Published Sunday, September 07, 2008 in Close-Up
By Alex McRae
The Times-Herald
In October 1944, after slogging through invasion after invasion in the New Guinea theater, John Richards and the rest of the men aboard LST 454 were ready for a rest.
Instead, they sailed for Leyte Gulf in the Philippines to be part of the largest naval battle in history.
After weeks of dodging enemy guns and watching Japanese suicide bombers attack the fleet, Richards and his mates caught their breath, then headed for Lingayen Gulf in the Philippines to do it all over again.
On the way into the beach, the ship followed normal procedure and dropped its stern anchor at sea. After troops and cargo were unloaded on the beach, reversed engines plus the backward pull from the stern anchor's cable were supposed to pull the vessel back out to sea.
But by the time the craft was unloaded the tide was so low the ship was completely beached. It was unable to move despite the backward thrust of the engines and pull of the stern anchor cable.
A seagoing tug was called in to pull the ship off the beach, but the process was slow and dangerous.
Most of the sailors went ashore to wait. Japanese gunners took advantage of the situation and lobbed mortars at the stranded vessel. The only sailors left aboard were the crew in the wheelhouse and the men in charge of the stern anchor -- including Richards.
"When the mortars started falling I was on the stern and couldn't see much, but I knew they were after us and I didn't like it," Richards says. "We just kept busy and did our jobs."
Finally, American planes dropped incendiary napalm bombs on the Japanese mortars and the ship was safely towed to sea.
"Sometimes when the fighting was heavy, you'd get frightened and the adrenaline would be running. So we all just concentrated on what we were doing," Richards says. "But we were all glad to get out of there."
Richards was born in Washington, Pa. in 1925. His father was a Methodist preacher and the family moved often. They were in Turtle Creek, Pa., during a huge flood in 1936. Church members got the piano out of the parsonage basement and into the first floor living room, but Richards says the water rose so high the piano was found bouncing off the ceiling.
"You've never seen anything like it," Richards says. "It was a real mess."
The family was living in Connellsville, Pa., when Richards attended high school. He was a versatile athlete and lettered in football, basketball, swimming and track. Richards played backup quarterback on the football team until his senior year, but couldn't complain since the first string quarterback was Johnny Lujack who later earned a Heisman Trophy at Notre Dame.
Richards was the starting quarterback his senior year and led the football team to an undefeated season,
The day after Richards graduated from high school in May 1943, he and 25 classmates went to sign up at the local draft board.
There was no doubt about the outcome. The Connellsville draft board was so intent on making its quota it had once approved a man with a glass eye. All 26 boys from Connellsville High were accepted and assigned to the U.S. Navy.
After basic training at Sampson Naval Training Center in Seneca, N.Y., Richards took advanced training as a ship's electrician. Then he was off to San Francisco to board the escort destroyer U.S.S. Copahee, which ferried planes to the war zone and delivered wounded troops to military hospitals.
Richards says the ship was so run down it sailed alone because it couldn't keep up with newer, faster ships in the task force. The Copahee's biggest brush with danger came when the ship sailed into a typhoon inside the Great Barrier Reef off Australia's northern coast.
The ship's wind gauge blew off when the storm topped 120 knots. Planes on the flight deck were tossed about like rag dolls. One was blown overboard and another crashed into the superstructure.
"We took a beating that time," Richards says. "It was really scary."
The Copahee finally made it to Brisbane, Australia, where Richards transferred to the destroyer U.S.S. Grayson. The Americans didn't have any enemies to shoot at; but they found another way to make waves when several sailors went to the local zoo, abducted a kangaroo and snuck it aboard the ship.
The next morning the Lord Mayor of Brisbane showed up wearing his finest ceremonial suit and breathing fire. The mayor informed the ship's commander that the sailors had stolen the King's property and he intended to throw them in jail.
After the mayor was told in no uncertain terms he had no authority on a U.S. Navy vessel, the kangaroo was returned unharmed.
The men who "borrowed" the beast were punished with two hours extra duty.
"That was the least amount of punishment they could have gotten," Richards says. "The skipper made it clear he didn't think it was a big deal."
Richards rode the Grayson to Port Moresby, New Guinea, where he boarded his permanent ship, LST 454.
For months, LST 454 was part of an invasion force that made amphibious assault landings at Lae and Finchhaven, New Guinea, and Cape Gloucester in the Admiralty Islands.
When LST 454 reached Hollandia, things were even rougher than usual. Richards says the Japanese had booby-trapped their own dead, hoping to kill or injure Americans who tried to move the bodies.
"You really had to be careful," he says. "There was always something to worry about."
When he wasn't at his battle station on one of the ship's 40 mm Bofors guns, Richards worked at the ship's electrical center, minding the generators that supplied power and lights to the ship.
After Hollandia, the LST 454 moved to the island of Biak and then on to Halmahera, just north of Morotai.
Several days after reaching Halmahera, the string of LSTs lined up on the beach got an unexpected visitor. Most nights, a lone Japanese plane nicknamed "Washing Machine Charlie" flew over and strafed the American positions. The plane was more a nuisance than a danger and generally came and went before American guns could fire.
But one night Washing Machine Charlie came by for a second pass. This time, American gunners were ready. Then they noticed the Japanese plane wasn't alone. It was being tailed by a second aircraft the Americans didn't recognize.
The second plane was actually an American P-61 Black Widow, but it was so new the Americans had never seen one.
The gunners opened fire. The American plane turned its wings up to show the American insignia, but it was too late. Both aircraft were shot down. The American pilot was rescued but he wasn't happy.
At the Battle of Leyte Gulf, Richard's crew saw kamikaze suicide planes for the first time and watched as the aircraft carrier Princeton was sunk.
"Nobody knew the word kamikaze," Richards says, "We just knew they were a problem. The American gunners took out quite a few."
After Leyte and Lingayen Gulf the LST 454 moved on to the battle of Manila. The harbor entrance was guarded by a highly-fortified stone island called Corregidor, nicknamed The Rock. Corregidor had to be captured for the American navy to reach Manila Harbor safely.
On February 18, 1945, the first of more than 1,000 members of the 503rd Parachute Regiment Combat Team dropped onto the top of the island. Winds were so strong, hundreds of airborne troopers were blown off the island and back into the sea. Richards' ship was on hand to rescue many of the soaking soldiers.
"They were glad to see us," Richard says. "It's a good thing we were there."
From the Philippines, Richards' ship sailed for the invasion at Okinawa. Then it was on to Balikpapan, Borneo. The oil-rich island was vital to the Japanese military machine and they defended it fiercely. LST 454 carried Australian troops into the battle. Richards says they didn't have a firm grasp of the concept.
"Those guys had no background in amphibious landings, and it was a total disaster," Richards says.
The Aussies made it ashore. But by day's end, they had been pushed back to the beach by a Japanese counterattack. Extreme tides had left Richards' ship grounded. Richards says the Australians' heavy guns and supplies were aboard LST 454, but the Aussies didn't seem in any hurry to use them.
Then, Richards and his men were horrified when the sun went down and campfires started glowing on the beach.
"That was the last thing you were supposed to do," Richards says. "The Japanese took aim at any light source, and it was suicide to light a fire."
American officers rushed ashore to see what was going on. An Australian soldier said, "You can't expect a man to fight all day without a cup of tea, can you?"
Richards and his crew were glad to leave Borneo. LST 454 was at sea when the war ended. The ship was ordered to Japan, and LST 454 was in Tokyo Bay when the Japanese signed the surrender documents on Sept. 2, 1945.
"It was so far away you couldn't see much," Richards says. "But we all knew it was a big deal."
When the war ended, Richards had enough points to be discharged; but because electricians were in short supply, he remained in Japan for months. He returned home and was discharged in 1946.
Richards enrolled at Geneva College in Beaver Falls, Pa. He quarterbacked the football team and earned a degree in history. Then it was off to Pittsburgh where he worked at the American Bridge division of U.S. Steel, and earned a master's degree at night from the University of Pittsburgh.
At American Steel, Richards met Mary Louise "Lou" Gross. They were married on July 4, 1952, and started a family that grew to include three children and seven grandchildren.
Richards began his business career with Michael Baker, Jr. Engineering Corp., then moved to H. H. Robertson Co., an industrial building products firm that specialized in architectural exteriors and designed the exterior "skins" for such signature buildings as the Crystal Cathedral in Southern California, Chicago's Sears Tower and the chapel of the U.S. Air Force Academy.
Richards retired after 33 years with H. H. Robertson. He and Lou moved to Coweta County in 2002 to be closer to children and grandchildren.
Richards is a cancer survivor and says he is thankful for everything life has brought his way. Even a world war.
"I wouldn't give a plugged nickel for any war," he says. "But I wouldn't sell the experience for a million dollars."