Volume CXXXII, Number 13 January 31, 2003 f

Bowdoin boys to war
KID WONGSRICHANALAI
STAFF WRITER

Born in Bethel, Stanley Willis Allen '39 knew what is was like to wake in the dark Maine night and feel the cool breeze slide swiftly over soft human skin. The pine trees as the lakes and the coves were his home in this state that had become a part of him. Even while in College at Bowdoin, Allen did not leave his state. When not in school he worked as the manager of Bethel Restaurant, and saved up for a future he must have dreamed of. But Stanley Allen was a young man in troubled times and he knew his duty. Whether this last was inspired by the revered President Sills or the friendly and kind Dean Nixon, or whether Allen had himself been conscientious of what he needed to do to ensure his future and the future of the United States, he volunteered in the Navy after graduating in the Class of 1939. Allen went through the training, probably thought of home and the cool, clean Maine air on occasion and rose to the rank of ensign. His command was the battleship U.S.S. Oklahoma, based at Pearl Harbor.

Like the armada that swarmed the British homeland, this smaller wave of fighters, bombers and torpedo planes came across water to reach their target. Thinner than the ranks of the Luftwaffe, these pilots were more determined and had traveled much further to accomplish their mission. Having left their aircraft carriers at sea, the planes-marked by a red circle on their tails to designate the might of the rising sun-narrowed in on their targets. Their flight path took them past some of the most beautiful scenery on earth-untapped forests of tropical splendor, across rocky beaches where the bounty of the mighty Pacific was thrown. For the pilots, it must have felt like the flight took forever. Soon, however, they saw dwellings, civilians, unsuspecting or disbelieving citizens who looked upon these chariots in the sky with awe and sudden pangs of dread. The planes moved on and from afar they could make out the United States Pacific Fleet, in dock, moored to the shallow defenses of Pearl Harbor.

It was Sunday, December 7, 1941-the day of infamy. Shortly before 8 A. M. the first bombs were dropped. From afar and to the untrained eye of a civilian, it may have seemed as if it took forever for the projectile to descend. Perhaps this illusion was due to the magnitude of the event-was this really happening? Who would dare disrupt the glorious might of the greatest nation on earth? But slowly, helped by the physics of gravity the bomb would descend, pre-aimed by the pilot, and find its target. The explosions came from all around and bombs and torpedoes smashed into steal, ripped apart living quarters, armaments, human beings. Many of the Fleet's officers were ashore for the weekend and the ships were under the command of young men who had never heard a gun fired in anger-men out of college like Stanley Allen. Air bases on the islands of Hawaii were simultaneously struck by the Japanese attackers. The reign of terror from the sky wrecked dozens of planes that were still resting peacefully in the glittering sunlight. For those who were there, it must has seemed like the world was falling apart. Oklahoma took two hits and was already in bad shape when a third struck just below the center of the vessel. The senior commander onboard assessed the situation and realized that there was nothing he could do. "Abandon ship!" he ordered in an attempt to get the men to safety before it was too late. Shards of metal, pieces of dirt, debris and clothes flew everywhere as the darkened halls tilted under the ship's punctured hull. As the men were in the process of evacuating a fourth torpedo struck and blew the battleship slightly upwards. When Oklahoma landed, she turned on her side and capsized. The men who had been holding onto the railings slid forward and fell towards the water, their ship coming down upon them. The Arizona, most famous of the wrecked battleships was struck by a bomb in its forward magazine. The eruption could be heard even over the sound of the raging battle. It was on that ship that another Bowdoin graduate, Lt. Commander John E. French of the Class of 1921 was serving. As the ship exploded from within it took with it 1,500 of its crew. Four hundred members of the Oklahoma perished with her. The final count found 3,600 casualties along with six battleships destroyed, more than half a dozen other vessels damaged, and almost two hundred planes burning in the Sunday afternoon. Clouds of thick black smoke billowed from the wreckage as oil and blood filled with harbor and the sirens and alarms began to be heard over the cries of the wounded and the dying. As the smoke rose above the battlefield it clung against waving U.S. flags and then continued to rise, following the wind that blew it, along with news of the attack, towards the continental United States. To the nation Franklin Roosevelt would declare that America had entered the war and to Bowdoin College, the news would later confirm that Stanley Willis Allen of the Oklahoma and John E. French of the Arizona had been among those killed in action at Pearl Harbor.

***

"The door to my office and the door to my house are open to you twenty-four hours a day," wrote President Kenneth C. M. Sills following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The message was posted for all on Bowdoin's campus to see but the note was a reminder to all Bowdoin men who came upon it that the President's house was open for them in this time of national tragedy. Kenneth Sills had seen a world war before this generation of college students had even been born and now he knew that he would have to stand firm and be the tower of strength that they always saw him to be.

The attack on Pearl Harbor had taken its toll. U.S. citizens, who had, at first, been opposed to intervention were suddenly calling for revenge and the mighty industrial strength of the nation was awakened with a fury. Two Bowdoin men had been among those killed in the attacks and as word reached the campus, faculty members must have mourned and wondered how many of the students who were with them would soon be listed in the columns of "killed in action."

Like a majority of American men, the sentiment on the Bowdoin campus was to get into the armed forces and do their patriotic duty. The administration's immediate reaction was to attempt to curb this sudden militaristic enthusiasm. President Sills, speaking in the Chapel on December 9, 1941, urged students to stay in college and continue their studies until they were summoned. The President declared:

It is perfectly clear that the duty for most of you is to remain where you are until the country clearly needs you. While here, regard the time and training as very precious. If there is anything really valuable in education in normal days, it certainly must also be valuable in emergencies.

As the nation prepared for a gloomy holiday season that December, Bowdoin students spoke with each other and with faculty members, trying to come to grips with what war actually meant. They had been suspecting that this would be coming for a long time, even before Hitler's Panzers had rolled into the Lowlands. When the blow came it came from another direction-from the Japanese Empire-but the war was now to be waged on two fronts and the men of the College knew that they would somehow find the courage in themselves to face this monumentous challenge. As the College prepared to close its doors for winter break, no doubt after an extremely difficult exam season, President Sills reminded the students:

As you go home for the holidays, which will be very different from any you have known, with fewer parties, curtailed entertainments, and sobriety in the air, do not forget to carry with you from the College a message of abiding faith and confidence of a fuller understanding of what this country stands for, and of a resolution to do all that you personally can do to extend the liberties of the Bill of Rights so that ultimately the world may not only have freedom of speech and expression and freedom of worship, but freedom from care and freedom from fear. So help us God.

When students returned from break they found that the campus had changed-facilities crews had made sure that, in the event of an enemy attack on the town, the campus would be ready. All buildings were equipped with sand-"to extinguish incendiary bombs"-shovels and axes. All attics were used to store piping, faucets and hoses while dorms had stirrup pumps and auxiliary lighting systems. To help the College further cut unnecessary costs, some fraternities like the Delta Upsilons and the Zeta Psis combined their dining programs while the Moulton Union Dining Hall was shut down during the summer to help fraternity diners attract more students.

Academically, the College shifted from a two to a three-semester program-the summer session began in June 1942-and faculty members were asked to accelerate their courses. General examinations were cancelled while the requirement that students know two elementary modern languages-French and German-was changed so that an advanced ability in one of the two was now needed for graduation. The athletic program was given the task of rigorously training the students, preparing them for military service. New obstacle courses were put in for the returning students and a new intensive swimming course was also offered. The year 1942 saw Bowdoin College preparing its sons for a prolonged conflict.

As the College started the spring semester, Dean of the College Paul Nixon reminded the students not to make hasty decisions about the future. "There may be some students who, at present, are seriously considering some unwise move," he said. "I urge such of you to give us older men a chance to discuss with you your individual cases before you act." The Dean gave his reasoning: "it is my guess that before this war is over, the country will need all the young fellows of your sort it has, and will need them in the places for which they are best adapted by as full an academic training as time permits."

Often, College officials urged students to stay in school but that is not to say that the College did not aid its youngsters in choosing their best career paths. The College played host to a number of armed forces recruiters; one of which was from the Marine Corps and was in fact, one of their own. Everett P. Pope, a graduate from the Class of 1941, returned to the campus as a recruiter. Pope had graduated the previous summer and had joined the Marines. He had survived boot camp and Officers Candidate School (OCS). Receiving his commission as a Second Lieutenant, Pope worked out of an office in Augusta and in the spring of 1942, attempted to persuade other young men of the opportunities that the Corps offered. He visited colleges and universities in Maine, receiving a warm welcome at his alma mater. "I worked as a leader of a small team," remembered Pope, "which included a Sergeant, which could do the administrative paperwork and a Navy doctor who could do the necessary physical examinations so that if we had a candidate… if he was agreeable…we could recruit him and sign him up very quickly."

For graduates or for those students who decided that they wanted to go into the service of their country despite the College's pleas, administrative officers helped out in another way-recommendation letters. At the start of the Second World War, all branches of the Armed Forces desperately needed intelligent, college trained individuals. These were the men that were needed to lead other troops-future second lieutenants and ensigns. To qualify for commissioned ranks, applicants needed to pass rigorous courses as well as go through boot camp. Other requirements included academic transcripts and letters of recommendation. Stephen B. Blodgett of the Class of 1942 wrote such a letter requesting a recommendation from Dean Nixon. "Bowdoin men have a habit-they are called by the dean only when they are in trouble," he wrote, "and they call on the dean only when they want something (are in trouble again)." President Sills' recommendation for David Dickson of the Class of 1941 is typical of such letters:

Mr. David W. D. Dickson, of Bowdoin College, informs me that he is applying for enlistment in the United States Naval Reserve Class V-7. Mr. Dickson is at the head of his class after three years of excellent work at Bowdoin. He has taken part in athletic activities also. He is a young man of the highest character and I am very glad indeed to commend him.

Many of those former students, who found their way into the Armed Forces, often wrote back to the College of their experiences. President Sills and Dean Nixon were the primary recipients of these letters but other professors also got mail from their former students-perhaps a testament to how close the Bowdoin community was during the era. As their experiences in training camp were often novel, a number of Bowdoin men wrote about their schedules and training. Walter M. Bush of the Class of 1940 described his basic training to President Sills:

So far we're all still pretty green. The emphasis has been largely on drilling, though we've finished our bayonet training and have been through the gas chamber. Incidentally, we had to run through a room filled with tear-gas, and believe me I shall never doubt its effectiveness.

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