How oldest Pearl Harbor survivor is keeping memory of the surprise bombing alive

Freeman Johnson, the nation’s oldest living survivor of the Pearl Harbor attack, was far below deck, immersed in the arduous task of repairing a boiler on the USS St. Louis when Japanese planes descended on December 7, 1941.

Now 106, Johnson never witnessed the surprise assault firsthand, nor did he hear the anti-aircraft guns of his shipmates firing at the attacking aircraft. By the time he emerged topside, the light cruiser St. Louis had already skillfully evaded midget submarines and was making its escape to sea.

"While all the rigamarole was going on topside, I was inside a steam drum. Couldn’t see anything, absolutely nothing," recalled Johnson, a resident of Centerville, Massachusetts.

His living room is a testament to his Navy service, adorned with mementos, photographs of the St. Louis, and himself as a young sailor, alongside a collection of Navy challenge coins and ribbons. He still possesses his original military identification tag.

Even as the St. Louis steamed into the vast Pacific Ocean, Johnson, whose role was that of a fireman, remained largely unaware of the full scope of the attack.

"We were way out to sea, way out. You couldn’t see any land at all. All you saw was ocean," he explained. "I was just a sailor, just a swabbie, I was not an officer. They don’t tell you anything if you don’t need to know. And I didn’t need know it. So they tell you nothing."

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When speaking to schoolchildren, Johnson is often asked if he was scared that day. His gravelly voice rises as he responds, "You’re not scared. You’re too busy to be scared. Besides, you don’t know what you’re scared of. You can’t see anything. What are you afraid of?"

Johnson assumed the mantle of the oldest survivor following the death of fellow World War II Navy veteran Ira "Ike" Schab in December, who was 105. With Schab’s passing, only 11 survivors of the devastating attack remain. The assault claimed the lives of just over 2,400 troops and irrevocably propelled the United States into the global conflict.

Each year, a solemn remembrance ceremony is held at the military base’s waterfront for Pearl Harbor survivors. While approximately 2,000 survivors attended the 50th-anniversary event in 1991, only a few dozen have appeared in recent decades. In 2024, a mere two made the journey, a stark contrast to the estimated 87,000 troops stationed on Oahu that fateful day. Last year, none were able to make the pilgrimage to Hawaii.

For much of his life, Johnson deliberately avoided the spotlight, rarely speaking about his experience. He was, after all, one of tens of thousands of sailors present on that tragic day. He remembers his wife, Ruth, believing his story was "something special" and calling the Navy, only for "the girl laughed at her."

However, as the oldest survivor, Johnson has become a local celebrity and the reluctant public face of one of World War II’s most pivotal events. His 106th birthday party saw him arrive in a limousine, greeted by television cameras. He now receives letters from across the globe and is routinely hailed as a hero wherever he goes. Despite being hard of hearing, requiring a walker, and suffering from congestive heart failure, Johnson can recall his wartime experiences with remarkable detail.

At 19, unemployed and living at home in Waltham, Johnson signed up for the Navy to avoid being drafted into the Army, believing it would be less physically demanding.

"As a kid, I walked. If I wanted to go somewhere, I walked or took my bicycle. But I didn't want to walk from France to Germany," he recounted, gesturing animatedly from his recliner. "It's a long way carrying a knapsack with you ... Water for a day, food for a day, a 9-pound Springfield rifle all on your back and walking through the mud. No thanks. That’s why I joined the Navy."

Johnson’s memories extend beyond Pearl Harbor, encompassing significant historical roles rather than just battles. He helped commission the USS Iowa and vividly recalls the battleship’s preparations in November 1943 for transporting President Franklin D. Roosevelt to the Tehran Conference with British Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Soviet dictator Josef Stalin. The ship was specially equipped with two elevators and a bathtub, and much of its ammunition and oil were removed to lighten it for its journey down the Potomac River to pick up Roosevelt.

"It was a big meeting," Johnson said of the historic summit, remembering how the crew were photographed with Roosevelt. "I don’t know what they talked about, but I didn’t need to know. We picked him back up, brought him home."

Johnson also witnessed the war’s conclusion aboard the Iowa, watching the surrender ceremonies from about a mile away in Tokyo Bay aboard the USS Missouri on September 2, 1945.

"I could see the boats coming up with the Marines escorting the Japanese onto ship and sitting around a table," he described. "It was all over. That was the end of the war. A bunch of us got together — the war is over. Let's go home."

These days, his daughter, Diane Johnson, is often by his side. They live together and make an annual trip on December 7, frequently attending Pearl Harbor remembrance events, including the 65th and 80th anniversaries in Hawaii. Diane often prompts her father to share his stories, playfully reminding him of his "responsibility" to educate, especially children, about the bombing.

"It’s kind of overwhelming when you think of it. Well, the 106 is what gets me," she reflected. "When I think about his history, he’s at the beginning, he’s at middle, he is at the end when he witnessed the surrender. It’s something."

Johnson began receiving more attention several years ago after Diane heard a local television report incorrectly stating that the last survivor in the state had died. Her call to correct the record significantly raised his profile. He also became a regular fixture in the Cape Cod St. Patrick's Parade, often leading the procession.

Desmond Keogh, the parade chairman who has accompanied Johnson, remarked, "I wish more people were like him today. He just gets on and doesn't complain about anything. It's what this country was all about. They were just a different generation. They did what was best for their country."

Despite the focus on Pearl Harbor, the gruff Johnson, known for his cackling laugh and mischievous smile, does not consider it the defining moment of his life. That distinction, he says, belongs to marrying his late wife after the war and raising three daughters. He also worked for years in a machinist shop, then a convenience store, and finally delivered meals to seniors, retiring from his last job at the age of 90.

"Pearl Harbor just happened. I can’t put it any other way," he stated.