WWII veteran from Edmonds tells harrowing tale of ship’s sinking

EDMONDS — Edgar Shepherd keeps a dollar bill in a plastic case.

The bill has become brown and brittle, and it’s cracked in half. It bears the signatures of fellow survivors.

Shepherd had a $1 bill and a $5 bill in his pocket when the Japanese sunk the USS Helena on July 6, 1943, off the Solomon Islands. When he and other sailors were rescued together and brought to shore, he used the $5 for telegrams to let their families know they survived.

He sums up the sinking in three words: “We got wet.”

Shepherd, of Edmonds, turns 97 on July 4. He plays bingo at the Edmonds Senior Center. He’s fond of “M*A*S*H” reruns, and he’s been known to dance if someone puts on big band music.

In a favorite snapshot, he wears a sweatshirt commissioned by Sally Lauman, a friend from the senior center. The sweatshirt says, “It took me 96 years to look this good.”

One of four sons, Shepherd was born in Pennsylvania in 1918. The family moved around a lot because, as his father liked to say, “It’s cheaper to move than to pay rent.”

One of his odd jobs as a teen was making 100 gallons of ice cream for his uncle’s store after school each day.

Shepherd enlisted after the 1941 attack at Pearl Harbor. Before that, he was working at a Pittsburgh company that made guns for the Navy.

The Helena, a light cruiser that had survived Pearl Harbor, was tasked with protecting more than a dozen other ships in the Guadalcanal campaign in the South Pacific. One of the ships had the same guns Shepherd worked on in Pennsylvania. It turned out he had a knack for the armory. Back then, ship crews had trouble getting their guns to shoot straight, he said. He figured out the answer was in the electrical details.

His station on the Helena was in the plotting room, with the system that controlled the guns.

On July 6, they knew the Japanese ships were approaching, but they had orders to hold their fire, he said.

A torpedo hit just below the first turret. Another torpedo broke through the keel.

“We got orders to get out of there, thank God,” he said.

By the time they were topside, the water was up to their waists. Nearly 170 of his crewmen died in what became known as the Battle of Kula Gulf. He was part of a small group who found a rubber lifeboat. They placed an injured mess cook in the boat while they clung to the sides and paddled, he said. The current forced them to swim sideways to get away from the sinking ship.

“The weather was totally black,” he said. “No moon, no stars, no phosphorescence. You’re in total black.”

Three hours passed before rescuers arrived on a destroyer and pulled the survivors to safety. By then, Japanese aircraft were coming in, he said.

Later, when Shepherd was assigned to the USS Louisville, he asked the commander where he was needed.

He was told, “You have one job. No watches, no anything. You take care of the guns. Make sure they shoot right and they work right all of the time.”

He also fought in the Battle of Iwo Jima and Battle of Okinawa. He was at sea when his first wife, Opal, had their daughter, Virginia.

After the Navy — and multiple medals for his service — he landed in Colorado for a while. He helped the Navy get a reserve center going in Denver. It was built to handle 1,000 people in case war broke out again, he said. Then he moved to California to help his uncle open a doughnut shop. Plain with sugar was the most popular offering.

In California he met his second wife, Marilyn.

One day they were in Los Angeles to do some shopping and he noticed a big building. It was an electrical company called Square D. He’d bought the company’s products at a previous job, he said. He went inside to ask for a tour. Marilyn stayed in the car. Ninety minutes later, he walked back outside with a job. He stayed 24 years.

The message at the company was, “When there’s work, you take care of it, Sunday, Saturday, anything,” he said.

When Shepherd’s best friend, Kal Jolley, retired and moved to the Seattle area, Jolley persuaded Shepherd to visit for a week.

On the second day of that visit, Shepherd found the house in Edmonds where he still lives with daughter Paula Kilbourne. She tends the tidy lawn and keeps an eye on him.

It’s been “a great life, a lot of fun,” Shepherd said.

Rikki King: 425-339-3449; rking@heraldnet.com.