Search billions of records on Ancestry.com
   

United States Marine Corps Stories of the Sinking of the
USS Henry R. Mallory on February 7, 1943

Assembled here are collections of eyewitness stories of men who were on board the Mallory on her final trip across the Atlantic. These stories have been shared with me personally by the survivors or by the survivors and victims families. These stories are very valuable for us to read as they give the readers a feeling of how it really was during those dark and uncertain times of WWII when the balance of power was still teetering from one side to the other. There were some significant things about the Mallory sinking. It was one of the biggest convoy battles of the war, the loss of lives was one of the largest of any ship sinking, and it happened during what the German U-boat commanders called "The Happy Times", when they enjoyed many successes against Allied convoys. This also happened before the turning point which came in June of 1944, after the capture of the German U-boat U-505, along with her precious enigma coding machines. And so here is one of the untold and largely unknown but heroic stories of the battle of the Atlantic.

If you have a family member or know of someone who was on the USS Henry R. Mallory please e-mail me and I will add that mans story with his shipmates.

These stories of the survivors and victoms are divided into 4 sections. The Stories of the Marines, The Stories of the Navy, The Stories of the Army and the Stories of the Merchant Marines.

Stories from the Marines in Hold No. 3

Marvin E. Muehl, USMC
"I remember the explosion and the feeling"

By survivor Marvin E. Muehl from Hold No. 3

I enlisted in the Marine Corps in December of 1941 and arrived in Parris Island in January of 1942. After basic training I was sent to camp Lejeune N.C. from where I was transferred to Quantico Va. and from there was sent to Brooklyn Navy Yard where I boarded the USS Henry R. Mallory. My quarters were slightly astern amidships and on the deck at the water line. I do remember that we spent about a week to 10 days at dock before we sailed and that we visited Times Square just about every night.

We were at sea for quite some time and at night you could see one Tanker after another being torpedoed and erupting in a ball of fire and we were getting quite nervous. Two days before we were torpedoed the weather turned sour, heavy seas, and we had a lot of sick people in our compartment and because of the weather nobody was allowed on deck to get much needed fresh air, plus we had to take showers in un-heated water as the ship could not provide enough hot water.

At the time we were torpedoed I was standing in our compartment with my back against the hull on the starboard side right next to the stairwell. The hull was cold and we used this means to cool ourselves, as the compartment was very warm. I remember the explosion and the feeling that I was floating through the air and then for quite some time every thing was quiet. Then I realized that I was flat on my back lying next to the people that I had been talking too and was being trampled on by people trying to get on deck through the opening were the stairwell had been before the explosion. The sound of water running and the odor of something burning made me realize that I had to get out of there. I tried to stand and realized then that my right leg was injured and I could see a lot of blood on my pant leg. I crawled over to a stanchion by the opening and pulled myself up and was looking up through the opening when two people with a light shining down through the opening were asking if anybody was down there. When I hollered they reached down and grabbed my hands, pulled me up on deck and said you are on your own she is going down fast. I crawled to the edge of the deck to try to get into one of the two-man rafts that were floating by but I could not stand up to jump. I heard somebody holler if there was anybody else on deck. I called to them and they came over and put me on the raft, which had quite a few people on it. I remember that we almost went down with the ship as a one-inch line was preventing us from drifting free and had to be cut.

I remember spending a lot of time in those heavy seas on that raft and then looking up from the bottom of the raft when someone yelled they see us upon seeing the USCGC Bibb. I too remember the captain of the Bibb standing on the bridge directing the crew to get those survivors on board as there were sonar reports of a sub in the vicinity and the Bibb was a sitting duck. With that a line was quickly fastened under my arms and I was hoisted aboard. I was taken to the sick bay and the bunk I was put in allowed me to look out to the stern of the Bibb, I could see rafts and debris all around the back of the ship. When the Bibb got under way they fired depth charges and I thought we were again torpedoed. I spent several days in the sick bay; I think it was around 7 days, although I'm not quite sure.

I was visited by the captain of the Bibb who informed me that the ship would be leaving the convoy in the next couple days and proceed to the Naval operating base in Iceland where I would receive good medical care. After we arrived in Iceland, I was operated on and spent months in a leg and partial body cast. After my cast was removed I was transferred to Chelsea Naval Hospital in Boston to recuperate and from there I was transferred to the Naval Hospital at Great Lakes Illinois. It was there that I was awarded the Purple Heart and a received a medical discharge.

I have never had the opportunity to thank the people who pulled me out of the hold or put me on the raft so if you happen to read this and were one of these persons my heartfelt thanks because if it wasn't for You I wouldn't be here.

Marvin E. Muehl
USMC, Service No. 353653

Joseph I. McMillen, USMC

"my wristwatch was stopped at 4:00 o'clock"

By survivor, Joseph I. McMillen, from Hold No. 3
USMCR, Service Number 479147

Mr. McMillen contacted me about my Henry R. Mallory web page two days before the 60th anniversary of the sinking, on February 5, 2003 and he wanted to know why he was not listed as a survivor. I had asked him if he would share his experiences with me so I could add this to the Mallory's web page. This is his story:
I enlisted in the Marine Corps on November 7, 1942 and reported for service at Paris Island. After nine weeks of basic training, I was transferred to Quantico, Virginia for reassignment. After about one week there I was sent to the Brooklyn Navy Yard for further assignment although it had already been decided what my assignment would be.

On or about January 23, 1943, the Mallory left New York and joined up with the convoy that was en route from Halifax. Life aboard the ship was fairly routine, with lifeboat drills and duties as assigned. Some of the guys would not sleep at night for fear of being caught in their bunks in case of an attack. The scuttlebutt at the time was that we were on our way to Iceland to relieve the last of the 5th Marines who had been there for about a year. I celebrated my 19th birthday (2/3/43) aboard ship. On February 6th, I had been assigned to KP duty and that evening, after dark, I was dumping the garbage over the side when I saw a big flash on the horizon; I guessed it was possibly a tanker that had been hit. At about midnight there was an alert and we all were ordered to put on our life jackets and report to our lifeboat stations. After about half an hour, however, the alert was secured and we returned to our quarters below deck. The Marine area was on the port side of the ship near the hatchway for the number three hold; my bunk was on the bulkhead of that hatchway. But, I did not return to my bunk. Instead, I joined a fellow Marine (Stanley A. Pasinski) from the Pittsburgh area in a couple of unoccupied bunks nearby to talk and to try to relax after the excitement of the alert. I fell asleep in that bunk.

FEBRUARY 7, 1943: I woke up to the sound of people yelling and screaming and much confusion. The area was a mess. I do not remember an explosion, and I am not sure if I may have been unconscious for a short period. But I do remember looking in the direction of where I should have been sleeping and there was nothing there. I managed to get on deck and to my assigned lifeboat, but it was gone. Then for some reason, I decided that it was going to be cold on the water, so I went back down below and got an overcoat. Back on deck, I went to another lifeboat station and got into that boat as it was being lowered. But when we reached the water, no one could figure out how to release it from the lines. Then someone found a hatchet and used that to cut the lines at one end. While passing it to the other end, though, the hatchet was lost over the side. The issue with the lines became moot, however, as we also discovered that the boat was filling with water, since no one had closed the seacock. As the waves lifted the boat, guys would jump out of the lifeboat and back onto the deck of the Mallory. I was still in the lifeboat when an object landed in the water next to me; I jumped to it. I did not land on it, but did manage to grab hold of it and climb aboard. Once aboard, I realized that it was a life raft and soon it began to rain men who were jumping from the Mallory. When morning came I counted 22 people on board. I think that was more than the raft was designed to carry, since it was riding so low we were almost up to our waists in water. I slipped off the raft once and a couple of the guys pulled me back on board. I remember that two of the persons aboard appeared to be dead. I also noticed that my wristwatch was stopped at 4:00 o'clock. (I kept that watch for many years, but some time during one of our moves around the country I lost it).

RESCUE: Although I was alive, I did not have much hope for survival, since we had been told that ships in convoys did not stop to pick up survivors, because that would make them sitting ducks for the subs. Sometime after daybreak, we noticed smoke on the horizon. We could see it only when the raft was on the crest of a wave, but we noticed that sometimes the smoke was not there, and then the next time it was there. We thought it might be a vessel picking up survivors, so when we were on the crest of a wave, we would wave all sort of things to attract attention. On one crest we noticed a signal light that looked like it was aimed in our direction, and that gave us some hope. At about noon, the USCGC Bibb stopped by the raft and dropped ropes with loops over the side. I put one under my arms and was hoisted aboard. When I reached the deck, I had trouble walking and was helped by the crew to the boiler room, where I could dry out and warm up. I was also given a cup of black coffee, which I drank without hesitation even though I had never had a cup of coffee before. Later that day I tried to drink coffee again and could not stand the taste of it. After drying out, I went out on the deck and was immediately swamped by a huge wave that broke over the bow, and I was again drenched. The Bibb was overloaded, since it carried a wartime complement of personnel, which was greater than its peacetime complement, and then it had all the survivors, some of whom were from another ship. Later in the day, while sitting around thinking how lucky I was there was a huge explosion and all the lights went out. That scared the hell out of me because I thought a torpedo had hit the Bibb. Almost immediately, the Captain came on the PA system and explained that they had a contact with a sub and had dropped depth charges on it. The charges had exploded so close they had opened the circuit breakers. The Bibb went after the sub and there were several more explosions, but none caused the lights to go out. I don't know if they sunk the sub. We arrived in Iceland on February 14, 1943, after a voyage of 21 days.
AFTERMATH: I spent a year in Iceland. During that time, the scuttlebutt was that the Captain of the Bibb, CDR Roy Raney, was court-martialed for disobeying an order to return to the convoy that the Bibb had been escorting. I have been unsuccessful in finding any records of this, although there is a short piece about the Bibb and the Mallory at the Coast Guard website.

Note: (According to Bill Matthews, who supplied the story of one of the Mallory's cooks Thomas Wilson "Death in the Icy Mid-Atlantic" below, read in the book "HITLER'S U-BOAT WAR, The HUNTED 1942-1945" by Clay Blair, discovered that Commander Roy Raney who was captain of the USCGC Bibb was not court martialed and later rose to the rank of Vice Admiral in the Coast Guard. Bill Matthews also found this about the Mallory in the same book. "In the book he said that the USCGC Bibb during the rescue operation had picked up the USS Mallory's cooks dog "Ricky," found all alone on a raft. He refers to a Webster article, "Someone Get That Damn Dog!")

SURVIVORS: I have several press releases that my parents saved once they knew I was in Iceland, so I have the names of several Marines I served with during that time. I am not sure that all of them were picked up by the Bibb. I have tried a number of WWII veterans web pages to get in contact with some of them, but without success. These names are all taken from press stories that my parents had saved. So here is the list (all from Pennsylvania): Joseph J. Biedenbach, John Tokarchick, Jr., Clair R. Stratton, Carl D. Miller, Charles T. Calhoun, Stanley A. Pasinski, John E. Stott, George G. Miller, Paul Cernansky, Nicolas J. Yannuzzi, Chester S. Penko, Adolph C. Mattes, Joseph J. Bucheck, Joseph I. McMillen

Taking It Easy on "Sandbag Terrace"
Shown at a sandbag terrace which they helped build around the huts in their camp somewhere in Iceland are seven Marines, all from Pennsylvinia. Left to right, they are Privates First Class Joseph J. Biedenbach, John Tokarchick, Jr., Clair R. Stratton, Carl D. Miller, Charles T. Calhoun, Stanley A. Pasinski, John E. Stott. The huts are their current homes.
These are seven of the Marine survivors from Hold No. 3 in Iceland after their rescue. This newspaper clipping was shared by fellow Marine survivor Joseph I. McMillen and the exact date is not known.

The newspaper clipping above was taken after he came back from Iceland and was on leave at home in a borrowed uniform. Mr. McMillen relates "Never owned a dress uniform myself but a friend in Quantico loand me his."

"Go Down Like Marines" Torpedoed Men Urged

Four Pittsburgh District Corps Members Recall Tragic Sinking In North Atlantic

This was a wartime newspaper article written in the Pittsburgh Press.

A torpedo slammed into their ship before dawn of an icy North Atlantic morning. Half stunned, they scrambled out on deck and struggled in the darkness to launch a lifeboat. Through the confusion cut the voice of a Marine corporal, "Remember, you guys, you're Marines. If we go down, we go down like Marines." That scene is indelible in the memories of four Marines from the Pittsburgh district, for they participated in it, and in an agonizing eight hours on the open sea before they were picked up. The men were: Pvt. John Behun, 347 Renova St. Pittsburgh; Pvt. Joseph J. Biedenach, 339 Renova St., Pittsburgh; Joseph I. McMillen, 24 E. Grant St., Huston; and Stanley Pasinski, 528 Vermont St., Glassport.

Sinking Cost 850
The torpedoing was that tragic one of last February in which 850 lost their lives as two ships went down in the frigid seas. The four Pittsburgh district Marines recently told their story to Sgt. Francis J. Acosta, Jr., a Marine Corps Combat Correspondent, at an overseas base. Pvt. Pasinski said, "The torpedo must have knocked me out, because I came to with a gash on my head. I don't remember anything except climbing up through the hatch." Pvt. Behun was one of the first men out on deck. He found that one of the two lifeboats assigned to the Marines had been blown to pieces by the explosion. In the darkness and weather it took about 15 minutes to get one end of the cable cut and the other boat over the side. Then, with the boat half full of men, they discovered that it was filling rapidly.

Jump Back On Deck
"Lots of us jumped back on the ship when the waves would lift us close to the deck," Pvt. Behun said. "But then another lifeboat that had been launched up forward came floating by in the water, so with Biedenach and some others I jumped over into it." Pvt. McMillen jumped from the sinking boat to a raft, which rapidly became crowded. "Once during the night I fell out, but a sailor pulled me back on," the Huston Marine related, "He and I helped each other stay balanced all night. When it got light I counted 22 men on that small raft. Two of them had died during the night. "All of the time the raft rode about a foot under water, with so many men aboard, and the flurries of rain and sleet were almost continuous."

Transfer Boats
Pvt. Pasinski had gotten into the boat that Pvts. Behun and Biedenach later boarded. "There must have been 50 or 60 of us in the boat," he said. "We were so overcrowded that the boat was low in the water, and waves kept washing in and filling up the boat even more." "But," he added, "during the morning another lifeboat came alongside with only 20 men in it, so we caught onto it and about 15 of us jumped over into that one." By 10 a.m. the men from both lifeboats had been picked up by an escort vessel, and about noon the heavily laden raft was picked up.

Martin C. Finn, Private, USMC

"Little Brother, let us pray, That God will grant us meet someday, That I may clasp a Hero's hand, In the great eternal land"

Pvt. Martin C. Finn, U.S.M.C.

 I was contacted by Richard Morton about his uncle, Martin C. Finn who was a Marine and was lost on the Mallory on 7 February 1943. I ask him if he could share the story of his uncle with me to add here with the other stories of the Mallory. Martin C. Finn was a private in the Marine Corps and so he would have been bunked down in Hold No. 3 with fellow Marine Privates Alfred Buono, Marvin E. Muehl and Joseph I. McMillen in the general location where the torpedo hit the Mallory. Richard Morton spoke with his mother about her brother Martin C. Finn. This is the letter she provided with a poem written by her other brother Kevin Finn about the loss of thier brother that day in 1943.

My brother Martin Christopher Finn was born and grew up in Brooklyn, New York. In July 1942 at age 17 years old he joined the Marine Corp, determined to become a Marine. He was sent to Parris Island, South Carolina and later on he was stationed in Quantico, Virginia. On February 7, 1943 he was on the USS Henry R. Mallory when that ship was sunk in the North Atlantic. A survivor (of the sinking of the Mallory) of Norwegian Heritage (I never heard his name) told my parents that he asked about my brother and was told that he made it out. He never did make it. The Telegram arrived on March 5, 1943 to say that he is Missing in Action. In February 1944 he was declared dead. I was 11 years old at this time. He was a wonderful brother,always looking out for me. I think about him everyday.

In Loving Memory
His Sister
Mary Finn Morton
Private Finn's brother Kevin Finn, wrote this poem in his Memory. It was published in one of the New York newspapers at the time.

To My Brother

Little Brother, think of me
From your grave beneath the sea
Pray for us with crosses deep
Strengthen us who mournful weep

Little Brother, let us pray
That God will grant us meet someday
That I may clasp a Hero's hand
In the great eternal land

Little Brother, how I miss
Those bygone days of boyish bliss
I hope you died without much pain
I pray you haven't died in Vain

Pvt. Joseph Alfred Buono, USMCR Service No. 502019

“Nothing else remains except family photos & memories of this brave young hero and an uncle I never knew.”


Pvt. Joseph Alfred Buono, USMCR
30 September 1942- 7 February 1943
August 20, 1943

Dear Miss Buono,

I remember your brother's name, but not his face. You see, when we were aboard ship and were attacked, I was fortunate to be above decks while most of the marines were below sleeping. The way I understood it after all survivors were rescued and told their story, almost all the marines had got out of the hold and into a lifeboat or on a raft. Mrs. Finn's son who was my buddy was below deck. I looked for him after we were hit but couldn't find him in the commotion and panic. I can't furnish any information about your brother except what you already know. I can't help or hinder your hopes but I can say, I pray to God that there is some more marines alive.

Sympathetically Yours
Emil S. Ellefsen
USMC
Marine Barracks
Navy No. 101

Joseph Alfred Buono, Jr. was born on September 30, 1924 in Westerly, Rhode Island. His parents were Mary and Joseph Buono, Sr.

Joseph Jr. was the first child born to Mary and Joseph Sr. and they would also have a daughter named Esther. Joseph Sr. was born in Italy and became a naturalized citizen in 1920. In April of 1930 the Buono family lived in Brooklyn, New York in a rented home located at 22 Union Street. The Monthly rent Joseph, Sr. paid was thirty-dollars and as noted on the Federal Census the family did not have a radio set in the home, so luxuries at the time were kept to only the basics. Joseph, Sr. worked as a baker in a bread making plant. His wife Mary worked as a packer in a tin factory.

Family remembrances recalled by Frank L. Punturieri, Joseph Alfred Buono’s nephew tell that he was an average boy, athletic and a good basketball player. Joseph Jr. was also a hard worker and in 1942, he worked down at the docks in New York and was working on the ship the SS Normandie, while being converted to a troopship during World War II, the Normandie caught fire, capsized, and sank. Joseph was nearly killed in the disaster.

Joseph wanted to join the Marines when he was 17 but his parents would not sign the papers to allow him to join. However, he turned 18 in September 1942 and he enlisted into the Marine Corps on November 13, 1942 in New York and was sent to Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, South Carolina to boot camp. Right from boot camp he was shipped off on the USS Henry R. Mallory destination Marine Detachment, Naval Operation Base Reykjavik, Iceland for training for the Normandy invasion.

When Joseph left in November 1943 for training he never returned home again except for some letters he sent home, that are now treasured by his family; his belongings shipped home from boot camp when they shipped out and a Purple Heart Award post-mortem. 

When the Mallory was sunk his body was never retrieved and was reported missing. His family was notified and as per law was classified as officially presumed dead, 8 February 1944, one year and a day after the sinking of the Mallory. Pvt. Buono has been memorialized at the Cambridge American Cemetery, Cambridge, England, which is his only grave marker being lost at sea.

Frank Punturieri, the son of Esther (Buono) Punturieri, Joseph’s sister relates of his uncle, “Nothing else remains except family photos and memories of this brave young hero and an uncle I never knew.”

Pvt. Buono sister had written to another of her brothers fellow Marines inquiring about the events of his death. She was answered by Pvt. Emil S. Ellefsen who was on board the Mallory with Bono and also was a buddy to Pvt. Martin C. Finn, who's story appears above. Buono and Finn were also good friends as in Buono's personel effects was a photo of Martin Finn taken at Paris Island. Below is the transcribbed letter from Ellefsen written on August 20, 1943 while Ellefsen was stationed in the Marine Barracks, Reykjavik, Iceland. The notation he made at the bottom of the letter "Navy No. 101" was the navy designation for the post office in Reykjavik, Iceland.
Certificate issued to the family of Pvt. Buono from President Franklin D. Roosevelt, one year and a day after the sinking of the Mallory.
Pvt. Buono on the training course at Paris Island.
This photo was in the possession of Pvt. Buono's personal effects from Paris Island. It is believed to be Pvt. Martin C. Finn.
Pvt. Buono on the training course at Paris Island.
The Purple Heart issued to the family of Pvt. Buono
The reverse side of the Purple Heart
WWII Victory Medal issued to the family of Pvt. Buono
Reverse side of the WWII Victory Medal

Emil S. Ellefsen, USMC, Mallory Surivor

"...I can't help or hinder your hopes but I can say, I pray to God that there is some more marines alive."

Emil S. Ellefsen is known to be a survivor of the sinking of the Mallory on February 7, 1943 as he was contacted by the sister of fellow marine, Pvt. Joseph Buono asking for information on the death of her brother, Joseph Buono. On August 20, 1943 while Ellefsen was stationed at Marine Barracks, Reykjavik, Iceland. Ellefsen wrote to Joseph Buono's sister and told her what he knew of the death of her brother. This letter is still among the treasured possessions of the family of Pvt. Buono. In the letter he also makes reference to Mrs. Finn's son, which would be another fellow marine named Pvt. Martin C. Finn, who was killed along with Buono that morning on February 7th. Ellefsen also wrote a letter to the family of Pvt. Martin Finn but this letter has not survived to this day. It is assumed that Emil Ellefsen's rank was that of a Private.

Emil was born on Spetember 11, 1924 in New York to Emil Sr., and Anna Ellefsen. The elder ellefsen's were of Norwegian heritage. Emil Sr. worked as a Policeman possibly for an express agency and Anna was a telephone operator. In 1930 when young Emil jr., was five-years old the family lived in Brooklyn, New York. The only other fact known of Emil Ellefsen, a surivor of the sinking of the Mallory is that he passed away in October of 1974.

Ralph C. Welliver, USMC, Survivor of the Sinking

Among the marines on board the Mallory was a young 23-year old by the name of Ralph Carman Welliver, Jr. He was born on 21 May 1921 in New Jersey to Ralph C. Welliver, Sr. and Charlotte M. Welliver.

Ralph Welliver, Jr. can trace his roots back to his grandfather Elmer W. Welliver who was born in March of 1872 in Pennsylvania, and his grandmother Jessie who was born in January of 1874 also in Pennsylvania. Elmer was a laborer in a railroad car shop located in Columbia County, Pennsylvania. Elmer and Jessie’s first child was a son named Ralph Carman Welliver born on April 24th of 1899. Ralph would one day marry and have a family and his wife’s name was Charlotte. She was born about 1895 in Germany and together she and Ralph would start a family of their own. Their first child was born on 21 May 1921 and they named him Ralph Carman Welliver, Jr. At the time the family lived in Trenton, New Jersey where Ralph Sr. worked as Postal Clerk and Charlotte was working as a stenographer.

Prior to WWII Ralph Jr. was working as an actor in the New York area. But as American men were joining the armed services of the United States due to America’s entry into WWII, so would Ralph Jr. join the armed forces. Ralph C. Welliver, Jr. enlisted into the United States Marine Corps and when ordered for overseas duty he found himself sailing the waters of the Atlantic bound for Iceland with the rest of the marines on board the troopship USS Henry R. Mallory.

The torpedo struck the Mallory at the worst possible place for the marines. It was the hold that they were quartered in and most of the marines were killed or sustained severe injuries that dark cold morning of February 7, 1943. According to Ralph Jr.’s son Peter Welliver, Ralph did not talk much of the events of the sinking of the Mallory, likely as it held too many bad memories. So we will never know for sure what Ralph was doing that morning or how he was saved. But the fact is that Ralph got off the ship and was lucky enough to get to a lifeboat and was rescued by the USCGC Bibb. Ralph did sustain injuries from the sinking but he recovered from them.

After the war and Ralph was discharged from the Marine Corps and moved back to the New Jersey area where he met his wife during the 1950’s. She was from Sweden and they later moved to Sweden where they would life for the rest of their lives. Ralph Carman Welliver, Jr. passed away on September 25, 2002 and was a US Citizen until his death. This was known as the United States Consulate Office in Stockholm, Sweden recorded his death.

© 2006 Joe Hartwell. This page was first up-loaded on 2 February 2006 and last modified on: 2/16/09