first vessel, the USS Quincy, passed through the Panama Canal and headed out to the Pacific.

On Aug. 9, 1942, the USS Quincy was struck by Japanese torpedoes during the Battle of Savo Island. The deck below Norman exploded. The gunner across from him became hysterical and would never make it off the ship. Another crewmember, already injured and being guided to safety by a shipmate, was flung clear off the ship by the force of the explosion. Norman knew he had to act quickly for the sake of himself and the rest of the crew.

Most of the life rafts had been burned as fires spread across the ship, but two remained. Norman cut one down and it was quickly taken by other desperate Sailors. After cutting down the second raft, Norman made sure to stay with it. The raft filled up with crewmembers, and others clung to ropes on the side. Throughout the night, the men watched as Japanese vessels searched the waters for survivors. Luckily, their raft was not found and the next day they were rescued by an American destroyer. Had Norman not cut down the rafts there is no telling how many lives would have been lost in addition to the 550 that perished with the ship.

The Battle of Savo Island is remembered as a devastating defeat for the U.S. Navy. This was the beginning of the naval campaign in Guadalcanal. Several other American and Australian vessels were sunk during the battle and their relics still line the bottom of the straits, which have since been dubbed the “Iron Bottom Sound.”

Transported back to Pearl Harbor, Norman spent several months recovering. But as soon as he was ready, he asked to be sent back into harm’s way. His commanding officer was shocked, telling Norman that he could remain at Pearl Harbor and not see any more action. But Norman felt an obligation to see the war through. After several voyages, Norman found himself aboard the USS Wake Island, where he and the rest of the crew barely survived a close encounter with a kamikaze, which tore a large hole in the ship but failed to sink it.

Returning home, Norman found a new purpose with his new wife. He left the Navy and worked for the Goodyear tire factory until he was just within sight of retirement. But always ready to accept his next calling, Norman left the factory and became a missionary for several years in the Caribbean. He and his wife would then go on work with the Bethesda Boys Ranch outside of Tusla, Oklahoma, helping delinquent youths to better their lives. From the raging oceans of the South Pacific to the dry land of Oklahoma, Norman Peden gave everything he had to help others.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the lives and legacies of U.S. sea service men and women. 

The grandson of slaves, Doris “Dorie” Miller would become the first African American to receive the Navy’s highest medal — the Navy Cross. This historic achievement has gained renewed interest as the U.S. Navy has announced that it intends to name an aircraft carrier after the groundbreaking Sailor. In another first, this would be the first aircraft carrier named after an African American.

Raised in Waco, Texas, Miller would join the Navy at 19 years old to support his family. His mother would later explain that the family was hungry in those times, and so young Dorie set out to earn money for his folks back home. Despite having the physical prowess to excel in football and boxing, the Navy of 1939 decided that Miller belonged with the other African American Sailors working in the mess.

Miller’s first assignment was on the USS. West Virginia which was on the move to Pearl Harbor, along with the rest of the Pacific fleet. Unbeknownst to this young man from a small Texas town, but it would be at Pearl Harbor that he would meet his destiny.

On the morning of the Japanese attack, Miller was below decks doing laundry. When the first torpedo tore into the ship, Miller raced to his battle station, which had already been flooded. Seeking another way to help, he encountered a gravely wounded Capt. Mervyn Bennion. Miller was ordered to carry the captain to safety, which he did before turning his attention to the .50-caliber Browning machine gun on the deck.

He began firing at the Japanese planes. Those who witnessed him in action would later recall their amazement. African Americans were not trained on the guns in those days, so Miller was simply a natural. He fired until the gun ran out of ammunition and then began lifting shipmates from the boat deck through the oil fires to safety.

His gallantry not only resulted in his award of the Navy Cross, it altered the perception of African Americans in the armed forces. Shortly after an article in The New York Times related Miller’s story to the American public, the Navy announced that it would begin training “negro recruits” as gunner’s mates, radiomen, radar operators and a host of other critical specialties. Miller himself would be given the opportunity to speak before the first class of African American Sailors to graduate from Camp Robert Smalls. His main talking point whenever he gave a speech was his tremendous pride in the U.S. Navy.

Sadly, Doris “Dorie” Miller would not see the end of the war. Sent to the South Pacific on the escort carrier Liscome Bay, Miller would be killed in action after a torpedo exploded the vast cache of ordinance aboard the shipping, killing most of the crew instantly. His death was a terrible loss for the entire U.S. Navy, but his legacy continues to echo through the history of the greatest sea fighting force the world has ever known.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the lives and legacies of U.S. sea service men and women. 

“Fear is something that you have to learn to manage,” says Capt. Hugh Stephens, as he reflects upon the harrowing voyages that marked his service in the Merchant Marine during World War II. Fear divided his shipmates more clearly than branch of service. The Navy gunners and the brave Merchant Seamen who assisted them were peers, brothers in arms. Fearless men fighting for their country. Of course, young Hugh did have an advantage in conquering his fear. Like the rest of the new merchant seamen, he was too inexperienced to know what he should be afraid of, which made his terrifying experiences seem commonplace. The older unlicensed seafarers understood the dangers, and it made the trip more harrowing for them.

Hugh would get his first lesson in managing his concern when he compromised with his mother regarding joining the war effort. His deceased father, a World War I veteran, had impressed on his mother the horrors of war. She was not eager to see her son endure the type of combat that her husband had experienced. So, his mother agreed to let him join the Merchant Marine, believing it to be safer than military service. They did not know that one in every 26 Merchant Seamen would be killed during the war, making it among one of the most dangerous occupations.

Initial training in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, New York, would offer no calm, as ships were being sunk just beyond the New York City harbor. Trained in all the basics, Hugh boarded his first vessel and set sail in a 100-ship convoy. The massive fleet, accompanied by Navy and Coast Guard escorts, made its way across the Atlantic dropping depth charges regularly, which shook the vessels and shattered the momentary peace of their sleeping compartments.

As they approached the Straits of Gibraltar, the convoy broke up and 30 American ships entered the Mediterranean. The waters were filled with unseen enemies. German U-boats moved silently under the waters like sharks. The convoy made their way toward Crete. Here they were met with a heavy Luftwaffe presence. The planes strafed the decks of the ships first with incendiary rounds to light the hatch tarps on fire, and then conducted a second round of strafing with regular rounds. Hugh zigzagged across the deck as the bullets tore into the deck around him. He was assisting the Navy gunners as a loader, and his bravery, as well as that of all the others aboard, ensured that the ship’s defenses were able to hold off the enemy attack.

His first trip to the Persian Gulf with oil field workers and cargo for the Russians lasted eighteen months, and he was on two different ships, having been hospitalized in Mozambique with a ruptured appendix. His next trip from Philadelphia went right back to the Persian Gulf, bringing supplies to be trucked over the Zagros Mountains to our Russian allies. But it would be his third journey, the Murmansk Run, that would be his most memorable voyage of all. A British escort met them off the submarine boom net at Loch Ewe in northwest Scotland, off the North Atlantic. They headed for the Arctic Ocean, a dark and barren part of the world unlike any other. On its return trip, the convoy carried rescued Norwegian women and children from the Island of Soroy, who were transferred to Hugh’s vessel for transport to Scotland. They had not even begun their journey when a British frigate alongside his ship was torpedoed and blown to pieces, with only one survivor of the several hundred in the crew.

The Barents Sea is a frightening place, otherworldly in its expansive silence. The waters swelled and raged for three straight nights as enormous waves lifted the vessel so high that they could only see the stars in the sky before crashing back down. Five ships fell out from the convoy as a result of these terrible sailing conditions, and they were promptly sunk by German forces always lurking one step behind. The women and children aboard the ship wept bitterly, not knowing if the sunken ships had been transporting their husbands and fathers. “The conditions weathered by RA64 [this convoy] were accounted to be the worst endured in the entire North Atlantic theatre,” according to the book “Arctic Convoys” by Richard Woodman.

Hugh’s vessel was lucky to have had a great advantage: a captain, a Norwegian-American man with an unshakable calm demeanor whose poise and control comforted his men and the refugees weeping aboard the ship. This captain paced the deck, with his hands behind his back, calmly reassuring the men and singing Norwegian folk songs to the women and children. His command presence and ability to remain calm in the face of such peril would spread to the crew and keep them motivated all the way to their safe arrival in Scotland.

Today, Capt. Stephens can be found teaching at the SUNY Maritime College imparting critical advice to new recruits based on his decades of experience. Despite advancements in technology, safely navigating the seas will always depend on what Capt. Stephens describes as the three senses of sailing — what you hear with your ears, what you see with your eyes and what you feel under your feet. The last one can’t be imitated in most simulations. It can only be learned in the real world.

Capt. Stephens would like for people to know that the “entire world is bridged by the vessels” of the maritime community. The Merchant Marine can be found in diverse employs, from towing steel for bridges, to shipping food and products, to manning hospital ships. “We’re a highway … to the entire world” he says. And Capt. Stephens has traveled those strange and treacherous highways, unknown to most of us, for all his life.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the lives and legacies of U.S. sea service men and women. 

As Memorial Day weekend rapidly fades behind us, quickly forgotten amid the daily rhythm of work and family, let’s take one more moment to reflect on the generations of heroes whose stories call out to us from long-abandoned battlefields removed from memory by distance and time. Among these heroes one finds a distinct subset of near-mythical men and women whose legendary actions amid the chaos of combat instill national pride and inspire the next generation of American warriors. One such storied service member is John L. Canley, Marine and recipient of the Medal of Honor.

In February of 1968, American forces were pinned down in Hue City, South Vietnam. Enemy units occupied buildings within the city, outposts around the city and ambush positions along the access roads. They seemed to have commanded dominance of the terrain. Then came Alpha Company of the 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, 1st Marine Division, with a gunnery sergeant named John L. Canley. This young man would not only turn the tide of the battle, he would astound both his fellow Marines and the enemy with his death-defying heroics on the battlefield.

En route to Hue City, Alpha Company came under repeated attack. Canley was wounded early in these engagements, but his wounds would have seemingly no impact on his actions over the coming days. He rushed across the bullet-torn roadway to retrieve wounded Marines and carry them to safety. When his commanding officer was badly wounded, Canley took command and led the unit into Hue City.

Upon arriving in the city, Canley led his platoon on a flanking mission, which successfully eliminated several enemy machine gun positions. In the coming days he would lead attacks against fortified enemy positions across the city while continuing to brave enemy fire in order to rescue wounded Marines. Taking command of one building, Canley drew enemy fire by moving himself out into the open ,allowing his unit to maneuver and then dropping a satchel charge onto the enemy position.

But the most unbelievable aspect of the story was yet to come. In a battle for control of the city hospital, Canley twice scaled a wall in full view of enemy soldiers and survived the ordeal. While this author cannot say what the enemy soldiers were thinking as they watched Canley in action, it is more than possible that a few of them left their weapons on the ground and refused to ever fight against the seemingly superhuman American Marine Corps again.

For these conspicuous acts of bravery, Gunnery Sgt. John L. Canley was awarded the Navy Cross and later the Medal of Honor, which was presented to him by President Donald Trump on Oct. 17, 2018. Every American owes a debt of gratitude to heroes like John L. Canley. As the Memorial Day barbecues and beaches fade back into the daily routine, let’s take a moment to remember those truly extraordinary Americans who have provided us with such total safety and security that we have the luxury of forgetting about them.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the lives and legacies of U.S. sea service men and women. 

“Don’t call me a hero. All my heroes are asleep in the deep.”

These are the words of Issie Deitsch. Defined by a clear and unshakable sense of loyalty, duty and selfless service, Issie’s thoughts are rarely of himself. His fellow travelers, at sea or on the rails, are constant companions for this devoted man who can be found volunteering even today aboard the SS Lane Victory.

His brothers joined the war effort after Pearl Harbor, so of course Issie felt his duty was to accompany them. He was only 15 years old, and while many Mariners joined up at this age, Issie Deitsch had two unique obstacles standing in his way: a mother who was not afraid to stand against an entire recruiting station in order to keep her youngest son at home and a nosy neighbor who seemed unnaturally aware of every move that Issie made. These forces came together twice to thwart Issie’s efforts to join the war effort.

His first stop was the U.S. Navy. He successfully enlisted for perhaps an hour or two before his mother (alerted by the neighbor) stormed into the recruiting station and refused to leave until Issie was released from duty. Being that he was underage, the Navy was forced to oblige. It is worth pointing out that while the U.S. Navy could defeat the German and Japanese war machines, they were unable to stand up to Issie Deitsch’s mother.

His next stop was the Merchant Marine where the same situation played out. As Issie would say about his nosy neighbor, “They say loose lips sink ships. Well, loose lips sank me.” It seemed as though the universe had conspired against this young man, but the universe didn’t know Issie Deitsch. The words “give up” have never been part of his vocabulary. He would find his opportunity on his third try, joining the Seafarers Union and sailing off before anyone could stop him. This journey would result in the most harrowing experience of his young life.

Finally feeling that he was doing his part for his country, young Issie Deitsch sailed off to the North Atlantic aboard the SS Weatherspoon. They were transporting valuable supplies. Tanks, guns, ammunition, planes and food covered the deck and filled the storage compartments. Above the waves an escort of British ships protected the convoy, but below the waves a German escort followed them as well. The British ordered the convoy to split up. “I will never see home again,” thought Issie. Two torpedoes ripped through the water and into the Weatherspoon. The captain gave the order to abandon ship, and the crew dropped into the icy water. A British ship picked them up. One of the officers looked at Issie and told him he was too young and that he should be at home where he belonged. In typical fashion, when Issie did return home he got on the very next ship to bring more supplies to the allied forces.

The same scenario played out aboard the SS Tivites, which was torpedoed in the Mediterranean Sea in October of 1943. Again, Issie and his crewmates were picked up by British forces and eventually made their way to Tunis. When asked why these convoy missions were so important to the war effort Issie responds, “What good is a gun if you haven’t got a bullet?” He understood the importance of what the Merchant Marine was doing and he repeatedly risked his life in support of that mission.

Back home, decades later, Issie often speaks of his shipmates as though they were still with him, equating his needs to their needs. When told that he could get medical help through the VA he responds, “My shipmates don’t get those benefits, so I don’t want them either!” Aside from an earlier dream of becoming a locomotive engineer, Issie mentions little about himself or his ambitions. His thoughts, his loyalty and his devotion are to those men in the deep who no doubt remember their friend Issie as fondly as he remembers them.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the lives and legacies of U.S. sea service men and women. 

Imagine yourself looking up into the darkest night sky, sailing silently through the frozen North Sea en route to the Soviet port of Murmansk. Through the hushed blackness of the inscrutable skies come the sounds of German planes. The peaceful sea is alive with speeding torpedoes. Your convoy splits up to make themselves harder to target. Seemingly alone in a vast hostile world, you make your way along the icy deck to the sounds of frantic shipmates and frenzied commands. And, you are only 16 years old.

This was the reality for George Koch as he carried out his mission to deliver vital supplies to the Soviets during WWII. Though supported by a British Navy escort, his convoy came under regular attack from both the sea and the sky. By this point in the war, the Germans were losing and efforts to prevent resupply among the allies was a top strategic priority for them. Across George’s convoy, gunners searched the darkness for enemy planes as the British ships dropped depth charges to destroy hostile submarines. This was the nightly routine.

But even in the midst of such terrifying circumstances, George was able to see a certain beauty in his surroundings. Staring into the somber skies on Christmas Eve he was suddenly shocked to find the night come alive with colors. It was the Northern Lights, which he had never seen before. George still recalls the event, saying that he felt like even the dark skies were celebrating the birth of Christ.

Upon arriving in Murmansk the ship was met by a group of older Russian women. George asked where were the children, to which they responded cryptically that the children were in a safe place. George asked where were the young women (surely only out of curiosity). The older women responded that the soldiers’ wives accompanied them to the front lines. It was a harsh introduction to the realities of the war. The place he had entered was bombed nearly to rubble and the youth seemed to have vanished. But again, there was beauty to be found even in this grim place as the older women guided George and his comrades to a theater where an orchestra played classical music for them throughout the cold and dark night.

George would go on to become a Naval gunner when he switched over from the Merchant Marines to the Navy in 1945. Prior to joining the Navy, George began dating a young woman named Jean Cook who would later become his wife. George joined the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers and had two sons and is now a proud grandparent. The naval tradition lives on in his family as both his son Jack and his grandson Jason served in the Navy during Vietnam and Desert Storm, respectively.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the lives and legacies of U.S. sea service men and women. 

This week, the Navy League would like to highlight the service and sacrifice of Marine Corps Pfc. Harold Gonsalves. In a branch of the armed services renowned for courage and gallantry, Gonsalves warrants special attention for his actions in the Battle of Okinawa which, sadly, cost him his life.

Born in Alameda, California, in 1926, Harold was a bit of a local phenomenon. He played football and baseball, as well as participated on the high school track and swimming teams. He even sang tenor in the glee club. With these talents, young Gonsalves could have found himself on the road to stardom. Instead, he enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1943.

Gonsalves took part in several successful assaults across the Marshall Islands, but it was Okinawa that American forces needed for the anticipated invasion of the Japanese mainland. Harold and his comrades in the 4th Battalion, 15th Marine Regiment, prepared to take the island and win the war.

Twenty-two-year-old Harold Gonsalves joined a small forward observation team, braving bullets and mortars to help guide American artillery on enemy positions. As the team moved forward from their observation mission to fighting on the front lines, a grenade landed at their feet. Without hesitation, Gonsalves threw himself on the grenade, absorbing the full explosion and saving his fellow Marines from harm. For his selfless act of heroism, Gonsalves was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the careers of individuals in the U.S.-flag Merchant Marine. 

A bit of a natural born rebel, Oliver Lua found his calling in the Merchant Marine. In a matter of months, he would go from cutting class to braving Japanese attacks in the South Pacific. While his journey seems like a strange series of coincidences, Lua feels that his service in the Merchant Marine was more akin to destiny. “It was like I was supposed to do it.”

Lua’s disciplinary issues in school were less about inability to follow the rules than they were about a young man eager to get out into the world. He remembers hearing of how ships were being sunk by enemy forces and he wanted to do something about it. So intense was his eagerness that he hitchhiked his way to San Francisco to attend the school for Merchant Marines. As though by divine providence, the vehicle that picked him up was full of Merchant Mariners on their way to get their papers.

With the help of an altered birth certificate and doctor’s letter procured by his sister and father, Oliver completed his Merchant Marine training and received his first assignment aboard the William S. Ladd. He was only 15 years old. The ship’s first mate didn’t know what to make of the 5-foot 6-inch-tall, 117-pound boy standing in front of him. He asked if Oliver knew how to tie a knot. When Oliver proved he could, the first mate shouted, “Stow your gear!”

The William S. Ladd sailed off to the Pacific theater, carrying 138 tons of artillery, 800 drums of gasoline and 52 amphibious tanks. The tanks were dropped off to a unit preparing to storm a Japanese-held island, and the Ladd sailed on to the Philippines. Prior to reaching its destination, one of Oliver’s crewmembers died tragically after falling into the water and breaking his neck. Oliver tried to save him but was unable to do so. Oliver, a young boy only a few weeks away from home, was called upon to sign the death certificate for his crewmate. To this day, Oliver laments that the man had a wife and family that he would never see again.

Upon arriving in the Philippines, the convoy of ships accompanying the Ladd would come under regular attack from Japanese forces. Oliver watched as ships were pounded by torpedoes and kamikazes. The Ladd courageously fought with all their might, shooting down four enemy planes before an enemy fighter collided directly with the Ladd’s hold containing the fuel and artillery. There was little to be saved on the exploding vessel, so the abandon ship order was given. Miraculously, Oliver and his shipmates would escape the vessel with injuries but no loss of life.

Oliver returned to San Francisco in January of 1945 and prepared for his next assignment, which would mirror his prior voyage so closely that he actually passed the wreckage of the Ladd still floating outside of the Leyte port in the Philippines. This trip would not have the same dangers, as the Japanese were now on the precipice of defeat. When Oliver returned home after this trip, he would learn of that the atomic bomb had been dropped and that Japanese surrender was imminent.

After the war, Oliver joined the Army and served in the 11th Airborne in Hokkaido, Japan. Receiving his Merchant Marine ribbons in the mail, he pinned them on his uniform prior to battalion inspection. At first stunned and outraged at the strange ribbons that seemed to violate uniform regulations, his superiors learned of his experiences in the Merchant Marine and told him to “wear those ribbons proudly” — all except his 1st sergeant, who would remain irritated by the ribbons and by this rebellious Merchant Mariner for the rest of his time in Japan. But that’s Oliver Lua, a rebel with a good cause.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the careers of individuals in the U.S.-flag Merchant Marine. 

A testament to the critical humanitarian operations of the Merchant Marine, Charles Mills’ first voyage took him to the West Indies where he delivered vital food supplies to a suffering population. This 16-year-old boy who had been attending high school only a few weeks prior, was now a hero, traversing the rough seas and saving lives. This is the life of a Merchant Marine, and it would become a lifelong calling for this self-described “born seaman.”

Raised in Galveston Texas, Mills always had a strong work ethic. During the Great Depression he would find jobs at the local grocery store, butcher shop and bakery. But fate came calling one day when his cousin, already a seafaring Merchant Marine, returned home from sea and convinced Charles to sign up. After promising his high school principal that he would complete his final semester upon his return (which he later did) and completing his mariner training, Mills set off for the seas and a lifetime of adventure. His first voyage would be a mission of charity, but beyond the horizon a war was raging and it was only a matter of time before America would be pulled into the fire.

As World War II exploded across the oceans, Mills and his crewmates set sail for India. Aboard their ship was ammunition, cars, train components and other military supplies. Like most Merchant Mariners at the time, Mills became a critical asset to the war effort. Guiding the ship and its vital cargo through treacherous waterways, they would be forced to change course and arrive in the Persian Gulf, finally delivering their supplies in Iraq with the help of Indian longshoreman (a truly international effort). The U.S.-flag ships were a favorite target for enemy attacks, and changes to ship routes and port of destination became necessary for the safe delivery of military supplies.

Mills speaks passionately about the role of the Merchant Marine in wartime. When the military needs supplies, “we are the suppliers.” During the war, the Merchant Marine would deliver over 4,800 tons of supplies every hour. Thousands were killed, injured or taken prisoner. They faced the same dangers as the other armed services, but, like his fellow Merchant Mariners, Mills would not receive the recognition he deserved until quite recently.

Still, it is clear that Mills is not concerned about his personal glory. He remembers his shipmates and the mission of the Merchant Marine.

“On a ship, every man has to look out for the next man,” says Mills. He has that same attitude today as he commends the work of his fellow mariners. “The average American is not aware that the United States is a maritime country. We trade with other countries. We need U.S. ships to do that.”

And we need more Merchant Mariners like Charles Mills.

Charles would go on to be elected field patrolman of the National Maritime Union working in New York and Baltimore before moving back to Houston with his family. There, he worked as the director of the gulf area out of the Houston office until he retired.

By Luke Lorenz
Manager of Government Affairs
Navy League of the United States

This is part of an ongoing series, where we look at the careers of individuals in the U.S.-flag Merchant Marine. 

While we are quick to recognize the heroic service our World War II veterans provided nearly a century ago, we often forget that many of them continued to carry injuries and mental trauma ever since, even up to the present day. Such is the story of Leonard Blake, who experienced severe injury and PTSD. Blake’s difficult experience was compounded by being a Merchant Mariner, instead of a more widely acknowledged branch of service member.

Born Leonard Row, this heroic Mariner’s entire life and even his identity would change in an instant one fateful day in Okinawa Harbor, Japan. As he rested in his bunk aboard the Marianne Livermore, a Japanese Kamikaze dive-bombed the ship and collided with maximum force. Leonard was thrown through an escape panel with severe injuries to his legs and feet. The faces of shipmates who would not emerge from the flaming wreckage still haunt him to this day.

Surviving the attack, Leonard was brought to a naval hospital where he would learn that his occupation as a Merchant Mariner was viewed as a cowardly escape from real duty. “I have no sympathy for these Merchant Marines,” said one doctor. “They’re just a bunch of draft dodgers.” Apparently, this doctor was unaware that Leonard had joined up to serve his country at fifteen, before he was even eligible to be drafted.

Leonard was not allowed to stay at the naval hospital since he was not technically a member of the armed services. He would end up at a public hospital in California. Still a child, he was adopted by the parents of another crew member who had died on the Marianne Livermore named Bob Blake. And so, Leonard Row became Leonard Blake, his name a daily tribute to a fallen comrade and the family that welcomed him as one of their own.

I wish I could say that this story happily ended there, but unfortunately Blake would spend the rest of his life fighting for the health care, compensation and acknowledgement that come standard among the other branches of the armed services. VA hospitals would continue to treat him with the same dismissive attitude as the Navy doctors did years before. He would receive a fraction of the disability pay that he may have received had he been in the Navy or the Marines. He received a Merchant Mariner Medal but is ineligible for a Purple Heart. These are issues that should not be forgotten.

Still, Blake still thinks back fondly to his days sailing the oceans, climbing the rigging and delivering critical supplies to American forces around the world. His joyful memories of those days are crystal clear when he speaks of his service. Perhaps somewhere out there, on a ship floating carelessly on calm waters, Blake’s shipmates stand on deck under a bright blue sky waiting for their friend to return to them.