May 2026 Lights of Peace Flag to Honor The Memory of Chief Petty Officer, Leonard DeMedeiros WWII Navy Veteran

During the month of May, the 80th Lights for Peace flag to fly at the Fort Taber – Fort Rodman Military Museum honors the memory of United States Navy Chief Petty Officer, Leonard DeMedeiros, of Fairhaven, who was one of 33 survivors aboard the USS Squalus that sank off the coast of Portsmouth, NH on May 23, 1939, killing 26 men. Leonard DeMedeiros served a total of 30 years in the United States Navy, 20 of which were at sea aboard subs and the other 10 were aboard sub-tenders, substations or on recruiting duty.

DeMedeiros was born in New Bedford, MA on Nov. 23, 1910, the son of the late Frank and Adelaide (Souza) DeMedeiros. He was the husband of the late Eveyln (Paiva) DeMedeiros.

Leonard enlisted in the United States Navy on June 11, 1928, and attended the Naval Training Station in Newport, RI, going on to serve aboard the USS Arkansas. After additional training at the Submarine Training School in New London, CT, he served aboard the USS Holland, USS Cuyama, USS Chaumont (where he was stationed in China) and the USS Henderson.

It would be his service aboard the USS Squalus that would change his life forever. This year, on May 23, 2026, it will be the 87th anniversary of the sinking of the USS Squalus. According to a news article from Seacoastline.com published in 2017, “The Squalus operation remains, nearly eight decades later, the only successful undersea submarine rescue in history.”

The article recounts the sinking and rescue efforts of the USS Squalus which Chief Petty Officer DeMedeiros experienced along with the other crew members on that fateful day. “When the submarine USS Squalus departed from Portsmouth Naval Shipyard the morning of May 23, 1939, no one could have foreseen the unprecedented tragedy and heroism about to unfold over the next 48 hours.” By the time the tragedy was over, 26 men would lose their lives, and 33 men would be rescued in what would be the greatest undersea rescue of all time.”

The Squalus was launched on Sept. 14, 1938, and commissioned in March 1939, when systematic tests began. “Submarining was in its infancy then and disasters often generated headlines. Between 1921 and 1938, 825 men died in 18 submarines from various countries.” Due to the failed rescue attempts, submarines became known as “coffin service.”

The tragedy unfolded when the Squalus, a diesel-electric vessel, 300 foot long, armed with 8 torpedo tubes, a 3 inch deck gun and .05 caliber machine guns, was conducting an exercise off the Isles of Shoals, intended to test the Squalus’ capability for submerging at a high rate of speed in case of an enemy attack.

According to the Naval History Magazine, the Squalus was descending which required “in quick succession that the diesels shut down, the inductions close, and battery-powered electric motors take over for underwater propulsion. As a backup safety test, a blast of high-pressure air into the submarine caused the on-board barometer to rise, assuring that inductions and all other openings to the ocean were shut. It looked like a perfect dive.

Suddenly, Commanding Officer Oliver Naquin noticed a fluttering of air pressure in his ears. Simultaneously, the yeoman monitoring reports over the Squalus’s intercom blanched as he heard a frantic plea from the engine room. ‘Take her up! The induction’s open!’ The yeoman turned to Naquin. ‘Engine rooms are flooding, sir!’”

Water poured into the boat through the induction pipes. “As men tumbled about, grasping for footing in the engine rooms, Naquin tried to surface by blowing ballast tanks. The boat hung momentarily, struggling to shake free, but then the stem plunged backwards at a 45° angle. The captain, hanging onto the periscope- ordered his crew to close watertight doors between the ship’s seven compartments.” Water quickly rushed in to fill four of the submarine’s seven compartments. It would later be discovered that 26 men had perished.

“For the survivors, a new peril arose. Seawater began short-circuiting the boat’s two batteries, arranged in 252 six-foot-high cells lining the keel. Chief Electrician’s Mate Lawrence Gainer noted a rapid voltage drain in the forward battery room. A hull-splitting explosion was imminent. Lights flickered and went out, leaving the crew in darkness. Taking a flashlight, Gainer lowered himself below deck into the narrow crawl space between the smoldering cells. As he disengaged one of two large disconnect switches, a miniature lightning storm erupted, sizzling blue-white and melting insulation on the hull. Half blinded, he reached for the other switch and broke the circuit.” Many felt that he was the real hero who saved the ship.

“As the submarine plunged deeper, there was fear of an implosion. Leonard DeMedeiros recalled, ‘The only frightening thing was I didn’t know how much water was under us. I thought we might go down to 300 or 400 feet and crush in.’ Fortunately, the boat settled upright in the mud of the Atlantic floor, 240 feet down.”

Momsen lungs, predecessors of the SCUBA (self contained breathing apparatus) of today, were distributed, in case swimming was required as a last resort, but the Momsen lungs had only been tested at depths up to 200 ft. Naquin also ordered blankets, food and oxygen to be distributed to the crew.

In the meantime, a telephone line connected to a buoy was deployed to the surface. Red smoke rockets were fired periodically to attract attention. Naquin was confident a search would begin soon.

When the Squalus was reported overdue, the USS Sculpin headed for the Squalus’ last known location and spotted the smudge of an exploding rocket on the horizon. The buoy from the Squalus was located and Lt. Commander Warren Wilkin began to communicate with Naquin when a large ocean swell snapped the cable and communication ceased.

In the meantime, the USS Falcon, a submarine tender left New London, CT carrying a diving bell, the revolutionary McCann rescue chamber on board. “The chamber had never before been used in a rescue attempt, only in training. Its inventors— Lieutenant Commander Charles Momsen and Commander Allan McCann—went aboard the Falcon to help. The nine-ton chamber looked like an inverted tumbler. Like a submarine, it submerged by means of compressed air, ballast tank, and a watertight hull. Using air-driven power and winches, it was supposed to lower itself to the disabled submarine’s deck. A rubber gasket would seal the chamber to a hatch on the submarine. Then, blowing water ballast from its lower chamber, the bell’s two operators would open their hatch and the submarine’s hatch and take on the Squalus’s trapped crewmen. That, at any rate, was the idea. On this day, the bell would be put to the test of whether it could save a submarine crew for the first time.

The Falcon arrived at 0430, mooring over the Squalus at 0800, 23 hours after the sinking. By that time, the survivors were suffering headaches and nausea from labored breathing as Naquin stretched the air supply. At intervals, he released stored oxygen to relieve the symptoms.

Within an hour, a hard-hat diver from the Falcon began his descent, carrying the downhaul cable from a winch inside the rescue bell. The extreme depth affected him. slowing his reflexes as he landed with a thud on the deck over the forward torpedo room. The diver eventually succeeded in connecting the cable to the hatch. Then the two operators carefully maneuvered the bell, reaching the Squalus after an hour-long descent. The bell settled gently around the hatch, which was pumped clear of water. Torpedoman First Class John Mihalowski cranked it open.” Naquin divided the crew into four groups for successive trips to the surface. Naquin, as skipper, was among the last men rescued on the fourth trip. Finally, after four perilous hours, the last survivors bobbed to the surface—40 hours after the Squalus sank.

The Squalus survivors included the captain, three officers, one civilian and 28 enlisted men. The following week on Memorial Day, survivors joined to remember the 26 crew members lost.

“The Navy later concluded that a mechanical malfunction caused the disaster. As a result, submarine hull valves were converted to quick-closing flapper vales to prevent future tragedies. The court exonerated the crew of the Squalus, commending Naquin for his outstanding leadership during the crisis.” Naquin wrote in his report, ‘Never in my remaining life do I expect to again witness so true an exemplification of comradeship and brotherly love . . . They shared their blankets, the crowded deck space, lay in each other’s arms in an effort to keep one another a little warmer.’ Years later, Naquin was asked if he blamed himself for what happened. ‘I have absolutely no sense of guilt. I know that I reacted correctly. We all did,’ he said.

The sinking of the Squalus would go on to inspire books and films including “The Terrible Hours,” by author Peter Mass.

Remarkably, the Squalus was repaired and recommissioned as the USS Sailfish the following year, according to Seacoastline.com. Four survivors volunteered to say on with Sailfish. Today, the Squalus/Sailfish is located on the grounds of the Portsmouth Shipyard as a memorial to those lost in 1939 and as a tribute to her WWII record which is credited with sinking nearly 84,000 tons of enemy shipping during the war including two Japanese aircraft carriers. She was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation.

Four years after the sinking of the USS Squalus, DeMedeiros served aboard the USS Flounder and completed two patrols of war. After the war, he was assigned to recruiting and taught throughout the United States until his retirement as Chief Petty Officer in 1957.

Twenty years after the sinking of the Squalus, retired Navy Chief Torpedoman, DeMedeiros was interviewed for a Standard-Times article. “It’s my rebirthday,” he says of May 23, 1959. He was 48 years old at the time, but says 20 years ago he was “reborn” when he was rescued from the sub. DeMedeiros was described as a mild-mannered soft-spoken former sailor. He reflected on the ordeal, “I think about it from time to time,” “I often think of how lucky in am. I think of the buddies I lost, many of whom served on China duty with me. I know someone else was with us.”

DeMedeiros lived most of his life in Fairhaven. He passed away at the age of 84 on Dec. 7, 1994, and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, a fitting resting place for a man whose life was devoted to serving his country with distinction. He and his late wife, Evelyn (Paiva) DeMedeiros did not have any children, but they were survived by several nieces, nephews and cousins. His remarkable 30 years of dedicated service in the United States Navy reflect a life defined by commitment, sacrifice, and honor. His memory remains a proud testament to duty, perseverance, and patriotism.