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.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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.
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.Monday, November 17, 2008
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.
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."
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
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.)
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.)
Monday, November 10, 2008
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:
The 13th Commandant, General John A. Lejeune, issued Marine Corps Order No. 47 in 1921.
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.
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.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
"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
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.
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.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)