From The Four Chaplains Memorial Foundation
It was the
evening of Feb. 2, 1943, and the U.S.A.T. Dorchester was crowded to capacity,
carrying 902 service men, merchant seamen and civilian workers.
Once a
luxury coastal liner, the 5,649-ton vessel had been converted into an Army
transport ship. The Dorchester, one of three ships in the SG-19 convoy, was
moving steadily across the icy waters from Newfoundland toward an American base
in Greenland. SG-19 was escorted by Coast Guard Cutters Tampa, Escanaba and
Comanche.
Hans J.
Danielsen, the ship's captain, was concerned and cautious. Earlier the Tampa
had detected a submarine with its sonar. Danielsen knew he was in dangerous
waters even before he got the alarming information. German U-boats were
constantly prowling these vital sea lanes, and several ships had already been
blasted and sunk.
The
Dorchester was now only 150 miles from its destination, but the captain ordered
the men to sleep in their clothing and keep life jackets on. Many soldiers
sleeping deep in the ship's hold disregarded the order because of the engine's
heat. Others ignored it because the life jackets were uncomfortable.
On Feb. 3,
at 12:55 a.m., a periscope broke the chilly Atlantic waters. Through the cross
hairs, an officer aboard the German submarine U-223 spotted the Dorchester.
The U-223
approached the convoy on the surface, and after identifying and targeting the
ship, he gave orders to fire the torpedoes, a fan of three were fired. The one
that hit was decisive--and deadly--striking the starboard side, amid ship, far
below the water line.
Danielsen,
alerted that the Dorchester was taking water rapidly and sinking, gave the
order to abandon ship. In less than 20 minutes, the Dorchester would slip
beneath the Atlantic's icy waters.
Tragically,
the hit had knocked out power and radio contact with the three escort ships.
The CGC Comanche, however, saw the flash of the explosion. It responded and
then rescued 97 survivors. The CGC Escanaba circled the Dorchester, rescuing an
additional 132 survivors. The third cutter, CGC Tampa, continued on, escorting
the remaining two ships.
Aboard the
Dorchester, panic and chaos had set in. The blast had killed scores of men, and
many more were seriously wounded. Others, stunned by the explosion were groping
in the darkness. Those sleeping without clothing rushed topside where they were
confronted first by a blast of icy Arctic air and then by the knowledge that
death awaited.
Men jumped
from the ship into lifeboats, over-crowding them to the point of capsizing,
according to eyewitnesses. Other rafts, tossed into the Atlantic, drifted away
before soldiers could get in them.
Through
the pandemonium, according to those present, four Army chaplains brought hope
in despair and light in darkness. Those chaplains were Lt. George L. Fox,
Methodist; Lt. Alexander D. Goode, Jewish; Lt. John P. Washington, Roman
Catholic; and Lt. Clark V. Poling, Dutch Reformed.
Quickly
and quietly, the four chaplains spread out among the soldiers. There they tried
to calm the frightened, tend the wounded and guide the disoriented toward
safety.
"Witnesses
of that terrible night remember hearing the four men offer prayers for the
dying and encouragement for those who would live," says Wyatt R. Fox, son
of Reverend Fox.
One
witness, Private William B. Bednar, found himself floating in oil-smeared water
surrounded by dead bodies and debris. "I could hear men crying, pleading,
praying," Bednar recalls. "I could also hear the chaplains preaching
courage. Their voices were the only thing that kept me going."
Another
sailor, Petty Officer John J. Mahoney, tried to reenter his cabin but Rabbi
Goode stopped him. Mahoney, concerned about the cold Arctic air, explained he
had forgotten his gloves.
"Never
mind," Goode responded. "I have two pairs." The rabbi then gave
the petty officer his own gloves. In retrospect, Mahoney realized that Rabbi
Goode was not conveniently carrying two pairs of gloves, and that the rabbi had
decided not to leave the Dorchester.
By this
time, most of the men were topside, and the chaplains opened a storage locker
and began distributing life jackets. It was then that Engineer Grady Clark
witnessed an astonishing sight.
When there
were no more lifejackets in the storage room, the chaplains removed theirs and
gave them to four frightened young men.
"It
was the finest thing I have seen or hope to see this side of heaven," said
John Ladd, another survivor who saw the chaplains' selfless act.
Ladd's
response is understandable. The altruistic action of the four chaplains constitutes one of the purest spiritual and
ethical acts a person can make. When giving their life jackets, Rabbi Goode did
not call out for a Jew; Father Washington did not call out for a Catholic; nor
did the Reverends Fox and Poling call out for a Protestant. They simply gave
their life jackets to the next man in line.
As the
ship went down, survivors in nearby rafts could see the four chaplains--arms
linked and braced against the slanting deck. Their voices could also be heard
offering prayers.
Of the 902
men aboard the U.S.A.T. Dorchester, 672 died, leaving 230 survivors. When the
news reached American shores, the nation was stunned by the magnitude of the
tragedy and heroic conduct of the four chaplains.
"Valor
is a gift," Carl Sandburg once said. "Those having it never know for
sure whether they have it until the test comes."
That night
Reverend Fox, Rabbi Goode, Reverend Poling and Father Washington passed life's
ultimate test. In doing so, they became an enduring example of extraordinary
faith, courage and selflessness.
The
Distinguished Service Cross and Purple Heart were awarded posthumously December
19, 1944, to the next of kin by Lt. Gen. Brehon B. Somervell, Commanding
General of the Army Service Forces, in a ceremony at the post chapel at Fort
Myer, VA.
A one-time
only posthumous Special Medal for Heroism was authorized by Congress and
awarded by the President Eisenhower on January 18, 1961. Congress attempted to
confer the Medal of Honor but was blocked by the stringent requirements that
required heroism performed under fire. The special medal was intended to have
the same weight and importance as the Medal of Honor.
