Through the USS Missouri Association, I was able to contact one of my shipmates who wrote home to his parents
an account of that day's happenings.I was surprised, but not completely,when I learned his address started with
the name Richard W Gibson MD.
I knew him when he was about 18 years old and he had completed one year of pre-med at LSU before joining the
Navy. Richard's account describes his observations from his vantage point on deck. During the witnessing of all this
excitement,I was inside a whaleboat hanging over the side of the ship. I could see very little if anything about what
was going on.

The following is Richard's account as written on the day it occurred.

I'm going to type in now the exact words taken from the letter I wrote home about the day the airplane was lost at sea:
"Sunday, 12 May 1946
This has been about the most exciting day of our trip, so far as accidents go.
Today we launched two planes from the catapults. They flew around the ship and the gunnery divisions got practice
sighting them iin as they
were landing, The first one made it all right, but the second one wasn't as fortunate. As the pilot came in for
the landing, he hit the water too hard and knocked a big hole in the pontoon. It stayed afloat awhile, but was
just harder to maneuver up to the ship to be lifted aboard. As he approached the ship,a big wave caught him
broadside and flipped the plane over and it sank. The pilot came up all right and was picked up by the
emergency crew in the motor whaleboat. Fortunately, the plane crew was able to secure a line to the plane
before it got completely away. The plane is no good now and will have to be surveyed. It was a brand new one
that we had gotten aboard in Norfolk.
They didn't seem to mind though. We have two extra planes just in case of something like this happening.
A little later we got a call to come pick up a sailor who had fallen four decks. He was really lucky.
He was only bruised in several places and had a little bone chip out of his elbow. Four decks
is a long way to fall when you only have steel to fall on."

This was what I wrote the folks that night. As I said before, I can almost see the pilot trying to hook the plane
to the cable to be brought aboard.I think your picture shows that too. Also, I thought the plane sank and was not
recovered at all. I was wrong there too. The second part of the story about the sailor falling must be why I didn't
remember all about your experience in the motor whaleboat. I guess I went below and missed all that action and
only heard about it later.
I also have found the letter about the injured sailor on the destroyer. That will have to wait until tomorrow.
Don't want to give you overload all in one day.

Best regards,
Richard





Sick Bay Emergencies



Letter Written Home By Richard Gibson, PhM3/c, now Richard Gibson MD



24 May 1946
Today has been the day that tops all days for the Medical Department since
coming aboard. This morning started with the regular schedule of refueling
at sea, launching planes, and continued fleet maneuvers. We were scheduled
to refuel a destroyer at 0900 that was about out of fuel. They really didn't
need any fuel, but it just gives the deck hands something to worry about. As
the destroyer came along side, lines are fired from one ship to the other by
guns.

ADDENDUM By Michael Gregory

This is another instance when timing is critical aboard ship. Attached to the end of the line is a steel lead
about 4 inches long. Looking at the deck of the destroyer when it is alongside, one sees a small vessel
about as long as our beam and the highestpoint about up to our deck. Even in the most calm of seas, the
destroyer will be bobbing like a cork while it is alongside.

The destroyer went up on a crest as the shot was
fired. The shot was supposed to be fired across the bow,
the line fall on the deck and the steel lead fall harmlessly in the water on
the opposite side of the destroyer. The timing of the shot was wrong and the steel lead hit a sailor
in the neck.

Gibson Letter Continues


There isn't a medical officer on a destroyer in peacetime, so our medical officer,
Dr. Lauer, had to be carried
over to the other ship in one of those little seats suspended in mid air, a breeches buoy.
When he got over there he found that the steel lead shot from the gun had
gone in the boy's neck and come out the cheek on the other side. He
immediately got him ready to be switched over to our ship. While he was over
there, a block fell and hit another sailor in the head, knocking a slight
hole in it. When he fell to the deck, he hit his head again on something else
and knocked another hole in it again. He also had to be brought over to our
ship. They were put in steel stretchers and hoisted over from one ship to
the other. This all happened while we were under way and in rather rough
seas. It may not sound like it was hard to get them from one ship to the
other, but they had a pretty hard time.
Five of us carried them down to sickbay for what ever had to be done.
Strangely enough, the sailor that was shot was the best off, or rather, he
took his the best. The steel lead entered his neck on the left side, went
through the floor of his mouth taking about five jaw teeth with it, and out
his right cheek. A little higher or a little lower would have killed him
immediately. The other sailor had to have to have about 12 stitches taken in
his forehead above his right eye.
Just as we were getting everything cleaned up, someone called and said a
sailor had just fallen and knocked himself out. Gerz, a PhM2/c, and I went
up to see what was happening. When we got there he was just coming to. He
had been standing on a platform about 3 feet high cleaning the 16" guns when
the gun started moving and knocked him off. We put him in a stretcher and
carried him to sickbay. After the doctors examined him, they decided that
he had a fractured skull and possibly a broken back. This kid was really in
a critical condition and needed an operation in a hurry. The doctor got in
touch with the Admiral on the FDR and explained the situation to him. He
made arrangements for a high-speed destroyer to carry him to the nearest port
for the operation. Before that could be done, the injured sailor started
having cerebral hemorrhages and had to be operated on immediately. I got to
help by checking his breathing, so I got to see every bit of it. It was, by
far, the most interesting operation I had ever seen. He came through in fine
shape. The doctor really did a wonderful job. The appendectomy you read
about in the newspaper being performed on the way to Turkey didn't compare
with this one and no one will ever know this one ever happened. Yes, today
has really been a rush day for the Medical Department. If we had more days
like this, it wouldn't be any use for me to go to school; I'd learn it all
right here aboard ship.

26 May 1946
Everything has been running smoothly since Friday and all our patients are
doing nicely. The sailor with the fractured skull had an attack of
appendicitis this afternoon and had to be operated on again. He just came
out of the operating room a few minutes ago and so far is doing nicely.
Incidentally, his back wasn't broken.
We are off the coast of Long Island now and have been all day. We are just
circling around killing time until tomorrow morning when we go in. So far as
I know, we are going to anchor in the mouth of the river tomorrow morning and
then go up to our docking place sometime in the afternoon. We also hear that
Truman is coming aboard to make the grand entrance with us. Nobody seems to
care much though. They are all too interested in getting to New York.
(that's all of any interest this day in my letter).

Richard

An addendum: The following is an account of the skull operation as I remember it and
wrote for the publication
USS Missouri BB63 " The Mighty MO".
It includes some additional observations.

An Operation At Sea

By Michael Gregory

One day in 1946, a gunner's mate fell from a turret and was brought to Sick Bay, where the
two doctors on board determined
an emergency operation was required.
It was decided that the junior officer would be in charge. I don't remember his name except that
he wasn't much older than
the rest of us and he was a Lt. (jg).

Most of the corpsmen on board were given a duty to assist. We needed a good supply of battle lamps and it was somebody's
job to get them. Someone else had to prep the head with a shave.

The operation started with lots of betadine (iodine) and a crayon mark to outline where the incision was to be made.
The scalpel was drawn in a semi-circle and the scalp pulled down over the patient's forehead. At this point, the doctor
used a few instruments to relieve the pressure that was being exerted on the brain
as a result of the injury. There were no miniature TV cameras to point the way and not only that the operating room was slowly rolling.

The operation was a success and the patient survived. I can only guess how thankful the doctor was
but there was no doubt that everyone who knew him and was there that day were extremely proud.

One additional memory: Due to high seas that day, the ship was steered on a course to minimize
pitch and roll. One of the corpsmen, I don't remember who, was given the task of delivering the message
to the bridge when the operation was about to begin. I think it was
Dominic Gagliardi of Schenectady, because I do remember he was
doing a lot of bragging that day and it must have been because he influenced the ship's course.

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