The Leonard Blake Story
by Roger Weston
At age 15, the clock was ticking for an orphan named
Leonard. He was moving toward a fateful day that would change his life forever.
In 1942, the Japanese and Germans were killing a lot
of American sailors. The Germans were doing tremendous damage on the East Coast
of the United States—in American waters.
In the first six months after the Pearl Harbor attack and the US entrance into
the war, German U-boat submarines sank nearly six hundred American ships, which
was half of the US merchant ships.
Meanwhile, the Japanese were waging a war of their own against merchant ships
in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. They sank 125 merchant ships in 1942.
They were killing so many sailors that few people
wanted to join the US merchant marine. Len, who was 15 at the time, saw a sign
that said, “Serve your country. Join the US Maritime Service.” This looked good
to him so he went to see the recruiter, who changed his age on the application.
At Catalina, Len learned he was also in the Coast Guard.
In
a 1945 press release, the deputy administrator for the War Shipping Administration, Captain Macauley stated, "Men
are still needed to man merchant ships in excess of these presently available
and will be needed for some months to come. The job of the war time Merchant
Marine has not been completed. Millions of our armed forces must be brought
home and supplies must be carried to the occupation forces throughout the
world. Supplies must also be carried for the rehabilitation of devastated
areas."
Fifteen year old Len finished his training in
Catalina. He was offered a chance to become a trainer, but he said, “No, I want
to go to sea.”
His first deployment was on a ship named the SS John Constantine, carrying 2,700 tons
of bombs to Calcutta, India. Three ships sailed out of San Pedro harbor en
route to Calcutta via the Indian Ocean and Australia, waters patrolled and
targeted by the Japanese. Of the three ships, only one survived and completed
its mission. Len was fortunate to be on that ship.
But it was not exactly smooth sailing. In the
Atlantic, two men from his ship were lost overboard in storms. These men died
serving their country by manning the supply lines. Throughout history, such
duty has been carried out by soldiers and sailors.
Back in America, the captain and first mate of the SS John Constantine approached Len and
said, “We want you to go to officer’s training school in Galveston, Texas.”
Len shook his head. “I want to go back to sea.”
Before that happened, he was thrown off a bus in
Georgia for sitting in the back seat. Whites were not allowed in the back.
He insisted on sitting where he wanted—and was thrown off. This was before Rosa
Parks captured headlines for sitting in the wrong place.
In Los Angeles, Len boarded a new ship, the Marianne Livermore. Len was happy. This
was how he wanted to serve. The clock was ticking for the young orphan. He was
moving closer to the event that would change his destiny.
On April 12, 1945, President Franklin Roosevelt
died. The paperwork was on his desk to make merchant sailors into official veterans,
but he had not yet signed it.
On the Marianna
Livermore, Len sailed out into the vast Pacific Ocean. He spent twenty days
at sea, manning the 3” Fifty Forward gun. He was also trained in survival at
sea since they were sailing through hostile waters and expected to engage in
anti-aircraft combat if necessary—as well as survival in case their ship was
sunken and they were adrift. Other sailors manned a 4-inch gun on the stern. The
ship sailed from San Pedro to Hawaii and Okinawa.
Despite the dangers, Len enjoyed his cruise across
the Pacific. The mood among the crew was happiness. They were just happy kids
doing their duty. In Okinawa Harbor, Kamikazes attacked every day. Some of them
dive bombed and hit other ships in the harbor. Gunners on Len’s ship took out
three of the Kamikazes.
One day with the
Marianna Livermore still in
Okinawa
Harbor, an airplane was sighted. Gunnery Officer Signorey gave the order not to
fire on the plane because he thought it was an American Kingfisher recon plane.
By the time the mistake was recognized, it was too late for corrective action.
A Japanese Kamikaze plane carrying an armor-piercing bomb flew in and hit the
wheelhouse. The captain was cut in half. Ten officers were killed. The armor-piercing
bomb went through two decks.
At this moment, Len had been off duty and was
catching a catnap in the foc’sle. He was jolted awake when the ship shuttered.
He jumped up and ran for the foc’sle door, but shrapnel hit his legs and the
detonation blew him through the escape panel in the foc’sle door. He lay in the
hall in a pool of blood. His pants had been blown clean off of his legs. He was
wounded everywhere. His eye socket was broken. His calf muscles hung outside of
his legs; they were moving and twitching. He had lost part of his left foot,
and the Achilles tendon was severed on his right foot. The bones in both legs
were shattered, and he would later learn that he’d lost 2” of bone in his left
leg.
Little did Len know then, but he would be in
constant pain for 74 years.
He was taken to a hospital. He was bleeding all over
his body, and as the weeks passed, he was confined to hospitals in Okinawa,
Guam, and then Hawaii.
Before a scheduled surgery to close persistent
bleeding wounds, the doctor wanted to amputate both legs.
“No,” Len said. “Forget about it. I’d rather die.
Just roll me over there and let me die.”
“You’ll never walk again,” the doctor said.
“I don’t care. Swear to me you won’t amputate.”
“Alright, alright, I won’t.”
“Swear it.”
“Fine. I swear. We’ll see what we can do, son.”
After the surgery, the doc dropped by to visit Len,
whose casts were red.
“We couldn’t close all the wounds,” he said.
The weeks passed slowly
in hospitals in Okinawa and Guam. Len was in the hospital for his seventeenth
birthday.
After being flown to Hawaii, he had two more
surgeries. Nine surgeons all said he’d never walk again. With tears in her
eyes, a nurse named Lieutenant Fru told him, “Lenny, you’re not in the armed
services. We have to transfer you to a public health service hospital—the
Oakland Naval Hospital.”
Len would spend 2 ½ months in that hospital. This
was a painful transition for more than one reason. Not only had the armed
services just turned their back on him, but in the Navy, they’d given him
morphine to deal with the pain. In San Francisco, they prescribed codeine. He
was allergic to codeine.
Even worse, they called him psychotic. Why? Because
he had recurring nightmares about his trauma. He dreamed about being blown
through the foc’sle door and sitting in a pool of blood. He saw his friend T.J.
Garner crawling through the door with 3- and 4-inch holes in his back. T.J.
reached out for him and then fell dead. If the nightmares weren’t bad enough, Len
could barely sleep because of the constant pain.
The Navy guys on that ship got purple hearts, but Len
and the merchant mariners—who served as back-up gunners—were denied the metal
or any recognition or appreciation. Everyone got a Mariner’s medal.
Lenny’s good friend Bob Blake was killed topside on
the flying bridge. He was an ordinary seaman and backup gunner for the 20mm
gun. Bob was firing his gun when killed. All together, four navy men and seven
merchant marines were killed in the attack.
He was discharged by the Armed Services of America
of USA. He had always been told that he was in the armed services.
The parents of his friend Bob Blake came to see Lenny
in the hospital, and they offered to adopt him. After they left, Lenny begged the doctors to
let him go.
Doc Jones said, “You’ll never walk.”
“Yes, I will.”
“If you can walk on crutches, I’ll let you go.”
“Give me the crutches.”
Lenny practiced on crutches, walking across the
room.
The doctor said, “I thought you’d be bed-ridden for
life.”
The doctor weighed him before his checkout.
Previously, he’d weighed 160 pounds. Now he weighed in at 90 pounds.
The nurse gave him $20 to get to LA. He used canes
and crutches to leave the hospital. He would need a cane for the rest of his
life.
In Los Angeles, he went to public health where they
put him in a gurney. Lenny heard one doctor say to another, “I have no sympathy
for these merchant marines. They’re just a bunch of draft dodgers.”
Len fumed inside. Anger filled him with resentment.
One day, he was reading the newspaper and it said,
“Vets admitted to Belmont High.” This caught his attention because, as an
orphan, he’d left school at age 13 and worked in an iron foundry. So now he
went down to the high school, and they told him to come back in a week. They
told him this every week for six weeks. Finally, a guy growled at him, “We
don’t want your kind here.”
This was painful. Once again he’d been insulted
because of the rumors being spread in the media that merchant marines hadn’t
served their country with honor. Articles said they didn’t help fight, but he
was trained in gunnery and manned the guns at sea. His close friend Bob Blake
had died firing at the Kamikaze. Len was discharged from the Navy after four
years in the Naval Reserve.
Due to experiences like these, Len never asked the
government for any help. He now hated the government with a passion.
The parents of his good friend Bob Blake had visited
Len in the hospital and adopted him. Now they spent all their money trying to
help him with his medical challenges. They had lost their son on that ship. Now
Lenny was their son, and they gave everything they could. However, when Mr.
Blake lost his job, they fell on even more hard times.
Len worked a number of hard jobs. He plucked
chickens, pumped gas, and drove a truck. All the while he was bitter against
the government and the way they’d treated him. He was angry at his father who’d
left him as a child.
He had always walked to work, but now he bought a Harley motorcycle and soon was running the Vagos Gang. One day he was pulled over on Hollywood Blvd. He got off his Harley, faced the two approaching cops, and challenged them to a fight.
He had always walked to work, but now he bought a Harley motorcycle and soon was running the Vagos Gang. One day he was pulled over on Hollywood Blvd. He got off his Harley, faced the two approaching cops, and challenged them to a fight.
The burly cop said, “You won’t beat us. Better join
us.”
This caught Len off guard, and he decided to apply
for a job in the police department. He ended up getting hired and went to work
even though he was still dealing with open wounds from Okinawa. He always
worked two jobs. He moonlighted driving an armored car or as a dispatcher for a
trucking company or other jobs. He even worked for the district attorney. The
PTSD was always with him, and every night he had dreams about the Kamikaze attack in Okinawa.
Meanwhile, news commentators like Walter Winchell
and Westbrook Pegler spread rumors that the merchant marines were getting $400
per month in assistance, which was not true. One news reporter named Ernie Pyle
was given the Purple Heart, but Len was denied. He was told, “No, your ship was
owned by a company.”
What they avoided saying was that the War Shipping
Administration was in charge of all shipping. A Coast Guard commander said, “No
purple heart.”
Merchant Mariners
finally got very-limited veteran status in 1988 after a long court battle.
However, Len
had little interest in dealing with the government. His anger against the way
that he’d been treated was always painful to think about.
One of his
friends insisted that he “Go to the VA and get what’s coming to you!” Finally,
Len was persuaded, but was disappointed by the limited assistance.
There was
one benefit that gave him hope, however: at age 60, he qualified for the GI
Bill and education. First, he had to visit a doctor to qualify. Len wasn’t too
worried about this. He’d been in pain all his life and the wounds had never
healed. They remained open until 2010.
A government worker asked him, “Were you wounded?”
“Yes, all over. My head was caved in, and my feet
were destroyed.”
“Okay, you’ll have to see a doctor to qualify.”
So that’s what Len did.
A man walked into the doctor’s office.
The so-called doctor rudely said, “Let me see your
left leg!”
“Want to see my right leg?” Len asked.
“What for?” the man blurted.
“The open wounds.” Len's wounds had remained open almost
fifty years.
The doc said, “Those hammer toes and that cut didn’t
come from that wound.”
“Maybe you want to hear what happened,” Len said.
The doctor shook his head. “I’m writing. Be quiet.”
Despite his anger, Len was quiet.
“Let me see you walk,” the doctor said.
Len limped across the office.
“Why do you walk like that?” the doctor said.
“You’re through.” He left.
To this day, Len doubts that he was even a doctor at
all.
Six months later, Len got a letter in the mail. It
said, “Your wound doesn’t qualify you for any VA compensation.”
After another six months, he was informed that the
government would cover 10%.
“That’s wrong,” his friend, Dr. Frank Rogers insisted.
“You have to appeal it!” Rogers was an old field sergeant from World War Two.
Len was reluctant. He wanted nothing to do with the
government, but finally agreed. After his appeal, he was awarded 30%
assistance.
Doc Rogers was incensed and pushed him further and
he got 40%.
When he appealed again, he was told by the VA in Los
Angeles, “We gave you 40%. That nullified your appeal.”
Ultimately, $250 per month is not adequate for a man
whose medical expenses have been far higher and have lasted for seven decades.
At age sixteen, he served his country in the merchant marines and suffered
terrible injuries. He could never run again. He is still in pain at age 90.
Every night, Leonard Blake dreams of the day when he
watched his friend T.J. Garner die in front of him, the day when Bob Blake died
firing the 20mm gun. Not a day passes when Len does not think of his old
shipmates who gave their lives Okinawa. Every day, he says good morning to
them.
POST
SCRIPT
Len’s ship, the Marianna
Livermore, was the last merchant ship hit by a Kamikaze in World War Two.
On Friday, March 13,
2020, President Trump signed into law: H.R. 5671, the "Merchant Mariners
of World War II Congressional Gold Medal Act of 2020," which provides for
the award of a Congressional gold medal collectively, to the U.S. Merchant
Mariners of World War II.
