by Joel Kilpatrick
Seventeen-year-old Gordy Frederick enlisted in the Navy in 1943 out of rebellion against his God-fearing father. Though his parents had kept the family together during the Great Depression, Gordy was convinced that things were better outside his home. He persuaded his father to sign the waiver for under-aged enlistees and shipped off to join the war efford - his first trip outside of Tacoma, Washington
The Navy assigned Gordy asa deckhand to clean up the U.S.S. California. The ship had been refloated after being sunk in the attack on Pearl Harbor. Though scrappy and tough, he quickly confronted the grim face of war. His first assignment was to don rubber gloves and a mask and go below deck to retrieve the corpses of those killed at Pearl Harbor two years before. He would gather enough parts to make a person, put them in a body bag and nark it "John Doe." Horrifying as it was, the task had to be done.
Later the California sailed for the front with a new set of aircraft gun. In the Lingayen Gulf of the Philippine Islandm Gordy's ship encountered a swarm of Japanese Kamikazes, one-engine airplanes on a suicide mission to sink U.S. Ships. Each of them carried two 500-pound bombs. Their wings were full of gasoline; their cockpits, sealed shut. To young Japanese Pilots, dying for their country meant sure entry into Heaven.
Gordy was part of a 20-man crew who shot down Kamikazes before they hit the ship. As the planes bore down on the U.S.S. California, his crew shot down two, watching them explode and dissintegrate into the sea. But the Kamikazes were small, and one pilot came through untouched on the starboard side.
"It's coming!" came the desperate yells. Gordy heard the mad mixture of voices. Then came the explosion as the Japanese plane hit the lookout tower, sending a ball of fire roaring down the deck. The noise was deafening; the heat, scorching and internal. Gordy smelled the raw gas and gasped as he was blown from the gun quad onto the deck. Instantly, every man on Gordy's crew was killed. Sixty-three men died in all.
His body seared by the blast, his clothes burnt off, Gordy lay on the deck and realized he was stil alive. The ship rolled and pitched beneath him. Flames and confusion ripped the air. An Ad Hoc medical crew scrambled to take bodies below deck. Gordy's lungs were in excruciating pain; he could not speak as he heard medics checking the bodies.
"He's dead."
"This one is dead."
"No pulse here."
They came to Gord. His eyes were swollen shut; his mouth, face and neck were badly burnt. They probed his neck and chest for a pulse.
"This guy's dead."
The unseen medic took the dog tags from Gordy's neck and tied them around his ankle, signaling that he had been checked.
"Roll him over on his face."
"I'm not dead!" Gordy screamed inside his head, but he was shut into a world of terror and silence. It's over, he thought as they rolled him over to indicate that he was a corpse. No one will know I'm alive.
A crew picked up Gordy's body and hauled it to a makeshift morgue below deck where bodies were stacked three high. He was thrown in the middle of the pile, with dead men on top of him and below. When the task was complete, the door was shut for three days. Gordy lay in the temporary graveyard, drifting in and out of consciousness. The pain was unbearable. He could neither see nor move, yet he head his heart pounding and felt himself getting stronger. He knew he had been taken for dead, but could do nothing.
The port side of the California was badly burnt; the guns, useless. The ship limped from the front and radioed for a hospital ship to assist. It felt like a lifetime, but three days later a crew came with body bags to do what Gordy had done when he first enlisted: clean up the dead men below deck. As they opened the door, a shaft of light fell onto the pile of bodies. The deckhands slipped a bag under the feet of each corpse, pulled it to the body's midsection, and stood it up to let the body slide in, stiffed from rigor mortis.
Gordy waited in agony, knowing this was his only opportunity to be discovered alive.
"Please, let them realize I'm not dead," he prayed.
When they got to him, they slid the body bag under his ankles and up to his middle. But when they stood him up, Gordy's body bent in half and he fell to the floor. Rigor Mortis had not set in.
A deckhand summoned the medics, who felt Gordy's pulse. For the first time, they realized he was alive. Waves of relief cascaded over his body as they rushed him to the sick bay. Finally, he had broken through.
The pain was so intense they couldn't lay him in a bed. Morphine took the edge off, and Gordy felt the sate of shock receding. I'm really alive, He thought.
Doctors worked feverishly, cleaning his throat and eyes with swabs. Finally he could see blurry images. He shad sustained third-degree burns over his entire body.
Back in Tacoma, Gordy's parents, Pentecostal Christians and strong believers in prayers, had kept up a daily vigil for their two children and one son-in-law in the war. The zeal that had driven Gordy away was now employed on his behalf, though his parents did not know of his experience.
In the middle of his pain, Gordy thought about his days at Sunday School. He had been taught to pray. It occurred to him that GOd might be involved in his recovery. He recalled the letters he'd received while in the service : "We are praying everyday for your protection while you are at sea," his mother had written.
Gordy returned to Washington on February 15, 1945. Overjoyed at his recovery, he placed a telephone call to his father, but the response was icy and distant.
"This isn't Gordy. Gordy's dead."
Unknown to Gordy, a letter from the Navy had been sent informing them that he was killed in action.
"Dad, it's me. I'm alive!" Gody insisted.
After a silence, the line erupted with shout of celebration: "Praise God! Praise God! Thank You, Jesus!"
His parents knew their prayers had been heard. Gordy spent the next few days at home.
Eventually, the Navy sent Gordy back to sea for the final battle of the Pacific, where the Philippines were won back.
Today, 72 year old Gordy bears no visible scars from his encounter at sea. He made a firm commitment to Christ after going through several years of rebellion. His wife's example made a strong impact on his life. Gordy's family attends Life Center (Assemblies of God) in Tacoma, Washington, pastored by Fulton Buntain, where five generations of his family have attended.
Gordy and his parents enjoyed a lifelong friendship. When his father passed away and Gordy moved his mother to another house, he made a not-so-suprise discovery. Near the palce where the couch had been for many years were four worn spot on teh rug, where a father and mother had knelt every morning and prayed their children through the war.
Today, 54 years later, Gordy continues to praise the Lord for his miraculous recovery. He also carries on the tradition of his father and mother by praying every morning for his Children and grandchildren.
Joe Kilpatrick is news editor for the Pentecostal Evangel