THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, July 30, 1995 TAG: 9507280222
SECTION: PORTSMOUTH CURRENTS PAGE: 11 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Olde Towne Journal
SOURCE: Alan Flanders
LENGTH: Long : 134 lines
On Dec. 7, 1941, Hiram Robinson was thousands of miles from his boyhood home of Man, W.Va. Just off the coast of Newfoundland, he and his shipmates on the cargo ship USS Arcturus were not surprised by the news.
``The way we were already playing in and out with German submarines, we knew it was just a matter of time before we got into something pretty serious,'' recalled Robinson, who now lives on Jacqueline Drive in Portsmouth.
``The only thing was that we thought we would start it the way things were going then with Germany and Japan. But it was going to happen,'' he added.
Indeed the men of the Arcturus and the rest of the nation had gotten themselves into something serious - a global war that would take Robinson and many of his friends through a series of bloody battles in the European campaign from the invasion of North Africa to Sicily and southern France.
``You never knew where you were going next,'' said Robinson, ``but one thing for sure, you were going somewhere you had never been before where the enemy was always waiting for you.''
One of the longest single voyages of any U.S. Navy ship during the first part of the war was made by Arcturus, when she sailed from Portsmouth Dec. 27, 1942, with supplies to reinforce Brisbane, Australia, where Allied troops were expecting a Japanese invasion. Thanks to Robinson and his shipmates, the garrison at Brisbane was soon strong enough to deter further Japanese designs on their homeland.
Realizing early in the war that amphibious warfare would play a major role in taking the fight to the enemy, the Navy ordered the construction of hundreds of landing ship tanks or LSTs. The Norfolk Naval Shipyard alone was responsible for 20 LST constructions totalling over 3,776 tons. As these new ships were finished, there was a desperate need for seasoned veterans to help train the new crews whose task it would be to land them on the beaches in the middle of battle and too often under the direct fire of enemy guns.
``That's when I got my orders to go to Pittsburgh and join the LST-660,'' said Robinson. ``We had to train all over, but this time I was the senior enlisted on the '660, and that gave me a good feeling looking after those youngsters,'' recalled Robinson.
It wasn't long before LST-660 was sailing into harm's way, but this time Robinson and his men were heading west, through the Panama Canal and into the Pacific Campaign against the Japanese. Another year of terrible fighting awaited them as American forces ``leap-frogged'' from one enemy-held island after another.
``Once we left Hawaii, we stayed so busy there was hardly any time for me to think about what was coming up,'' Robinson said. ``In war, I can tell you, you're grateful to be busy - it's the only thing that can take your mind off the fighting and the dying,'' he added. And the crew of LST-660 would see their share of combat and experience the split-second moments of life and death common in the theater of combat.
Looking back over battles he participated in like Palau Islands, New Guinea and Morotai, Robinson grows quiet and deeper in thought and memory. For many veterans there are simply no words to bring all the facts of actual warfare back into focus.
But there is one place, one battle, that still remains somehow contemporary to Hiram Robinson. Just say the word Leyte.
``You know most guys just want to forget it, but that is one place I will never forget. Our LST-660 was just one of hundreds of ships and landing craft that participated in the Battle of Leyte Gulf and the push to capture the Philippines. We threw everything into that campaign and the Japanese threw everything they could back at us.
``Their sniper rounds were hitting everywhere as we made our landing. I can still see the tide carrying out the dead and dying of both sides, but, in the beginning, all I could see were our boys. Dive bombers making their runs over your heads - sometimes heading for the bigger targets farther out to sea, the carriers, the battleships. Then sometimes they would choose an LST and then an explosion and the whole boat would be gone in a split second. Then the doors of LST-660 would open as we made the beach and the ramp would go down. More sniper fire as we got the ramp down and off-loaded what we could - men, supplies, tanks, Jeeps, whatever was required up on the frontline, wherever that was.
``And then we would back away and head back to the supply ships or troop transports for more stuff, maybe a couple of Higgins boats and troops, maybe this time a cargo of medical equipment or ammunition. Everything pouring through us onto the shore to support the troops fighting just a few yards inland. But you stay busy. Like I said before, when you are busy you don't look around, you don't get to know the guys with the helmets and rifles. When the signal light goes from red to green, you start unloading and you don't stop until you've finished and the boat pulls away.''
That was how Hiram Robinson described one of the largest amphibious operations in the entire Pacific war. In those words, those memory fragments, all carrying deep, unforgettable emotions, he relived the campaign to capture the Philippines which allowed American forces to move on Okinawa and the home islands of Japan.
LST-660's log carries the same sequence of language heavy with almost undecipherable violence that Robinson spoke of earlier. ``. . . really beautiful place. . . air raids a plenty. . . took one bomb miss about 50 yards off starboard quarter - closest call we have had so far. . . second invasion in one month. . . hit the beach 92 minutes after first troops went ashore. . . too much happening to put down here. . . biggest air attack so far. . . over a hundred Jap bombers. . . fighters and everything else they got. . . suicide planes crashing into ships all around us, sniper bullets all around conning tower. . . praying like I never prayed before. . . now what?
It is 50 years later.
Hiram Robinson came to work at the shipyard at the end of the war with his West Virginia bride, Janice. They both rose through the ranks and retired nine years apart, Hiram in 1981 as an electrician from Shop 51 and Janice in 1990 as the yard's chief administrator of housing.
Now what are they doing as the nation prepares for the 50th anniversary of the end of World War II and the surrender of Japan on Aug. 15, 1945?
``Getting ready for the 50th anniversary reunion of LST-660,'' they answered together.
For the last several years, the Robinsons have been active in preserving the history and lore of LST-660 and this reunion, their 17th, promises to be a special one.
``Not only because it is the 50th anniversary of the end of the war,'' said Janice, ``but because Hiram and I get to see 71 of the original crew of 125. When you stop and think about it, that's a real miracle.''
When Hiram Robinson joins his fellow veterans for three days at Lake Wright, Sept. 8-10, no doubt there will be moments of silence, and other times when only his fellow veterans should hear what is said quietly when they are alone. But Robinson has another reason to look forward to the reunion scheduled this September.
For those three days, LST-660 is a family again. ILLUSTRATION: Staff photo by JIM WALKER
Hiram Robinson says the Battle of Leyte in the Philippines has made
that place unforgettable to him. He was on the crew of the LST-660.
``Their sniper rounds were hitting everywhere as we made our
landing. I can still see the tide carrying out the dead and dying
of both sides, but, in the beginning, all I could see were our boys.
. . . Then the doors of LST-660 would open as we made the beach and
the ramp would go down. More sniper fire as we got the ramp down and
off-loaded what we could - men, supplies, tanks, Jeeps, whatever was
required up on the frontline, wherever that was.``
by CNB