By Stan Karn

It was the fall of 1964. I had been at Kamiseya about six or eight weeks when a shipmate received a letter from a buddy at Corry Field. In that letter was news that Wilfred (Bill) Cordell had received orders for Kamiseya and would be arriving soon. I had been wondering why I had not heard from Bill and this news was the answer. He must have wanted to surprise me.

I don’t remember exactly when Bill and I first met. We were both in the same barracks during basic (R) school, but we were not in the same class. I do know we met in the late summer or fall of 1963.

It is really strange that we became such good friends since we didn’t have much in common. I was 23 and Bill was 19. I spent my entire life in a big city and Bill was more than just a little bit country. But for some reason we hit it off. I know we both spent a lot of liberty time with other friends, but looking back, it seems we were always together. It’s just that after 35 years, memories become a blur.

Bill was originally from Rockford, Illinois. I expect there are still some of his relatives in that area. I don’t know when, but at some point in time his family moved to Eugene, Oregon where Bill finished high school. While Bill and I were at Corry, Bill’s folks and the rest of the family moved on to Rhododendron, Oregon.

Gil and Alice Cordell (Bill’s mom and dad) were hard working folks with a large family. As recollection serves me, Gil was a chef and would typically run a restaurant in a ski resort, golf club or the like. Alice also worked, sometimes with Gil. Bill always spoke of the long hours and hard work that his dad and mom put in.

If Bill was not the oldest, he was probably the second oldest. Randy was about Bills’ age, but I can’t remember who was older. In the last letter I received from Bills’ mom, Randy had just reported to Guam on the USS PROTEUS (AS-19) and as she put it, “He’s ET2 now and no one – but no one, knows what he does.” (Sound familiar?) There was also Lois, Lorrie, LaVern, Allen, and Keith. If I’ve left anybody out, I apologize.

There’s not much I remember, but Bill spoke of home all the time. At the time, I knew everything that went on in Bills’ family and he about mine. His sisters all had boyfriends or husbands and I heard about all the problems they were having. The boys were having typical boy type difficulties with schoolwork and were into cars.

Bill and I both had girlfriends back home and we both knew everything about each other’s romances. Bills’ high school sweetheart was Vera. Although the details have long escaped me, they broke up while we were stationed at Corry Field. I think Bill received a “dear John” letter and was quite upset for a while.

One thing that helped Bill and I develop such a close relationship is that we both spent many months designated as GSB (Graduate Stand-By). Both of us were designated ‘T’ branchers but along with many others at that time, final clearances were coming in slow, and we were in limbo waiting to finish school. This was bad for our careers, but great for developing relationships and having a good time.

One day Bill and I decided to take pictures of each other so that we could send them home. It was in the high 80’s that day with the normal high humidity. We both posed in my dress blue jumper because Bill was still a Seaman Apprentice but wanted his picture with Seaman stripes. Bill may look cool in the picture, but I can assure you he was roasting. You cannot imagine how hot it was in that wool uniform. After the pictures were taken, Bill got out of the jumper so fast, you’d have thought it was on fire.

Bill and I would spend most of our time at the beach or fishing. Bill loved to body surf and we would also just walk the shoreline and talk. We were fishing in one of the tidal bays near Corry field one day. If you’ve ever done this, you can appreciate that all we were doing is pulling in and releasing crabs. All of a sudden, I hook into a fish and after a brief struggle landed it. Bill said, “let it back out.” “What on earth for?” I asked. “I want a turn to catch it.” He says. I couldn’t believe he wanted to do that. We each took about three turns; letting the fish out and then reeling it back in. Believe it or not, when we had had enough, this fish still had some fight left in it.

I filleted the fish, and we then walked around for an hour, going in and out of diners or any place that looked like it could fry the fish. But no one would fry it for us. We eventually left it with a lady who was willing to take it from us, but again, would not fix it for us. We then dragged ourselves back to Corry, very hungry and very tired. This is probably my most fond memory of my time with Bill.

Bill and I would do our laundry together in the little strip mall right outside the main gate and we would spend a lot of Friday nights at the roller rink that was there as well. We wore each other’s civvies and were overall, just as close as I believe two sailors could be under the circumstances.

But all good things must come to an end. In the summer of 1964, the commanding officer (so the scuttlebutt goes) complained to Washington that the base was overrun with GSB’s and that his budget just couldn’t handle feeding all the extra mouths. So he was instructed to run us all through ‘R’ branch school (which didn’t require a final clearance.) So that’s what happened. We were assigned to advance ‘R’ classes with the understanding that if our clearance came in while we were still aboard Corry field, we would be allowed to go to ‘T’ branch school. I remember one sailor who was actually on his way off the base when he was recalled to go to ‘T’ branch.

Bill and I completed advanced ‘R’ in class 19C-64(R). On 27 July 1964 I received my orders to Kamiseya and wrote the following in a letter home:

“Well, here I am again. I forgot to mention in my other letter that Bill got his clearance Friday (7/24/64). Another fellow from Greenwich Village, NY got a negative today so he is out of school. I think he’ll go to another school.”

That’s the way it was. We all waited, praying that our clearance would come in. Bill was overjoyed to be entering the next ‘T’ branch class. We all envied him and the very few others that were so fortunate. As for me, I left for two weeks leave and on to Kamiseya – which brings me to where this story began.

When Bill arrived in Japan, we had a brief reunion and during his first week or two I showed him what few ropes I had picked up during the short time I had been there. I took him into town once or twice and then he was assigned to a watch section directly opposite mine. From then on it was just a hello as we crossed paths going to and coming from the tunnel. Bill had been in Kamiseya only a few weeks when I received orders to the yet to be commissioned USS LIBERTY (AGTR-5). We never spoke again. Bill died in the fire while I was deployed off the west coast of Africa. I can’t tell you about Bill at Kamiseya, and I expect that anyone, who could, perished with him.

I corresponded with Bills’ mom for a while but as I read her letters it seemed as if she was writing to Bill and I was just too uncomfortable with that. I never answered her last letter. I’m sure she would not mind me sharing this from that letter; Well – I’ve spent a whole day at getting practically nothing done. I did do something that I had put off a year – and it still wasn’t easy. I got all of Bills things sorted and put in moth balls.

Alice Cordell, Nov. 1966

It turned out, my duty in Kamiseya was strictly for on-the-job training prior to transfer for permanent duty aboard the USS LIBERTY where I spent the balance of my enlistment.

As I view photos of the Kamiseya Memorial Plaque, I see the names of my dear friend Bill and eleven men I didn’t know. Until now I had never thought much about the victims. But it occurs to me that each of these young men were “Bill” to someone else. So, in the future, as I think of Bill, I’ll know that there are many people I don’t know, thinking similar thoughts about each of their friends. For me, they will never again be just names on a plaque.

Source: US NCVA Special Publication, Kamiseya 40th Anniversary Fire Memorial