2 Pearl Harbour survivors, ages 104 and 102, return to Hawaii to honour those killed in 1941 attack

PEARL HARBOUR: Ira “Ike” Schab, a 104-year-old Pearl Harbour attack survivor, spent six weeks in physical therapy to build the strength to stand and salute during a remembrance ceremony honouring those killed in the Japanese bombing that thrust the US into World War II some 83 years ago.

On Saturday, Schab gingerly rose from his wheelchair and raised his right hand, returning a salute delivered by sailors standing on a destroyer and a submarine passing by in the harbour.

“He's been working hard because this is his goal,” said his daughter, Kimberlee Heinrichs, who travelled to Hawaii with Schab from their Beaverton, Oregon, home so they could attend the ceremony. “He wanted to be able to stand for that.”

Schab is one of only two servicemen who lived through the attack who made it to an annual remembrance ceremony hosted by the US Navy and National Park Service on a grass field overlooking the harbour.

A third survivor had been planning to join them but had to cancel because of health issues.

The December 7, 1941 bombing killed more than 2,300 US servicemen. Nearly half, or 1,177, were sailors and Marines on board the USS Arizona, which sank during the battle. The remains of more than 900 Arizona crew members are still entombed on the submerged vessel.

Dozens of survivors once joined the event but their attendance has declined as survivors have aged. Today there are only 16 still living, according to a list maintained by Kathleen Farley, the California state chair of the Sons and Daughters of Pearl Harbour Survivors.

Military historian J. Michael Wenger has estimated there were some 87,000 military personnel on Oahu on the day of the attack.

Schab agreed when ceremony organizers asked him earlier this year to salute on behalf of all survivors and World War II veterans.

“I was honoured to do it. I'm glad I was capable of standing up. I'm getting old, you know,” he said.

Schab was a sailor on the USS Dobbin at the time of the attack, the tuba player in the ship's band. He had showered and put on a clean uniform when he heard the call for a fire rescue party.

He hurried topside to see Japanese planes flying overhead and the USS Utah capsizing. He quickly went back below deck to join a daisy chain of sailors feeding shells to an anti-aircraft gun topside.

Ken Stevens, 102, who served on the USS Whitney, joined Schab at the ceremony. USS Curtiss sailor Bob Fernandez, 100, had planned to attend but had to cancel due to health issues.

Ceremony attendees observed a moment of silence at 7:54 a.m., the same time the attack began eight decades ago. F-22 jets in missing man formation flew overhead shortly after.

Fernandez, speaking before the ceremony, recalled feeling shocked and surprised as the attack began.

“When those things go off like that, we didn't know what's what,” said Fernandez. “We didn't even know we were in a war.”

Fernandez was a mess cook on the Curtiss and his job that morning was to bring sailors coffee and food as he waited tables during breakfast. Then they heard an alarm sound. Through a porthole, Fernandez saw a plane with the red ball insignia painted on Japanese aircraft fly by.

Fernandez rushed down three decks to a magazine room where he and other sailors waited for someone to unlock a door storing 5-inch (12.7-centimeter), 38-caliber shells so they could begin passing them to the ship's guns.

He has told interviewers over the years that some of his fellow sailors were praying and crying as they heard gunfire up above.

“I felt kind of scared because I didn't know what the hell was going on,” Fernandez said.

The ship's guns hit a Japanese plane that crashed into one of its cranes. Shortly after, its guns hit a dive bomber that then slammed into the ship and exploded below deck, setting the hangar and main decks on fire, according to the Navy History and Heritage Command.

Fernandez's ship, the Curtiss, lost 21 men and nearly 60 of its sailors were injured.

Many laud Pearl Harbour survivors as heroes, but Fernandez doesn't view himself that way.

“I'm not a hero,” he told The Associated Press in a phone interview from California, where he now lives with his nephew in Lodi. “I'm just nothing but an ammunition passer.”