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This week, I had the honor of standing where history shook the earth and lives were forever changed – at the site of the Port Chicago tragedy, 81 years later.
A Place Where History Shook the Earth
The morning was cloudy, the flag above us snapping in the wind, as if to remind us why this place was named. They called it Port Chicago because Chicago is the Windy City, and here on the bay, the gusts whip with the same relentless force, carrying with them the whispers of those who came before.
The Tragedy of July 17, 1944
On July 17, 1944, an explosion tore through this place with unimaginable power. More than 300 sailors – most of them young Black men – were killed instantly while loading munitions onto ships. Over 200 others were injured. It remains the largest homefront disaster of World War II, and its aftermath helped spark a reckoning about racial injustice in the U.S. military.
A Ceremony on Hallowed Ground
The ceremony took place at the very site of the explosion. We stood facing the water, where the ships once docked and the waves now lapped softly at the rocks, as if in quiet mourning. Taps echoed through the air, clear and haunting. The poem Old Glory was read aloud, and its words – of sacrifice, honor, and endurance – caught in the wind and wrapped around us like a shroud.
“I am proud… My name is Old Glory. Long may I wave. Dear God… long may I wave.”
It was impossible not to glance at the flag above us then, rippling sharply against the heavy gray sky, and feel both its pride and its sorrow.
Meeting Hiram, Son of the Port Chicago 50
Earlier in the week, during one of the ceremonial stops, I had met a man named Hiram. I’d learned the story of his father – one of the Port Chicago 50, the brave sailors who stood up for justice in the aftermath of the tragedy, who endured court-martial and condemnation because they refused to return to the same dangerous, unjust conditions.
And now, as the flag was presented during the ceremony, all eyes turned to Hiram. His face carried the weight of history – and the pride of a son – as he accepted the folded flag. His right hand rested gently on top of it, holding it close, before he lifted his gaze toward the heavens, eyes shimmering with tears. It was as though he were whispering to the wind: “It finally happened, Daddy.”
Justice and Remembrance at Last
That moment was not just about remembrance – it was also about justice. After decades of tireless advocacy and the collaborative efforts of so very many groups, these sailors, once court-martialed and branded mutineers, were finally exonerated. The ceremony was a testament to what can happen when people refuse to let a story be forgotten – when they keep pushing for what is right.
Several dignitaries stepped to the microphone throughout the ceremony, each offering words of respect and reflection. Their voices joined a chorus of gratitude, acknowledging the sacrifice of those who perished, and the courage of those who spoke up in the face of injustice.
Sentinels and Symbols of Hope
Afterward, I walked across the rocks and stood at the water’s edge, holding a single red carnation. The broken pier supports that remain after the explosions still jut out of the water like quiet sentinels themselves, watching over the bay where so many lives were lost. They stand as reminders not just of destruction, but of sacrifice – and of the strength it takes to carry forward.
I released my flower to the waves, watching it float out into the bay, and thought again about the words from Old Glory:
“For I am the flag of the United States of America… the flag of freedom, faith, and sacrifice. Wherever I fly, there is a symbol of hope.”
And standing there, with the wind on my face, I thought about the sailors who died here – so many of them resting under markers that still read only “Unknown Sailor.” I thought of the fifty who spoke up, and of the son who finally carried his father’s story home.
Port Chicago: Looking Ahead
I learned about the disaster. About the tragedy. About the fifty who dared.
Now, I look forward to learning the stories of all of those who died instantly that day – the ones whose names still deserve to be known.
I just hope it doesn’t take another 81 years.
We Remember
Beneath the stars, they stood in line,
young hands loading, unaware of time.
The night was hot, the air was still,
then came the blast, the deafening chill.
Names now fade on stone and sea,
yet courage carved their legacy.
Some lie known, and some unknown,
but none were ever truly alone.
For flags still wave where they once fell,
and quiet hearts still hear their knell.
Brave young sailors, steadfast, true –
We remember, because of you.
–Dannelle F Gay
