Recollections of the Battle of Midway by LT Joseph P. Pollard, MC, USN Medical Officer on board USS Yorktown (CV-5)

Please note: This document contains extremely graphic descriptions of casualties resulting from this Battle

[Source: Oral history provided courtesy of the Historian, Bureau of Medicine and Surgery]

On 15 December 1941 I was detached from the U.S. Naval School of Aviation Medicine, Pensacola, Florida, destined to eventually join the crew of USS Yorktown. After a short cruise in USS Hornet and her plane guard USS Noa (DD-343) in the Atlantic, I drove across country by auto to San Diego and served briefly in Aircraft Scouting Force Pacific, Transition Training Squadron. After sailing in USS Fulton (AS-11) to Pearl Harbor, I served briefly while attached to the 14th Naval District in the Old Naval School Dispensary, Honolulu, T.H. When USS Yorktown arrived in Pearl Harbor from the Coral Sea, my orders to her were after this long time to be carried out.

On 27 May 1942, I was detached from Commander, 14th Naval District, and at 2000 reported on board USS Yorktown for duty. She was alongside Pier B-16 in Pearl Harbor. My room assignment was 0207, and I was introduced to my roommate, LTJG Edward A. Kearney, MC, USN, a Surgeon. I was introduced to Commander C.C.Yanquell for whom I was numerical relief; met Captain W.D. Davis, MC, USN, the Medical Officer; Dr. A. M. French; Dr. N.E. Dobos, Flight Surgeon; and Commander Dixie Keifer, USN, Executive Officer.

On 28 May 1942 Doctor Yanquell departed for San Diego. The ship moved into dry dock for hull inspection where she remained all day and night, meanwhile loading stores and ammunition.

On the morning of 29 May 1942, the ship was still in dry dock. I visited friends, particularly Lieutenant Commander Garton E. Wall, MC, USNR, at the Old Naval Station Dispensary and bid goodbye to Dr. James R. Martin. The latter expressed a strong desire to go to sea with us. I assumed the MOOD [Medical Officer on Deck or Medical Officer of the Day] until next morning substituting for Doctor Kearney. Doctor Wall came down to the ship to see me but at that time we were moving back to Pier B-16. Scuttlebutt in the ship was that we were sailing in the morning. Stores and ammunition were being hastily loaded.

On 30 May USS Yorktown put to sea at 0800 and took a course said to be towards Midway at a speed of about 15 knots. There was gunnery practice most of the morning using both towed sleeve and high speed sled. The gun crews seemed good. Morale was excellent. I had the flight deck duty station when we took on board our aircraft. One of our Lieutenant Commanders was killed at this time in a very unfortunate accident. A fighter drifted over the arresting cables, over the barriers and sat down on the back of his plane. The propeller of the fighter split his headrest causing a compound skull fracture; the next blade pushed in the rim of the cockpit crushing his jaw, face and neck and severing the great vessels of his neck. Obviously, there was nothing I or anyone could do for him.

On May 31 we spent a busy but uneventful day at sea. The aircraft landings were better and we had no crashes. Our escorts were the Portland, Astoria, Hammann, Hughes, Russell and Balch. The ship's company was informed that when this mission was completed, the ship was scheduled for a complete overhaul. This would mean perhaps a month's leave. Since the crew had just returned from the Coral Sea and had spent 102 days without liberty, this was welcomed news. We felt somewhat uneasy at going into battle in our condition as the water tight integrity of the ship was said to be considerably reduced as a result of damage received in the Battle of the Coral Sea.

On 1 June we spent a very busy day making preparations for battle. Anti-flash clothing, gas masks and steel helmets were issued to all hands. We had the shipfitter repair the large overhead water tank in Battle Dressing Station #1 and fill it with water. We broke out and rechecked our emergency medical equipment.

On 2 June our scouting aircraft were out morning and afternoon. Excitement was running high in the ship and morale was excellent. We were told that our submarines had reported a Jap invasion force (battleships, cruisers, destroyers and transports) off Midway Island. We rendezvoused with the Hornet and Enterprise and their escorts in late afternoon and remained with them overnight.

On 3 June scuttlebutt was thick. We heard that land based aircraft had picked up the Jap invasion force and bombed them and also that our submarines were active. A Jap task force was reported to have bombed Dutch Harbor today. A Jap carrier force was reported northwest of Midway consisting of three carriers and their screen. We were said to be heading towards them.

On 4 June I had the duty and Doctor Dobos assumed flight quarters in the morning while I took EENT [Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat] sick call. Our scouting aircraft were dispatched. One returned about 0930 and dropped a message on our flight deck. The Jap task force of three carriers and their screen was reported to be 200 miles ahead closing in on us at 25 knots. I was called to the flight deck to relieve Doctor Dobos and sick call was suspended, All of our aircraft came aboard uneventful and were gassed. Our bombers were loaded with 1,000 pounders; TBDs [Douglas "Devastator" torpedo-bombers] with torpedoes, and planes spotted for take-off --fighters, then bombers and lastly the TBDs. Everywhere there was an undercurrent of excitement. At any moment the word might be passed to begin our attack. At any moment we might be attacked.

Meanwhile, the Hornet had sent off her planes, the the Enterprise sent hers off. We could see them on the horizon like a swarm of bees - then they were gone. A report came in from Midway Island that the Japs were attacking. We hoped that our planes would make their attack on the Jap carriers while their planes were over Midway. After awhile a report came in that the Enterprise group was hitting the Jap carrier force at will. Apparently, the Japs had hit Midway with everything they had and had not expected to be attacked themselves. The Enterprise's attack was completed and word came over the bull horn, "Pilots, man your planes." We put off our bombers, torpedo planes and half dozen fighters for their protection. Then we put up more fighters for our protection. We sat tight with no news for awhile. There was a great deal of tension. There were small groups of people everywhere - talking in low tones. Everyone was wearing anti-flash clothing and steel helmets. All was quiet - too quiet. Battle Dressing Station #1, my duty station, was manned and ready. The morning wore itself away and the afternoon began. I became hungry and went down to the wardroom for a sandwich.

About 1400 our planes began returning. They had been out a long time and were low on gas. A couple of well-shot-up SBDs [Douglas "Dauntless" dive-bombers] made their crash landings. Then the fighters started coming aboard. Many were riddled with holes. We landed about five and then one came in too hot and too high. He began to float over the deck and it looked like trouble. The pilot recognized that he was in trouble and made a dive for the deck. He somersaulted and skidded away on the deck. I made a quick dive under the wreckage but the pilot was unhurt and got out of the wreckage before I could get to him. I began to run across the flight deck to my station but before I arrived there general quarters sounded, Jap planes were upon us. I dived down the ladder for Battle Dressing station #1 and on my way saw one of our fighters fall on one wing and like a shooting star hit the drink. There was a puff of black smoke and that was all. Upon arriving at #1 I lay flat on the deck and hoped that we would not get a bomb in the crowded dressing room or anywhere for that matter. By this time our AA [anti-aircraft guns] was in full bloom. I had never before heard such a roar - first the 5", then the 1.1s and 20 mm's, the 50 cal, and finally the hastily set up 30 cal. machine guns along the rail. I knew then they were upon us. Then all hell broke loose. I saw a burst of fire, heard a terrific explosion and in less than ten seconds was overwhelmed by a mass of men descending from the gun mounts and flight deck into the Dressing Station. An instantaneous 500 pound bomb had struck just aft of the starboard side of the middle elevator and shrapnel had wiped out nearly all of the men from AA mounts #3 and #4 (1.1) and also my corpsman who stood on the aft island ladder platform where I usually stood. Another corpsman was injured who was standing in the gear locker doorway.

I was overwhelmed with work. Wounded were everywhere. Some men had one foot or leg off, others had both off; some were dying - some dead. Everywhere there was need for morphine, tourniquets, blankets and first aid. Battle Dressing Station #1 rapidly overflowed into the passageway, into the parachute loft and into all other available spaces. I called for stretcher bearers to get the more seriously wounded to the sick bay where they could receive plasma, etc., but the passageways had been blocked off due to the bomb hits. So we gave more morphine, covered the patients with blankets, and did the best we could. Many patients went rapidly into shock. All topside lights were out and I never realized that flashlights gave such miserably poor light. There was no smoke in Battle Dressing Station #1, which was fortunate. Water hoses were dragged into the passageway in an attempt to control a fire somewhere forward in the island - the hose had been perforated by shrapnel and sprayed water all over the deck and on some of my wounded who were lying in the passageway. Our water tank was very useful to us as there was a great need for drinking water and none was otherwise obtainable.

I went up to the flight deck. The first thing that I noticed was Mount #4. A pair of legs attached to the hips sat in the trainer's seat. A stub of spinal column was hanging over backwards - there was nothing else remaining of the trainer. The steel splinter shield was full of men - or rather portions of men, many of whom were not identifiable. Blood was everywhere. I turned forward and saw great billows of smoke rising from our stack region. We were dead in the water and it suddenly dawned on me how helpless we were lying there. A repair party was rebuilding a portion of the flight deck. Then I was called aft where there were several casualties from shrapnel which came from a near miss off the fantail. There were wounded also along the catwalk along the starboard side.

Doctors French, Dobos, Lough and Jackson came up - later Captain Davis. We arranged to have our topside casualties lowered to the sick bay on the forward bomb elevator and this was begun.

The fire by this time was discovered to be in the rag locker and was under control. This stopped the billowing column of smoke which gave away our position and made us so susceptible to a second attack. Suddenly, there was a great burst of steam from our stack, then another, and amid cheers from all hands we got underway. Meanwhile, the Admiral and his staff had gone over to the Astoria and it was said that we had orders to proceed to the States at the best speed we could make. We seemed to be doing all right and began getting the ship in shape. We were really beginning to have some hope that the Japs would not return, but alas and alack.

About 1600 our radar picked up enemy planes at 40 to 60 miles coming in fast. We had just begun to gas five F4F-4s [Grumman "Wildcat" fighters] that we had succeeded in landing just before the previous attack. Some had only 25 gallons aboard. Nevertheless, they took off post haste. We were just hitting 22 knots but they took a long run and made it off. Just as the last one left the deck I made a dive for Battle Dressing Station #1 and again the AAs began as before. By the time I could find an unoccupied place on the deck there was a sickening thud and rumble throughout the ship and the deck rose under me, trembled and fell away. One torpedo hit had occurred. My thought was that we could take this one and get away with it perhaps but not anymore. Then another sickening thud and the good ship shuddered and rapidly listed hard to port. I knew we were completely helpless but did not want to admit it. Just then word came over the speaker, "Prepare to abandon ship." I was dumbfounded. It was incomprehensible. A man lying beside me with one foot shot away and a severe chest wound turned his head towards me and asked, "What does this mean for us?" and turned his head away. He knew that he would have no chance in the water. This man was later seen in the Naval Hospital in Pearl Harbor on the way to recovery. We listed more and more to port until it was almost impossible to stand on the slick deck. We searched frantically for life preservers for the wounded, taking some from the dead. Our stretchers had gone below to the sick bay and we had difficulty finding enough for our wounded. All who could possibly walk did so. I went up on the flight deck and walked along the starboard edge being very careful not to slip and skid the width of the ship and off the port side. The ship rolled slowly with the swells but the water was not rough and after each roll she returned to her former position. I thought a big wave might possibly capsize her. A bulkhead giving way below might also let her go over. Our list was about 30 degrees. The speakers were dead and when word was passed to abandon ship, it did not get to me. Several life rafts were in the water but the lines over the side were not long enough to reach the water. Lieutenant Wilson and I tied some lines together and lowered some wounded. Meanwhile the sick bay wounded were being lowered from the hanger deck. Captain Buckmaster came up and said to abandon ship.

(Captain Buckmaster came up to me as I was on the verge of going over the side at a place we had lowered some wounded on the starboard side aft of the island structure. There were several life rafts of wounded floating below me. He asked what I was waiting for. I told him I was waiting to get off all the wounded and that we had searched the topside structure and the catwalks and I was sure that we had every man that was alive from this area on the life rafts. He said something to the effect that "they said the Captain should be the last to leave the ship. I'm ready to go now. Would you leave.")

I chose a big line and went over the side. I stopped at the armor belt for a rest. It was at least 75 feet from the deck to the water and I still had some 20 feet to go. I worked along the armor belt to a spot which was immediately above a life raft. The line there was a small one and soon after I started down a corner of my life jacket got inside my grip and I began slipping. The fingers of both my hands were rather badly burned before I realized it. The I released the line and dropped the remainder of the way into the water and swam through the oil to the raft. We took on board several wounded who were close by until the raft was overflowing and the few of us with life preservers had to get out and swim or hold on with one hand. As each wave broke over our heads the oil burned our eyes and noses like liquid fire. It was impossible to keep from swallowing some of it. Someone would swim alongside and say hold me up a minute please and proceed to vomit the oil and then swim on. We had nine stretcher cases and about 25 men on or hanging on to our raft. We tried to flutter kick and paddle our raft away from the side of the ship, but each wave seemed to bring us back against her side. If she capsized we would be carried down by suction and not have a chance. Finally, someone got the bright idea of paddling aft along the side of the ship and we began to make some headway. By doing this we finally got free of her stern.

Meanwhile, our destroyers were weaving back and forth about 300 yards away picking up survivors. Captain Buckmaster swam alongside the raft that I was holding on to but would not come aboard as we were so overcrowded. Instead he swam to a nearby raft and hung on to it. A passing motor whaleboat threw his raft a line and was towing it to the Russell but with too much speed and a mess attendant was pulled off. Instead of treading water, he began screaming and wearing himself out. Captain Buckmaster turned loose of his raft and swam to the mess attendant. They were both about gone when a man from our raft swam out and helped keep both of them afloat. We took the mess attendant aboard but the Captain preferred to swim.

About this time the Hughes threw us a line - two or three of them. All were short and as enemy planes were reported coming in our chances seemed to be at an all time low; but the Hammann finally came alongside and got us. She was a wonderful ship. We had been in the water two and one-half hours (picked up at 1930). Just as we hit the deck of the Hammann, there was another general quarters alarm (enemy planes) and she went to full speed but the planes proved to be friendly. Fortunately, the Japs seemed unaware of our predicament.

Maj. Daniel Iverson: Decorated Marine Pilot

by Barry Waugh

Shortly after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, Marine 2nd. Lt. Daniel Iverson, Jr., was ordered from San Diego to Hawaii as the machinery of American militarization and manufacturing might were thrown into high gear to defeat Japan. Dan’s stay in Hawaii was brief because early in January he sailed aboard the sea-plane tender U.S.S. Thornton for Midway. Midway is a two-and-a-half square mile atoll located 1,300 miles northwest of Honolulu that provided an airfield and submarine base half-way between San Diego and Japan. It was crucial that Midway be defended successfully to protect Hawaii and prohibit invasion of the United States. As Dan looked out over the waves from the Thornton, little did he or any of his colleagues know what was in store for them on the postage-stamp island named Midway.

Dan’s background was no more unusual than many of the individuals that joined the war effort. He was born in Columbia, South Carolina, November 11, 1916, the son of Daniel and Vivian Fraser (Thorpe) Iverson. His mother was from Savannah and would come to enjoy a long life passing away at 103; his father had recently been installed pastor of St. Matthews Presbyterian Church after supplying its pulpit during his Columbia Seminary studies. He left St. Matthews in 1919, then after two brief calls in North Carolina, the Iversons moved to Miami, Florida, 1926. Dan’s father was the organizing pastor of Shenandoah Presbyterian Church which grew to include numerous families in the congregation that provided many young people for Dan to befriend with his engaging smile. He graduated Miami High School in 1934. Davidson College was the next step for him, and when it was time for his senior photograph for the yearbook in 1938, the staff instead included a picture of him smiling as he casually descended some wooden stairs. The yearbook editors’ caption noted that Dan “quipped with the professors,” “held down a forward position on the basketball team”, and “added a clowning touch” on campus. He returned to Miami to work for Equitable Life Insurance Company but then enlisted to become a Marine pilot in November 1939. Two months earlier Hitler had launched his blitzkrieg of Poland resulting in its occupation, so possibly Dan signed up for service realizing his country was headed for war. He was trained to fly in Pensacola and was given his wings in October 1940.

Once Dan arrived at Midway, he settled in to a pilot’s life logging hours in the air and fulfilling other duties while waiting for something to happen, and it did. Early in May the Battle of the Coral Sea had taken place, after which the Japanese moved their forces to attack Midway. Included in the massive fleet were four heavy aircraft carriers. It was the second day of battle, June 4, as events unfolded, Iverson and his gunner Private First-Class Wallace Reed climbed aboard their SBD-2 [Scout Bomber Douglas-2] Dauntless dive bomber and joined fifteen other planes to engage the enemy. Iverson selected his target which he described as having “two rising suns on the flight deck—fore and aft” indicating the carrier was the Hiryu (Miami News, 7/29/42). He pushed the stick fully forward beginning his steep plunging through heavy anti-aircraft fire while pursued by two Japanese Zeros. At an altitude of 800 feet he released his bomb, but it fell just to the side of the carrier. Pulling out of the dive the two Zeros were still in tow firing at the SBD-2 until Iverson was able to lose them in the clouds. It is remarkable that he and his colleague survived. The Marines did not sink the Hiryu but despite what appears to have been a pointless attack by the Marine flyers, they had caught the enemy by surprise creating confusion that contributed to a break in formation and challenges for the Japanese command. Returning to base were only eight of the sixteen planes that engaged the enemy; five of the planes required considerable repair work. Iverson had to cautiously land his plane on one wheel, with a damaged wing, and without hydraulic controls because the system had been damaged by enemy fire.

When the weary duo climbed out of the plane Reid surveyed their SBD-2 counting 219 hits from bullets, but only one of the bullets concerned Iverson, the one that passed close enough to cut the cable to his throat microphone. He was awarded the Navy Cross and Reid was given the Distinguished Flying Cross. When the Battle of Midway ended on June 6, it had been primarily a naval conflict that inflicted considerable damage against the Japanese forces with four carriers, a heavy cruiser, and more than 320 aircraft destroyed while the United States suffered the loss of a carrier, destroyer, and 150 aircraft. The victory at Midway severely affected Japan’s ability to wage war and is considered the turning point for the Pacific theater of World War 2. Young Iverson now had battle experience under his belt and would go on from Midway to other assignments.

Following the crucial success at Midway there were more engagements for Iverson and his fellow Marines as they fought Japan’s efforts to extend its empire in the Pacific. On July 6, 1942, the Japanese moved troops and construction workers to Guadalcanal to build an airstrip in the southern Solomon Islands. It was a strategic location offering Japanese aircraft access to New Guinea and the New Hebrides (Vanuatu). The United States could not let the Japanese occupy Guadalcanal, so on August 7, 1942, the 1st Marine Division with naval and air support that included Dan Iverson caught the Japanese by surprise facilitating quick occupation of the island and control of the airstrip. Summarized in The Miami News, September 6, 1942, is a letter Iverson sent to his family including his youngest brother William, nicknamed by Dan, “Wild Bill.” Dan’s jokester personality was clearly intact despite the difficulties of war. He told the family he was doing well at Guadalcanal and still fighting. Food was no problem because the “Japs left plenty of provisions for us. A lot of what we eat is Japanese food.” Iverson added that the Japanese on Guadalcanal were eating breakfast and were thoroughly surprised when the Marines arrived. He included in the envelope with the letter some Japanese currency and promised to take home a blanket from the booty to cover a bed in the Iversons’ guest room. His mother may have become worried when he said, “I smell like a billy goat. I haven’t had a bath since we landed. However, I do carry a toothbrush in my pocket.” The article closed with “Well, I hope someday to arrive home, well and strong and still smiling.”

Dan’s opportunity to go home came in October. He was wounded while fighting at Guadalcanal. His condition led to time in a hospital in California. When discharged, he drove to Miami arriving there November 28 with 87 days of leave to recover. He was a local hero in the city and was invited to speak to the Greater Miami Airport Association, the Coral Gables Optimist Club, and to the Miami Woman’s Club. With his leave about to run out on February 10, 1943, Dan and Margaret Hough (Fisher) of Philadelphia married. Margaret’s father was a vice president for Westinghouse Corporation which contributed production to the war effort. Daniel Iverson presided over the wedding service with Dan’s sister Vivian a bridesmaid and Wild Bill the best man. Counting out the days of his leave it works out that the newlyweds had two weeks of honeymoon as they drove to San Diego for his next duty.

The reason for his injuries is seen in the citation for the silver star he received in June 1943 for service at Guadalcanal. Dan was honored for,

… conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in the action against enemy Japanese forces while serving with marine scout bombing squadron 232 on Guadalcanal in August and September, 1942. Shortly after midnight on Aug. 25, Captain Iverson, a member of a three-plane section, took off from his base and successfully located and attacked one enemy light cruiser and four destroyers which had been shelling our camp area.

In spite of poor visibility and fierce anti-aircraft fire, Captain Iverson and his unit followed [the bombing run] with a strafing attack, inflicting further damage on the enemy. Three days later, vigorously pressing forward the attack, Captain Iverson assisted in sinking three out of four enemy destroyers.

Again on Sept. 7 and 8 during landing operations by our raiders, he made several reconnaissance flights and flying low in the face of determined enemy fire, led sections of our forces in bombing attacks supporting ground troops. By his expert airmanship and valiant initiative, he rendered invaluable service to the ground organization. (The Miami News 6/6/43)

Notice that three SBDs took on a light cruiser and four destroyers.

What had started as a quick action at Guadalcanal had become by August 9 a heavy and costly campaign for the United States. Iverson participated gallantly in several actions and by the end of August was promoted to Captain. The almost to the day six-month Guadalcanal campaign ebbed and flowed in intensity, but for Iverson and the flyers the great challenge was destroying Japanese naval and support vessels while dodging bullets at the airstrip and in the air. Guadalcanal ended February 9, 1943 when the United States massive army gathered during the previous months forced the last pocket of Japanese resistance to leave. Guadalcanal was decisive and solidified American positions in the southern Solomon Islands while providing a strong base of operations and defensive location for the region. The campaign resulted in 24,000 Japanese dead, while 1600 Americans were killed, with 4200 wounded, and several thousand others were afflicted with malaria and other tropical diseases. Among the 24 ships lost by each side the greatest loss for the United States was the 8 cruisers and 2 heavy carriers sunk by the enemy while Japan lost only one light carrier. The price of victory was great for the United States, but the taking of Guadalcanal was essential and success confirmed the war had turned in favor of the Allies.

Sunday, January 23, 1944, subscribers to The Miami Herald surveyed the skies before bending over to pick up their morning papers from the lawn, flipping them open to see front page center, “Major Iverson Dies in Crash at Vero Beach: Daring Miami Flier Killed in Mid-Air.” After all the bullets, shell fragments, and dangers faced by Dan in battle, he was killed Saturday in an accident off the coast near Vero Beach. Dan was instructor in operational dive bombing and had been a Major since June. It was a difficult Lord’s Day for the Iversons having received the news. Daniel Iverson informed the Herald that he had just received a letter from Dan informing the family he had orders to report to the West Coast, “He thought it meant a return to combat duty and was happy.” He had been flying near the air station of the United States Naval Training Base at Vero Beach when a student pilot flying a plane below him decided to climb. Apparently he did not look before pulling the stick back and flew into the bottom of Iverson’s plane resulting in an explosion. Dan would smile no longer in this life. He was survived by his wife Margaret and their six-week old daughter, his dad and mom, brothers Bill and Ned (a Navy chaplain), and sisters Vivian, Lalla, and a third sister. Maj. Iverson is interred in Piney Grove Cemetery, Swannanoa, North Carolina. The Iversons were another family saddened by the tragedy of war as Danny was added to what would become by the end of the war over 400,000 military personnel killed including 24,000 United States Marines.

When Jesus was asked in Matthew 24 what will be the signs of the end of the world, included in his answer was, “You will hear of wars and rumors of wars” (vs. 6). This prophecy has been confirmed in abundance for two millennia while the Church has followed His instruction that “this gospel of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the whole world” (vs. 14). Major Iverson fought and died for his country, but more importantly he died in Christ having been blessed with a covenant home. It would be wonderful if all wars would end and it is good to work judiciously and not naïvely to achieve the end of wars, but war will ultimately end through fulfillment of the Kingdom of God and membership in that kingdom comes only through Christ.

Iverson's gunner Reid was killed in action on the Pusan Perimeter in August 1950 during the early dark days of the Korean War.

Notes

Dan was used for Daniel, Jr., and Daniel was used for Sr. to avoid confusion, but it appears Jr. used both Dan and Danny.

Hill Goodspeed of the National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola tells the history of Iverson’s SBD-2 Dauntless from deployment through its restoration completed in 2001 as he stands before the airplane in the video, “History Up Close With the SBD Dauntless BuNo 2106,” at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mAfxvUqmNqk.

The image below showing Iverson’s dive bomber with its 219 hits is from Marines at Midway, 1948 (public domain); the man standing on the wing appears to be Dan.

About the finding and restoration of Iverson’s aircraft see the interesting story by Michael Browning on The Seattle Times website, “Midway Warplane Being Restored—Dive Bomber Called The Last U.S. Aircraft From ’42 Battle”; also, the article “H-006-6: SBD-2 Dauntless, BuNo 2106, Battle of Midway Veteran,” on the Naval History and Command website provides a full history of the plane which the author, Hill Goodspeed, believes “is one of the most historic aircraft in existence anywhere in the world.”

The Davidson College yearbook is titled Quips and Cranks and is available on Internet Archive.

It appears to me that the movie "Midway", 1976, starring Heston, Fonda, Mitchum, Wagner, et al, possibly shows wartime footage of Dan’s plane diving towards a carrier with his bomb dropping and exploding.

One of my favorite flicks is PT-109 starring Cliff Robertson playing future president Kennedy; the setting of the events is the Solomon Islands, but it was filmed in the Florida Keys. Rendova, mentioned in PT-109, is about 200 miles west-northwest of Guadalcanal.

For information about Dan’s father see, “South Florida Presbytery, 50th Anniversary of PCA,” on this site.

A helpful resource for information is, War Casualties from World War II for Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard Personnel, 1946.

Battle records of ships at Pearl Harbor are available from the Naval History and Heritage Command.

For personal information about the Iverson family including three photographs see, “Bill Iverson Tribute to My Father,” the link will take you directly to a PDF download.

In addition to the issues of the Miami News (Miami Daily News), and The Miami Herald cited in the article, about 60 other issues were referred to for information.

Pilots might enjoy reading the article “SBD Dauntless Dive Bomber – A Pilot’s Perspective,” which I found helpful regarding the diving technique, and the brief but informative video “The Terrifying Physics of World War II Dive Bombing,” at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dsZWPELYtAI explains dive and torpedo bombing using CGI and historic film for a virtual experience with the help of expert commentators.

The University of Kentucky has maps of the Pacific war available at: https://uknowledge.uky.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1395&context=kaleidoscope

Daniel Iverson as a Marine Corps pilot.

 

A U.S. Marine Corps Douglas SBD-2 Dauntless of Marine scout bombing squadron VMSB-241 on Midway Atoll, 4 June 1942.

Rolling off the Douglas Aircraft Company assembly line in El Segundo, California, in December 1940, SBD-2 Dauntless (Bureau Number 2106) was delivered to Bombing Squadron (VB) 2 at Naval Air Station (NAS) San Diego, California, on the last day of 1940. For the better part of the following year the aircraft flew with that squadron, logging hours flying from the deck of the aircraft carrier Lexington (CV-2) and participating in large-scale military maneuvers in Louisiana.

During the first week of December 1941, with Lexington earmarked to deliver aircraft of a Marine scout bombing squadron to Midway Atoll, the aircraft was off-loaded from the carrier to make room for the additional aircraft and left at Pearl Harbor when "Lady Lex" put to sea. Thus, on the morning of 7 December 1941, it was on Ford Island in the middle of Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked. Put back aboard Lexington when she returned to Pearl, the aircraft embarked in the carrier to the South Pacific. On 10 March 1942, flown by Lieutenant (junior grade) Mark T. Whittier with Aviation Radioman Second Class Forest G. Stanley as his gunner, the aircraft joined 103 other planes from Lexington and Yorktown (CV-5) in a raid against Japanese shipping at Lae and Salamaua in New Guinea. Credited with pressing home his attack against a Japanese ship, Whittier received the Navy Cross.

When Lexington returned to Pearl Harbor following the raid, the museum's SBD-2 was again put ashore and earmarked for transfer to Marine Scout Bombing Squadron (VMSB) 241 on Midway Atoll, arriving there with eighteen other SBD-2s on 26 May 1942, on board the aircraft transport Kitty Hawk (APV-1).

On the morning of 4 June 1942, with 1st Lieutenant Daniel Iverson as pilot and Private First Class Wallace Reid manning the .30-caliber machine gun in the aft cockpit, the museum's aircraft was one of sixteen SBD-2s of VMSB-241 launched to attack Japanese aircraft carriers to the west of Midway. Approaching the enemy carrier Hiryu, the Marine planes came under fire from antiaircraft gunners and fighters of the enemy combat air patrol. Iverson, with two Japanese Zero fighters following him down in his dive, released his bomb at an altitude of 800 feet. During his egress from the target area, the Zeroes on Iverson's tail were joined by two others, which pursued the Dauntless for miles. Enemy fire holed Iverson's plane 219 times, knocking out his hydraulic system and wounding Reid. One bullet came so close that it clipped Iverson's throat microphone cord. Nevertheless, the pilot managed to return to Midway, making a one-wheel landing on the atoll. His was one of only eight SBD-2s of VMSB-241 to return from the attack against the Japanese fleet. For their actions, Iverson received the Navy Cross and Reid was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Returned to the United States, the museum's SBD-2 was repaired and eventually assigned to the Carrier Qualification Training Unit (CQTU) at NAS Glenview, Illinois. On the morning of 11 June 1943, with Marine 2nd Lieutenant Donald A. Douglas Jr. at the controls, the aircraft ditched in the waters of Lake Michigan during an errant approach to the training carrier Sable (IX 81). Douglas was retrieved from the water by a Coast Guard rescue boat, but his aircraft sank to the bottom of the lake.

Recovered in 1994, the aircraft underwent extensive restoration at the museum before being placed on public display in 2001. Elements of its original paint scheme when delivered to the fleet are still visible on its wings and tail surfaces. A survivor of the Pearl Harbor attack and two combat actions, including the famous Battle of Midway, it is one of the most historic aircraft in existence anywhere in the world.

On the morning of 4 June 1942, with 1st Lt Daniel Iverson as pilot and PF1c Wallace Reid as rear gunner, the aircraft was one of sixteen SBD-2s of VMSB-241 launched to attack Japanese aircraft carriers to the west of Midway. After unsuccessfully attacking the carrier Hiryu, enemy fire holed the plane 219 times. It was one of only eight SBD-2s of VMSB-241 to return from the attack against the Japanese fleet. Another view of Marine Corps Douglas SBD-2 Dauntless of Marine Scout Bombing Squadron VMSB-241 on Midway Atoll, 4 June 1942, showing the tail and some of the 219 bullet holes."My plane was hit several times," summarized 1st Lt. Daniel Iverson, Jr., in describing the attack by Marine SBDs on the carrier, Akagi. Iverson's dive bomber, shown here, sustained more than 219 counted hits, including one which shot his throat microphone off the pilot's neck.

Another view of Marine Corps Douglas SBD-2 Dauntless of Marine Scout Bombing Squadron VMSB-241 on Midway Atoll, 4 June 1942, showing the tail and some of the 219 bullet holes. Note the painted out rudder stripes. Returned to the U.S., it was repaired and eventually assigned to the Carrier Qualification Training Unit (CQTU) at NAS Glenview, Illinois. On the morning of 11 June 1943 Marine 2nd Lt Donald A. Douglas Jr. ditched the aircraft in the waters of Lake Michigan during an errant approach to the training carrier USS Sable (IX-81). Recovered in 1994, the aircraft underwent extensive restoration at the U.S. National Museum of Naval Aviation at Pensacola, Florida, before being placed on public display in 2001. Elements of its original paint scheme when delivered to the fleet are still visible on its wings and tail surfaces."

SBD-2, BuNo 2106, a Battle of Midway veteran, later returned to the U.S. as a carrier qualification training aircraft. Ditched in Lake Michigan while attempting to land aboard the USS Sable in 1943; it was recovered in 1994. It is on display at the U.S. National Museum of Naval Aviation at Pensacola, Florida, since 2001.

Douglas SBD-2 Dauntless, BuNo 2106, at the U.S. National Museum of Naval Aviation at Pensacola, Florida, on 14 November 2007. This one-of-a-kind SBD Dauntless, Bureau Number 2106, is a survivor of the attack on Pearl Harbor and participated in dive bombing runs against a Japanese carrier during the pivotal Battle of Midway, making it one of the most historic aircraft in existence. The SBD-2 on display at the National Naval Aviation Museum, NAS Pensacola, Florida, Bureau Number 2106, is the only known surviving aircraft from the Midway battle, assigned to Marine Scout Bombing Squadron (VMSB) 241. Earlier, it survived the Pearl Harbor attack while assigned to an aircraft pool on Ford Island, and served in Bombing Squadron (VB) 2 aboard the carrier Lexington (CV-2), taking part in raids on Lae and Salamaua.