Well, not completely forgotten, at least by me. And certainly not by a small, but dwindling,
group of survivors.
I was a crewman on the
Liberty when she was attacked in June 1967 and was in the security spaces where the torpedo hit. I somehow managed to be first out the compartment's hatch scuttle with only my feet wet. The next guy out was wet to his neck. There were only a few more that made it out alive from that compartment. Lost a few friends.
Both of my wives (successive, not simultaneous) have occasionally had to restrain me from exiting the bedroom window in the middle of the night when I've relived that experience in my dreams.
A high school classmate of mine was on the Pueblo.