Bell City, Mo.-June 14, 2004: On this day I was privileged to witness and document a momentous event; one that, if the many improbabilities—some seemingly impossible—weighing against it are considered, ranks among a select company, the truly great dramas of history. The scene was deceivingly simple; the quiet spacious, back yard of a plain country farm house that showed ample signs of the reported 80-some years of habitation, while at the same time exhibiting , here and there, a patchwork of more modern features.
The house sat along a narrow, graveled road that ran westward a bit more than a quarter of a mile, alongside a row of irregularly sized straggly trees and bushes as well as few small cane brakes that appeared to have once been an old fence line, to a black-topped State Highway, Route P, in Stoddard County, Missouri.
Perhaps fifty feet short of the house a lane on the right led to the back yard. An unusual feature caught my eye upon turning onto this lane at about 9:30 AM that day; a bell of the size ordinarily seen at churches or old-time school houses resting in its yoke atop a huge black timber standing upright, squared to perhaps 14 inches and about 12 feet in height. Close by, on a grassy lawn were three lawn chairs, of the vintage often seen these days, with a man and woman occupying two of them. Standing randomly about the yard were trees of various sizes and species, and surrounding, to each side and ahead, were other trees among which sat a few buildings that appeared to be sheds, barns, or other structures peculiar to farms. I stopped my car a bit past the bell and black post.
The man, Mr. Joseph R. Brown, called out while rising from his chair, "This is the place. Come over and have a seat."
He introduced the woman, who had also arisen and with whom I was already slightly acquainted, as his wife, Marcella, and we all sat. "They should be here soon," he announced, then adding with a chuckle, "unless they get lost. We are so far out in the 'sticks' here that many visitors tell us how they had to stop along the way to ask directions."
After a short pause, he continued, "Ten o'clock is the time set and I think they will make it."
Though soon immersed in thought, I was aware that although the Browns appeared to be relaxed, they glanced frequently toward where the lane junctioned with the road. Across the way a movement among the branches of a tree caught my eye, which soon became two squirrels romping round and round and up and down the trunk of the tree. I glanced at my wrist watch when Mr. Brown suddenly announced, "I hear something coming." It was six minutes short of ten o'clock.
Then a car was turning in, followed almost immediately by another. The first stopped a few feet short of mine while the other eased cautiously to within a few feet of it. As if responding to a long practiced maneuver, the front doors of both cars opened at the same time and a man and woman emerged from each. I recognized the men immediately, from pictures of both seen previously, despite those having been taken when they were young men; contrasting sharply with these two old fellows peering our way from beneath gray, almost white, eyebrows; Hunt and Creamer. Each, having been the drivers, thus on our side, stepped to alongside his front bumper, then halted to stand waiting until his lady could come around to join him. In response, the Browns were on their feet and had moved a few steps in that direction to stop and stand waiting. Being uncertain as to what was expected of me at this point, I remained sitting while jotting notes onto my pad.
As if on cue, the four visitors moved toward the Browns a few steps, then stopped again—still maybe eight feet away. For what seemed almost an eternity, but surely little more than a minute, they stood thus, staring, saying nothing, but I noticed tears slipping slowly down the cheeks of the two men's faces I could see. I glanced toward the watch on my wrist then, uselessly, with eyes suddenly misted by this entrancingly moving scene. Standing up, I reached for the handkerchief tucked into a pocket of my skirt.
While the ladies remained standing where they were, sobbing softly, the three men slowly approached each other with outstretched arms. When close enough, they seized hands tightly to stand silently, speaking with tears. I do not know how long we all stood there then; my watch had long since been forgotten.
What mattered? On occasions such as this time has no meaning.
My next recollection was of the men slowly unclasping hands and Mr. Brown saying huskily, while turning to point, "Shall we go over there and sit?" and the group slowly made its way toward where three chairs had been placed, equally spaced, around a large, round, clear-topped table, with three more interspaced a few inches further away. I followed because a chair had been placed for me a bit beyond the table arrangement.
After the ladies had been formally introduced by their respective husbands and carefully seated, the three men seated themselves, each with his wife on his left. I moved past and seated myself. The seating arrangement has puzzled me ever since. Upon approaching the table, Brown had motioned to Hunt that he was to sit at his right, which placed Creamer at Hunt's right. Since I had already been informed as to what had been the men's ranking long ago, with Hunt, an officer and pilot, followed by Creamer who was what is called a Petty ("small" or "little") Officer, and Brown still a Seaman (least in rank), I concluded this had been planned; a symbolic arrangement to have the order of rank always passing downward to the right, with Brown's arguably superior position over Hunt's merely representing his duties as host. Perhaps it was merely happenstance, but I have yet to resolve this question.
A tape recorder sitting in the center of the table was the only adornment until Hunt laid down a small book, handed over by his wife while crossing the yard, and Brown laid down a few sheets of paper his wife had been carrying. Creamer, seated with his back to me, produced nothing.
A smaller table had been set a few feet aside in the direction of the house. On it was centered a large, covered, clear-glass bowl, which appeared to contain some sort of cookies or perhaps cakes. Arranged about the bowl was a coffee maker at the end of a cord leading to the house; a large glass pitcher with top, containing what looked to be water; seven rather plain-looking drinking glasses; some white coffee cups; a tray equipped with spoons and an array of creamers and sweeteners; and some paper napkins in a holder.
All was shaded by a large Pecan tree.
Again there was only silence, other than a rustling of leaves overhead by a fitful breeze, interrupted now and then by the plaintive chirping of a bird. Each present, men and wives, was sitting back relaxed; maybe lost in deep reverie; perhaps the men were groping through personal recollections of those desperate moments leading to the last time all three had been together—in a land thousands of miles distant and more than 62 years before.
I use this interval to explain who I am, as well as how and why the only person, other than these men and their wives, invited to attend and observe this special and, by agreement, very private reunion. The Browns had taken steps, even, to ensure that no friends or relatives would drop in unexpectedly—they would not be "at home."
As previously explained to me, Hunt had been the one who first suggested, in a letter to Brown, the possibility of meeting "somewhere" after these many years. Quoting a portion of that letter, dated February 12, 1904: "I was driving last Sunday afternoon, sight-seeing as we often do, in an area of our countryside never visited before when this large, lengthy and boxy-looking, barn-like structure loomed ahead, immediately reminding me of that 'barn' you and I lived in while POWs in Japan. Then I began thinking how long it has been, almost 62 years, since you, Creamer, and myself have all been together in one place.
"After arriving home, Lillian and I discussed this and she agreed that perhaps we three should attempt a meeting of some sort, somewhere. We are now old men, and it seems almost another miracle that we three, the sole survivors of that awful tragedy so many years ago and the rigors experienced as POWs, are still alive. Since I live in the state of Washington and Creamer in Florida, I suggest we meet, if that be possible, somewhere in Missouri.
"I am writing Creamer also, to see what he thinks about this and I would appreciate hearing your thoughts and suggestions."
Correspondence among the three resulted in a decision to meet in a strictly private manner at the Brown's small farm; a simple, quiet country location, hopefully free of interruption and about as far as is possible from the noisy rush of our modern world. Brown then suggested an exception; that one member of the media, a reporter with his local weekly newspaper, whom he considered to be discrete, be invited to attend and observe, as a representative of the public.
An agreement was reached, with these stipulations—the observer would be that only, though photographs would be allowed if taken unobtrusively; that any questions would be answered or other information given only after the meeting together was declared ended.
I am Johanna Evans and I consider it an extra-ordinary privilege and extreme honor to have been chosen to attend.
Brown broke this quiet interlude by suddenly looking toward Hunt and asking, "Mr. Hunt, would you perhaps like to make a statement?"
Hunt, who in the picture I had seen appeared to be tall and slender with shoulders slightly hunched, was now definitely more hunched, but in response to the request he straightened from a comfortable position in his chair to sit more erect and began, "Joe, I feel privileged to have been invited here for this occasion and honored by your request. My thoughts during the last few minutes have been back to the time our PBY was under attack by Japanese fighter planes and I would mention now those comrades of ours who did not survive. He rose to a standing position then, followed immediately by Brown and Creamer, and continued, "Lt. Jean Cusick, First Pilot... (his voice broke for a moment, then recovered); Air Pilot George Morrison, Second Pilot; Burdette Siler, Aviation Machinist Mate 1st Class, Plane Captain; Sam Davis, Aviation Machinist Mate 2nd Class; "Euchre" Yurek, Aviation Radioman 2nd Class; and Jack Collins, Aviation Radioman 2nd Class.
"On numerous occasions through the years since I have heard myself referred to as a "hero," and I feel assured both of you have heard the same. I think we all understand that the human experience must have its heroes; at least, history has shown that to be so.
"It is a custom, perhaps grown into a tradition, that every man or woman of this nation who faces a declared enemy of our country is a hero. That is well and good; I find no fault with that distinguishment. However, from the viewpoint of having been a member of that select group, I would further refine the definition. My heroes are those who didn't make it back—they are the ones who made the greatest sacrifice."
At this point Creamer raised his right hand to salute position and declared, "Hear! Hear!" followed by Brown, who saluted without comment.
Hunt sat then, followed by Brown and Creamer, before continuing, "So many things happened so fast that morning that by the time I was reconciled to the fact that only three of us had survived, the events leading to that realization had become blurred, as if portions of a dream. The years since have served to only further that uncertainty. However, I vividly recall hearing unexpected popping sounds while seated at the navigator's table staring at the radar screen. It had been showing no activity. The plane lurched then and I heard Mr. Cusick say over the interphone that he had been hit somewhere, but when I asked whether I should come to the cockpit he answered to the negative.
"I have a vague recollection of Brown coming along then to ask whether he should man the bow machine gun. Having just heard over the phone from Yurek, manning the rear gun, that his gun was jammed, I ordered Brown to take over the starboard gun which was being manned by Creamer. This because Creamer was an ordnanceman, whose specialty is the maintenance and use of guns, bombs, and torpedoes, so would be the most qualified to help with unjamming Yurek's gun.
"Apparently, we had been attacked by a single plane, but almost immediately my screen was literally swarming with blips. That I cannot explain other than the fact that the radar we had then was a new thing and not as reliable as later developments.
"We had been flying through intermittent sleet and rain and close to the water to provide as much visibility as possible as the clouds were very low. We dropped even closer then to prevent any other enemy plane from possibly attacking from beneath, which was our weakest area of defense. My recollections are particularly hazy from then on, other than realizing at some point that we had been attacked again, until our plane hit the water and was bouncing from wave to wave before settling in an upright attitude.
"Seeing little geysers of water spouting from numerous bullet holes, I ran forward to the cockpit, where I found Lt. Cusick slumped over his yoke and Morrison appearing dazed, almost incoherent. Knowing the plane must sink soon, I pulled the little two-man inflatable raft stored close by from its cover and pushed it out the forward hatch, pulled the little tab that released the gas to inflate it, and began helping Mr. Cusick and Morrison out. Discovering that my footing was uncertain, perhaps due to ice frozen onto the skin of the plane, I removed my flying boots and set them aside. The raft being so small, I was helping Mr. Cusick, who seemed quite weak, stay aboard while Morrison hung onto the side. Only after shoving off I noticed my boots still sitting where I had put them, but it seemed foolish to attempt paddling back across seething seas to retrieve them.
"By the time all this had taken place, the forward body of the plane was almost sunken beneath the water and before we had floated away any great distance only the tops of the wide wings were visible, along with the tail which appeared to be steadily rising toward a perpendicular position.
"Our bodies caught the wind like sails, carrying us ever further from the sinking plane until it was visible only when our tiny craft crested a wave. I would prefer to rest a while now. Perhaps Carl would like to make a statement."