"This has been a sad time in a lot of ways."

Camp Pendleton, California
December 30, 1943

Dear Girls,

There is so much to say - somehow I’ve been unable to just sit down and scribble off any kind of note - things have been so rushed - “So Little Time” as J. P. Marquand says. And you’re not always in the mood to say things that are tender and loving.

This has been a sad time in a lot of ways. Of course, I am glad that we are at last under way. I am eager to be tempered in the heat of battle. I want to know the result of the last year and a half of work. I’m not sure that battle will show any results at all. I don’t think that it will have as momentous consequences for me, for my way of life and thought, as we of this generation have been led to believe. I think that I subconsciously expect to be shaken down to the marrow of my moral bones, and if battle should be anything less than “all quiet” then its effect should be slight. This is all surmise, of course; I have no way of knowing what battle will be like. The one thing I do want to find - expect to find - is proof of personal courage and competence under fire. I have no qualms about that. I know it will be there when I need it. But still the mind dwells on it. In idle moments now I find myself fighting imaginary battles - leading my men - hand to hand encounters with lone Japs fought desperately, in silence - stealthy night patrols which invariably, though rather childishly, bring me great glory.

It’s hard to explain my state of mind right now… perhaps not even necessary, because it’s so traditional. Take equal parts of nervous apprehension and the most poignant nostalgia, and you have it. Wondering, not knowing, even fearing what is to come, yet glad that it will be soon. Yes, fearing - not bullets or pain, but that through them I may somehow lose the great happiness that I have come to identify with life. For I have had much more than my share - I sing instinctively. Though Daddy and Rusty are gone, I still love them.

I keep thinking of the past - always with longing – Minturn Avenue – Rex the First and his game on the aqueduct after dinner - Gretchen’s white dress with wide, red embroidery - Shredded Wheat in the morning - sawing wood in the cellar - Mother and Daddy sitting on the patio outside my window talking in low tones, all night, it seemed - Gretchen looking for fairies under the Queen Anne’s Lace – Kim throwing spears of dried goldenrod taken from the lot across the street – selling the Literary Digest – the day the girl next door embarrassed me terribly by saying that I kissed her in the library, which I never did do! Tennis with Mike – playing, it seems amazing now, with Mother, and inwardly seething because she beat me. I used to be a Hell of a poor loser. Daddy laughing as he shook the old silver cocktail shaker with the battered spout that you had to hold your thumb over. Grandaddy standing by the radio that stood on the tall white bookcase and telling funny stories Watching Daddy shave in the bathroom when it was painted light blue and arguing about how to spell “promise.” The little love seat that we were all so proud of, and Mother appropriated – her one selfish trick – of establishing as her own the most comfortable chair in our living room. Remember the deck chair that rocked somehow?

The memories pour out – of Carlo, the dog that never slept, but always smelled – Aunt Is laughing about Sistie and Buzzie’s latest antics – the faint musty smell of warm brown shingles in the sun. Aunt Buck’s “grove” down by Broadway of half a dozen trees – Nana buying choke cherries by the cup, and Mother secretly but eagerly filling cup after cup perched precariously up on the roof. All this and volumes more of Minturn alone – before I was eleven - Christmases that were always happy and light-hearted and together, and all red balls and silver garlands… laurel over the fireplace, and presents rewarded by a kiss, however inadequate my blue box of powder bought at Jakobsen’s Drug Store might be - and now we are separated by distance, and more than distance.

And there is so little time to do so much remembering in… for I want to be sure I know what lies in back of me and what it means before I go on.

Now is the time to evaluate the proceeds of a third of a lifetime - to take stock of oneself, measure the capabilities and limitations - though I must be far from mature yet, for I can realize but few limitations in myself so far. I haven’t failed yet - though I haven’t tried to do much. Or was Rusty a failure?

My mind is in a state of uproar at times - questioning purposes, wondering just why I am here today. For I am certainly not fighting for any political theory - they are all too impermanent - not even for a way of life, for I have none that I know of - my only aim in this war is the extremely personal one of securing the safety of two charming women whom I love very dearly. The book says I should have more of a Holy Grail feeling - if that’s good, then I hope I get it.

What did I do on Christmas? – nothing much – I thought of going up to the Wings’, but decided against it, and stayed in my room. Christmas morning I opened my presents as soon as I awoke - shame on you, Mother, for thinking I would do otherwise. And then we got the word that we were to be packed and ready to go completely by noon on Christmas Day - which we did.

Thank you, dears, for your wonderful package - especially the pipe – which I remember asking for as we crossed third avenue going to see Gretchen - and the Bedside Esquire, which I now have to pull out of the grasping hands of one or another of my bunkies every night - and the socks which I shall wear for luck. Uncle Ham and Aunt Kit sent Woolcott’s Long, Long Ago among other things – but best of all, a handful of pictures - of them – us - the Vineyard, and some treasured ones of Daddy as a boy - the old days…. Gone are the Days. Fred with a package of goodies. Howard with some needed handkerchiefs, writing paper, and a volume of Mr. Tutt, lest I forget. Oh, and could you send me more of this paper, Mother, several tablets of it.

I had planned a big box of things for you all – Mexican shawls, perfumes, et al – but when I saw the ring it seemed just right for Gretchen – it is an aquamarine – and gold of course – but it made any further gifts impossible at the time. You’ll only be able to wear it on special occasions, formal afternoon, black dress and high heels, but I think that you could carry it off, dear. And it will accent your very lovely hands.

I’ve been working awfully hard lately - the usual thousand and one details - also I am the company’s loading officer, and have loaded our gear on each maneuver. I know quite a bit about the longshoreman’s trade now - our ships are new, and built for the job they are doing - though the crowded life in a transport is no exaggeration. The other night I figured out that 16 other officers sleep within an arm’s length of my sack. Usually you have to sleep in just your scivvy drawers – not even a sheet. And the ventilating fans and blowers whirr and whistle night and day… you can feel every step in the companionway overhead, and these lights are feeble and flickery.

A sad time in a lot of ways – the ending of almost a year of good times in California, for one thing – a year in which I learned a good deal about what is called fast living – or at least learned enough to know that I don’t care for it, or for the hollow but pretty women you meet – I wouldn’t trade Nan for this whole coast full of them.

Of some things I feel sure - and one is that it will be a fierce but short fight - I like that… a man can take almost anything for 76 hours and not have it affect him too much.

It can’t come too soon now - preparations are over and a deadly period of waiting has begun. I know we will all do well, for we are Marines, but I want to see it - and soon.

It is very late – “I will write more later, dear” quote Mother

Love,
Phil

P.S. I have your Christmas card pasted up in my locker, Gretch. Pinned up, you might say.

Muster Rolls

I've gone over the A Company muster rolls several times now. I'm missing a few months worth (March - May, 1944; August 1944 - January 1945) and some of the scanned pages are illegible (due to rushing on my part, and by ancient microfiche). After a lot of work, I put together a visual representation of the muster rolls.

Company A Casualty Roster.

As mentioned, I'm missing some pages (hopefully the archivists down there will look favorably upon my request to have them scanned and emailed - fingers crossed) and I couldn't enter too many details, but it does give a good sense of who made it and who did not. Included are the names of replacements who joined the company after (and sometimes during) their campaigns. The final casualty rate will likely be quite a bit higher, both on Tinian and Iwo Jima.

(Differentiation between the yellow and orange wound categories: ones marked in yellow were wounded in action, but not evacuated from the front line; orange means wounded and taken to a hospital. Some were returned after a few days, some never returned. DOW means "died of wounds" and indicates the man died after receiving medical attention.)

"The place is cold as the devil..."

New River, NC
December, 1942

Dear girls,

Well, I’m all set – in our hut here, that is, but we don’t start work until tomorrow. There has been so much wild scuttlebutt that you don’t really know what to believe, but from all soundings I’ve been making, the setup sounds very much as I thought it would be. We have a bunch of rookies, I think, though I haven’t seen them yet. And we will probably stay here at least two months training them. In fact, I am giving a series of lectures on chemical warfare – about which I know very little as yet.

The place is cold as the devil, and expensive eating, and way out in the middle of the pine and Spanish moss swamps; but they all seem to like it pretty well – especially for its informality – wear dungarees and boots all the time.

Sabini is shipping out tomorrow. Roy Wood is, strangely enough, in charge of the platoon next to mine. [Frank] Shattuck bunks next to me, but will soon be with his wife. There are for others of us in here, none of whom I knew very well before, but they seem like swell guys.

My train ticket down cost me [$] 6.08. How, I don’t know – but I didn’t get in here until eight last night, what with late trains, standing four hours for the bus and etc. It is late.

Love
Phil

First Letter Home

Yale Law School
Sunday Dec. 7, 1941

Dear Mother,

It’s here at last – all our vague hopes of my being able to stay out are gone; I feel sure I will be called by summer, though not before the end of the semester, certainly. I still refuse to volunteer, though there are some boys here who are going to.

It’s hard on you girls, I know; the delay in my education can do none of us any good. I wish I could be there just to talk it over with you. Needless to say, it leaves me very low – I had been hoping against hope that it would never come; it may well mean the end of much of the world that we knew. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.

My love to you both,
Phil

Oil

Another George story.

Seems that at Lejeune, the enlisted men's huts were heated by oil stoves, and due to one reason or another, Hut 10 ran out. They couldn't get any more, and December nights in North Carolina were very cold.

Seemingly out of options, they appealed to Lieutenant Wood. The officer listened to the complaints, thought for a bit, and told the men he couldn't officially help them.

"You know, over at the officer's hut, we always have plenty of oil," he said.

Hut 10 got the message - that night the officers looked the other way as the marines siphoned off their heating oil.

Having gotten their oil (plus a little extra), the men returned to their hut and lit their stove. They had nowhere to store their extra oil, until someone thought of the sand-filled fire buckets located in the middle of the company street. The buckets were covered so nobody would know the difference, and it would be hidden in case someone came looking for it.

The plan worked perfectly... until a fire broke out and all hands went running for the sand buckets. George saw Izzo racing down the company street yelling at a man with a bucket in hand. He had almost pitched Hut 10's spare oil on the blaze.

The fire was extinguished and Hut 10 stayed warm.

More Stories From George

I met George and Doris for lunch yesterday at the Playwright's Tavern. Of course, within ten minutes George was rattling off stories and I was listening intently. I always wish I could recapture the way George tells his stories verbatim, or the mischievous glint in his eye when he recalls a particularly adventurous exploit.

At any rate, here are a few more tales of Able Company.

Linkins and Shorty
Bill Linkins and Elijah Nichol were squad mates - possibly a BAR team - and best friends. Linkins was a strapping young man standing over six feet tall, while "Shorty" Nichol barely made the minimum height requirement (which today is 5'4"). The two would land together, and when a Navy crew operated the landing craft, the Marines would inevitably be dropped in deeper water. On more than one occasion, Linkins would land in water that was chest deep - while Shorty, immediately behind him, would simply disappear, only the very top of his helmet above the water.


Bill Linkins Elijah Nichol, Jr.
KIA Tinian Died 1992



Franey's Nemesis
One of the first steps for any boot passing through Parris Island is a haircut and medical examination, and the administration of shots. Each potential Marine stripped to the waist, was poked and prodded, and had a number painted on their chest with Mercurochrome. They were moved along to a specially designed chair, where they would sit with both arms outstretched and receive two simultaneous injections, one in each arm. George had just been painted and inoculated when there was a minor commotion behind him. JJ Franey, the next boot in line, had bravely sat down in the chair for his shots, and then fainted dead away, collapsing on the floor in a heap. He was propped back in the chair, shots were administered, and the other boots dragged him along to the next ritual of indoctrination, where he quickly recovered. From then on, whenever the platoon was required to get shots, Franey would repeat the performance, always recovering shortly after.


Weapons Platoon Justice
A certain San Diego hotel, one of the favored places for liberty excursions, happened to come under new management late in 1943. The boys in the weapons platoon, being energetic and seeingly all possessed of a devil-may-care attitude, did not endear themselves to the new manager, and after some forgotten episode, one of their number was kicked out and banned from returning. It was felt that this was unfair, that he had been made an example of, and the Marines returned to Pendleton with a bone to pick.

The man was sitting in the barracks bemoaning his luck when someone - George tactfully declined to name names - cooked up a plan to get even. Several of the men had recently taken additional training in demolitions, and some blocks of TNT that had "gone missing" from the training area appeared in the barracks. They now had a golden opportunity to teach their enemy a lesson while applying their training.

On their next liberty, the weapons boys returned to the scene of their defeat. The chosen team sequestered themselves in the bathroom. They first stopped up the toilet with wads of paper, then affixed an eighth of a stick of TNT to the commode, rigging it to explode when the flush chain was pulled. They exited, smirking, found the manager, and complained of a blocked toilet in the men's room. As the manager went to investigate, the entire party exited the hotel posthaste.

The resulting blast was later discovered to have blown the manager clear out the door of the bathroom, which terrified but did not injure him. The platoon was vindicated, the wrong avenged, and a lesson taught - don't mess with the Marines, especially if they have just come back from learning how to blow things up. As George concluded: "We weren't smart in Weapons, but boy we were loyal."


Feuding Corporals
Arthur Ervin was not a man to cross; he joined the 24th in September 1943, in his third year of active duty. He had been stationed at Pearl Harbor, volunteered for the 2nd Marine Raider Battalion (Carlson's Raiders) who were known for their leader's preference for guerilla tactics modeled after the Chinese army. [The famous phrase "Gung Ho" originated with the 2nd Raiders - Carlson picked it up in China; the phrase roughly means "Pull Together."] As a Raider, Ervin was deployed to the defenses of Midway in 1942, and later participated in the Long March on Guadalcanal, where his battalion - totally isolated behind Japanese lines - fought at Asamama, the Lunga River, and Mt. Austen, surviving on minimal rations of rice, bacon, and tea - many of which they took from captured Japanese stores. Ervin had even contracted elephantitis somewhere along the line (he was known as Mumu, after the Samoan term for the disease) and was still on active duty. He was known for being intensely private, close-lipped, and gave off an air of danger, being one of the few combat veterans in the then-young company. Ervin rarely showed any emotion at all; he was recalled as being almost disturbingly cold and to see him smile or express much positive emotion was a notable occasion. He appeared to be a born killer, though one surviving letter home suggests a very strong love for his family, his new wife, and his new comrades - though such was his reticence to grow close to them that it wasn't until 2008 that George Smith realized that Ervin had been married at all.

Kenneth Gann, by contrast, had been with the company for months when Ervin transferred in. Originally assigned to duty as a quartermaster, Gann either requested reassignment or was recommended for other duty - regardless, he was made Line Corporal in mid-September, 1943, and was became the leader of a machine gun squad in the Weapons platoon. He was evidently a capable leader, and pictures show him on liberty smiling with some friends.

Gann and Ervin evidently became fairly close in September, but somewhere along the line, something went very wrong. The cause of the feud was never clear to the enlisted men in the section, but suddenly the two corporals were at each other's throats. Ervin is referred to as a squad leader in the machine gun section as well, so it is possible that there was some question as to seniority, though George suspects that the true cause was more personal. Regardless, the two hated each other with sufficient passion to be remembered sixty years later.

The disagreement lasted for months. Both men were promoted to sergeant after the battle of Namur; each eventually became a section leader (Gann stayed with the guns, Ervin went to the tubes). Ervin was killed on Saipan, but Gann continued leading through Iwo Jima, and may have ended up as a platoon sergeant.


Arthur B. Ervin, Jr. Kenneth S. Gann
both corporals in 1943, while they were still getting on.

Never Had A Chance
Company A, and particuarly the weapons platoon, had a terrible day on June 22, 1944. They were posted on the slopes of Hill 700 on Saipan, isolated, and cut to pieces.

Corporal Norman Reber, age 21, of Pine Grove, PA - machine gunner - was the first to be hit. “Reber got hit right off the bat, up on that hill." remembered George, who was also wounded that day. "He never had a chance.”

Reber's casualty card states that he died of "multiple wounds, head and neck."

Norman Reber, 1943.

Dangers of Gambling
George didn't make a habit of gambling while in the Corps, but some of his friends did. Among these was Thomas McCay, a "real Jersey kid" who specialized in demolitions. While en route to Saipan, McCay decided to try his luck in a craps game and asked George if he had any money. Figuring he wouldn't need any cash on Saipan, George handed over what he had. McCay proceed to throw three consecutive fives ("or nines, I can't remember," said George, "but they're both real hard to hit in craps.") in one of the greatest examples of daring and luck that many present had ever seen. It seemed a little too convenient to a participating sailor, who had just lost some money, and he accused the Marines of using loaded dice. "We were lucky not to get thrown into the sea!" George laughed. After dividing their winnings, the two found that they had a substantial amount of loose change left over. McCay immediately tossed his pile overboard. George, forgetting his rationale of a few minutes before, looked at McCay and asked "why did you DO that?" McCay shrugged and said that they wouldn't need coins, anyway - so George followed suit. The Marines stashed the bills they had won.

Persisting Memories
George still remembers his last vision of Thomas McCay. The company was spending their second night on Saipan, endured a terrific shellacking by enemy artillery, and had lost four killed and 25 wounded. Despite all this terror, George remembers seeing McCay coming back from "blowing something up" in Japanese territory with a buddy; swaggering back into the lines in fine spirits, just like the "typical Jersey guy" that he was.

Two days later, Thomas McCay was shot in the chest while trying to rescue a wounded friend.

Thomas McCay, 1943.

The Great Chair Caper

In his latest communiqué, George explains the daring, inspiring, and frankly hilarious, "Great Chair Caper."

This takes place on Maui, spring of 1944.

"Background: The infantry units were across a wide and deep valley from the Hdq. and Special units, such as the cannon cockers, that had among other goodies, HOT WATER and we referred to it as Nob Hill. It wasn't that we were never invited, it was just that we preferred using cold water for our showers and had no need to go over there. That is until they couldn't find enough able bodied men to stand guard duty on this great heap of supplies. Well, being in weapons was a sign of not being too bright, but we were above loyal to our officers, especially Phil, Buck and Mr Reynolds in that order.

They even saw fit to schedule us for the night tour. But they made a great error in having allowed us to see what was in this pile of stuff by having us arrive before it got dark. Well there were these canvas folding chairs, something like they use in Hollywood and to be honest with you we thought the way the stuff was thrown in a pile it was to be thrown away. So why let some perfectly good chairs go to waste and when we boaded the trucks the next morning, our platoon leader and Captain (not sure about Mr Reynolds) had a couple of great canvas chairs. Of course the fact that they were the Commanding General's and his Aide's took some of the fun out of giving Phil and Buck their presents. Never did hear what heat Buck took over that, and not a single word to any of us, ever."

Veteran's Day

"Upon The Other Side"

Upon a distant battlefield,
A desperate fight was waged.
Attack! Fall back! Attack again;
The swirling battle raged.
"It seems like only yesterday,"
The aged veteran thought.
But many years had passed away
Since those young men had fought.

He searched the marble monument
To find his comrade's name,
A friend of many years ago
Who in that war was slain.
And finding that stone marker there
Among our honored dead,
The white-haired veteran read the name,
And this is what he said.

"I've come to see you one last time,
Old comrade, tried and true.
Though many years have come and gone
I've not forgotten you.
We lived and shared like brothers then
When we were young and proud.
We trained and ate and slept and fought
Shared good times late and loud.

We thought we were invincible
Until that awful day,
When you were killed at my right side
While I survived the fray.
Though other battles lay ahead
I made it through the war,
But when you died, a part of me
Was lost forevermore.

I made it back to our hometown
Just like we hoped we would.
Got hitched, had kids, a job, a house,
And life was pretty good.
The years have rolled away so fast,
You'd think I'd lose the thought,
Of how we lived and how you died
And battles that we fought.

But some things never leave one's heart
Or fade with passing years.
The memory of the friends we've lost
Will often bring the tears.
Well, I've grown old and tired with age
While you're forever young.
I've lived the dreams that we both shared
And you had not begun.

But as the twilight falls on me,
And life ebbs like a tide,
I'll ask that you keep watch for me
Upon the other side.
Upon the other side, my friend,
Where you can be my guide.
I'll look for you when I have crossed
On to the other side."

- Carl E. Dearborn. PFC, F/2/25

(as noted in Gyrene by Capt. Wilbur D. Jones, Jr.)

Happy 223rd!

Today, November 10 2008, marks the 223rd Birthday of the United States Marine Corps.

On this date in 1775, the Continental Congress resolved the following:

"That two battalions of Marines be raised consisting of one Colonel, two lieutenant-colonels, two majors and other officers, as usual in other regiments; that they consist of an equal number of privates as with other battalions, that particular care be taken that no persons be appointed to offices, or enlisted into said battalions, but such as are good seamen, or so acquainted with maritime affairs as to be able to serve for and during the present war with Great Britain and the Colonies; unless dismissed by Congress; that they be distinguished by the names of the First and Second Battalions of Marines."

These were the first "Leathernecks," so called because their uniform featured a high, strong leather collar to protect the neck from saber cuts.

The 13th Commandant, General John A. Lejeune, issued Marine Corps Order No. 47 in 1921.

MARINE CORPS ORDER No. 47 (Series 1921)
HEADQUARTERS
U.S. MARINE CORPS Washington, November 1, 1921

The following will be read to the command on the 10th of November, 1921, and hereafter on the 10th of November of every year. Should the order not be received by the 10th of November, 1921, it will be read upon receipt.

On November 10, 1775, a Corps of Marines was created by a resolution of Continental Congress. Since that date many thousand men have borne the name "Marine". In memory of them it is fitting that we who are Marines should commemorate the birthday of our corps by calling to mind the glories of its long and illustrious history.

The record of our corps is one which will bear comparison with that of the most famous military organizations in the world's history. During 90 of the 146 years of its existence the Marine Corps has been in action against the Nation's foes. From the Battle of Trenton to the Argonne, Marines have won foremost honors in war, and in the long eras of tranquility at home, generation after generation of Marines have grown gray in war in both hemispheres and in every corner of the seven seas, that our country and its citizens might enjoy peace and security.

In every battle and skirmish since the birth of our corps, Marines have acquitted themselves with the greatest distinction, winning new honors on each occasion until the term "Marine" has come to signify all that is highest in military efficiency and soldierly virtue.

This high name of distinction and soldierly repute we who are Marines today have received from those who preceded us in the corps. With it we have also received from them the eternal spirit which has animated our corps from generation to generation and has been the distinguishing mark of the Marines in every age. So long as that spirit continues to flourish Marines will be found equal to every emergency in the future as they have been in the past, and the men of our Nation will regard us as worthy successors to the long line of illustrious men who have served as "Soldiers of the Sea" since the founding of the Corps.

JOHN A. LEJEUNE,
Major General

Since 1921, the birthday celebration has evolved into one of the most important of Marine Corps ceremonies. While they vary from post to post, every Marine hears General Lejeune's order, a pageant depicting the Corps through history is presented, a ball is held, and everyone gets a piece of ceremonial cake - with the first piece traditionally going to the oldest Marine present, and the second piece to the youngest.


Happy Birthday, Marines - and Semper Fi.

"So cold that I went on patrol all night rather than hit the sack."

Camp Pendleton, Cal.
November 2, 1943

Dear girls,

This last week was again a pretty tough one. Amphibious operations, three two-day problems, each of them starting with a landing – and while the days are still pretty warm here, take off your shirt warmth, the nights are getting damned chilly, especially for sleeping on the beach under one blanket. So cold that I went on patrol all night rather than hit the sack.

Several days ago we had at least two days of rain, and immediately the hills started to get green again. A couple more rains and this country will again look like the paradise it was when we first came – lush green fields, velvety hills dusted with acres of nodding wildflowers.

I’ve been having a series of headaches with my platoon all of a sudden – I had a wonderful record so far as they were concerned – ever since I first got the, not a man AWOL, and in almost a year only one man had to come up before the Captain for reprimand; almost a perfect score, which was amazing. But about a week ago, one of my steadiest and most dependable men – the man who waited on table, mother, at the Officer’s Mess, decided to go on liberty for the first time in three months – got blind drunk, got picked up for disorderly conduct, resisted arrest and knocked down an MP – and he got off comparatively lightly. [See #1 below - ed.]

Then my very best NCO, my pride and joy – the section leader of the mortars, got all fouled up in his personal life – his girl married somebody else, so he went AWOL back to Utah for four days to tell her what he thought of her, and had to be broken – now a PFC, and as such I have had to put him back in a squad, under the men he was commanding – a bad situation. [See #2 below - ed.]

Then one of my squad leaders, a new man in the platoon, just back from overseas, refused to jump [from] the 33 foot tower in the swimming course, then in the rubber boat training, trying to launch a rubber boat against a very heavy surf, seeing a big wave coming he jumped out of the boat, deserted his squad, swam in and walked up to the Captain and told him that he just couldn’t take it. I don’t know when I’ve been so furious – I immediately relieved him of his squad, and am sending him out of the company as soon as possible. [See #3 below - ed.]

And to top it off, my new second in command and I don’t hit it off – he babies himself and bullies the men – if he hasn’t got blisters on his feet then his legs ache, and if his legs don’t ache it’s his stomach. I don’t like him, and neither do the men, yet he’s smart enough not to make any open mistake. [See #4 below - ed.]

And there won’t be enough furloughs to go around to let all the men get home again before we shove off – one squad leader has an incurable Samoan disease [see #5 below - ed.], a section leader is having his tonsils out [see #6 below - ed.], one man has chronic appendicitis, and another has bad flat feet and can’t march [see #7 below - ed.], another has a trick knee that was ruined on maneuvers.

All this has caused wholesale re-juggling of the squads, which is also bad. I just didn’t realize how lucky I had been for a year. I just wish all this had happened long ago instead of at the last minute.

Oh well, with all of this, I’ve still got a swell bunch of boys, who I know will be a credit to me when the chips are down.

Wrote to Weyer a while ago; have been dating some Navy nurses stationed at the Santa Marguerita Hospital. Got a letter from Ed Keyes the other day, and he is very happy – landed in the First Marine Raider Battalion, which just got back from Kedova, and will surely go out again very soon. [see #8 below - ed.]

Spent a very pleasant day yesterday, which we had off, back up in the hills, hunting with another Lt. and a jeep – strange to say we were successful, we got a deer – successful in a way, that is, for while the chase was very exciting and all that, both of us were overcome with pity when we found out what we had killed – worse yet it was a very pretty little doe – neither of us had any desire to eat it, so we rather sadly buried it. And I’m quite sure that I will never go deer hunting again. It’s got to be something that can fight back, like a great big ferocious grizzly bear – that is, if anything at all. Didn’t exactly feel like great big rugged Marines when we were through, either.

Write soon. Keep writing all the time.

Love,
Phil

***

As far as I can decipher, the Marines mentioned in this letter are:

1. PFC Frank Gosiewski - October 15 and 16, confined to brig, October 17 tried for: "Being under the influence of intoxicants, using profane and obscene language and striking an MP in Oceanside, Calif. Awarded 30 days restriction with EPD [extra punitive duties, IE, cleaning and fatigue detail during one's liberty time], released from confinement and returned to duty."

2. Corporal John R. Svoboda - AWOL from 7:00 PM Oct. 21 through 6:15 AM Oct. 26. Tried and sentenced to be reduced to next inferior rank (Private First Class) Oct. 28, 1943.
[I checked in with George on this one to corroborate what was on the muster rolls, and apparently John Svoboda was "trouble from the day he arrived and didn't like water." Svoboda eventually won his stripes back and became a sergeant before getting hit on Saipan and hospitalized.]

3. This guy has been hard to locate. I only noticed one A Company NCO transferred out of the company in November 1943; he already had a few months with Able and a strong record before that (as acting First Sergeant) so I doubt it was him. Either Phil never managed to get the man transferred, or it was explained in the battalion reports as something different. Either way, this was one of the very few times when Phil was openly angry in front of his men - and with good reason. "The sergeant that had just returned from overseas never did really fit in, and it wasn't the tower thing. I was up there a long time before I jumped. It was the rubber boat incident, which was at night and I think what reall made Phil go off was the fact that during the same attempt to get our boat past the breakers, and that bastard bailed out on us, we almost lost Hoppy.... I think Phil would have taken that coward that night if he could have gotten to him." - George.

4. The best educated guess I can make is that this is a reference to Platoon Sergeant John Yaniga. Yaniga appears to be the least popular member of the company in living memory, and George remembered being singled out for specific abuse:

"He came from western PA, so every morning at roll call he would say "Schmidt!" and I would say "Smith!" - and "Run around!" [For] my punishment, I had to run around the motor pool! Every day it was the same dialogue, he would say "Schmidt" and I wouldn't stand for it, and away I went... I had the best damn legs in the company!"

Yaniga also "wasn't the bravest guy" and panicked on one of the infamous nighttime rubber boat training sessions; yelling "I can't swim! I can't swim!" he promptly fell out of the boat, which capsized seconds later. Quick thinking by Al Perry and DeWitt Dietrich saved the situation, and the squad was rescued at daylight. [Though if the above supposition is true, the question remains as to what Yaniga was doing in a boat with a rifle squad instead of with weapons - though the boats may have landed in assault teams which combined rifles and support weapons. I'm not sure on this.]

Yaniga did eventually redeem himself somewhat, at least to one Marine, when he got George a safe assignment guarding an ammunition depot when both had been hit and evacuated back to Maui.

5. Corporal Arthur Ervin, as noted before, had previous overseas service and caught filiarisis somewhere along the line - which, if untreated, sometimes develops into elephantitis. His nickname Mumu derived from the Samoan word for the disease.

6. Sergeant Frank Tucker (section leader, machine guns) is on the muster rolls as sick in a US Naval Hospital from Nov. 1 - Nov. 4.

7. PFC George L. Hall, aptly nicknamed "Flat Feet."

"Hall, he didn't just have flat feet, his arches were lower than the rest of his feet. He had a terrible time. We used to go out to a training area five miles every day, five miles out five miles back, he had a terrible time and finally I think the last couple operations they kept him back, kept him out." - George Smith

8. I don't know who Ed Keyes is, but evidently he was a lieutenant at New River in 1942 and shared quarters with Phil and Ted Johnson (Johnson became XO of C/24). Likewise "Kedova" doesn't appear to exist, though the First Marine Raider Battalion had just returned from Noumea, New Caledonia, and was currently stationed in Auckland. In February of 1944, the Raider battalions were reorganized into the (new) 4th Marines.

Young Kids: Tell Them

[The following was written by combat correspondent Captain Earl J. Wilson, after experiencing Tarawa with the 2nd Marine Division.]

You take a lot of young kids, see, get them from the farms and the cities while they're young and strong and fearless and do not weigh the scales of chance. Bring them in and dress them in uniforms and give them guns and tell them of the glories of the past. Tell them vaguely of the promise of the future. But thinking's no good because when you think you don't act with the emotions, so teach 'em to shoot, to hike and run and hate the enemy.

Teach at a time when they would be going to dances in junk heap cars with writing on the sides or thinking about going to college because wouldn't it be fine to be a doctor. Take 'em when their eyes are bright, their muscles strong and rippling. Grind 'em, grind 'em into the pattern, make the walk and talk alike and fit the pattern. Ship over the water to some foreign land where they can go to town and hang around the dance halls and meet the girls and get drunk on bootleg whiskey. Take 'em out in the country and make 'em toe the mark, make them land on foreign beaches and train and train and train until they know their weapons and the way to hide in a hole amidst the mud and cold.

Then you are ready, take them now for they are ready. Take them on a ship where they are crowded like animals in a swelling hold for night after night and make them eat out of pans. Let them grasp at the few pleasures left, let them read the old torn magazines, let them hear the few old records, let them play cards, let them talk of home sometime. But be tough because now is the time to take them over the side on a swaying net into a plunging boat, now is the time for the sky is clearing and on that thin line over there are other young men with other guns in their hands waiting to kill or be killed.

Now the wait, now the huddling together in the bottom of the steamy, fume ridden boat, now some are sick from the crowded boat and puke on the floor, but no matter, now. Take 'em on the beach, scratch your maps and order the pins to move in on that sector and they move in because they can't move any other way, and with the shells and bullets tearing the young strong rippling muscles to quivering chunks of flesh, and now while the flash is forever dimming those bright flashing eyes, and now, by God when the shrapnel is blowing the guts out of men all around 'em and while they are sinking and breathing their last gasping breath on a stinking piece of ground that nobody wants in the middle of the Pacific not even big enough for a good crop of corn, but good enough for a thousand of these men to be blown apart on its beaches or to drown in its waters and for three thousand more to be marked for life by empty sleeves and dangling flapping trouser legs, now tell those left what it's all about, tell them why it's going on and why it will go on, tell them what you're gonna do about it, tell their mothers and their sweethearts, tell the wives who have waited for so long, and for what, any empty space in the bed beside them. Tell them... tell them.

Serendipity

It's been a busy month for me, and for once some of the business has been Marine related. I just got back from a week-long tour of Civil War battlefields, and my travel buddy Heather and I decided to spend the last day of the trip in Quantico, checking out the National Museum of the Marine Corps and playing around in the Historical Center. Both were amazing, and will be addressed soon.

By a stroke of absolute luck, while in Gettysburg I spotted a tattered copy of Gyrene by Wilbur D. Jones. I bought it (who could resist, for only $5) and was leafing through it that night when I came across the following pictures:

William Quinn and wife June at The Stork Club, NYC. Bill Quinn was a rifle squad leader in Able Company, and June was a reporter for the Times in New York, Los Angeles, and their hometown of Hartford, CT.

Quinn and William Linkins hoisting Dalton Young and James De Nicola at Camp Pendleton, 1943.

Bill Quinn was hit by a piece of concrete from an exploding Japanese blockhouse while landing on Namur. Al Perry, who was nearby, remembered that "blood was streaming from his arm, which looked as if it was hardly attached to his shoulder." Luckily, the wound was not as serious as it looked, and Quinn eventually returned to the company, only to be hit again July 8, 1944,on Saipan. After his second evacuation, he was not returned to active duty.

William Linkins, Quinn's best friend, advanced to the rank of Sergeant, and was awarded both the Silver Star and Bronze Star. On July 25, 1944, while fighting on Tinian, a shell fragment hit him in the head. Linkins died exactly three months short of his twenty second birthday. He is buried in the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific.

Dalton Young, of St. Albans, West Virginia, was wounded on Namur. He never returned to the company.

James De Nicola was wounded June 23, 1944, while fighting on Saipan. He was evacuated to Naval Hospital #10, and was still hospitalized a month later when Able Company landed on Tinian. Like Quinn, Saipan would be his last battle - but he would survive the war.

Memorial Service

Please take a few minutes to watch this video. Sergeant Leon Padelskas (Padell) of HQ/2/24 passed away on September 7, 2007. It was his wish that his ashes be spread on Iwo Jima, and after a great deal of effort from his son Jeff Padell, Harlan Glenn, and the Marine Corps, that wish was granted.

"An ol' Marine Gets The Best Seat In The House."

Talking With George, Part 2

BEFORE
"Believe it or not, this is when I enlisted at the courthouse when we went away, they had a guy there taking pictures. This is [Edward] Lykins, he went all the way through with me, and this is John - I can't think of his last name, John Something, he also enlisted with me, and this is Tommy, Tommy was a friend of mine, he came down to bid me farewell. This was taken in October '42, when I left the custom house."

PARRIS ISLAND
"Platoon 849, 13th Recruit Battalion. George A. Smith, John J. Franey, Mess Duty, Nov. 1942."


"Smitty, Spohn, Jowers, Shaw. Sitting: Hurley."
"They were teaching us knife fighting, and [the walls] were like cardboard, it was great for throwing knives. The whole goddamn back of the hut was full of holes."

George Smith and Jeff Jowers outside Hut 10.


Walking the beat.



Howie Haff and George Smith climbing down the mock-up rigging.

Howie Haff, George Smith, Bartholomew Wanagaitis, David Spohn, Howard Kerr, JJ Franey.

"January 1943. Boot Leave."

CAMP PENDLETON
"What this is is Tiny Jowers... when we got to Pendleton, we pulled in there on the train late Saturday night and they told us on Sunday morning just to get the lay of the land. The Third Division had been at Pendleton, but they had been out of there several months, so as a result all this animal life regenerated itself, and there must have been literally a thousand snakes, and that morning when we're walking around, this guy, this is one of the thousands! And I'm petrified of snakes, still am, but at any rate I took that picture and that's as close as I ever got to one. Them suckers, every time we were playing around in the bush I was petrified because I just don't like 'em."

Mess duty at Pendleton. "I dunno where the hell they got the hats."
JJ Franey, McCay, Donald Hart, Robert Williams, Bill Imm

"Imm, Hart, Williams, McCay & Franey vs. Colburn."

"Chow line - note watermelon - Pendleton '43"

"Getting ready for the smoker. Colburn, William, Yonkers?"

"Bob Williams walloping pots."
"We were eating out of mess kits, you'd have 2 or 3 cans, GI cans, one of soapy water and one or two of plain water and you would, after you ate you'd dunk 'em down and that'd be that."

"Fred Davis (Ohio) Pendleton, '43"

George scrubbing his clothing - finished results hanging on a line behind him.

"Lt. Endicott Osgood giving First Platoon 'the Word'."

"Gunnery Sgt Russell, McCay, Izzo, Haff. Tent Camp #2, Camp Pendleton."

Platoon Sergeant Parker McBride and Gunnery Sergeant Walter Russell.

Desperate men of the Weapons Platoon defend their whitewashed stones. From left: Howie Haff, Tom Hurley, Luther Diehl, Amedeo Izzo, JJ Franey, David Spohn, George Hall.

"That's Hopkins, that was a publicity picture put out by the Marine Corps. He was a great kid.... His father had a taint of Communism in his philosophy and I could see it in Steve - and I don't mean to be derogatory here but he just had those ways. You know you say things sometimes you're gonna regret the rest of your life... we were sitting on some railroad ties on the dock in San Diego when we were getting ready to go out, and somebody said about going out and he said "Yeah," he said, "I know I'm not coming back," and big mouth me, I said "Yeah, if I lived the life you did I wouldn't expect to come back either" and of course I have to live with that."

"Show you how nerves get you, when Hoppy got hit a corpsman came up right away and he had indicated that we were out well beyond where we should be, and we, I, expected a litter up there in a hurry - nothing came, nothing came, I really don't know about time but it seemed an awful long while, and I finally got enough nerve, I knew that whoever got up stood a chance of getting zapped, but at any rate, I got up... I knew Knight by name simply like I knew 100 or some others in the platoon, no special contact, but you know when I started back all's I wanted to do was talk to him. Why the hell, I don't know, but you know the ironic part? I kept asking "where's Knight, I wanna talk to Knight," and finally someone said "he's over by the tree, he got shot in the mouth and he can't talk!" To this day I still can't figure out why I wanted to talk to him! I knew I had a head of steam, nerves, and unfortunately he came back later on and got killed...."

"Doxtator, Kincaid, 'Field Music' Fritz, Palmer."

"Hall, Doxtator, Svoboda, Palmer & Davis."

"Spohn, Fritz, Palmer, Davis, Hall, Hart."



Executive Officer "Big Harry" Reynolds and Field Music 1st Class Fritz.

George and Dalton Young wring out the laundry. "Notice we didn't have any washers at the time, everybody's got their laundry hanging out."

ALISO BEACH: RUBBER BOAT TRAINING
Members of A Company on Aliso Beach, November 1943.


In the surf. This photograph appears in the Red Book.

"That was one of our infamous rubber boat brigade things, holy jesus.... I liked it to a certain extent but the water was so damn cold and particularly at night, when we went out at night, ah damn.... Because we were the rubber boat platoon for the battalion, we'd spend a week on the beach doing this while everybody else was playing around someplace else. You know how they lure you into this? Pendleton had a lake alongside of the dispensary, and when they first told us we were gonna be rubber boats they took us down there on a Sunday, put us in this lake, it's great! Sun's shining, it's nice and warm, we thought oh hell this is great! Then they put us down on that beach, they like to killed us. These boats came in, there were two basic sizes, the seven man boat you'd have three men on each side with a coxswain in the back, and the thirteen man boat you had that number twelve, six on each side with a man on the back, and they were brutal those 13 man boats, just picking the suckers up when they were wet, you know.... anyway, the one night the sergeant refused to get in the boat - what we would do, we'd come off the beach, go out past the breakers, play around a little bit then come back through the breakers - but at any rate, we tried to get out three or four times and just get beat to death, and whatever time it was, the fourth or fifth time, I was what they called the bow man, the number one on the port side, and we had the machine gun stashed in these, these thwarts came on an angle up the front and we had the machine gun tied/lashed in there, and we were paddling, and it's dark I mean there's no moon no stars no nothing, and all of a sudden it got blacker if you can picture this and I don't know what made me look up but maybe fifteen, twenty feet above me is this little white line where the breaker starts, and it picked that boat up and it threw us, god knows where the hell it threw us but it threw us all over and as the boat's going up the lashing broke on the MG and now the receiver (which is the big end) is hanging down, and I thought, "if I go off the thing is gonna come on top of me," so I just close my legs on the thwart and I just rowed the boat until it settled upside down and I got off. But at any rate, Gann was in charge of the boat and Gann says "Take a head count," so we're counting, and I realize the gun's missing, I think "I'm gonna have to pay for it," so I go down. First of all, when the wave goes out we're only up to here in water [indicating waist high] but when the waves come in you were like 15 feet. So anyway I go down to check the gun, he counts and of course there's one missing. I come up and I don't know whether it was Spohn, I think, says "I'll go down and try to get it," so Gann counts again, and says "We're missing somebody, who the hell's missing?" You know, so anyway there was a big mixup. In the meantime, Hoppy's hanging on to the back of the boat not saying anything, so we start, when Gann figures out that everybody's there and the hell with the gun we start pushing the boat, and I said something to Hoppy, I don't know what it was, and alls I hear is blublublublublub. And here, he was out on his feet and he's holding onto the boat and as we're pushing his head's going down in the water and I hear this bubbling, that's him breathing, and Christ we woulda lost it. And of course we won't let him forget that, but you know, anyway. [laughing] And I said that's all we need, lose the damn gun and lose somebody who lived in the White House on the same night! But at any rate, we had some good times out there but as it was we were chilled to the bone."

OFF BASE

[From left: George, unknown, unknown, unknown, Tom Hurley, Robert Larson]

"This was our liberty when we first come back in LA. These three were cooks. I don't know whether you know the rank structure - back then the Marine Corps was divided into line and staff. Believe it or not, it was like the Army and Navy fighting, we viewed staff people like they were inferior. I know I'm exaggerating but really there was a lot of animosity, because there were, we have rockers now [on shoulder insignia, curved vs straight], and the line people always had rockers underneath, they had straight bars. When I made staff sergeant, which is what it was called at the time, I told everybody "don't call me staff sergeant, call me platoon sergeant," that's how bad it carried over. Larson, great guy, tough kid. And Hurley, him and I stayed close until he died. The Haywood Hotel in LA, I'll never forget that, they threw us out of there a couple times."

"This is Haff and me down in Tijuana! We enjoyed ourselves... we had a good time. Haff, to look at him there you would think he was somewhat somber, but he was a great guy."

The 24th Marines Band on the set of "Song of Bernadette."


JJ Franey, Anne Hurley, George Smith.

"Hurley was married. That's Anne, that's his wife. When we were down in North Carolina, there was nothing down there, we lived in the tents and all this, right? But at any rate, Anne would not let him be in the States without being with him. Now there's no allotment at the time, we're making $50 a month, right? Anyway, Hurley one day says to me, we have to go in town, he said Anne insists on coming. She came in by train, there's no place for her to go, they did have a place on the base, the Hostess [?] House, they called it. Anyway, she comes down, that's how much she, you know, she loved the guy, she wasn't gonna let him sleep on his own. Finally she the next day goes out on her own and hustles and gets an apartment with another Marine couple so they shared this two room apartment or something. When we go to California, it was a Sunday morning. She said she was coming out, Hurley said we gotta find a place for her. Well him and I went out, started Friday night and we went all over Oceanside trying, you know as much as we could, we didn't have a car, trying to find a place, and we couldn't find a place, so Saturday night we came back to the barracks. Didn't get back til late. Sunday morning he wakes me up and says Anne's in town. She came cross country by bus, went to LA, got the train from LA down to Oceanside. We hustle up, go in, I say where the hell are we gonna stay? Again she does the same thing, she goes around, she finally found a motel for a couple days, and then - you can't see it here but what this is, this was a main house with cabins like a two room cabin, had a little kitchen, it was a tourist thing where people would pull in for the night - at any rate she made friends with the people that ran the place, they had a trailer there that had a Marine and his wife but it had two bedrooms so the people that owned the place convinced the people that were in there to let Anne and Tom share the trailer and eventually they got one of these little cabins that you can't really see, but it was a little cabin. And this is where these picture were taken. What would happen was we would go on liberty Friday night, and Franey and I - mostly Franey and I - would stop at the grocery store to buy what we could, including meat. We would drop it off at Hurley's, we would go up to LA and come back Sunday afternoon, Sunday night she would have a dinner for us, that's what kept us civil down there!"
"This is the guy and his wife that had the trailer that they first moved into, he had been in the Corps for a while, you know, before the war."

"See that belt... the belt buckles on the side. These trousers had no back pockets in them, and if you put the belt on front when you put your blouse on it would bulge it out so the buckle was right in the back, so you carried your cigarettes and money in your sock."

MAUI
"This was on Maui, that's the only picture i have of Maui. When we went out they told us no cameras, and most guys adhered to it, but a couple of them, they put 'em in the gas mask case because we had one guy, always carried his gas mask and everybody'd say "What the hell's he doing, why's he carrying that?" and here the sucker had his camera in it."

"This is one of those, without the hula girl! Colombo [top right] was from NY, this was Ski [bottom left], he was the corpsman, Doc, and we had this fellow Horan [bottom right]. Horan... when we landed in the Marshalls and that explosion went off, that blockhouse blew, we had concrete reinforcing bars coming down in the boat, and Horan's the first one in the middle - we had three lines, one against each side and one in the middle, and Horan gets hit with a rock, and it was so bad that it pierced, not the rock, but dented his helmet and opened his head, and I don't know if I have a picture but he's practically baldheaded, he had white hair but mostly bald, anyway, he takes his helmet off and the blood starts running down his face. Now we're landing on this hostile thing and there's gunfire, and Ski turns around and says to Horan, "You can't go in," like it's in the middle of Broadway at noon! Horan says, "Why not? "Well, you're bleeding." "Well I ain't bleeding that bad!" And it's a whole conversation, and everybody's standing in the boat waiting to get the hell out, and these two are... I've never forgot that, it was really funny."

OAHU

George in 1945, after experiencing combat in the Marshall Islands and Saipan.
"The first time I got out of the hospital, I was a little wifty and they sent me to a rest camp."


"This was around Kanaeoe, and it had been a YWCA camp. This is the main road that ran down, and they had this walkover so you could get from one side to the other."

"These were these little shelters, some had 2 some had 4 some had 6 beds in 'em and it was really, what a place to unwind, and the Marine Corps took it over and you'd stay there for a week."
"10 Nov. 1944. This is my area, my hut is on the left. What a place."
"They had a large building that would be like a rec center, and this pier ran off of it, that pier ran out a couple hundred yards into Kanaeoe Bay, they had tennis courts there, you could really unwind.... one of these was a dining hall, it was big, boy you could go in there and eat family style, they had china. What a way to unwind! I was glad they kept me for two weeks."





"That's a picture of... Bess? What the hell was that horses' name? I thought I'd never forget that sucker. It was funny, you know, they had this stable but they only had I guess about six stalls in there, so with all the horses they just had this corral. When we were going on at 4 o'clock in the morning, you had to go out there, you had to chase your horse down, get that sucker! And they were rolling, this was sand, then you had to clean 'em off... four o'clock in the morning and you're out there playing with those suckers. But anyway, it was fun."


George on his big white horse.
"These pictures were taken for the Pacific issue of Leatherneck, and that's me. And the horse's name... what the hell was her name, it was a female, a mare.... and the rough ride you got with her you had to kick her all around the thing. But anyway, the ammunition depot had been a large ranch and when the Navy took it over they made it an ammunition depot, and it was just this big vast area, the only thing that... you wouldn't really see them because they were covered with dirt and brush, were what they called igloos where they stored the ammunition. They were concrete bunkers and they put dirt and everything over them, and it was a hard way to patrol so the horses came into play, that's why we had horses there."

AFTERWARDS

Memorial ceremony for President Roosevelt.




"'Waianae Gate' Lualualei. September 1945. 'Cobbler Inn,' our shack."

"This was Stafford, "Cease" we called him, he was my assistant gunner most of the time. When I got hit, he got hit also, he got hit between the elbow and the shoulder with an explosive bullet, and it literally took bone. The only thing was holding his arm on was some skin on the inner side. They sent him to Philadelphia where, now this is in like '44 or '45, they inserted bone and saved his arm. While he was in the hospital he stopped - that's Doris, before we were married - but he stopped to see her while she was still in the hospital. But what I'm saying, this was back in '44, nobody ever heard about putting artificial bone in, you know, repairing an arm."


Members of A Company on Namur, after the battle. Izzo on far right with captured flag.