Texans Survived Sinking Of “Indianapolis”
Puzzled crew members watched from the deck of the “Indianapolis” on Jul. 26, 1945 as the top secret cargo that had taken them to the Pacific island of Tinian in the Marianas was wrestled ashore. What could a large wooden crate possibly contain that was of such interest to so many high ranking naval and army officers?
No one on-board the heavy cruiser had any idea they had delivered the components for “Little Boy,” the world’s first atomic bomb that would be dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima in 11 days.
Maintaining the strict radio silence that had been the order of the day since leaving San Diego, the “Indianapolis” set a course for the Philippines after a short stopover at Guam. At midnight on Jul. 30, Loel Dene “L.D.” Cox reported to the bridge to stand watch until dawn.
Like so many young men from West Texas and the Panhandle, the 19 year old native of Comanche chose the navy over the army for his wartime service. During the year since his enlistment, Cox had been a crow’s nest lookout, gunner and mess hall hand prior to his latest promotion.
Fifteen minutes into the new day, two torpedoes from a Japanese submarine struck the “Indianapolis” mere seconds apart. The first blew the bow off the ship and the second hit amidships near the powder magazine. The ensuing explosion split the cruiser in half causing her to sink swiftly by the bow.
“In 12 minutes, the thing sank,” Cox recalled in a 2005 interview with the Houston Chronicle. “We didn’t have much time to do anything but put our life preservers on and follow the captain down to the next deck. The second time the fire control man came back and said, ‘We’ve got to abandon ship. The ship is sinking.’” Capt. Charles B. McVay III then said, “Pass the word to abandon ship.”
Cox grabbed life vests for himself and three buddies, and each went his own way. As the ship began to roll, Cox scrambled to the highest point he could reach. Finding a gaff hook, he swung out only to crash into the side of the ship and plunge into the oil-covered water.
“I went under, came back up and drank about half the ocean along with a lot of fuel oil and immediately started vomiting. I started swimming as fast as I could to get away from the ship because the downdraft on those things can take you under.”
Taking one last look at the “Indianapolis,” Cox saw “the stern sticking straight up and the propellers still churning in the moonlight. You could still see men jumping off of it.”
In a matter of seconds, the crippled cruiser disappeared from sight taking 300 men to the bottom of the sea. The 900 that succeeded in getting off the stricken ship had very little water and even less food. Their chances of survival were somewhere between slim and none.
Curtis Lebow was home on leave in Memphis, another Panhandle town, when he received a telegram ordering him to rejoin the “Indianapolis” for the quick trip to Tinian. He confessed his fear to his mother, who told him she wished she could go in his place and promised to pray for his safe return.
The impact of the first torpedo knocked Lebow out of his bunk. He ran up to the next deck and lent a hand in a vain attempt to push a whaleboat over the side. No one had heard the order to abandon ship, but with the propellers sticking up in the air that seemed like the best course of action.
The young Texan was “scared half to death” as he dove into the water and started swimming toward the sound of familiar voices. “He reached four life rafts that had been tied together and filled with wounded and held onto the side. The next morning, a cork floater net from the ship came within reach. The men stretched it out, and about 80 guys climbed on.”
With each passing day, more and more of the wounded died from their injuries. Many of those that drank seawater experienced vivid hallucinations that caused them to swim to their death in search of imaginary islands and rescue ships.
And then there were the sharks. Attracted at first by the bodies of the dead, by the second day they were attacking the living. Estimates of the number of seamen slain by the ocean predators range from two or three dozen to as high as 150. When rescue finally came on the fifth day, only 316 of the 900 sailors who survived the sinking of their ship were still alive. The “Indianapolis” tragedy remains to this day the worst in the history of the U. S. Navy.
Thinking back over the years to the moment the destroyer escort USS Bassett, the first rescue ship, arrived on the scene, L.D. Cox said, “We thought it was angels coming.” Cox died at age 88 in 2015. When crewmate Cleatus Lebow passed away seven years later at 98, he was one of the last two “Indianapolis” survivors left alive.
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