CENTERVILLE, Mass. — On the morning of the day it all started, the country’s oldest living survivor of the Pearl Harbor bombing was far below deck of the USS St. Louis, patching a boiler that grounded him during the surprise attack.
Freeman Johnson, who turned 106 in March, never heard the shouts of antiaircraft guns or the roar of torpedo planes. He was a sailor‑troop, not a commander, working in the ship’s steam drums. “I couldn’t see anything. I was inside a steam drum. The St. Louis was out there while I was down in the boiler room,” Johnson reflects.
When the St. Louis finally surfaced, the ship had fended off a pair of midget submarines and set out toward the Pacific. By the time his shipmates fired their guns at warring planes, he was finishing a boiler repair and didn't even know the battle had started.
After the war, Johnson took on a variety of jobs—machinist in a shop, clerk at a convenience store, and later delivering meals to seniors—before retiring at age 90. His hard‑hearing veteran now uses a walker, but his recollections remain vivid.
His daughter Diane, who has inherited his love of the Navy, helps keep him in the public eye. The two often travel to Peachy Harbor on December 7 to attend remembrance ceremonies, including the 65th and 80th anniversary events in Hawaii, and she encourages him to tell his story for the next generation: “He is at the beginning, he is part of the middle and he saw the end when the war finally finished.”
Johnson’s story recently gained renewed attention after a local television report mistakenly announced the death of the last survivor in the state — a clarification he quickly made with his daughter’s help. He has now become a celebrated figure in Cape Cod, often leading the St. Patrick’s Parade and adding a heart‑warming chuckle to the proceedings.
“Pearl Harbor just happened,” Johnson says, although he carries knowing scars and a collection of Navy mementos—a challenge coin set, ribbons, and an original military dog‑tag that now hangs over his living‑room mantel.
Only 11 survivors of the attack remain after the passing of Ira “Ike” Schab in December and Clarence Lane in February. The lives of those who lived through the 1941 tragedy hover as a poignant reminder to the nation’s commitment to remember the service, sacrifice and bravery that forged the United States for future generations.
Freeman Johnson, who turned 106 in March, never heard the shouts of antiaircraft guns or the roar of torpedo planes. He was a sailor‑troop, not a commander, working in the ship’s steam drums. “I couldn’t see anything. I was inside a steam drum. The St. Louis was out there while I was down in the boiler room,” Johnson reflects.
When the St. Louis finally surfaced, the ship had fended off a pair of midget submarines and set out toward the Pacific. By the time his shipmates fired their guns at warring planes, he was finishing a boiler repair and didn't even know the battle had started.
After the war, Johnson took on a variety of jobs—machinist in a shop, clerk at a convenience store, and later delivering meals to seniors—before retiring at age 90. His hard‑hearing veteran now uses a walker, but his recollections remain vivid.
His daughter Diane, who has inherited his love of the Navy, helps keep him in the public eye. The two often travel to Peachy Harbor on December 7 to attend remembrance ceremonies, including the 65th and 80th anniversary events in Hawaii, and she encourages him to tell his story for the next generation: “He is at the beginning, he is part of the middle and he saw the end when the war finally finished.”
Johnson’s story recently gained renewed attention after a local television report mistakenly announced the death of the last survivor in the state — a clarification he quickly made with his daughter’s help. He has now become a celebrated figure in Cape Cod, often leading the St. Patrick’s Parade and adding a heart‑warming chuckle to the proceedings.
“Pearl Harbor just happened,” Johnson says, although he carries knowing scars and a collection of Navy mementos—a challenge coin set, ribbons, and an original military dog‑tag that now hangs over his living‑room mantel.
Only 11 survivors of the attack remain after the passing of Ira “Ike” Schab in December and Clarence Lane in February. The lives of those who lived through the 1941 tragedy hover as a poignant reminder to the nation’s commitment to remember the service, sacrifice and bravery that forged the United States for future generations.
