The Congressional Medal of Honor

Tribute to the then last surviving Medal of Honor winner at Pearl Harbor
and Hancock Shipmate - the Late John William Finn

Lt John William Finn has now joined his Fallen Comrades having Passed this Mortal Scene
27 May 2010 - May He Rest in Peace!

John Finn with Marine Honor Guard at Reunion 2004 at Millbrae, CA

Visit here for The Finn Gallery and more of these pictures

The Story behind the man:

Hero was hit but downed enemy plane: A Spotlight on John William Finn, Oldest surviving Medal of Honor recipient at Pearl Harbor

By Thomas Peele
Posted May 24, 2004

MILLBRAE, California, site of the USS Hancock CV/CVA-19 Association's 13th Bi-Annual Reunion - You're 94 now and for more than 60 years, it has angered you when they write about you or tell stories and get things wrong. You didn't shoot down 20 Japanese planes on Dec.7, 1941.

You shot down one that you know of, one confirmed kill. One plane that came down almost whole, in the Hawaiian woods, and the idiot Navy to which you devoted your life since you were 16 years old didn't have sense enough to preserve the wreckage, tear it apart, learn something about the nation's new enemy.

There weren't 20 men around whose necks Admiral Chester W. Nimitz hung the Congressional Medal of Honor on Sept. 15, 1942, on board the USS Enterprise. There was just you, John William Finn, Pearl Harbor survivor, American hero.

The other sailors that day? They got the Navy Cross and other medals. Get it right.

You keep the medal in your pocket now and pull it out when searching for a hotel room key and pass it around. No one else who has this medal is older than you -- you are America's elder statesman of heroism.

The Navy reunions come and go. This weekend it was the crew of the USS Hancock. You bring the medal, of course. They all want to see it and ask you to come from San Diego County, where you live alone on your cattle ranch, your wife dead, the steers long sold.

At 94 your arms are still lean and sinewy, as if you could fire that .50 again. You wear a golf shirt and black boots and insist the wheelchair in the room is just for show.

You hate questions about what the medal means to you.

"I can't help but know it is the highest award," you say. "You've got to hold the fact that there is a Medal of Honor, and you have to respect the people who have one."

You want to make sure that everything is right.

You weren't a lieutenant that day on the Enterprise. That would come later. You still had the rank you had on that infamous morning -- munitions chief -- when you awoke to the sound of strange planes and stranger machine gun fire at Kaneohe Bay Naval Air Station near Pearl Harbor and went to sleep that night in a Naval hospital, 21 wounds in your body, the world a far different place.

That morning you had been in the Navy for 15 years. The Navy! When you saw those sailors on shore leave when you were a kid in Los Angeles, riding the Pacific Electric Railway to your high-school dropout's job in a glove factory, you knew you wanted to join the Navy.

In those 15 years, you learned some things. What the guns sounded like, of course, since you were in munitions, but also the flight paths and when pilots flew. On that Sunday morning you knew something was wrong. Who the hell flew over the barracks on Sunday morning?

You started driving for the hangars in your Ford, obeying the base's 20 mph speed limit, picking up other sailors on the way. Then you saw a fighter and it turned and there were two red balls under the wings -- "the rising sun" -- and the Ford was doing 80.

First you grabbed a .30-caliber machine gun, but what could that do? You ran out into the open with it anyway. You didn't even have a proper mount for it. Then a .50-caliber jammed and you unjammed it and you started shooting at planes. That's the thing, you say now. You shot at planes. Your country was being attacked and that is what you did, you shot at planes. You didn't run.

Hero was hit but downed enemy plane

For two-and-half hours you shot. Shrapnel hit your arms and legs. Something blew through your foot and you stayed on the .50. Planes were burning on the ground and in the water and you couldn't hear the men around you for the noise of bombs and fires.

You yelled at them, "Stay on your guns." There seemed to be a break in the attack. Then you saw the holes in your chest and stomach oozing blood. Oozing. Then in the distance you saw a speck. It grew larger and flew lower and you told yourself not to fire yet.

The black smoke from the burning planes blew to the north and you saw this plane dip into it and then come out and you saw its propeller turn the smoke in a circle, like a wreath. You fired, the plane coming right at you. Maybe you got off eight rounds and they found the plane in the woods.

Then you noticed a hole through your arm and more blood and you finally relented and went to the hospital. The doctors counted 21 holes in your body and worried about infections and that you might die.

Your name is Munitions Chief John William Finn, you tell the surgeons, and you don't need a medal to prove you're a hero.

Congressional Medal of Honor

Lieutenant John William Finn's Medal of Honor Citation

John Finn visits his fallen Shipmates at the 65th Commemoration Ceremony
December 7, 2006

Hiram Greer, the Hancock Association Newsletter Editor states…

Several of the Hancock Association Members have written to their U. S. Senators and their U.S. House Members concerning the possibility of having a ship named after John W. Finn, oldest recipient of the Medal of Honor, going back to his service at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. They are encouraging other Association members who are willing to write to their Senators and House Representative to write letters requesting that this be considered and action taken to help in this effort. I intend to do this and am sending a suggested letter for your use. Insert your Senator and/or Congressman's names. You can copy and adapt it for your own use.

Letter provided by Hyram Greer,
Hannah News Editor