IT WAS back in the ’50s at the now defunct Central Cinema in Bunclody; it was a war film entitled The Fighting Sullivans although the war element was less than ten minutes, the rest was devoted to the closeness of the Sullivan family which, in the end, made it so poignant.
The cinema was jammed. This was a film everyone wanted to see, and I can tell you there were few – if any – dry eyes in the house, as this tearjerker progressed. And in Australia at that time, this movie was withdrawn from cinemas, due to the devastating effect on audiences (as detailed on the sleeve of the DVD).
The movie was based on a true story. Stephen Spielberg’s 1998 film Saving Private Ryan was also based – although in a different context – on the Sullivans.
The fighting Sullivans were five brothers from the town of Waterloo, Iowa, in the heartland of the USA. They were sons of Tom, whose grandfather had emmigrated from Ireland, and Alleta. The boys were all members of the US Navy. Twenty-seven-year-old George Thomas (born on 14 December 1914) was on his second stint of service, having served from 1937 to ’41 – the only time the boys were separated for any length of time during their life. Francis ‘Frank’ Henry, aged 26 (18 Feb 1916), had a similar service record; Joseph ‘Joe’ Eugene was 24 (28 August 1918); Madison ‘Matt’ Abel, aged 23 (8 November 1919); and 20-year-old Albert ‘Al’ Leo (8 July 1922).
All five worked in the giant meat packing company Rath in Waterloo. There was also a sister, Geneieve. Albert was the only brother who was married; his wife was Katherine Mary and they had one son, James. The family lived at 98 Adams Street, along with grandmother Mae Abel.
Now I had never heard of Bill Ball, but recently I viewed this film again and then researched a little and learned that Bill had a large part to play in what followed. Like George and Frank, Ball was a navy man. They were close friends, and he would often visit from his home in Fredericksburg. It was also noticed he had a liking for Genevieve. Bill continued in service, while the Sullivans returned home on completion of their four years.
Bill Ball was posted to the USS Arizona, which was lost along with 1,771 crew members when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour on 7 December 1941, and Bill was one of the casualties.
Like many Americans who were incensed by Pearl Harbour – which led to a rush of recruits joining the armed services – George and Frank were saddened and angered by their friend’s death and decided to return to the navy six months after leaving.
This time, Joe (also called ‘Red’) and Matt would be joining them. Nineteen-year-old Al, who was two years’ married with a ten-moth-old son, was so miserable at not going that his young wife encouraged him to join his brothers. So the five Sullivans, who had done everything together, arrived at the recruiting office.
After Pearl Harbour, the navy was desperate for men and welcomed them with open arms, that is, until they demanded to be placed together, a policy which was against regulations at the time. They explained how they had done everything together, were enlisting together, wanted to serve together and, if necessary, die together. They were refused that day, so they took their case all the way to Washington DC. In a letter, they described how they wanted to serve their country, but if the Navy wanted the Sullivan brothers, it would have to be a package deal. Eventually, the Navy agreed.
They attended the Naval Training Centre, Great Lakes, Illinois and were then transferred to serve on the USS Juneau when that ship was commissioned on 14 February 1942.
They became instant celebrities when their photo appeared in papers across the nation. They were closely followed by another set of brothers: James, Joseph (both would later transfer to another ship), Louis and Patrick Rogers. In all, there were nine sets of brothers on the ship.
In May, George, Matt and Al paid their last visit home to say their farewells. It was a poignant moment for Al’s wife Katherine Mary, whose mother had died when she was seven. Now she would not see her husband for a long time, possibly never again. She and baby James had moved in with Tom and Aletta.
Let us move forward eight months. “Which one?” inquired Tom Sullivan. It was early on 11 January 1943, and he was the only one up, preparing breakfast before going to work.
He had seen the black sedan arrive and the three men in uniform approach the house. He knew what to expect, but not how bad the news would be. Lieutenant commander Truman Jones was silent for a few moments and then spoke quietly; this was the hardest and most disagreeable task of his career. “I’m sorry, all five.” As the rest of the family gathered in the room (Aletta, Genevieve and Katherine Mary), the commander desperately finished his unenviable task: “The Navy Department deeply regrets to inform you that your sons, George, Francis, Joseph, Madison and Albert are missing in action in the South Pacific.”
The family had prior suspicions for more than a month that something had happened.
Regular mail had stopped, a neighbour’s son had written to his mother saying the Sullivans’ ship had been sunk, and Aletta had a foreboding feeling of something wrong.
Tom Sullivan, who was a railroad guard, had a train load of war supplies to bring east, and the family encouraged him to go to work. Aletta stated it would be what the boys would want. As Tom’s train passed by the water tower, he imagined the five boys standing up on the high platform at the top of the tower, waving to him as they had done every day as children, and it reminded him of how close this family was, and now his five sons were dead.
The Juneau arrived off Guadalcanal in September 1942 as part of a 21-vessel American task force providing covering fire for the Marine assault force, that was making for the beaches under intense fire. The aircraft carrier Wasp was torpedoed and as the other ships closed in to pick up survivors they came under attack from Japanese aircraft, but this time the Juneau survived.
In October 1942 at the Battle of Santa Cruz, Juneau saw further action. This time, the carrier Hornet and three other warships were lost, which led to the Navy Department requesting servicemen from the same family to be placed on different ships. The Sullivans declined this request.
On 12 November 1942, having returned to Guadalcanal, heavy fighting broke out between the two naval forces. Juneau was hit by a torpedo and 19 men died instantly. The surviving ships, including the Juneau, set out for the American base of Espiritu Santo.
Japanese submarine I-26 was waiting, and fired two torpedoes at the crippled ships. One just missed the Helena, but slammed into the Juneau, cutting the cruiser in half and sending her to the bottom in minutes.
It is believed that more than 100 sailors survived the sinking. Those in the water were clinging to rafts or whatever they could to stay afloat. Captain Gilbert C Hoover of the Helena, in his wisdom or otherwise, decided it was unlikely there could be any survivors and sailed away.
A B17 bomber spotted the survivors in the water but could not break radio silence and only reported after landing, some hours later. Mixed with other paperwork, the report was missed until days later. It was discovered that no search had been mounted. One was then ordered. In the meantime, survivors died of hunger, thirst, the elements and shark attacks.
Eight days after the sinking, a PBY Catalina aircraft spotted and rescued 14 remaining survivors. It was confirmed that Frank, Joe and Matt died instantly; Al drowned the next day, and George survived for five days. He then deliriously decided to swim for help to San Cristobel island and was taken by sharks within seconds.
Admiral Halsey relieved Hoover of his command. And even though he was later exonerated by the Navy Office, his career was ruined.