Every time I think about the 2,403 men killed during the surprise Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, I think about Edwin Hill. I first came across his name years ago in Cape May, New Jersey, where we regularly vacationed with our young children. One summer day, just off a popular pedestrian plaza, I noticed a small plaque dedicated to Edwin. After some research, I was so enthralled by his story and heroics at Pearl Harbor, I created a minor character in my very first book inspired by him.
To understand who Edwin Hill was, you have to understand what the United States Navy was like in December 1941. The fleet was relatively small and aged, withered by the lack of investment and modernization after years of Great Depression austerity. There were just a handful of aircraft carriers—naval air power was yet untested in war—and most of the destroyers and battleships dated back to the post-World War I era. Tensions were rapidly escalating in the Pacific, but the Navy lagged far behind its Japanese rivals in the number and quality of ships and aircraft.
That said, it was a disciplined, professional service. The enlisted men were mostly volunteers, and the officers were experienced and well-trained. Among the professionals sprinkled across the US Pacific Fleet in December 1941 was 47-year-old Edwin Hill. He had enlisted in the Navy in 1912, rising through the ranks to become Warrant Officer Boatswain, or bos’n in Navy-speak. Hill married, had three children, and put in nearly thirty years of service. By the eve of war, he was just a few months away from retirement, serving aboard the battleship USS Nevada, a vessel launched in 1914 that carried a complement of 1,400 sailors. As bos’n, Hill was responsible for the deck crews and every ounce of teakwood decking and ground tackle on the ship.
When the first Japanese bombs fell, the Nevada was fortunate, as one of her steam boilers was already lit, meaning the ship was capable of getting underway and escaping the hailstorm of bombs and torpedoes. But it was still tethered to her moorings, and it fell to Hill to lead a small detail down to the quay to cast off the ship’s lines. Dodging strafing attacks, the men hacked the lines away with axes, but the moment the Nevada was free, the ship pulled away, stranding the men on the quay. Hill did not hesitate, diving into the water and swimming to the stern of the slow-moving ship. He scrambled aboard after a shipmate threw him a line.
As it fled for the open sea, the Nevada quickly became a prime target for the hordes of Japanese planes. Hill was directing other men to safety and pitching in to fight the ship when several bombs struck the main deck and quarterdeck in succession, including one that instantly killed the indomitable bos’n.
Hill was deservedly honored. A Medal of Honor was posthumously awarded, and in 1943 the Navy named a destroyer escort after him.
The Navy would experience transformational change during World War II, and by 1944, it was operating the largest and most powerful fleet in military history. The United States built more than 1,100 warships during the war—an astonishing industrial triumph—but even more remarkable is the fact that the vast majority of men filling out gunnery, engineering, and other operational divisions were likely in high school at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack. Most had never set foot on a ship, let alone sailed into war.
Sadly, Hill would not be among them. In the war’s very first hour, the United States had been robbed of one of her premier fighting men. There is little doubt Hill would have eschewed retirement, stayed with his ship, and provided the kind of seasoned leadership our understrength forces desperately needed in the early months of combat.
More than sixteen million American men served in the uniformed services during the war. They were not all Edwin Hills, but each played a role in the final triumph, and the debt we owe to them all is beyond measure. My profound gratitude to whoever established that marker in Cape May; it is precisely what is needed so more of our countrymen can learn about these legions of ordinary men who did extraordinary things.
