At 101, WWII Veteran Bill Dillon Still Has the Fight in Him

Part One: A 101-Year-Old Veteran Takes the Stage

At an age when most people would be content simply to reflect on a life well lived, Bill Dillon appears to have little interest in slowing down.

At 101 years old, the World War II veteran remains an unusually energetic figure, carrying with him a lifetime of experiences that stretch from the depths of the Pacific Ocean to the early years of America’s space program. A former U.S. Navy radioman and radar operator aboard the submarine USS Sailfish, Dillon has spent more than eight decades living with the memories of a generation that fought one of the defining wars of the 20th century.

In December 2025, Dillon appeared at a “Champions for America” event at Mar-a-Lago, where he was recognized as one of the evening’s featured American veterans. According to the event organizers, Dillon was 101 at the time and was being honored as a World War II hero and the last surviving crew member of the USS Sailfish.

But rather than quietly accepting the honor, Dillon grabbed the audience’s attention with the kind of enthusiasm that would be remarkable in a man half his age.

Speaking before the crowd, Dillon offered an emphatic expression of his support for President Donald Trump. He praised Trump in deeply personal and patriotic terms, declaring that he believed few people cared more about the United States than the president.

Then came the line that immediately became the defining moment of the appearance.

“I’m 101, going on 102—put a uniform on me, I’ll go tomorrow!”

The remark was delivered with the energy of someone decades younger. It drew an enthusiastic response from the audience and quickly became the most memorable part of Dillon’s appearance.

For Dillon, however, the moment was about more than age.

It was an expression of a lifelong identity built around military service, duty and an enduring attachment to the country he first served as a teenager.

Dillon was born near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in 1924, one of 12 children. He entered the Navy in 1942 during the enormous mobilization that followed America’s entry into World War II. According to his biographical record at the Best Defense Foundation, he joined the USS Sailfish as a radioman and radar operator, positions that placed him at the heart of the submarine’s ability to detect and communicate with other forces.

He was still only a teenager.

Yet within a relatively short period, he would find himself operating in one of the most dangerous environments imaginable: a submarine moving silently beneath the Pacific while Japanese aircraft, ships and submarines hunted American forces.

The young sailor could hardly have known how extraordinary his future would become.

He would survive combat patrols, typhoons and the constant threat of depth charges. He would witness the sinking of a Japanese aircraft carrier. He would participate in rescues of American airmen. And decades later, he would become a living link to a submarine crew whose members had long since passed away.

Today, Dillon is described as the last surviving crew member of the Sailfish. The American Airlines newsroom also identified him as a 101-year-old World War II veteran and the last surviving member of the submarine’s crew when the airline honored him during a 2025 military appreciation event.

That status gives his public appearances an unusual historical significance.

When Dillon speaks about the war, he is not simply repeating stories he learned from books. He was there.

And the submarine on which he served had a history almost as remarkable as the man himself.

Part Two: From the Depths of the Pacific to a Legendary Submarine

The story of Bill Dillon cannot really be understood without understanding the USS Sailfish.

Before it became Sailfish, the submarine had another name: USS Squalus.

In 1939, the submarine suffered a catastrophic accident during a test dive off the coast of New Hampshire. A mechanical failure caused water to flood the vessel, sending it to the seabed with 59 men aboard. Twenty-six crew members died, while 33 survived inside the partially flooded submarine.

What followed became one of the most dramatic submarine rescue operations in American naval history.

Using the newly developed McCann Rescue Chamber, rescuers brought the surviving sailors to the surface in a series of difficult descents. The National Museum of the Pacific War records that the rescue took place over approximately 14 hours, with the final survivors brought out shortly after midnight on May 25, 1939.

The submarine itself was eventually salvaged.

After being raised from the seabed and undergoing extensive repairs, Squalus was decommissioned, rebuilt and renamed USS Sailfish. The vessel returned to service in 1940.

Its transformation was extraordinary: a submarine that had nearly become a graveyard was given a second life and sent into the Pacific.

By the time Bill Dillon joined the crew in 1943, Sailfish had become an operational combat submarine.

Dillon served as a radioman and radar operator, meaning his work was closely connected to the submarine’s ability to detect enemy vessels and communicate with friendly forces.

That role became particularly important during one of the submarine's most famous wartime actions.

On December 3, 1943, Sailfish encountered a Japanese carrier force during a dangerous operation south of Japan. The submarine was operating in difficult weather conditions as a typhoon battered the area.

According to the National Museum of the Pacific War, Sailfish engaged the Japanese carrier Chuyo and eventually succeeded in sinking it after multiple torpedo attacks. The action later became one of the most notable episodes in the submarine’s combat history.

The U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command also confirms that Sailfish sank Chuyo. The historical record contains an especially tragic connection: Chuyo was carrying survivors from another American submarine, USS Sculpin, which had been lost only weeks earlier.

The story is almost difficult to comprehend.

The submarine that had once been Squalus had been saved with assistance from Sculpin during the 1939 disaster. Four years later, Sailfish, the resurrected Squalus, sank the Japanese carrier Chuyo, which was carrying American prisoners captured from Sculpin.

For Dillon, this was not distant history. He was a member of the crew involved in the attack.

The National Museum of the Pacific War notes that Dillon later worked with author Stephen L. Moore on the history of the Sailfish and provided a firsthand account of the nine-hour attack for Moore’s book Strike of the Sailfish. In December 2023, Dillon appeared at a Pearl Harbor remembrance event at the museum at age 99 and was introduced as the sole surviving member of the crew involved in the sinking of Chuyo.

But combat was only one part of Dillon’s wartime experience.

The Sailfish also participated in rescue operations in the Pacific. According to the Best Defense Foundation, the submarine rescued 12 American pilots and aircrew members during operations connected with the Battle of Formosa.

These missions illustrate the extraordinary range of responsibilities undertaken by American submarines during the Pacific War.

They were hunters, scouts, rescuers and intelligence platforms, often operating alone in waters controlled by the enemy.

For the men aboard them, danger was constant.

A submarine could spend hours submerged, listening for enemy ships while knowing that detection could bring depth charges raining down from above. A single mistake could mean the difference between returning home and disappearing beneath the ocean.

Dillon survived.

And unlike many of his fellow sailors, he continued to live long enough to tell the story.

His survival eventually turned him into something more than a veteran. He became a living historical record.

In interviews, Dillon has spoken about the enormous difference between his wartime experiences and the life he built afterward. A profile published by the Topanga New Times quoted him reflecting on the contrast with a remarkably blunt phrase: during the war he had been involved in killing people; afterward, he devoted himself to helping people.

That second chapter of his life would prove almost as remarkable as the first.

Part Three: From World War II to the Space Age—and Back to the Political Stage

When World War II ended, Bill Dillon did not simply disappear into retirement.

Instead, he embarked on a second career that would take him from the Navy into one of the most technologically ambitious periods in American history.

After leaving active military service, Dillon returned to education. Accounts of his life describe how he completed his high school education and went on to study engineering and systems management.

His postwar career eventually brought him into the rapidly expanding American aerospace and space industries.

According to the American Airlines newsroom, Dillon contributed to the development of the first GPS system and was involved in the launch of the United States’ first satellite.

The story is particularly striking because of the contrast.

As a young sailor, Dillon had used radar and radio technology while operating aboard a submarine in the Pacific.

Decades later, he was working with sophisticated systems connected to satellites and space operations.

The American Submariner publication reported that Dillon later worked on satellite tracking and systems design and eventually served as Systems Design Director for the Consolidated Space Operations Center in Colorado Springs.

His life therefore spans several different eras of American technological history.

He was born during the final years of the First World War generation, grew up during the Great Depression, served during World War II, witnessed the beginning of the Space Age and lived through the emergence of modern satellite navigation.

By the time he reached his 100s, Dillon had experienced the presidencies of more than two dozen American presidents.

That perspective helps explain why his public comments today attract attention.

For Dillon, patriotism is not an abstract political slogan. It is connected to a lifetime of personal experience.

He served his country as a teenager.

He returned home and built a family.

He pursued an education.

He worked on projects connected with America’s technological rise.

And he continued to identify strongly with the country he had served during the most consequential conflict of his youth.

That identity was on full display at Mar-a-Lago.

At the 2025 Champions for America celebration, Dillon was recognized alongside other figures associated with military service and conservative political causes. The event organizers specifically highlighted his World War II service aboard Sailfish, his role during the Battle of Formosa and his status as the submarine’s last surviving crew member.

When Dillon took the microphone, the evening became less about ceremony and more about personality.

At 101, he spoke with the confidence and forcefulness of someone who had spent a lifetime refusing to be defined by age.

His comments about Trump were unequivocal.

Dillon described Trump as the person he believed cared most deeply about the country and offered an extraordinary expression of loyalty toward the president.

The reaction was enthusiastic.

But perhaps the most striking element was what came next.

Dillon reminded the audience of his age and then effectively challenged the idea that age had diminished his willingness to serve.

“I’m 101, going on 102—put a uniform on me, I’ll go tomorrow!”

It was a line that worked because it seemed to capture the central theme of Dillon’s entire life.

He was a teenager when he first put on a uniform.

He went to sea when the world was at war.

He served aboard a submarine that survived disaster, went back into combat and earned major wartime distinctions.

He witnessed history beneath the Pacific.

He survived while many others did not.

And more than 80 years later, he was still standing in front of an audience, speaking with the same sense of urgency and conviction.

His appearance also highlights something larger about the dwindling population of World War II veterans.

Every year, fewer Americans remain who personally remember the war from inside a uniform. As that generation disappears, figures such as Dillon become increasingly important as first-person connections to an era that can otherwise feel remote.

Dillon's story is unusual even among veterans.

He was not merely present during World War II. He served aboard one of the U.S. Navy’s historically significant submarines.

The National Museum of the Pacific War records that Sailfish earned nine battle stars and a Presidential Unit Citation for its World War II service.

Dillon later carried those memories into old age, becoming an active participant in commemorations, veteran events and public appearances.

In 2024, Southern California Submarine Veterans reported that Dillon celebrated his 100th birthday and continued to appear at military and veterans’ events. The organization described him as remarkably energetic and noted that he had served aboard Sailfish during the war.

Other organizations have similarly recognized him.

American Airlines honored Dillon as a “Military Hero of the Game” during a Los Angeles Chargers event, describing him as a decorated World War II veteran and the last surviving member of the Sailfish crew.

These honors demonstrate why his story continues to resonate.

For younger generations, World War II can seem like an increasingly distant historical event.

For Dillon, it was his youth.

It was the moment when he left home, entered the Navy and became part of a crew whose fate would be intertwined with some of the most dramatic episodes of the Pacific War.

Now, more than eight decades later, he can still tell the story himself.

That may be the most extraordinary thing about Bill Dillon.

The headline-grabbing moment at Mar-a-Lago was not simply about a 101-year-old man making a dramatic political statement.

It was the latest chapter in a life that has already contained several lifetimes worth of history.

He has lived through the Great Depression.

He served during World War II.

He sailed aboard a submarine that had itself survived a catastrophic sinking.

He participated in a historic attack against a Japanese carrier.

He helped rescue American airmen.

He transitioned from military service into the American aerospace industry.

He contributed to work associated with satellite technology and the emerging GPS era.

He raised a family and built a long postwar life.

And now, in his second century, he continues to appear before crowds with the enthusiasm of someone who refuses to accept that age should dictate what he can say, do or believe.

Whether audiences agree with his politics is ultimately separate from the historical significance of his life.

His story belongs to a generation that experienced war at an age when most people today are still deciding what they want to do with their lives.

At Mar-a-Lago, Dillon offered his own answer to the question of whether he still felt capable of serving.

He did not hesitate.

Put the uniform on him, he said, and he would go tomorrow.

For a man who first put on that uniform more than 80 years ago, the statement was both humorous and deeply revealing.

It showed that the identity forged during his youth has never completely left him.

Bill Dillon may be 101.

But when he talks about service, duty and America, he still sounds like the young sailor who once disappeared beneath the Pacific aboard the USS Sailfish.

And that may be why, decades after the guns of World War II fell silent, audiences still stop to listen when he speaks.