FORD ISLAND — As torpedoes exploded into the side of the battleship USS Oklahoma on Dec. 7, 1941, plunging below-deck spaces into darkness, a lithe and lean George Brown raced up a ladder and shimmied through a partly sprung hatch and escaped to safety.

At 5 feet 4 and 120 pounds, Brown was small enough to fit through the busted hatch, which would only open about 12 inches wide. Others tried but couldn't make it through. Some gashed themselves as they pulled through the steel edges of the hatch made ragged from explosions.

"If I hadn't gotten out of there, I'd have been a name on the memorial," said Brown, an 86-year-old 'Aiea Heights resident.

Last week Brown walked among the 429 names of sailors and Marines who didn't make it and are honored at a new Oklahoma memorial to be dedicated at Ford Island today.

The Oklahoma rolled over at its mooring on Battleship Row 66 years ago today, trapping the 429 men in an upside-down world. It was the second highest death toll after the USS Arizona.

Over following decades, there would be ignominy heaped on the death.

Until now, there was no memorial on Ford Island to the men of the Oklahoma.

That will change at noon today when the $1.2 million black granite and white marble tribute to the fallen — paid for largely through contributions from Oklahoma corporations, foundations and residents — will be dedicated.

In 2006, President Bush signed the memorial into law.

The Oklahoma dedication is one of several events on the 66th anniversary of the attack. More than 2,000 people are expected to attend the 7:55 a.m. observance at Kilo Pier at Pearl Harbor, the time when Japanese planes struck.

George Brown will attend the Oklahoma dedication.

Nearly seven decades after his narrow escape from the battleship, Brown walks with the aid of a cane, and takes slow, unsteady steps. A stroke has affected his mobility.

"It's no good to get old," said Brown. But he knows he was one of the lucky ones.

About 17 of his fellow crew members are expected from the Mainland, along with at least 700 attendees from Oklahoma and O'ahu, officials said.

"I wouldn't miss it," Brown said. "I waited 66 years for this. I lost 429 shipmates."

ENGRAVED IN GRANITE

Their names are now engraved in black granite and on 429 individual white marble columns, each of which is 7 feet tall and weighs 120 pounds.

Tucker McHugh, a retired Navy commander and co-chair of the Oklahoma Memorial Commission, said the memorial's "V" shape replicates the bow of the Oklahoma, and the individual white standards represent the lost men.

"We wanted to show the 429 still manning the rails of their ship — the USS Oklahoma," McHugh said.

There are just 90 survivors still alive, he said. Over the past year, about 15 have died.

Some of the attending survivors are still pretty healthy, McHugh said, while others will be in wheelchairs with relatives helping out. The youngest are in their mid-80s, while the oldest is 94.

"When you get to 90 years old, you don't hear so well, you don't see so good," he said.

Asked why it took so long to get a memorial to the Oklahoma at Pearl Harbor, McHugh said, "I really can't answer that. I know it's a shameful oversight."

After the war, the survivors "just wanted to get back to their families and start their lives again," he said. Decades passed. In the meantime, memorials to other battleship losses were completed on Ford Island or at Pearl Harbor somewhere.

About seven years ago, Oklahomans including McHugh began pushing for a memorial on Ford Island.

"When we said, 'We want a memorial,' the answer that came back (from the Navy) was, 'Well, if you get a memorial, then all of the ships in the harbor that day — and there were over 100 — will want a memorial.' And we said, 'So what's wrong with that?' "

It took congressional intervention to make the memorial happen.

A groundbreaking was held a year ago on Dec. 7. A ceremonial flag will be hoisted today by Signalman 1st Class Paul Goodyear, an Oklahoma survivor.

NO CHOICE BUT DEATH

Sixty-six years after the attack, Brown still vividly remembers the life-and-death struggle that occurred below decks on the Oklahoma.

The ship cook, then 20, was in charge of the "spud locker," a vegetable preparation room.

When general quarters was sounded, he went from his work area one deck above the main deck to a deck below the main deck. Before he made it, three torpedoes had struck the big ship, he said.

A fourth torpedo that hit within 20 feet of Brown let in so much water he was swept into the next compartment.

He looked up and saw a hatch partially blown open at the end of a ladder.

"I told the rest of the guys, 'You can stay here if you want to, but I'm getting the hell out,' " he said.

Three or four men his size were able to squeeze out through the jagged-metal opening.

Others weren't able to fit through and died.

"Then the lights went out. We were in the pitch dark," he said. "I told the guys, 'Drop down to your knees and keep talking.' So we stayed together and we felt our way to the aft quarter deck."

Another hatch opened, and the men slid into the harbor from the then-listing battleship. Brown remembers cases of apples, oranges and potatoes floating among the dead bodies. Swimming out farther, he was picked up by a boat.

The pain of that loss has been dulled but still wells up. He visited the memorial last week to see the progress being made toward its completion.

"I joined the Navy with Collins — Jimmy Collins went through boot camp with me," he said, pointing his wooden cane at the name of Collins, James E., on the black granite of the memorial.

Brown had made a vow that if he was ever near Collins' parents' home in Kentucky, he'd stop in. Years later, he made good on that.

"I went over and knocked and Mr. Collins came to the door," he said. "I said, 'Mr. Collins, you probably don't know who I am.' He said, 'Son, come inside. There you are.' "

The elder Collins pointed to the mantle, and in a photo was Brown and Jimmy Collins, Brown said, tears welling in his eyes as he told the story at the memorial.

For Brown, seeing the finished memorial today will help pay final respects to his fellow shipmates.

"It makes me feel happy — at least after 66 years we've got something," he said.

Reach William Cole at wcole@honoluluadvertiser.com.