Mishawaka Sailors in Harm's Way: The Final Voyage of U.S.S.

Indianapolis

by Peter J. De Kever

The next few weeks will include many 75th anniversary commemorations of events from the

end of World War II, such as the atomic bombings, V-J Day, and the formal Japanese surrender.

A wartime anniversary that has special meaning for both Hoosiers and Mishawakans is the

sinking of the heavy cruiser U.S.S. Indianapolis on July 30, 1945. Three Mishawaka men served on

Indy and were among the city's last casualties of the Second World War.

Commissioned in 1932, U.S.S. Indianapolis was one of the grand ships of the U.S. Navy. From

bow to stern, Indy extended 610 feet, had a beam, or width, of 66 feet from starboard to port rail, and,

depending on her load, a draft, or depth, of 17 to 24 feet. In its final configuration, her main armament

consisted of three 250-ton turrets, each bearing three eight-inch guns that could fire shells up to 18

miles. For antiaircraft defense, Indianapolis also had two dozen 40 mm guns, eight five-inch guns, and

32 machine guns that fired 20 mm rounds. Able to travel at a top speed of 32.75 knots, Indy was among

the fastest large ships in the world.

One of 18 “Treaty Cruisers” built by the United States under the major powers' Washington

Conference Naval Treaty of 1922, Indianapolis was limited in its tonnage. In order to give the ship

both massive firepower and great speed, designers sacrificed her armor, having just three or four inches

of steel for the hull and two inches for the deck.

Indianapolis was admired for her grace, speed, and power. President Franklin D. Roosevelt

made Indy his ship of state and traveled aboard her on his 1936 “Good Neighbor” cruise to South

America. In wartime, the cruiser served as flagship of the Fifth Fleet, commanded by Admiral

Raymond Spruance.

Indianapolis would help write the story of victory in the Pacific, both in her combat operations
and in her secret mission that enabled the war's end. The ship's own final chapter, though, would be a

harrowing tale of death and survival, suffering and endurance.

Among the crew members who experienced these events were Allen Streich, Ken Mitchell, and

Homer Smith, all sons of Mishawaka.

Allen Charles Streich was born in Mishawaka on November 22, 1920, the first of Leo and Mary

Streich's five children. Leo was a machinist but later worked as a meter reader and then meter installer

for the Mishawaka Water and Electric Department. Mary was a housewife. At the time of Allen's birth,

the family resided at 132 South Beiger Street but later moved to nearby 1632 Homewood Avenue. In

the 1928 city directory, they were living at 1640 Homewood, where they remained as Allen grew up.

He also was a member of the East Mishawaka Methodist Church.

Allen attended Beiger School and Mishawaka High School, where he enrolled in the fall of

1935. According to the Miskodeed, Streich was a member of the Ushers' Club his sophomore through

senior years. He also participated in the Hi-Y Club as a junior and senior, planning pep sessions and

promoting enthusiasm for the school's sports teams. Allen pursued the Commercial Course of studies

and graduated with the Class of 1939.

According to the 1940 U.S. Census, Streich was a bookkeeper. By 1941, he was a sheet metal

worker at American Foundry Equipment Company, later called Wheelabrator.

Streich was in the U.S. Naval Reserve and enlisted active duty on October 20, 1942. His

military service began at Great Lakes Naval Training Station, and Allen also received training as a

radioman on the Northwestern University campus.

As a seaman second-class, Streich joined the crew of U.S.S. Indianapolis in San Francisco on

April 19, 1943.

Prior to then, Indy had seen action in the Pacific, including New Guinea and the Aleutian

Islands in 1942. Indianapolis had been in the Aleutians again in early 1943 and soon returned. Streich's
first taste of combat was in support of Allied landings at Attu and Kiska and escorting conveys. After

an overhaul at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard near San Francisco, Indianapolis was sent to Pearl

Harbor. In November, Streich and his shipmates supported the invasion of the Gilbert Islands, including

Tarawa, and then the Marshall Islands. Indy shelled Kwajalein Atoll in January 1944 and attacked the

Western Carolines in March and April.

Allen was promoted to seaman first-class on September 1, 1943, and then radioman third-class

on February 1, 1944.

In the spring of 1944, another Mishawakan joined the crew of Indianapolis.

Kenneth Earl Mitchell was born in South Bend on February 11, 1908. At the time, his family

resided at 141 North Walnut Street. He was the younger of Benjamin and Edith Mitchell's two children.

The 1920 U.S. Census lists the Mitchells at 919 East Madison Street. Benjamin was a lath

contractor, and Edith was a housewife.

Ken attended South Bend Central High School and married Mabel Florence in South Bend on

September 20, 1929.

By the 1930 census, the Mitchells had moved to Mishawaka and were living in an apartment at

126 West Mishawaka Avenue. Ken had followed his father's professional path and was a lath

contractor.

In the 1938 city directory, the Mitchells lived at 324 South West Street. On September 27, 1939,

Mabel gave birth to the couple's only child, Earl Dean.

Several months later, the 1940 U.S. Census enumerator reported that the Mitchells were

residing at 407 Park Avenue. Ken was an office clerk at Mishawaka Rubber & Woolen Company.

The 1942 city directory shows the Mitchells had moved to 706 West Grove Street and refers to

Ken as an employee at Ball-Band, where he later became a foreman.

On January 28, 1944, Mitchell, who was in the Naval Reserve, traveled to Indianapolis and
enlisted for active duty. Mabel and Earl remained in the family's West Grove home for the duration of

Ken's military service.

Mitchell was at the U.S. Naval Receiving Barracks in Shoemaker, California, until May 7, the

day he joined Indy's crew as a seaman second-class.

Indianapolis provided heavy shelling of Saipan when the Fifth Fleet attacked in June, and she

participated in the Battle of the Philippine Sea on June 19. That day, American ships and planes shot

down 402 Japanese aircraft in what became known as the “Marianas Turkey Shoot.” In this action, the

cruiser downed one Japanese torpedo plane.

Allen, Ken, and their crewmates returned to Saipan on June 23 and then proceeded to Tinian,

where Indy bombarded shore defenses. She remained in the Marianas for several weeks before sailing

to the Western Carolines. From September 12-29, Indianapolis shelled Peleliu in support of amphibious

landings. Afterward, the cruiser returned to Mare Island for several months of refitting.

On November 18, Indy received a new skipper, Capt. Charles McVay III, an Annapolis graduate

and veteran naval officer. Indianapolis was McVay's first command as a captain.

On January 1, 1945, Mitchell was promoted to seaman first-class. A later newspaper article

reported that Ken was a radarman on Indy.

Streich was also advanced to radioman second-class on March 1, 1945.

Indianapolis returned to action in February 1945 as part of the first carrier attack on the

Japanese mainland since the Doolittle Raiders bombed Tokyo and other cities on April 18, 1942. After

two days of strikes against Japanese targets, Indy withdrew and sailed to Iwo Jima, where she

supported the Marines' landing and subsequent operations on the island.

With Iwo Jima under American control, attention turned next to Okinawa. Because Okinawa

was within range of aircraft from southern Japan, their bases needed to be destroyed prior to the April 1

invasion. Indianapolis was part of a fast task force that attacked air fields on Kyushu and southern
Honshu.

Beginning March 24, the cruiser spent a week offshore of Okinawa pounding Japanese

installations with her 8-inch guns. The task force was under frequent attack by Japanese planes, and

Indianapolis shot down six aircraft during these engagements.

At 7:08 a.m. on March 31, Indy was hit by a Peregrine Falcon kamikaze. As soon as the plane

was spotted, Indianapolis's anti-aircraft batteries opened up, and the ship went to battle stations. The

Japanese aircraft flew parallel to the port side of the cruiser, suddenly veered left, and struck the aft

main deck. Three feet from the gunwale, a 500-pound bomb smashed through the main deck, crew's

mess hall, berthing compartment, and the fuel tanks before it exited the bottom of the ship and

exploded in the water. The blast rocked Indy and sent a backlash of seawater and fuel oil shooting up

through the ship and a hundred feet above the deck. The explosion ripped apart sections of the deck and

twisted steel throughout the cruiser. She began taking on water and eventually listed 17 degrees to port,

but effective damage-control and interior bulkheads kept the ship from sinking.

Nine sailors were killed and another 29 injured in what Capt. McVay referred to as “our blood

bath.”

Indianapolis was badly damaged but seaworthy enough to limp 20 miles to Kerama Retto for

emergency repairs. After traveling to Guam on April 7, Indy left for San Francisco on April 15, under

her own power but still listing three degrees.

Indianapolis arrived at Mare Island on May 3 and began an expected several months of

overhauls. During this time, the ship's personnel changed significantly, and over 250 of the 1,195

sailors were new to the ship. Many of these crewmen came directly from boot camps or training

schools.

Among these replacements was another Mishawakan, Homer Smith.

Homer Leroy Smith was born on May 12, 1920, in Pierceton, Indiana, eight miles southeast of
Warsaw. He was the second oldest of Presley and Anna Smith's three sons. Homer's birth certificate

states that Presley was a railroad fireman and Anna was a housewife.

By the 1930 U.S. Census, the Smiths had come to Mishawaka and resided at 1747 Prospect

Drive (today Linden Avenue), just one block northeast of Allen Streich's family on Homewood. Presley

was a janitor and “fireman engineer” at Beiger School, which meant he operated the boiler room, and

Anna was listed as a janitor in a public school. The Smiths may have both worked at Beiger as Homer

was growing up. One of Homer's classmates at Beiger was Allen Streich.

Homer entered Mishawaka High School in the fall of 1935 and was a member of the Maroons'

football team his freshman and sophomore years. It was an exciting time to be a Mishawaka football

player. The Cavemen won the Eastern Division of the Northern Indiana High School Conference and

advanced to a playoff against Gary Horace Mann, winner of the league's Western Division. Mishawaka

defeated the Horsemen, 14-0, and claimed the mythical state championship.

Homer continued his football participation during the 1936 season, but the Maroons finished

with a disappointing 1-7-2 record.

The Miskodeed reported that Smith was also involved in intramural sports during his

sophomore, junior, and senior years and was a member of the Engineering Club his senior year. The

Engineering Club was for “industrial or mechanical enthusiasts” who were interested in “developing

different types of mechanical hobbies.”

Homer pursued the General Course of studies and graduated with Allen and the Class of 1939.

By the 1940 U.S. Census, the Smiths had moved to 132 South Beiger, the same house where the

Streich family had lived when Allen was born. Homer's occupation was listed as a cabinetmaker for a

furniture manufacturer.

On February 21, 1941, Homer married Ruth Richardson in Mishawaka, and the newlyweds

lived briefly at 119 North Spring Street, according to Smith's draft registration card. Homer was then
employed at Dodge Manufacturing Company.

Homer and Ruth soon moved to Fort Wayne, where Homer followed in his father's footsteps by

working as a fireman on the Pennsylvania Railroad. Their son, Gale Lee, was born on September 24,

1941.

Smith was in the Naval Reserve and began active duty on September 25, 1944. Ruth and Gale

moved to 728 East Sixth Street in Mishawaka to be near their extended family.

According to Navy records, Smith joined the crew of U.S.S. Indianapolis at Mare Island on

June 23, 1945, as a fireman second-class, which meant he worked on the ship's engines and related

machinery. One can imagine the mutual surprise when Homer and Allen, two former neighbors and

classmates, first saw each other on board Indianapolis.

Smith and the other new crewmen had little time to settle in on board Indy. On July 12, Capt.

McVay was told his ship's refitting had been cut short and her sea trials off San Diego canceled.

Instead, the cruiser was given a secret mission to transport at top speed two large metal canisters and an

automobile-sized wooden crate to Tinian with a brief stop in Hawaii to refuel and unload passengers.

Not even Indy's skipper knew the contents of this special cargo, but he had an idea of its importance.

McVay told his officers, “We're on a special mission. I can't tell you what the mission is. I don't know

myself, but I've been told that every day we take off the trip is a day off the war.”

What Capt. McVay did not know was that Indianapolis was carrying uranium-235 and other

components of the first operational atomic bomb, nicknamed “Little Boy.” The weapon would be

assembled on Tinian, put aboard a B-29 bomber, and dropped on Hiroshima in hopes of forcing Japan

to surrender before the bloody invasion of the Home Islands began in November.

The canisters and crate were loaded aboard Indy at the Hunter's Point shipyard on July 15. She

was pushed out of her berth the next morning, passed underneath the majestic Golden Gate Bridge, and

began the high-speed run to Pearl Harbor.

 Indianapolis completed the 2,405-mile transit to Hawaii in 74.5 hours, a record that still stands.

After just six hours at Pearl Harbor, the ship left for Tinian, where she arrived on July 26.

While at Tinian, McVay received orders to take his ship to Guam, 120 miles away, and then

make the 1,300-mile crossing of the Philippine Sea to Leyte for 10 days of training. Her secret mission

now complete, Indy was resuming preparation for the invasion of Japan.

Indianapolis, carrying Mitchell, Smith, and Streich, left Guam at 9:10 a.m. on July 28 and was

expected to pull into Leyte around 11 a.m. on July 31.

McVay was not fully apprised of recent Japanese submarine activity along his route to Leyte,

Indy was carrying no sonar equipment, and she traveled without a destroyer escort. These

circumstances, especially in retrospect, resulted in the catastrophe that followed.

At 12:04 a.m. on July 30, the Japanese submarine I-58 fired a spread of six torpedoes at

Indianapolis. Within a minute, one torpedo struck the starboard bow of the ship, obliterating 65 feet of

the hull and instantly killing dozens of sailors. A few seconds later, another torpedo hit starboard

amidships, below the bridge, leaving a 40-foot gash in the ship's hull. From both gaping wounds,

seawater poured into Indy, and flames spread through her interior, drowning or burning crewmen who

could not escape to the relative safety of the main deck.

In his book In Harm's Way, Doug Stanton estimates that a hundred men were killed in the initial

explosions or by the flooding and fire that followed in the next few minutes. It soon became clear that

damage control could not save Indianapolis. Eight minutes after the torpedo attack, Capt. McVay gave

the order to abandon ship, and nearly 900 sailors jumped into the ocean, watching in shock and horror

as their ship went down bow first, its two inboard propeller screws still turning as the stern lifted high

into the night sky.

Stanton suggests that 300 men had died by the time Indy sunk, just twelve minutes after the

torpedo hits. Given the rapidity and chaos of events, it is difficult to ascertain what happened to
individual sailors who did not survive. Homer Smith was not killed in the first torpedo explosion

because the forward section of the ship was “officers' country.” As a fireman, he could have been in one

of Indy's two engine rooms or four boiler rooms. All the men in Engine Room 1 managed to escape

through a hatch into a mess hall. Smith might have been killed immediately when the second torpedo

struck, died in Engine Room 2, which continued to function, or drowned elsewhere as the ship flooded.

The Navy initially listed Homer as “missing,” according to an August 15 South Bend Tribune

article. His status was later changed, the Tribune reported on October 24: “Fireman 2/c Homer Leroy

Smith is now known to have been killed on [July 30], the navy department has advised his parents.”

Even less is known about Allen Streich's fate. Navy records list him as “missing” in the

Philippine Sea and state his “date of loss” as July 30, 1945. Smith, though, is not designated as

“missing,” so the Navy must have had reason to be more definitive in stating that he died on Indy.

Streich may have been killed when the ship was hit or in the immediate aftermath, or he perished in the

days that followed. Indianapolis men who are known to have died days later and their bodies never

recovered are still listed by the Navy as being lost on July 30, not their actual death dates.

Homer's suffering was mercifully over. Ken Mitchell's ordeal, though, was only beginning.

Of the sailors who went into the water that night, Stanton asserts half wore either an inflatable

life belt or, like Ken, a buoyant kapok life vest. Some were fortunate to climb aboard cork-and-canvas

rafts while others clung to floater nets. Many men had no life-saving equipment and swam as long as

they could or clung to floating debris. In its death throes, Indianapolis had spilled large amounts of fuel

oil, which now coated the men and made them sick as they swallowed a mixture of oil and saltwater.

Although Indy's radiomen had gotten off a distress signal, no search-and-rescue mission was

forthcoming. Due to procedural and communication errors on Leyte and elsewhere, nobody grew

alarmed by Indianapolis's nonarrival. Even days later, the ship was not considered to be missing or

unaccounted for.
 Survivors floated in several groups, the largest being 300-400 men. Mitchell later described his

group as starting with 175 men.

For the next several days, the sailors drifted in a southwesterly direction, spreading out over

dozens of square miles. They suffered from dehydration, lack of food, and blistering daytime heat.

Because the men were floating in 85-degree water, more than 10 degrees below core body temperature,

they lost a degree per hour at night, which resulted in hypothermia. As the days passed, many had

hallucinations or even lost their mind and did violence to themselves and each other. Most terrifying,

though, were the frequent shark attacks, which killed approximately 200 of Indy's men.

In a March 30, 1946, letter to Ray Hornbuckle, a former shipmate who left Indianapolis before

its final voyage, Ken offered this description of his experience in the water:

“Ray, there were so few of us left I cannot believe yet that it is true. That men
we learned to know and like so well had to die such a hard way. It was hell
to see men give up all hopes of being rescued. And many men did just that;
others went crazy, and that was a terrible sight to see and remember... Men of
our old gang who were with me were Strain, Schollter, Righter, John Wallace,
Kozik, Rothman, Dean, Shorty Cane, all these men died out there...One thing
I cannot forget is that Strain, Schollter, Righter, Wallace and Kozik died the
last day before we were rescued. That sure was a bad thing. Sure hurt me,
because we were stuck together out there, prayed together, and hoped together.
The first few days we kidded one another and talked a lot about home...”

At 11 a.m. on August 2, Lt. Wilbur “Chuck” Gwinn, flying a Lockheed PV-1 Ventura bomber on

routine patrol, sighted an oil slick and followed it until he spotted survivors in the water. Other planes

soon arrived and dropped rafts and survival gear. As aircraft and ships converged on the area, the Navy

finally realized what had happened to Indianapolis and began one of the largest search-and-rescue

missions in its history.

Fearing that the men in the water would not last until ships arrived, Lt. Adrian Marks, piloting a

PBY-5A Catalina flying boat, made a daring open-ocean landing about 5 p.m. The Catalina crew

snatched up 53 men, crowding many in the cabin and tying others to the wings as they awaited
destroyers and other ships.

Shortly before midnight, U.S.S. Cecil J. Doyle, a destroyer escort, reached the scene and met

Marks's Catalina. Through rough seas, Doyle sent a motorized whaleboat to the plane, and the process

of transferring survivors began. About 12:30 a.m., the first Indy men arrived alongside the destroyer.

In their book Indianapolis, Lynn Vincent and Sara Vladic offer this account of the rescue:

“At the fantail, the whaleboat crew shoved from below and the topside crew pulled from above as load

after load of survivors was hauled aboard. There was a cargo net draped over the fantail. Those who

could not climb it were hoisted in a sling fashioned from canvas and lines.”

Doyle's crew were shocked at the survivors' condition. “The Indy men were emaciated and

sharkbitten,” Vincent and Vladic explain. “Some had lost as much as forty pounds. Their skin looked

like burned bacon and was pocked with oozing sores. Many were delirious. Belowdecks, ministrations

began: small sips of water and fruit juice. Light food if they could tolerate it. The sponging away of

thick coatings of fuel oil, which could not be removed except with diesel. Then showers and clean

skivvies.”

After bringing aboard the men from Marks's plane, Doyle moved slowly through the debris

field, using her searchlight and signalmen to look for other survivors. In the following hours, Doyle

rescued 39 more men from the water and one from a second Catalina.

Among the 93 survivors Doyle carried that night was Ken Mitchell. In his letter to Hornbuckle,

Mitchell refers to being “picked up...by the Cecil B. Doyle.” He adds, “Of the 175 men I was with, we

only had 63 saved.”

Ken's letter offers no other particulars about how he was rescued and does not refer to being

pulled from the sea by the Catalina crew, a detail he would have been likely to mention. He does say,

“Lederman, Aulschuler, Kenley, and myself were saved.” Those sailors were, in fact, Arthur

Leenerman, Allan Altschuler, and Oliver Kenly, all of whom did survive. The Catalina crew actually
thought Leenerman was dead and had been towing his body in a raft behind the plane. He was the last

sailor off the Catalina and miraculously regained consciousness as he was loaded aboard Doyle. Ken's

account does not specify that he was with Leenerman and the others, so it appears he was most likely

one of the 39 men Doyle found in the early hours of August 3.

Six different ships rescued 320 survivors from Indianapolis. U.S.S. Bassett found the most, 151,

followed by Doyle's 93, which included the men from the Catalinas. The last survivors were picked up

on the evening of August 3, but search and recovery operations continued until August 9.

Out of 1,195 crewmen who sailed from Guam, only 320 had survived, and four of these men

died in hospitals within a week. The Navy also recovered 91 bodies. Among the survivors was Capt.

McVay, who was with nine other men in a group of four rafts.

The rescue ships took the majority of survivors, including Mitchell, to a hospital on Peleliu.

Because the Navy ordered a news blackout about the sinking, the rest of the world, apart from

the military in the western Pacific, had no idea that Indianapolis had been sunk and that most of her

crew had perished.

On August 6, Enola Gay dropped Little Boy on Hiroshima, instantly killing 80,000 people with

the world's first atomic bomb. On its side, an assembly team member had written, “This one is for the

Boys of the Indianapolis.”

By August 8, all of Indy's survivors were at the Base 18 Hospital on Guam. One day later, a

second atomic bomb destroyed Nagasaki, and Japanese leaders soon announced their willingness to

surrender.

After President Truman declared World War II to be over on August 14, military censorship was

lifted, and Indianapolis's fate could be disclosed. The largest headlines in the August 15 newspapers

announced V-J Day, but below the fold was the story of the Navy's worst sea disaster.

The September 10 South Bend Tribune included a photo of Ken Mitchell under the headline
“Enjoys Meal in Hospital.” The caption referred to Mitchell eating a meal in an unnamed “Pacific naval

base hospital, where he is convalescing.”

Other excerpts from Ken's letter suggest the thoughts and feelings he had after being rescued.

“Ray, I along with the men that were saved was so very lucky,” he wrote. “God spared us. Can we ever

repay him I wonder...We were all moved to Guam later, where we learned about what happened in

other groups. Their hell was just as bad as ours. Groce died in Tommy Reid's arms, he knew he was

going. Condon was killed outright, as were a couple of new men. Heggie was trapped in the aft mark

28...Excuse my writing, Ray, I am a little nervous yet, but I will be OK. And I do get pretty blue when I

write about these fellows...”

In early September, all of Indy's survivors boarded the escort carrier Hollandia and sailed for

San Diego, where they arrived on September 26 and were given a homecoming parade. From there,

crew members scattered throughout the country to visit their families and then either resumed military

service or returned to civilian life.

In December 1945, Capt. Charles McVay was court-martialed for his role in the loss of

Indianapolis. He was convicted of “hazarding his ship by failing to zigzag,” which would have

theoretically made Indy a more difficult target for the I-58. The sub's commander, Lt. Commander

Mochitsura Hashimoto, testified that zigzagging would not have saved the cruiser from his torpedoes,

but it was to no avail. The verdict outraged surviving crew members and seemed to be the Navy's way

to deflect blame from its own failure to provide an escort for Indy, to adequately warn McVay of

submarine activity along his route, and to promptly begin a search-and-rescue effort.

Indianapolis survivors spent the next 55 years trying to clear their captain of any culpability for

the ship's sinking. By act of Congress and with President Bill Clinton's signature, that exoneration

finally came in 2000. As part of the Navy's atonement for its sins, the crew of Indianapolis was also

awarded a Navy Unit Commendation for delivering the atomic bomb components to Tinian. In 2001,
the Secretary of the Navy expunged the earlier conviction from McVay's service record.

This vindication came too late for McVay, though. He had retired from the Navy as a rear

admiral in 1949, but burdened by guilt over the loss of hundreds of men under his command, McVay

committed suicide in November 1968.

After the war, Ken Mitchell returned to Mishawaka and, like other veterans, sought to get on

with his life. He, his wife, and their son continued to reside at 706 West Grove Street. Mitchell was a

plasterer, metal lather, and later business agent for Local 82, Wood, Wire, and Lather Union. Ken died

in Mishawaka on July 17, 1980, after an eight-month fight with lung cancer. He and Mabel are buried

in Southlawn Cemetery in South Bend.

Next to them rests their son, Earl, who passed away in 2019. He was active in the Indianapolis

Survivors Association, which organized reunions held in Indianapolis and promoted the memory of

Indy and her crew. In 1995, Earl participated in dedicating the Indianapolis National Memorial, located

along the canal walk in downtown Indianapolis. The black-and-gray granite monument, made in the

outline of a ship, includes an image of Indy, text that tells her story, and a list of all crew members on

board when she sank. He also shared with Tom Brokaw the letter Ken wrote in 1946 to Ray

Hornbuckle, and Brokaw included it and photos of Mitchell in An Album of Memories: Personal

Histories from the Greatest Generation, published in 2001.

Homer Smith and Allen Streich's sacrifices were remembered by their hometown in the postwar

years. Their names are on both a plaque at Mishawaka High School that lists alumni killed in World

War II and a similar memorial in City Hall that honors Mishawaka's war dead. Every year, Streich and

Smith are also listed in the Memorial Day Parade program along with other Mishawakans who gave the

last full measure of devotion for their country. Adjacent to Leo and Mary Streich's graves in Fairview

Cemetery is a headstone in memory of their son.

Mishawaka is not usually associated with U.S.S. Indianapolis, yet Streich, Mitchell, and Smith
profoundly connect the Princess City to the ship's tragedy. Some 4,500 Mishawakans served during

World War II, and over 16 million Americans were in uniform. Thus, approximately one in 4,000 U.S.

service personnel in the war hailed from Mishawaka, yet of Indianapolis's 1,195 crewmen, three lived

in Mishawaka. It would have been statistically unlikely for Mishawaka to have even one man on Indy.

That the city had three is remarkable.

After slipping beneath the oil-covered waters of the Philippine Sea in the early hours of July 30,

1945, Indianapolis plummeted 18,000 feet and crashed into the seafloor, where she sat for decades in

dark silence, both shipwreck and tomb. Philanthropist Paul Allen and his research vessel Petrel

discovered Indy's wreckage on August 19, 2017. The cold temperatures and lack of oxygen had

preserved the ship and its debris well, but evidence of Indianapolis's violent death was everywhere,

including the bow, forward superstructure, and two eight-inch turrets being severed from the hull.

Finding Indy made international headlines and evoked powerful emotions from the 19 living survivors

and the families of those who died aboard the cruiser or in the days following.

Astonishing images of the shipwreck became an opportunity to retell Indianapolis's story,

including her combat record, the role she played in the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, the tragic loss of

879 sailors, and her crew's struggle to survive unimaginably horrible conditions.

The 75th anniversary of Indy's sinking is another such teachable moment. As the nation again

honors U.S.S. Indianapolis, Mishawakans should also remember Homer Smith, Allen Streich, and Ken

Mitchell, who sailed in harm's way and, at great cost, helped achieve victory in the Pacific.
.