As a farmer and standout football player in high school, it was most unlikely that history would remember Bill Van Wilpe first and foremost as a swimmer. As a gunner’s mate assigned to the destroyer escort USS Bassett during World War II, the 19-year old seaman was as big as he was strong and stood out on his ship as he had on the gridiron, where he starred for the local high school in his hometown of Wanaque, New Jersey.
Van Wilpe was aboard Bassett in the pre-dawn hours of August 3rd, 1945, as the ship and its crew raced at flank speed across the Philippine Sea in response to radio reports of sailors in the water. What was unknown at the time for reasons that have long been debated was the USS Indianapolis, a heavy cruiser with nearly twelve hundred men aboard, had been torpedoed by a Japanese submarine just after midnight on July 30th, four days earlier, and what Bassett and other rescue ships would encounter in the pitch black ocean that night comprised the remnants of the worst disaster at sea in the history of the United States Navy.
As Bassett approached the search area in heavy seas and pounding rain, it was still not entirely clear that the rescue calls were not some elaborate Japanese trick to lure ships within range of waiting submarines. Creeping along at general quarters, Bassett’s crew, well-accustomed to anti-submarine patrol, was on high alert for an enemy ambush, but also greatly concerned with the possibility of fellow sailors in peril in the open ocean. As the crew desperately scanned the waves in search of survivors, lookouts finally spotted a life raft, and quickly launched two Higgins boats to get a closer look at what was out there in the blackness.
The rescuers, holding lanterns to cut through the darkness, wove their way through masses of blackened faces, weathered from days in the relentless sun and covered in bunker oil from their downed ship. Many were horribly burned or wounded. It was a pathetic scene, with it difficult to tell the dead from the living, and many men were crazed from exposure, hunger, thirst, or drinking seawater. What was not understood at the time was the group had been fending off schools of sharks, attracted to the sinking by the initial explosions and, eventually, blood in the water, and for four days the 900 men of Indianapolis who made it off their ship and into the water had their numbers whittled down by nearly two-thirds as the elements and the sharks that came day and night took their toll.
Back on Bassett, one of the crewmen, spotting a shark passing through the glare of a lantern, shouted “Look at that fish!,” which set off pandemonium on Bassett’s bridge, since the word “fish” is also used in the Navy to refer to a torpedo. Bassett’s skipper, Captain Harold Theriault, fearing a Japanese submarine attack, immediately ordered the ship out of the area, setting off a full-scale mutiny among Bassett’s senior officers. Canceling their captain’s orders and physically escorting the jittery skipper to his quarters, the senior staff of Bassett assumed command and continued the painstaking process of plucking the haggard, wounded, and sickly survivors out of the water.
As Van Wilpe, with his big frame and long arms, helped pull the weak and wounded sailors out of the rescue boats and onto Bassett, he thought he could be of more use to the effort if he went along to help get the men out of the water, and, after receiving permission to join the boats, promptly climbed aboard the landing craft commanded by Ensign Jack Broser. As the boat reached the group of survivors once more, Van Wilpe watched with frustration as half the crew hung over the tall sides of the landing craft, arms outstretched, with the other half holding onto them by the legs, and quickly saw how difficult and slow the rescue process was going to be. With no time to waste and sharks prowling the area, Van Wilpe vaulted over the side and into the oily black swells filled with the bobbing men of Indianapolis. With Broser’s angry shouts admonishing him to get back on board, Van Wilpe instead quickly herded together six men within his reach, wrapped his long arms around them, and hauled them swiftly back to the boat. With Broser continuing to yell orders for Van Wilpe to get back in the Higgins boat, Van Wilpe instead urged Broser to join him in the water and, despite knowing the dangers that lurked beneath the surface, Broser relented and went over the side as well.
As Van Wilpe and Broser rounded up survivors and pulled them back to the boat, many of the exhausted and delusional men fought back, thinking they were being captured by the Japanese or just hallucinating from fear and thirst. Undeterred, Van Wilpe and Broser continued to pull men back to their rescue party until the boat was full, and with Broser the first to haul himself out of the water, now beckoned Van Wilpe on board.
With many more survivors still in the water, Broser stood in utter disbelief when Van Wilpe insisted that he remain in the water with the survivors while the Higgins boat returned to Bassett to unload. Spewing threats, orders, and anything in between that might convince Van Wilpe to change his mind, Broser eventually realized the futility of getting the brawny aquaman out of the tossing sea and instead headed back to Bassett with his haul of survivors, hoping Van Wilpe would still be in one piece when he returned.
As he waited, Van Wilpe spent most of his time fighting the men he was trying to save. Thinking Indianapolis was just beneath them, some of the delirious survivors announced they were ‘going below’ for food from the ship’s kitchen, or to their bunk to write a letter home. Each time a man headed beneath the waves to certain death, Van Wilpe dove down after them, pulling them back to the surface and compelling them to just hang on a little bit longer.
Eventually Broser returned with an empty boat, and the process of hauling survivors aboard began again. With all the men out of the water, Van Wilpe finally climbed in, and the rag tag bunch, soaked with seawater and bunker oil, made for Bassett with their final cargo safely on board. As Broger’s coxswain drew near Bassett, a huge swell nearly capsized the small craft, sweeping three survivors overboard, and the crew waiting on board the destroyer escort watched with horror as the men, so close to safety, now slipped beneath the waves. Their shock quickly turned to awe at the sight of Van Wilpe powering his way through the crowded landing craft and diving over the rail into the sea. For what seemed like an eternity, crewmen watched through binoculars, holding out hope that their shipmate Van Wilpe, along with three men just moments from rescue, would be spared such a cruel ending.
Finally, Van Wilpe popped up like a cork with all three, still alive, wrapped in an iron-clad bear hug and hauled them back to safety. In all, Bassett rescued more than 150 men from Indianapolis, more than any other rescue ship that night, and almost half of the 316 who survived from the nearly 900 who went into the water more than four days before.
Despite his incredible display of heroism and concern for his fellow seamen, the most incredible chapter of Bill Van Wilpe’s story took place in the years that followed his actions aboard Bassett. Stunningly, Van Wilpe told no one of what he did to save those men and was never recognized for his actions during the war. Because of the near mutiny on Bassett, Captain Theriault refused to submit citations for heroism for any of his crew, despite those who had gone above and beyond the call of duty that night.
Even Van Wilpe’s parents never knew of his exploits. Not his friends, not his neighbors, not his co-workers — no one. Van Wilpe went back to his home in New Jersey and became the Building & Grounds Supervisor at his old high school, retiring in 1987. By chance, one day the local high school librarian discovered Van Wilpe referred to in a book about Indianapolis, and brought his actions to light, eventually leading to him being awarded the Navy & Marine Corps Medal for Heroism in 2005. Bill passed away in 2013 and is buried in the local cemetery he used to tend to during his lifetime.
Most of us will never know the bonds that form in service, in combat, in peril, and in doing those things that, at times, leave us at a loss for words. Why does a 19-year old kid jump into a raging black sea, filled with sharks, to help people he doesn’t even know? How is it possible to know the dangers and the difficulties and the risks and, without a second thought, press on and get the job done? These stories of service, of sacrifice, of suffering, and of success, repeat themselves over and over again as those in uniform come together and do things for one another that often lie beyond the reach of our wildest imagination.
On this Veterans Day, to all our veterans in our community, across our nation, and serving abroad, please know that your service is appreciated, your sacrifice is humbling, and your commitment to our country is inspiring. Thank you for all you do, and all you have done, for all of us.
— Bob Erb is the President & CEO of Colony Brands, Inc.
