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This page is dedicated to my friend and neighbor Dick Thelen, WWII survivor of CA-35, who passed from this life on September 13, 2021, at the age of 94. It was a beautiful funeral on a picture-perfect September day, complete with US Navy honor guard, a three-gun salute, the playing of Taps, and presentation of Old Glory to the family. Also attending were two crew members from LCS-17, the latest ship to be named USS Indianapolis. They flew up from Florida just for the funeral. Dick would have loved knowing that. He had been involved in the building of LCS-17, from keel-laying to commissioning.
CARGO SHIP - Served in the US Navy from December 1918 to July 1919. Attached to the Naval Overseas Transportation Service, she carried cargo between the US and England, the Netherlands, and France.
HEAVY CRUISER - Commissioned in 1932; sunk in combat in 1945. She earned ten WWII Battle Stars.
In July 1945, she had just delivered components of the first atomic bomb (known as "Little Boy") to the US Army Air Force base at Tinian Island in the South Pacific. After delivering her top secret cargo, she sailed for the island of Leyte. En route to Leyte, but was torpedoed en route by the Imperial Japanese Navy submarine I-58. The USS Indianapolis sank in just 12 minutes. Of the 1,196 men aboard, about 300 went down with the ship. The remaining 900 faced exposure, dehydration, saltwater poisoning, and sharks while floating in the ocean for five days without food or water. Miraculously, the crew of a Navy PV-1 Ventura on a routine mission just happened to notice men floating in the ocean.
Of the 900 who went into the water, only 316 were rescued. It was the greatest wartime loss of life in the history of the US Navy.
ATTACK SUBMARINE - Los Angeles-class, commissioned in 1980. Many survivors of USS Indianapolis (CA-35) were in attendance for the christening and launch of SSN-697 in 1980. Her home port was Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. She was decommissioned in 1998. She is currently being dismantled.
LITTORAL COMBAT SHIP - Launched in April 2018 (click here to watch the launch) in Marinette WI. She is a Freedom-class littoral combat ship (LCS), now stationed at Mayport FL. She was commissioned October 26, 2019. (See photos at bottom of this page.) (See more: click here.)
She is longer than a football field plus the two End Zones (378 feet), has a helicopter flight deck and hangar bay, and carries a crew of 50. She is equipped with a formidable assortment of missiles and guns.
I took this photo in July 2021. My friend Brent Sorg and I had taken Dick out for dinner.
In Sept 2021, Dick was admitted to a local hospital for heart issues. My friend Brent Sorg, a sergeant with Lansing Police Dept, happened to be at the hospital on unrelated business so he stopped in to see Dick. We would not see Dick again.
(1918-1919)
(1932-1945)
Above - In Steven Spielberg's 1975 blockbuster movie "Jaws," the character Quint, played by actor Robert Shaw, describes in chilling detail what it was like being pursued by sharks in the days following the sinking of CA-35.
Above - In August 2017, a private research team supported by philanthropist and Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen finally located the wreckage in the Philippine Sea resting 3½ miles below the surface. She had not been seen for 72 years.
(1980-1998)
(2019 - Actively serving)
Above - Rather than conventional screw-style propellers, she has four massive waterjets to move her smoothly and quickly in as shallow as 14 feet of water. Her specialty is hunting enemy submarines in shallow water. (The word littoral means "along the shore.")
Above - In July 2018, I had the good fortune of meeting LCS-17 Executive Officer Joe Mitzen (on my right) and Commander Colin Kane.
Above - I was honored to attend the commissioning of LCS-17 on October 26, 2019, at Burns Harbor IN on Lake Michigan.
Above - The pilothouse on LCS-17, where the captain and his officers make it all happen.
of the 316 Rescued in August 1945 |
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Dick Thelen, Survivor of USS Indianapolis (CA-35)
Richard "Dick" Thelen was only 17 years old in 1944 when he asked his father to sign for him so he could legally join the US Navy. Dick's father John agreed, but only if Dick promised to come home after the war. "Oh, that won't be a problem, Dad" Dick replied confidently. "The war's almost over!" Little could either imagine that within months, Dick would be fighting for his life, adrift in the ocean with 900 fellow shipmates. And little did Dick know that it was that promise to his father that served as Dick's "reason for living," for not giving up when giving up would have been much easier to do. |
❮❮ Dick and his dad John
Dick often says to me, "People call me a hero. I am not! I'm just an ordinary guy who survived an extraordinary event." I understand and appreciate Dick's humility. But to me, there is no greater example of endurance and perseverance. He could easily have given up while floating in the ocean for five days--- no food, no water, 100° during the day, sharks all around, no serious thought of being rescued. But he made that promise to his dad--- and kept it! |
Dick says that after a day or two in the water, and with daytime temperatures of 100°, dehydration became a huge issue. With no supply of fresh water, sea water looked inviting. But Dick knew that if he drank saltwater, it would soon lead to uncontrolled vomiting and dillerium. Dick says he saw many of his shipmates succumb to saltwater poisoning soon after drinking sea water. None who drank sea water survived.
When it finally came Dick's turn to be rescued, he and two of his friends were trying to swim to a welcoming life raft. Dick says one of his friends had a heart attack during that short swim; the other was taken by a shark.
❮❮ The April-May 2018 issue of AARP Magazine includes an article about Dick and shipmate Bob Terry (far right), seen here clowning around during shore leave with two other shipmates...
"Bob Terry was next to me at our first roll call in Navy boot camp in 1945--- he was T-E, for Terry; I was T-H. He was 18, too, and we both came from the Midwest. Then we got assigned to the Indianapolis together. We played cards and ate and went drinking together--- we became real close friends. And we promised each other that if one of us didn’t make it, the other would go and talk to the other family. When the first torpedo hit after midnight, I was sleeping topside--- it was too hot below deck. The explosion threw me into the air. Luckily, I was flung onto a cable, or I would have been thrown into the water without a life jacket. The ship was listing heavily, and the quarterdeck was on fire. There was a lot of shouting, and explosions. Then the ship just slid away beneath us. It was dark and suddenly quiet, though you could hear men shouting as we all looked for rafts or lifeboats. I was floating around in a kapok life jacket for the next four days--- no food, no water, a hundred degrees out. There weren’t enough rafts. Then on the second day, Terry saw me. I don’t know how he recognized me--- like a lot of guys, I was all covered in black diesel fuel, with my hair all matted down. I was glad to see him. We tried to hook our vests together so we wouldn’t float away, but it didn’t work because the swells just ripped the vests apart. So we tried to keep floating near one another, Terry and me and two other guys. They were long days: You pass out, then come to, then pass out again. We were slowly dying. Waking up less, the sun beating down--- still no food or water. I felt sharks bump against me, and once or twice I was looking right at one, maybe 16 inches away. But the diesel fuel masked me--- I don’t think they cared for the smell. On the fourth day, we spotted a raft--- planes had dropped a few--- and we decided to try to swim to it. Two of the guys died from the effort--- in our condition, their hearts gave out, I think. Then Terry started to swim toward it. And while I watched, I saw a shark take him, just 20 or 30 feet away. I was three-quarters out of my head, so close to death--- my mind was coming and going. But I thought, it’s over. Later, I somehow made it to that raft, and there were four guys in it. I was too weak to pull myself in, so I tied myself to it. That night we were rescued, a little after midnight. They said that nearly all of the survivors were the ones who were in vests and stayed mostly submerged. Six months after I got out of the hospital, I went to see Terry’s mother and told her our story. I’m a lucky guy, but I think about Terry all the time, even 73 years later." -Dick Thelen |
❮❮ It was common back then for sailors in warm-weather deployments not to continually wear their metal ID (identification) tags (US Army soldiers called them "dog tags") when not actively engaged in combat. ID tags could be uncomfortable and noisy. Many sailors stored them in their locker. Such was the case with Dick. Today, his ID tags are still in his locker at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
After a good deal of research (I wanted to assure they looked as authentic as possible), I had a replacement set of ID tags made for Dick, and gave them to him in February 2018. I think he was pleased. But in researching WWII military ID tags, I was surprised to learn (well, maybe not) what little consistency existed, even within the same branch of the military. For example, ID tags made in the morning by one worker might be quite different from ID tags made in the afternoon by someone else--- even at the same reporting station. This was true for every branch of the military, not just the US Navy. It is possible, perhaps likely, that ID tags for one survivor of the USS Indianapolis looked much different than those of a fellow survivor. So without knowing with 100% certainty what data Dick's ID tags actually contained, I garnered information from several historical websites, and included:
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❮❮ Each July, Dick and his fellow survivors meet in Indianapolis IN to remember and honor their shipmates. I have the pleasure of attending their 2018 Survivors' Reunion. |
USS Indianapolis LCS-17 (Littoral Combat Ship)