August
12-06-08, 01:10 PM
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By MONI BASU
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Friday, December 05, 2008
Shortly after the United States invaded Afghanistan in 2001, Clay Douglas Green Jr., veteran of another, greater war, became a resident of a Veterans Administration hospital in Atlanta.
Suffering from a form of muscular dystrophy, Doug Green lay in bed in a room he shared with another World War II soldier. The two rarely conversed — both were hard of hearing.
Clay Douglas Green Jr. was the last Georgia survivor of the battleship USS Arizona, bombed on Dec. 7, 1941.
Doug’s wife, Hazel, knew her husband was lonely. She got in her Ford sedan at 10 every morning and drove 25 miles from her Lawrenceville house to the hospital on Clairmont Road to visit him. The trip became 35 miles each way when she moved to a new home in Buford. She never missed a day except for the time that she had a bad cold and was afraid of infecting her husband.
Last Christmas Eve, after Hazel kissed him goodbye, Doug Green died quietly at age 85, taking with him the haunting memories of a war hero.
He was Georgia’s last survivor of the battleship USS Arizona, sunk in the horrific Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 67 years ago, an act that propelled America into the thick of war.
The Navy awarded Doug medals for his bravery. He was buried with honors at Georgia National Cemetery in Canton as a lone bugler played Taps. But Hazel cannot accept that her husband lived and died in anonymity.
That was the tragedy of his life, she says: that a man who risked his own life to save others in an epic event, slipped away from this world unceremoniously.
Only 24 survivors of the Arizona are known to be living. And like every piece of history, Pearl Harbor grows dimmer by the year.
Time’s natural progression should be healing. But you can’t live with someone for 51 years and not have your heart broken when he dies, Hazel says. You can’t just let him become part of fading history.
Because the Greens lost all their photographs, letters, Navy medals and memorabilia in a house fire three decades ago, Hazel, 76, refuses to keep her thoughts private. It’s her only way to keep Doug — and the importance of Pearl Harbor — alive.
She sits upright on a special seat designed to support an aching back, wipes tears from her eyes and recounts in detail the life of the man she thought would never leave her side.
She begins her story at just before 8 a.m. on Dec. 7, 1941.
Doug, a gunner’s mate first class in the Navy, was on his way off the ship to mail Christmas cards when he heard strange noises overhead. He knew it wasn’t a drill when 351 Japanese fighters dotted the cloudy skies over Hawaii.
He ran back on board to warn his shipmates but by then the first wave of planes had started bombing the U.S. battle fleet and airfields.
Fire stung Doug’s skin and singed his dark brown, curly hair. Shrapnel sliced through his hip and damaged his ear drum.
He was deathly scared but felt compelled to warn the guys on board. He waded through knee-deep water to rescue people. Men were crying, screaming.
Only 335 men assigned to the Arizona, many of whom were off the ship at the time of the attack, survived; 1,177 perished.
Hazel remembers Doug’s words: “You couldn’t see nothing but a sea of bodies.”
Doug jumped off ship to save himself. Several years later, he quit the Navy and went home to a quiet life in Chattanooga, Tenn. He married Hazel in 1957 and they eventually settled in Atlanta, where Doug opened his own construction company. He always wondered what became of men who bore witness to such carnage.
Hazel discovered how troubled he was when she heard him scream in his sleep: “They’re trying to kill me.” He would sweat so much that his pajamas would be soaking wet.
He was easily startled by loud noises. He never watched violent movies. In his room at the VA hospital, Doug was on guard. He’d point to a corner and hold up an imaginary gun.
Among the causes of death listed on Doug’s death certificate, says Hazel, was post-traumatic stress disorder.
Doug returned to Hawaii only twice, both times to attend a survivors’ reunion on the anniversary. He wouldn’t touch the memorial plaque and recoiled to his hotel room. After that, Hazel never pushed him to go again.
This year, the first anniversary Hazel will spend without Doug, she felt Pearl Harbor calling her back. She wanted to attend the reunion but could not afford the trip. Instead she plans to go to church on Sunday and eat out with her grandson at Ruth’s Chris Steak House.
But on a future Dec. 7, before diabetes gets the best of her, she wants to fly across America and stand again by the deep blue waters of the Pacific.
Because that’s where, Hazel knows, Doug left his soul.
http://img.coxnewsweb.com/B/07/24/43/image_8043247.jpg
By MONI BASU
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Friday, December 05, 2008
Shortly after the United States invaded Afghanistan in 2001, Clay Douglas Green Jr., veteran of another, greater war, became a resident of a Veterans Administration hospital in Atlanta.
Suffering from a form of muscular dystrophy, Doug Green lay in bed in a room he shared with another World War II soldier. The two rarely conversed — both were hard of hearing.
Clay Douglas Green Jr. was the last Georgia survivor of the battleship USS Arizona, bombed on Dec. 7, 1941.
Doug’s wife, Hazel, knew her husband was lonely. She got in her Ford sedan at 10 every morning and drove 25 miles from her Lawrenceville house to the hospital on Clairmont Road to visit him. The trip became 35 miles each way when she moved to a new home in Buford. She never missed a day except for the time that she had a bad cold and was afraid of infecting her husband.
Last Christmas Eve, after Hazel kissed him goodbye, Doug Green died quietly at age 85, taking with him the haunting memories of a war hero.
He was Georgia’s last survivor of the battleship USS Arizona, sunk in the horrific Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 67 years ago, an act that propelled America into the thick of war.
The Navy awarded Doug medals for his bravery. He was buried with honors at Georgia National Cemetery in Canton as a lone bugler played Taps. But Hazel cannot accept that her husband lived and died in anonymity.
That was the tragedy of his life, she says: that a man who risked his own life to save others in an epic event, slipped away from this world unceremoniously.
Only 24 survivors of the Arizona are known to be living. And like every piece of history, Pearl Harbor grows dimmer by the year.
Time’s natural progression should be healing. But you can’t live with someone for 51 years and not have your heart broken when he dies, Hazel says. You can’t just let him become part of fading history.
Because the Greens lost all their photographs, letters, Navy medals and memorabilia in a house fire three decades ago, Hazel, 76, refuses to keep her thoughts private. It’s her only way to keep Doug — and the importance of Pearl Harbor — alive.
She sits upright on a special seat designed to support an aching back, wipes tears from her eyes and recounts in detail the life of the man she thought would never leave her side.
She begins her story at just before 8 a.m. on Dec. 7, 1941.
Doug, a gunner’s mate first class in the Navy, was on his way off the ship to mail Christmas cards when he heard strange noises overhead. He knew it wasn’t a drill when 351 Japanese fighters dotted the cloudy skies over Hawaii.
He ran back on board to warn his shipmates but by then the first wave of planes had started bombing the U.S. battle fleet and airfields.
Fire stung Doug’s skin and singed his dark brown, curly hair. Shrapnel sliced through his hip and damaged his ear drum.
He was deathly scared but felt compelled to warn the guys on board. He waded through knee-deep water to rescue people. Men were crying, screaming.
Only 335 men assigned to the Arizona, many of whom were off the ship at the time of the attack, survived; 1,177 perished.
Hazel remembers Doug’s words: “You couldn’t see nothing but a sea of bodies.”
Doug jumped off ship to save himself. Several years later, he quit the Navy and went home to a quiet life in Chattanooga, Tenn. He married Hazel in 1957 and they eventually settled in Atlanta, where Doug opened his own construction company. He always wondered what became of men who bore witness to such carnage.
Hazel discovered how troubled he was when she heard him scream in his sleep: “They’re trying to kill me.” He would sweat so much that his pajamas would be soaking wet.
He was easily startled by loud noises. He never watched violent movies. In his room at the VA hospital, Doug was on guard. He’d point to a corner and hold up an imaginary gun.
Among the causes of death listed on Doug’s death certificate, says Hazel, was post-traumatic stress disorder.
Doug returned to Hawaii only twice, both times to attend a survivors’ reunion on the anniversary. He wouldn’t touch the memorial plaque and recoiled to his hotel room. After that, Hazel never pushed him to go again.
This year, the first anniversary Hazel will spend without Doug, she felt Pearl Harbor calling her back. She wanted to attend the reunion but could not afford the trip. Instead she plans to go to church on Sunday and eat out with her grandson at Ruth’s Chris Steak House.
But on a future Dec. 7, before diabetes gets the best of her, she wants to fly across America and stand again by the deep blue waters of the Pacific.
Because that’s where, Hazel knows, Doug left his soul.