Remembering the voyage of the Indianapolis, and the meaning of real courage

Wednesday marks the 80th anniversary of one of the most fascinating events in American history. It is also one many citizens, outside of those who have paid close attention to the movie Jaws, fail to remember.

On July 30, 1945, a Navy cruiser named the USS Indianapolis was sunk by a Japanese submarine. The Indianapolis was returning from one of the most important missions in naval history. It had just delivered the two atomic bombs that would be dropped on Japan a week later to end World War II to the tiny Pacific island of Tinian. Over 1,000 American sailors went into the water as the ship sunk. The mission was so secretive that Naval officials did not learn of the sinking for four days. When a search vessel finally located the missing sailors, just 316 remained. The others had died from exposure, dehydration, saltwater poisoning, and if you remember the famous scene from Jaws where Captain Quint recounts the story, shark attacks.

The stories the survivors told in the aftermath were horrific. Men covered in oil from the torpedo blast, catching fire in the wreckage. The heat of the sun off the water, blinding sailors and burning their skin as they floated without shelter. Men drinking the sea water because they became delirious, then seeing mirages in the distance and swimming away to their deaths. And the sharks. Hundreds of them, feeding at will on the helpless sailors.

Despite the horrors they endured, survivors also recalled acts of bravery and camaraderie. They formed groups for mutual support, and found strength in memories of loved ones or in the encouragement of fellow sailors. Under the worst conditions imaginable, men fought for one another, and helped each other, and thought about something bigger than themselves.

The story of the Indianapolis is instructive as football camps at every level open throughout the country. Football players are often labeled as “courageous,” and lauded for their toughness and their willingness to do hard things. Football is a tough sport, no doubt. It takes discipline, and courage, and a work ethic, particularly at the higher levels, that few individuals can summon.

It’s also the ultimate team sport, given the number of players who must work together to find success. A pitcher can dominate a baseball game. A hot goalie can determine the outcome in hockey. A star player can have an immense impact upon a basketball game. But in football, no individual, not even the quarterback, can dramatically alter the outcome of a contest without his ten teammates doing their job at a high level. Football players are taught early in their careers to fight for the good of the whole. That’s one of the reasons there are so many comparisons made between football and the military. They are endeavors that both require sacrifice, and selflessness, and the shared desire to reach a common goal.

But let’s not get things twisted. Football is still a game. Players can walk away from it on their own accord. At the highest level, they can do so with millions of dollars in their pockets. There’s a toll to pay for that sort of success, which comes in the form of the wear and tear the game takes on one’s body. But, again, it’s a choice. And while the injuries are real, there are no snipers on the field, and no sharks circling the huddle. It’s a sport. It is not life and death.

I’ve never been to war. I’m thankful for that. Thankful to not have experienced what others have endured under those circumstances. Still, I am certain any equivalency drawn between war and football is a false one. I’ve never liked it when football coaches make war analogies with their players, telling them things like, “We’re going into battle today!” And, “This will be war!”

No, it won’t. It will be physical. It will be difficult. It will require strength, and discipline, and toughness. But it will not be war.

I think of that today as I remember the story of the Indianapolis. Of the 316 sailors who were pulled out of the vast Pacific after enduring five harrowing days where they saw horrors and tragedies one can barely imagine. Theirs’ was true courage, the kind you can’t summon on a football field or anywhere else, for that matter. I don’t write this to diminish the football player but to instead draw a distinction between actual war and what remains a game. They are not equivalents. All courage is not measured equally.

That’s worth remembering as we ramp up for another football season. Let’s celebrate the great athletes who play the game, and let’s give them their due when it comes to the accolades they deserve. But let’s not forget what true courage is, either, and the stories of the remarkable people who have displayed it.

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