Editor, Commonwealth:
Dec. 7, 1941.
On this day that shall “live in infamy,” my father, Curtis Murphree, became one of the survivors of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. I learned his story at a very early age.
My dad was always a survivor. His mother and father had both died before his seventh birthday. He had one older sister, two younger brothers and one younger sister. He was born in 1903 and lived until 1983. Those 80 years were never easy for him, but he survived without ever complaining about anything.
In 1929, my daddy and a buddy, Eric Colley from Big Creek, decided to join the Army, as they both said, to keep from starving to death. They went to Memphis to the Peabody Hotel and signed up. They danced all night on the rooftop with the USO ladies and got on a bus at daybreak to go to Ft. Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas. He later on went to Pearl Harbor. He was at Schofield Barracks. He became a mess sergeant and loved that.
The night of Dec. 6, 1941, my daddy was out with his company commander, “Moon” Mullin, at a beer garden. They were still there as the planes came over. He always told me that they were drinking coffee, but before too long I figured out that it wasn’t coffee.
Daddy was in the 25th Infantry, 35th Division, which was known as “Tropic Lightning.” They are still active today.
That fateful morning, Daddy said, at first they thought that it was an air raid warning, but then he saw a Rising Sun on the first plane, and he knew to start running to his barracks to get all his equipment.
Before that morning, Pearl Harbor had been a beautiful, little, quiet place to be stationed. They were not expecting this, even though we know now that our government had knowledge that this was going to happen. He never forgot that day and for a while had flashbacks to it.
After the bombing, the barracks were heavily guarded and blacked out. Everything on the island was blacked out. When his unit moved out, he was given the opportunity to stay at Pearl Harbor and remain the mess sergeant but chose to go out with his unit. He went the Asiatic Pacific route and was wounded at Vella La Vella. It took a long time for him to get back to the United States to the Army hospital in San Francisco. He was there for almost a year.
When he left Pearl Harbor, his trunk with all his belongings was shipped to my uncle, Leo Murphree, in Greenwood. His family did not know where my daddy was or if he was living or dead.
After a while, my aunt, Ida Mae Murphree, opened the trunk, and there were pictures of a funeral procession on top. They thought that it was his. Uncle Leo worked for Charles Whittington then, and Charles’ dad, Will Whittington, was our representative in Washington, so he found him. The first one to talk to him was my uncle, L.E. Murphree. I am sure that they didn’t do much talking, mostly crying.
Daddy was discharged as service-connected, in later life becoming 100 percent disabled. He worked until he was 78. He had kidney failure and was on dialysis in his last years. My mother and I learned to do his dialysis and did it at home.
He was a very special man. He told me one day that he had forgiven the Japanese, as he realized that they were just men who were following their leader. It took him a while, but he never held a grudge.
He was a kind and just man who loved his family above all. I was an only child, and he spoiled me rotten, but he taught me so much. When I think about what all he went through in his lifetime and how he fought for me, I am more than thankful.
When my daddy died, my Uncle Leo said, “I wish I could have been as good a man as my Bubba. He had grit.” That gives me the courage to keep fighting. My health issues in the last three and a half years have been nothing compared to his battles. I think surviving is in my blood.
Thank you, Daddy, and all those other men in service who protect us every day. God bless the USA.
Chris Murphree Andrews
Lifetime Member
Sons and Daughters of the Pearl Harbor Survivors
Greenwood
