Hello everybody, this is Ralph Edwards speaking to you from Pearl Harbor on Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands.
The planes you see coming now are friendly U.S. Navy planes of course, but 17 years ago they were enemy bombers who struck this great Pacific naval base in a surprise attack that ushered in what has been called the day which will live in infamy.
This is our story as seen through the eyes of one who was here.
This is your life, the program for all America.
And now, here he is again, Mr. This is your life himself, speaking to you from a Navy tug lying off Ford Island in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Ralph Edwards.
It's almost 8 o'clock in the morning here at Pearl Harbor. The flag is about to be raised on the only battleship still sentimentally considered to be in commission in the United States fleet.
The USS Arizona, which lies on the bottom, her deck's under 12 feet of water, and her hull, the permanent tomb of 1,102 of her fighting men.
After 17 years, oil from that hull still seeps to the surface like the lifeblood of a once proud giant of the sea.
On the little wooden platform planted amid ships, the Marine Honor Guard in a Navy color detail stand at attention, as they've done every morning over a period of nearly nine years.
And saluting the flag as it proudly rises to accept the greeting trade winds is the last man aboard in command of the Arizona, then Lieutenant Commander and now Rear Admiral retired, Samuel G. Fuqua,
Professor of Mathematics at Fork Union Military Academy in Virginia, and winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor for his heroic deeds there that fateful day, December 7th, 1941.
Now that the flag raising ceremony is drawing to a close, I'll walk out on the platform and tell him for the first time that he is to represent all of his comrades in arms, living and dead, and be our guest of honor.
Admiral Fuqua, this is Ralph Edwards. How do you do, sir?
What's all this about?
Well, this is all about something mighty wonderful. Now that the flag raising ceremony is completed, I'm going to ask you, if you would, to join us in paying tribute to all the valiant men who fought and died here aboard the Arizona.
As I say to you, Admiral Samuel Glenn Fuqua, now of Palmyra, Virginia, this is your life.
Well, it's a surprise to me, Ralph. I want to thank you for making it possible to kick off this memorial fun drive in this way and pay tribute to my 1,102 silent gallant crew in the Arizona.
Well, sir, the music and the applause you just heard are coming from the Block Arena just two miles across Pearl Harbor here, where some 6,000 Navy, Marine, Air Force, and Army personnel and their families are waiting for us to join them in reliving your distinguished career in the United States Navy, and particularly the heroic two hours of Sunday, December 7th, 1941.
Will you accompany me, please, now, sir, to Rear Admiral Edward Solomon's barge, which will take us to the mainland and the arena?
Rear Admiral Samuel Glenn Fuqua, United States Navy, retired.
That ovation is for you, Admiral. Look who's waiting for you here, the girl who waited for 35 years, your wife, Edna.
Come over here, right over by there. Oh, yes, the girl who waited for 35 years, your wife, Edna. Just be seated there. My goodness, when did you and the Admiral meet, Mrs. Fuqua?
We met in high school at Ladonia, Missouri, and I waited for him while he was at the Missouri University for one year, four years at the Naval Academy, and for the last 35 years, I've waited for the ship to come in.
A Navy wife in the finest tradition of the service, and here's another Navy wife following the same great tradition, your lovely daughter, Patricia, right over here.
And with her are her husband, Commander Charles Nagel, skipper of the destroyer USS Robinson, and your two grandsons, Charles Jr., Chip, and Samuel, little scooter. Here's Scooter up here.
Come on up and sit down, boys. A great Navy family, each member an all-important part of your life, Admiral Fuqua. What did you say, Chip?
Look at the ship that says, yeah, that's a great one. We're going to see you a little later, Mrs. Fuqua and Patricia. Right now, Charles, Chip, would you mind, Chip,
would you mind taking Grandmother over there and sit down with Mom and Dad and Scooter, and we'll put Grandpa right here, and you're going to see him in a minute.
This is your life, Admiral Samuel Fuqua. Some of the memories we're about to evoke, Admiral Fuqua, have left heavy scars on your heart, but your story has a happy ending,
thanks to your own valiant deeds and the courage of millions of other men and women like you, in every branch of our armed forces, Navy, Marine, Army, Air Force, Coast Guard,
who loved freedom so well that they were willing to fight and die for it. The beginning of your story is happy, too. Where were you born, Admiral?
I was born in a little, near a little town in Missouri, Ladonia, Missouri, born on a farm.
October 15th? October 15th, 1899.
When did the Missouri farm boy decide he wanted to go to Annapolis?
Well, I was going to the university, attending the University of Missouri, and after World War I, I had this appointment to West Point, and my congressman,
Champ Clark, and I received this appointment, but my mother wouldn't let me accept the appointment, and I turned it down, and then she changed her mind,
and he had given this appointment away, and he wrote me a letter, and it says, six one, half done, the other, I've given the appointment to the Naval Academy.
The Army's loss was the Navy's gain, and future events would affruit.
When did you and the girl who promised to wait, Edna, here, get married, Admiral Fuqua?
We were married on the 23rd of June, 1923, shortly after I graduated.
Just two weeks after you graduated from the Naval Academy and received your ensign's commission, aboard what ship was your first duty, your first duty tour?
My first duty tour was the USS Arizona.
As assistant boiler division officer.
That's correct.
And 18 years and six ships later, in 1941, now Lieutenant Commander Fuqua is again aboard the Arizona, this time as first lieutenant and damage control officer.
The Arizona you report to on February 7th, 1941, is a completely modernized battleship, not as you remember her, but you're sure to remember her gunnery officer,
your good friend, now Captain Bruce D. Kelly, United States Navy, retired from Long Branch, Washington.
Well, Sam, I'm sure you're responsible for saving my life.
How's that, Captain?
Well, on Saturday, December the 6th, I had my family on board for dinner and the movies.
I had the head of department duty and normally would have stayed aboard until noon Sunday.
During dinner, Sam said, why don't you go ashore and take your family after the movies and spend the weekend?
I will take your duty.
And this, knowing that Sam's family was in Long Beach, I accepted.
Yes, well, and if you'd stayed aboard, Captain Kelly.
Had I stayed aboard, I would have been on the bridge with the captain and all hands in that station were lost next morning during the attack.
Next morning, December 7th, 1941.
Thank you, Captain Bruce Kelly of Long Branch, Washington.
Now, early that morning of December 7th, in a little house at 45 Coronado Avenue in Long Beach, California,
a 15-year-old girl awakens from a dream and she goes to her mother.
Now, come on over and tell us about this, girls.
The mother is Edna, your wife, the girl, your daughter, Admiral Fuqua.
Now, what was your dream, Pat?
Well, the battleship Arizona was due home for Christmas leave and I've been missing my dad an awful lot.
I dreamed that I took several of my girlfriends down to the dock to greet him and I was flabbergasted and astounded when he arrived in the dream,
clad in nothing but his underwear and his uniform cap, and he was chewing on a little stub of a cigar.
He had his bare feet dangling over the side of the boat and he had a machine gun in his lap, but he smiled and he waved to me.
Yes, what a dream.
After Pearl Harbor, Mrs. Fuqua, when you were anxiously waiting for word of your husband, not knowing if he's dead or alive, Pat's dream there, you still had faith in it, didn't you?
Yes, when I was just beside myself with worry, Pat held fast to her dream and she said,
Mama, why do you worry? Daddy is alive and well and we'll see him again sometime soon.
Yes, and you did. Answering Chip's question, what kind of a ship is that, Admiral?
That's the model of the Arizona.
Oh, that's the Arizona. You did too, after an ordeal that no one in America could have imagined.
We're back at the block arena here at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, where some 6,000 service personnel and their families are joining us in a tribute to the men of the USS Arizona,
who found their last resting place inside a hull sunk just off Ford Island along Battleship Row on December 7th, 1941.
Among those who fought here, a lieutenant commander then, his rear admiral, Samuel Fuqua, U.S. Navy retired, to whom from this same battleground we're saying, this is your life.
6 a.m. Honolulu time, the die has been cast as 275 miles north of Pearl Harbor, pilots aboard six enemy carriers rush for their planes,
their destination, Pearl Harbor, to knock out the U.S. Pacific Fleet, to destroy the U.S. planes on the Hawaiian Island air bases.
Then at 7.55 a.m.
I was on the fantail of the Arizona that morning, setting up the altar for Sunday morning church services.
A coxswain aboard the Arizona when the attack came, now from the Navy recruiting station Louisville, Kentucky, here is Chief Boson's mate, James L. Corbus.
Out on the fantail there, Chief Corbus, setting up for Sunday morning church services, you were probably among the first to see the enemy planes coming over the mountains out of the eastern sun.
I thought it was just a training drill, but when a bomb hit the ship, that changed my mind real quick.
Where were you at 7.55, Admiral Fuqua?
At 7.55, I was in the wardroom having breakfast.
Now what did you do when you...
Well, I, uh, there was an officer came in the wardroom and just, uh, been relieved from, uh, duties as officer of the deck.
And the air raid siren went, and I asked him, I said, is this a drill? And he said, well, I think so.
I said, are the guns being manned? And he said, I think so. And I decided I would go up on deck to see if they were manned.
And as you reach the deck, you're greeted by a burst of machine gun fire from a low-flying plane, by the Red Ball Wing insignia. You know it's an enemy fighter.
On the double, you start forward to see that all the battle stations are being manned. Suddenly a bomb explodes beside you, Admiral Fuqua, and you're knocked unconscious.
Now what did you do, Chief Corbus, when the attack started?
Well, I first closed the watertight doors and hatches in my area, and then I dashed up to the anti-aircraft battery amid ships. It was already fully manned and firing.
So I reported to my battle station, which was down in turret number four.
Now as you regain consciousness, Admiral Fuqua, some ten minutes later, large sections of the air zone are already in flames, and enemy bombers continue their devastating attack.
Commander Fuqua then ran to the quarter deck and issued orders to man the fire hoses.
Another Arizona crewman who followed your emergency commands, then aviation ordnanceman second class, now a farmer at Butterfield, Minnesota, here is Edward L. Wensloff.
During the attack, you got your orders directly from Commander Fuqua, didn't you, Mr. Wensloff?
Yes, I did. We connected the fire hoses, but the pressure was already gone.
Then there was a tremendous explosion forward. The ship seemed to rise right out of the water.
Then it shuddered and began settling rapidly at the bow.
I remember seeing these men come pouring out of the Marine compartment, badly burned, shocked, and chopped and wounded.
And Commander Fuqua at this time?
He was on the quarter deck giving orders, constantly exposed to the enemy fire.
I can still see him standing there, ankle deep in water, a stub of his cigar in his mouth, cool and efficient, oblivious to the danger about him.
I want to say, Admiral, I'm proud to serve under you.
Commander Fuqua's concern for his men impressed me more that day.
Your mess attendant aboard the Arizona in 1941, the man who used to make your bunk and bring you your favorite cigars, now a civilian clerk at the Naval shipyard in Brooklyn, New York, here is Joseph H. Washington.
Now, Commander Fuqua asked you to help the wounded, didn't he, Mr. Washington?
Yes, he did. When the mortar rescue launch would come alongside, Commander Fuqua would direct us to take the seats so as to make stretches to put the wounded into the boats.
And during all this, Admiral Fuqua, then a lieutenant commander, you realized that all your superior officers aboard had been killed.
You suddenly find yourself the senior officer alive, now in command of a sinking battleship.
Commander Fuqua ordered the auxiliary firefighting pumps put into operation, but the flames kept us from going below decks.
When he saw that the Arizona could not be saved, Commander Fuqua asked the Navy tugs to direct their fire hoses on the flames and hold them back so more men could be saved.
Two more of your shipmates, both ensigns then, who fought valiantly by your side, even after all hope seemed gone.
From the National War College in Washington, D.C., here's your friend, Captain Jim Dick Miller.
And another good friend, from South Bend, Indiana, here is Commander Pemble Field, U.S. Naval Reserve.
At what time did Commander Fuqua give up hope of saving his ship, Captain Miller?
About 9 o'clock, Ralph. Then, having assured himself that all the wounded who could be found and saved were rescued, Commander Fuqua gave the order to abandon ship.
With the attack on Pearl Harbor still raging, you three men were the last to leave the Arizona, weren't you, Commander Field?
Yes, we were, but Commander Fuqua was not finished yet. We commandeered a boat and went up and down Battleship Row, picking up survivors out of the oily, burning waters.
With bombs still dropping and machine gun bullets spraying the water around you, at what time did the enemy break off his attack on Pearl Harbor, Admiral?
Well, there was a second attack, and I think that happened about 9.30, isn't it, Jim?
Yes, I think that's right.
Two fateful hours.
Damaged Battleships Tennessee, Maryland, and Pennsylvania, Cruisers Helena, Honolulu, and Raleigh, Destroyer Shaw, Seaplane Tender Curtis, Repair Ship Vestal.
Sunk or beached Battleships West Virginia, California, Nevada, Mine Layer Oklahoma. Lost Destroyers Cassin and Downs, Target Ship Utah, Battleships Oklahoma and Arizona.
Service and civilian personnel dead in the Pearl Harbor area, 2,403, almost half of them on the Arizona.
But for you, Admiral Fuqua, and your courageous shipmates here, along with millions of others, December 7, 1941 was to be but the first of 1,351 days of war.
Thank you, Chief James Forbus, Edward Wensloff, Joseph Washington, Captain Jim Dick Miller, and Commander Pemble Field.
We'll continue your historic story in a moment. Admiral Samuel Fuqua, now of Palmyra, Virginia.
With the memory of Pearl Harbor as the guiding beacon of your purpose, you, Admiral Fuqua, in 1942, are joined by millions of your fellow Americans in all the branches of the service in a fight to regain what has been lost and to repulse tyranny throughout the world.
Your personal strides to victory lead you successively to convoy duty on the bitter cold Murmansk Run, taking part in the reduction of the Casablanca forts and the landings in North Africa, to taking charge of convoy escorts in the Caribbean, and finally to the command service force of the 7th Fleet in the South Pacific.
For you, Admiral Fuqua, then holding the rank of captain, and for the whole world, a happy ending comes on September 2, 1945, with the signing of the final surrender aboard the battleship Missouri.
For your distinguished service in the South Pacific, you're awarded the Legion of Merit. For your heroism above and beyond the call of duty on the first day of the war here at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, a grateful nation bestows upon you its highest award, the Congressional Medal of Honor.
I know the memory of that surprise attack will stay with all Americans always. In your mind's eye, Admiral Fuqua, must linger the picture of a line of proud ships along Ford Island, followed by another picture of ruin and devastation, and now an emptiness filled only by the twisted and torn steel that once was the mighty battleship Arizona.
Resting on the bottom, its decks covered by 12 feet of water, its hull the permanent tomb of 1,102 American fighting men, men who gave their lives so that our American way of life might live.
And even as she sank, the Arizona's flag still flew high, proudly above water, a living emblem of a ship that refused to die.
Through the years, thousands have paused before this bronze tablet at the base of the flagstaff. Such a one is here now, keeping her solemn tryst with the past.
She's the widow of one who served here with you on the Arizona, Admiral Fuqua, Mrs. Genevieve Kirkpatrick of San Diego, California, the widow of Chaplain Thomas L. Kirkpatrick, who died here even as he was getting ready for Sunday morning church service.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick, may I ask you to read the inscription on the plaque placed there by Admiral A.W. Radford in 1950?
Dedicated to the eternal memory of our gallant shipmates in the USS Arizona who gave their lives in action 7 December 1941. From today on, the USS Arizona will again fly our country's flag just as proudly as she did on the morning of 7 December 1941.
I am sure the Arizona's crew will know and appreciate what we are doing. May God make his face to shine upon them and grant them peace.
I'm sure that all America this day joins in that prayer. Thank you, Mrs. Genevieve Kirkpatrick of San Diego, California.
To this day, as the proud ships of our great fleet sail by this consecrated spot, the men stand formation and salute the USS Arizona, which they still consider the senior ship.
One lad who was here on Pearl Harbor one day when asked if he had served aboard the Arizona said, yes, and my brother is still on active duty aboard her.
Ladies and gentlemen of America, we have the high honor of helping to launch a project nationally approved by congressional resolution to enshrine the USS Arizona and provide here a fitting monument to the memory of the young Americans who died here.
We're asking you to participate in this project, not out of your generosity, but out of your loyalty to America, your patriotism.
A commission has been appointed by the governor of the territory of Hawaii to raise the funds and the Navy has been authorized by Congress to accept and to use the money that comes in to enshrine the USS Arizona.
Are there 1 million, 2 million more of you out there in our audience who will put a dollar bill in an envelope right now, address it, and send it to USS Arizona, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
You will be helping to build a national cemetery for those who died for you and lie here in an unmarked grave.
And you'll be answering the prayer closest to the heart of Rear Admiral Samuel Fuqua, U.S. Navy retired, to the hearts of all the men and women in all branches of the service to whom the very words, Pearl Harbor, were a fighting challenge that led them on to victory.
The address again, USS Arizona, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
That's all you need.
And enclose the money.
Don't put it off.
Do it right now.
Thank you.
Admiral Fuqua, last man alive aboard the Arizona, we've been honored to have you as our guest here in Pearl Harbor.
By the presence of those who have been close to you, through you we have learned what it truly means to love our country and our fellow men.
This is your life, Admiral Samuel Glenn Fuqua, U.S. Navy retired.
Thank you and may God bless you.
Thank you, Ralph. I appreciate all of you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
This program has been videotaped and recorded courtesy Ampex Corporation, Redwood City, California.
This is your life expresses its sincere thanks to the Honorable Thomas S. Gates, Secretary of the Navy, and to Jack Woolley, Special Assistant to the Navy,
and to Rear Admiral Edward Solomons, Commandant of the 14th Naval District, without whose cooperation this program would have been impossible.
And a special word of thanks to the Mattson Navigation Company for their warm Hawaiian hospitality accorded to us at their Waikiki Beach hotels.
The Royal Hawaiian, the Princess Kaulani, the Moana, and the Surf Rider.
Think of Mattson when you think of Hawaii.
Next week, ladies and gentlemen, back on the mainland, a world-renowned figure whose charm and wit is exceeded only by greatness of talent.
Now, this is a program you can't afford to miss.
And now from Pearl Harbor, thank you, and remember, keep those dollars coming in.
Thank you.
This is your life.
It's a Ralph Edwards production.
Produced by Axel Bluferg and directed by Richard Gottlieb.