In presenting the medal, Secretary Mabus acknowledged the military's record of racism that prevented people like Mr. Clark from being honored for valor. He spoke of African Americans who "risked their lives for their nation," fighting for American ideals and the promise of justice that the country hadn't fulfilled for them.
Mr. Clark's actions, he said, exemplify "a standard of conduct we should all aspire to." He noted that Mr. Clark has said he doesn't consider himself a hero. "But we do," the secretary said, the audience erupting in applause.
Mr. Clark's actions that long-ago day and into the night "played an undeniably significant role" in saving the ship and the lives of countless sailors, said Congresswoman Anna Eshoo, D-Menlo Park, who hosted the event. For two years, Ms. Eshoo worked to secure official military recognition for Mr. Clark, 95, a resident Menlo Park.
The ceremony was attended by family members who came from all over the state and country, by a multitude of friends, by Mr. Clark's fellow members of St. Francis of Assisi Church in East Palo Alto, and by people who had never met Mr. Clark, but were touched by his story of heroism and the injustice that delayed his recognition for 66 years.
As a military band played the national anthem and military passages ushering in Secretary Mabus and Rep. Eshoo, family members quietly wept. And when Mr. Clark slowly walked into the spacious hall aided by a cane, applause and whistles broke out, then morphed into a hand-clapping processional chant: Carl, Carl, Carl.
Also in the audience, tears streaming down her cheeks, was "life stories" writing instructor Sheila Dunec. It was Ms. Dunec who went to Rep. Eshoo with Carl Clark's story, which the veteran shared in 2000 during a World War II life stories course Ms. Dunec conducted at the Menlo Park Library. Originally a writing course, it evolved into a project that included oral presentations, a video and, several years ago, a staged event.
Mr. Clark told the crowd that "this never would have happened" if it hadn't been for Ms. Dunec. He thanked her and Rep. Eshoo, who "brought this honor to a conclusion."
Acknowledging other blacks in the military who were never recognized for their service, he noted: "We were loyal Americans and tried to do our part."
Secretary Mabus described Mr. Clark's heroism aboard the Aaron Ward, but also his life after he returned to his country, stationed for a time at Moffett, then working for the post office and involving himself with painting, writing and community. "He led a good and productive life," Mr. Mabus said.
Mr. Clark joined the Navy in the 1930s, when blacks could serve only as mess attendants — essentially, officers' servants, he told the Almanac in an earlier interview.
On the Aaron Ward, he was part of an eight-man damage-control unit designated to put out fires and take on other urgent roles if the ship were attacked. On May 3, 1945, Mr. Clark sprang into action when his ship was hit by the kamikaze planes.
When the first signs of the attack were apparent, Mr. Clark recalled, the seven other men in the unit huddled in one area of the deck, yards away from him. When the first plane hit, all seven men were killed. Mr. Clark was flung up against an overhead structure, breaking his collarbone; his helmet and shoes were blown off his body.
When the second plane neared the ship, Mr. Clark could see the pilot's face. Then, the plane hit, and "blew me right across the ship," he said.
With the rest of the damage-control team gone, Mr. Clark ignored his injuries and began an hours-long effort to extinguish fires — including one that broke out in the ammunition locker, threatening to blow up the ship — and to help his surviving shipmates. Although the fire hoses were meant to be handled by at least two men, he often manned them by himself. Without treatment for his own injuries, he worked through the night single-handedly carrying the injured to the medic ward.
Although the ship's captain told Mr. Clark he would make every effort to have him awarded for his heroism, those efforts were unsuccessful. But that injustice ended with the awards ceremony.
The country Mr. Clark defended didn't live up to its responsibility to him, "but today, we correct that omission," Secretary Mabus said.
The ceremony was attended by Mr. Clark's only living child, Karen Collins of Portland. His son died several years ago.
Mr. Clark's two surviving siblings also were there: sisters Korea Strowder, 91, of Washington, D.C., and Katherine Fletcher, 93, of Omaha. They and numerous cousins, nieces and nephews filled the first rows of the audience.
Also in attendance was Faye Lavrakas and Joanna Lavrakas, niece and sister-in-law, respectively, of retired Navy Captain Lefteris "Lefty" Lavrakas. Although Capt. Lavrakas died last August, before knowing that Mr. Clark's medal was approved, it was his testimony, as one of the last surviving officers of the Aaron Ward, that appears to have finalized the approval.
In a November 2010 letter to Secretary Mabus, Rep. Eshoo referred to Capt. Lavrakas' statement about expediting the award: "Please hurry up, Carl and I are both in our 90s and we need to correct this injustice for Carl."
After the ceremony, people streamed to the platform to photograph and shake hands with Mr. Clark. Secretary Mabus and Rep. Eshoo also were swarmed by media and others attending the event.
Among those who struggled through the mass of people on the platform to meet Mr. Clark was Leslie A. Williams, 92, of Belmont. It was a poignant moment when the two retired, uniformed military men were introduced — the U.S. Navy hero warmly shook hands with the veteran of the Tuskegee Airmen, the first all-black group of military pilots who served during World War II.
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