Ray Emory fought for his country and shipmates on Dec. 7, 1941, and through World War II, and much later in life, for those who never made it though Pearl Harbor and were buried as “unknowns” at Punchbowl cemetery.

The longtime Kahala resident was well known for both — including standing his ground on the light cruiser USS Honolulu and firing back at attacking Japanese planes with a .50-caliber heavy machine gun.

But he never wanted to take credit for either, preferring to focus on the identification he doggedly sought for those whose own brave deeds were obscured beneath anonymous graves at the majestic volcanic cemetery.

In 2017 the former chief boatswain’s mate said that all of the Pearl Harbor “unknowns” should get greater respect.

“After all, they were a bunch of young kids that joined the service … and getting killed like they did, they were actually murdered on the first day and never even had a chance to fight,” he said.

Emory, 97, died peacefully in his sleep at a Boise, Idaho, hospital Monday morning, close friend Jim Taylor said.

The iron man of Pearl Harbor survivors, a sharp-minded and sometimes cantankerous former mechanical engineer who reveled in figuring out who was buried in what grave at Punchbowl, even as recently as earlier this year, took a turn for the worse after his wife, Jinny, died unexpectedly May 13.

“I knew he was going downhill. As soon as he lost Jinny, I could see it coming,” said Taylor, a retired command master chief and Navy Region Hawaii’s volunteer liaison to Dec. 7 survivors and their families.

“He told me, ‘All I really want to do now is to join Jinny,’” Taylor said.

When it came to self-­description, the “worst four-letter word” in Emory’s vocabulary was “hero,” ­according to Taylor.

He wouldn’t take credit for it, but Taylor believes “without any doubt” that Emory shot down a low-flying Japanese aircraft on Dec. 7.

He manned the belt-­fed gun at one of the best sighting spots in the harbor. Crews on that side of the ship, 45 feet off the water, fired thousands of rounds, and five of the last seven torpedo planes were brought down.

One plane was hit by something that stopped it in midair and caused it to explode and drop straight down as its prop kept spinning through the air, Emory frequently recalled.

For close to 30 years, Emory made it his vocation to secure greater recognition for Pearl Harbor “unknowns” at Punchbowl.

He is credited with adding ship information and “Pearl Harbor” to graves, and starting the process that led to the disinterment of more than 388 sailors from the battleship USS Oklahoma for identification.

At one time Emory was historian for the Pearl Harbor Survivors Association.

He also did not hesitate to criticize the National Park Service, which oversees the Arizona Memorial, for some of its decisions, or the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, better known as Punchbowl, for early on resisting his quest to add grave site identifying information.

“He was a hard-headed boatswain’s mate,” Taylor said. “He would not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“(But) look at all the families who have been affected by him,” he added. “They have identified over 100 now of the Oklahoma (crew).”

Emory “was always a contributor to history,” said Daniel Martinez, chief historian for the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument, which includes the Arizona Memorial. “He was an amateur historian, but as an amateur historian he was very professional in his approach, and there’s no doubt that he changed Pearl Harbor history.”

Martinez said there are now probably about eight Pearl Harbor survivors in Hawaii who are known from past records.

Emory left Hawaii in June after his wife died, and moved to Boise to live with family.

Before he left the Navy surprised him with a farewell ceremony and honor cordon of sailors that stretched longer than a football field at Pier Bravo 21, where Emory’s ship, the USS Honolulu, was moored on the Day of Infamy.

Emory told those assembled that he wanted “to go back down and just (stop) off at Pier 21 and say goodbye to that berth. So I’m saying goodbye, but I didn’t expect all of these people to be here. Thank you very, very, very much.”

He is expected to be buried at Diamond Head Memorial Park next to his wife — probably with the shell casing from the first round he fired on Dec. 7, 1941.

He didn’t know why he bent over in the heat of battle and picked it up.

“I’ve had that .50-caliber shell in my pocket or at home since that day,” he said in June.

Asked why he kept it all those years, he said, “Just a part of me, I guess. Just a part of me.”