This is a story about how the hands of fate, both tragic and
divine, aligned to create my family. As with most stories, it isn’t always
happy and there are tragedies that are difficult to comprehend. But, I’d like
to think that by putting this out to the universe, we may be able to close a
chapter on a small episode in the epic of our human story. Stay till the end,
because I’ll need your help to solve a mystery. First, we’ll have to go back
almost 80 years to a pivotal time in the history of mankind—March 31, 1945, the
Pacific Fleet during World War II.
Gunners Mate Charles (Charlie) Henry Dixon is serving aboard
the USS Indianapolis, a Portland Class heavy cruiser that was the then flagship
of the Fifth Fleet in battles across the Central Pacific. Charlie had been
serving aboard the ship for 4 years as she devastated Japan’s defenses across
the Pacific. In the early morning hours, lookouts spotted a Japanese Nakajima
Ki-43 “Oscar” fighter roaring towards the bridge in a vertical dive. The ship’s
20mm guns opened fire, but were unable to stop the plane before he had released
his bomb approximately 25 feet above the deck. The plane swerved and crashed
into the ocean as the bomb tore through multiple decks and exited the keel
before detonating. Nine crewmen were killed during this attack, and Charlie was
severely wounded. The ship was able to limp back into Mare Island Shipyard and
ultimately San Francisco for repairs, and Charlie was sent to a Naval Hospital
in S.F. where he spent several months recovering from his injuries.
While the ship was being repaired, Charlie was visited by
his crewmates who presented him with a patch from a Japanese soldier. I’m sure that
spoils of war like these were common practice during these turbulent times.
After 3 months in port, as Charlie continued to heal, the Indianapolis left
Hunters Point Naval Yard on July 16, 1945 on a secret mission to deliver the
enriched uranium that would be used in “Little Boy” and dropped on Hiroshima.
This was the beginning of the fateful mission that would become the single
greatest loss of life at sea in U.S. Naval history, with the loss of 879 souls.
But Charlie Dixon wasn’t on that ship. As he lay
recuperating, his friends and crewmates were steaming towards their tragic
fate. Charlie was furious that he wasn’t with them. His loyalty to his friends and
patriotism for his country burned ferociously, but his injuries were not yet
healed. You can imagine his pain when he learned of their end a few weeks
later. These men were close friends who he had served alongside for 4 years.
What must he have thought of the hands of fate that kept him ashore?
Soon after this incident, the war ended and Charlie met his
future wife, Irene Elizabeth Emery. They married and ultimately settled in
Baton Rouge, LA to raise their four children, Joyce, Sandy, Charles (Chuck) and
Marcia. He would never speak of the war or his injuries to his family or
friends. When he was called each year to attend the survivors of the
Indianapolis reunion, he would decline. He did not feel worthy to attend, in
spite of his injury in the line of duty. Would he had found some comfort or
solace in their company? We can only guess.
Fast forward to 2016. Charlie and Irene have both passed
away, but left a growing family of grand, great and great, great grandchildren.
I am fortunate to be one of them. While talking with my Uncle Chuck about
family history, he shared with me this story of my grandfather—one that I had
never heard. He said that Charlie had given him a Japanese patch from the war
when he was younger, and he was hoping to have it translated to find out more
about it. He enlisted the help of a friend to have it translated. Up until this
point, he had just assumed it was a simple patch that was a spoil of war.
Imagine his surprise when he learned that the patch belonged to an elite pilot,
most likely the one that bombed and injured his father. The pilot’s name, rank
and training were all listed, and the friend relayed that it would hold great
value to the pilot’s ancestors.
My uncle brought the patch to the WWII Museum in New Orleans
for help, but they are inundated with thousands upon thousands of memorabilia
each year and were unable to help him further. Which is where I come in. This
amazing world we live in gives us access to virtually every corner of the
globe. It is my hope that by putting this story out there, the universe will
work its magic and connect us with the ancestors of that Pilot. We would very
much like to return the patch to them.
So that’s the story. In spite of all tragedy and sadness, there was goodness and life. My grandfather was one of the kindest, most loving men I’ve ever known, but the weight of his unexpressed experiences left a heaviness upon him that never went away. I can’t imagine what he went through internally, stoically keeping his emotions bottled inside. I hope, that by connecting our two families, we can create something positive out of all the sadness. For if that pilot hadn’t injured my grandfather so gravely, my family would not exist.
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| Special thanks to Walter Imai for enhancing original photo! |
* Facts referenced from Wikipedia
