Clapper: Premonition
By Raymond Clapper
The poignant story below, written by Mr. Clapper shortly before his death in the battle of the Marshall Islands, seems almost to indicate a premonition of his own fate.
Aboard an aircraft carrier, somewhere in the Pacific –
To the men aboard a warship in a combat zone, religion becomes a far more important thing than you might suppose if you judged by civilian standards at home. You can get some idea of the reason why from the story of a flier who became afraid. I have his name, but I shall not use it now.
One of the chaplains was telling about it because it was a strange and puzzling experience. Chaplains have many unusual experiences with the men, because, as this one said, bluejackets are not as irreligious as they seem or want to appear.
This particular chaplain, a young man, has been with the Navy seven years. Before that, he was pastor of a Lutheran church at a West Coast port. There is also a priest aboard. And the gunnery officer, who once studied to be a rabbi, conducts Jewish services each Friday night, with a usual attendance of about 30. The several Mormons aboard attend the Protestant services.
Masses held daily
Sixty percent of the crew are Catholic. Mass is held daily. Protestants and Catholics each have a devotional service every evening. There are two masses on Sundays. Christian Science readings are given by a lay reader for a group of about 15.
That suggests the religious activity and interest among the 3,000 men aboard this carrier out here in the Pacific, where they are facing some pretty serious business for men of their years, or for men of any years for that matter. They want communion service before they go into combat. Before each action, prayers are always said over the loudspeaker system.
It was on Christmas Eve that the young man who was afraid, a radio gunner, came to the Protestant chaplain after communion and asked to see him privately. They were going to strike at Kavieng on Christmas morning, and this was the communion service the night before the dangerous mission.
We will just call this young man the unknown flier, for I suppose he was something like all of these men and like all the rest of us. Formerly he had been doing quiet patrol work in the Caribbean, and he asked for more active duty aboard a carrier. He was transferred to Norfolk for carrier training. There he met a girl and they were married, and some months later he came out here. Their baby is to be born this month, or it may have come into the world by now.
The young airman had been on five attacks during the softening up of Tarawa, on two against Nauru, and on the first very tough blow at Rabaul. So he had been through some of it.
Afraid to go up
On Christmas Eve, the chaplain sat down with him. The boy said his baby was to be born soon and he was afraid to go up the next day. The chaplain asked if he had ever been scared before. He said he had, but never like this. He said:
I have been sick to my stomach. I am so scared.
The chaplain said he thought he could get the boy excused from the Christmas Day raid. The boy wouldn’t hear of that. He said:
I am not yellow. I have to fly tomorrow. If I don’t, I will never fly again. I want you to help me.
The chaplain was silent for a moment before he went on. He told me:
I tried to assure him of the Lord’s care and that He would watch over him.
He said the boy was more afraid of being afraid than he was afraid of flying.
Early Christmas morning, the planes went out. When they came back, the young airman was dead in the rear cockpit. He was the only one hit among those who came back. There were only two small machine-gun bullet holes on the underside of the plane. Both these bullets hit him.
Because this carrier was operating under battle conditions, no regular services could be held Christmas Day. All hands were at battle stations all day. But a few minutes were taken out to hold services for burial at sea.
Three of us were in the room talking, and it was a long time before we looked up at each other.
The chaplain said at last:
I have heard of such things. But that was my first contact with it. It is one of those mysteries for which I can find no explanation. I don’t suppose anyone has found an explanation.
I don’t know exactly why I should feel the story of this young man so far down in my throat even now as I write it.