Four Chaplains Day

The SS Dorchester was an old coastal liner, pressed into wartime service as a troop transport, sailing through the frigid North Atlantic in early 1943. The ship was packed with over 900 souls, young soldiers bound for a posting in Greenland, Coast Guard sailors tasked with escort duties, and four chaplains—men of faith from different denominations but united in their calling to serve. The chaplains were an unusual brotherhood: Reverend George L. Fox, a Methodist minister and World War I veteran; Rabbi Alexander D. Goode, a brilliant scholar and committed humanitarian; Father John P. Washington, a tough, street-smart Catholic priest from Newark; and Reverend Clark V. Poling, a Dutch Reformed minister following in his father’s footsteps. Together, they had bonded during training, their shared mission transcending theological differences. These men of faith were not warriors in the traditional sense, but their courage would soon eclipse that of the fiercest soldier.

On January 23, 1943, the Dorchester set sail from New York, accompanied by two merchant ships and three U.S. Coast Guard cutters—Tampa, Escanaba, and Comanche. Convoy SG-19 was an inviting target for German U-boats, which had been hunting along the North Atlantic supply lines for months. Onboard, the Dorchester’s captain, Hans Danielsen, knew the risks. He ordered his men to sleep in their clothes and wear life jackets at all times. Some obeyed, but many found the bulky gear too uncomfortable in the cramped, overheated holds. The chaplains, understanding the men’s unease, spent their time moving among them, offering reassurance and quiet words of encouragement. They held services, led prayers, and eased tensions among the seasick and anxious troops.

Beneath the waves, German submarine U-223, under the command of Kapitänleutnant Karl-Jürg Wächter, had been tracking the convoy. The Dorchester, slow-moving and overburdened, was an irresistible target. In the early morning hours of February 3, 1943, at 12:55 a.m., a single torpedo streaked through the darkness and slammed into the Dorchester’s midsection. The explosion was devastating. The boiler room was obliterated, killing dozens instantly. The electrical system failed, plunging the ship into darkness. Steam hissed from ruptured pipes, and the stench of burning fuel filled the air. Panic swept through the decks as men stumbled blindly, trying to reach the lifeboats in the blackness.

The chaplains immediately sprang into action. Instead of heading for safety, they moved through the chaos, calling out directions, calming the frightened, and helping the wounded toward the decks. Some of the lifeboats had been damaged in the blast. Others were inaccessible due to the ship’s sudden list. Men scrambled to don life jackets, but the supply was running out. It was then that the four chaplains made a fateful decision—without hesitation, each one removed his own life jacket and handed it to a soldier who had none. They knew exactly what that meant. Without life jackets, there was no survival in the icy Atlantic.

Survivors later recalled the four chaplains standing together near the rail, arms linked, their voices raised in prayer and song. They comforted those who could not escape, offering final blessings to the terrified men around them. They prayed in English, Hebrew, and Latin, embodying the unity of faith over division. One soldier, struggling in the freezing water, looked back just in time to see the ship’s bow rise high before it slid beneath the waves. The chaplains were still there, standing side by side, as the Dorchester vanished beneath the sea.

The rescue operation was grim and harrowing. The Coast Guard cutters Comanche, Escanaba, and Tampa raced to the scene, but the freezing water was as lethal as the torpedo itself. The temperature was barely above freezing, and most men who survived the explosion succumbed to hypothermia within minutes. Escanaba’s crew attempted a new rescue technique, using lines to pull barely-conscious survivors from the water. They worked tirelessly, but the cold claimed its victims too quickly. Of the 904 men aboard the Dorchester, only 230 survived.

The sacrifice of the Four Chaplains was not forgotten. Their story spread quickly, capturing the imagination of a nation already weary from the losses of war. They were awarded the Distinguished Service Cross and the Purple Heart, but there was a problem: the Medal of Honor, the nation’s highest award, required direct combat with the enemy. The Four Chaplains had no weapons, only faith and courage. To recognize their unparalleled sacrifice, Congress created a special medal—the Four Chaplains’ Medal, an honor equal in rank to the Medal of Honor. It was awarded posthumously in 1961.

Their legacy endures. On February 3, 1951, President Harry S. Truman dedicated the Chapel of the Four Chaplains in Philadelphia, declaring their story “one of the most remarkable of any in the annals of heroism.” In 1988, Congress established Four Chaplains Day, ensuring their memory would live on. Their sacrifice remains a timeless lesson in selflessness, unity, and faith. In an era when division seems to dominate headlines, their story reminds us of the power of courage, compassion, and a willingness to serve others at the cost of one’s own life.

The Four Chaplains did not ask about faith or creed before they handed over their life jackets. They did not hesitate or second-guess. In their final moments, standing together on the sinking ship, they showed the world what true heroism looks like. Their voices, raised in prayer as the icy waters closed in, still echo through history.