When the Music Stopped

They played to win, they lived to serve, they died as heroes aboard the USS Arizona.

Among the rusted anchor chains, charred steel, and shattered fragments of war preserved at the USS Arizona Memorial Museum, one relic stands out: a gleaming golden trophy, the grand prize for “Winning Orchestra” in a Battle of Music contest in 1941. Twenty-one names are inscribed on the plaque – the members of U.S.S. Arizona’s band, including a Pennsylvanian boy, a trombone player from upstate.

The night before Pearl Harbor was attacked, the band had qualified as finalists in the year’s most anticipated contest. None of them lived to compete. The Arizona Trophy was awarded posthumously, after the men went down with their ship on that infamous morning in US history. It has since been on public display as a lasting tribute and symbol of sacrifice.

Unlike the other relics of war that call to mind the scars of combat, the trophy highlights artistry, camaraderie, and dedication. The men whose names are etched into its surface were not only sailors trained to respond in the heat of battle, but also talented virtuosos trained at the Navy School of Music, a fact that surprises many people unfamiliar with life aboard a warship. Their uniforms were no different from any other sailor’s, but their daily duties were split between two identities: sailor and musician.

Life as a Navy Band Member

At first glance, the idea of a “Navy School of Music” might seem unexpected. We tend to associate the military with marching, discipline, and battle, not concertos and jazz ensembles. But the United States Navy, like other branches of the armed forces, has long maintained a proud tradition of military music. Even during the 1940s, when war was imminent, the Navy dedicated resources to its musical programs — not as a luxury, but as a tool for morale, ceremony, and communication.

Military music schools are highly competitive and famously rigorous. Only the most talented musicians are accepted for a full-time training program that covers music theory, composition, and ensemble performance. In addition, participants are drilled on naval discipline, physical fitness, and shipboard operations.

The men of USS Arizona’s Navy Band Unit 22 played a complex and critical role aboard their ship. On ordinary days, they provided live music for shipboard ceremonies, daily flag-raising rituals, and recreational concerts for the crew. They also played marches, jazz standards, and popular hits of the era, giving sailors a taste of home while thousands of miles from shore.

But unlike civilian musicians, their instruments could never be their only tool. Each band member was also assigned a battle station — a specific role to fulfill during combat, just like every other sailor on board. When General Quarters (the alarm signaling imminent attack) sounded, band members put down their instruments, and reported for duty.

Double Duty

It might sound odd today, but for military musicians of the 1940s, having “two jobs” was normal. While in peacetime their main duty was music, the moment a threat appeared, they were sailors first and musicians second. This dual role was crucial, especially since the Arizona, the Navy’s largest warship at the time, had a crew of over 1,500 men, all of whom needed to know their roles in battle.

At 7:55am on December 7^th 1941, Band Unit 22 was assembled on deck and cued up to sing the Star Spangled Banner when air raid sirens blared. As Japanese dive bombers bore down on the ship, the performers assumed their battle positions below deck in the ammunition hold, a volatile and dangerous area. Surrounded by explosives in a turret by the bow, they were in the heart of an unfolding disaster.

At 8:06am, the USS Arizona was hit by four armor-piercing bombs, each weighing as much as a small car and packed with the destructive power of nearly a ton of TNT. Seven seconds later, the ship’s forward magazine discharged all at once, sending a massive fireball and shockwave through the vessel; there were no survivors.

In his touching tribute on his “Philadelphia Stories” page, Bob McNulty notes that the Pennsylvania kid in the Arizona Band, Bernard Huges (his bandmates called him “Bee”), was only 19 years old.

In addition to the 21 members of the band, 1,156 Sailors and Marines were killed in the sinking of the USS Arizona, the hardest-hit of all ships in the attack. Of these, four were from Philadelphia:

• Radioman 3rd class Frederick Bircher, 24, from Olney.
• Gunners mate 3^rd class George Scheuerlein, 22, from Hunting Park, a graduate of the Church Farm School in Exton.
• Boatswains Mate 2^nd class Walter Hampton, 34, from Kensington, married with four kids.
• Fire Control Man 1st class John Henry Bangert, 25, also from Hunting Park. John’s was one of the few bodies recovered from the site, now resting at the National Memorial Cemetery in Honolulu.

The Arizona’s dead also included a father and son and 23 sets of brothers. Most of the USS Arizona’s losses remain entombed on the sunken ship, which is now a national memorial and one of the most visited historic sites in the US.

In the museum accompanying the memorial, the Arizona Trophy shines brightly in the gloom of burnt wreckage and rusted steel. Those who pause to read the names bear witness to these brave men who fought and died for their country, together as sailors and bandmembers. Their story is not just one of tragedy, but of virtuosity, teamwork, and the power of music to uplift, even in war.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
— “For the Fallen” by Lawrence Binyon

PENNSYLVANIA AND PEARL HARBOR
(Source: Philly Inquirer Dec 17, 1941 – Excerpted and revised from longer article)

In addition to the Philadelphians killed on the USS Arizona, the broader attack on Pearl Harbor brought grief to communities across Pennsylvania. By December 17, the Navy had confirmed the deaths of several sailors from the state, underscoring the wide-reaching impact of the tragedy.

• Charles W. Lippincott, 20, of 7023 Reedland Street, Philadelphia, was a first-class fireman. A 1939 graduate of West Philadelphia High School, he enlisted in the Navy that year. On December 5th, he wrote a letter to his mother, sharing hopeful plans for the future. He intended to propose to his girlfriend, Marilyn, and quipped, “If Marilyn wonders what to send me for Christmas, tell her all I want is her photo.” Reflecting on the rising tensions with Japan, he wrote prophetically, “In a way, I hope it’s war because the sooner it’s over, the sooner I’ll get home.”
• Russell J. Shelley Jr., 25, of Sellersville, graduated from Sellersville-Perkasie High School and the Temple University School of Music. He was a talented musician and leader of his own dance band. He enlisted in the Navy in October 1940, trained at the Navy Band School in Washington, and was stationed in Honolulu.
• Arthur Gardner, 31, of Junedale near Hazleton, served as a water tender (responsible for the operation and maintenance of boilers on steam-powered ships) second class. He was the first reported casualty from the anthracite coal region, marking a significant loss to his tight-knit community.

⚓ PA’S UNSINKABLE SKIPPER 🍀

Amid the grim updates came a rare tale of Keystone state scrappiness! Commander Jesse L. Kenworthy Jr., of Coatesville, executive officer of the USS Oklahoma, was reported “safe and well” after the ship capsized. Known for his “charmed life,” Kenworthy had survived previous naval disasters, including the crash of the dirigible Macon in 1935 and the Navy blimp K-2 in 1939.

READ MORE! 👀 Get the full story in Bob McNulty’s original narrative that brings history to life with names, locations, and additional context (printed in December’s LOCAL newspaper).

📖 For more great history, follow @PhiladelphiaStoriesbyBobMcNulty on Facebook. And check out Bob’s previous Local column HERE, a remarkable story about a Fascist-fighting Philadelphian.