From : George B. Clark
Sent : Saturday, June 5, 2004 8:56 AM
To : <"Undisclosed-Recipient:, "@ms4.surfglobal.net>
Subject : Fw: The Soon-to-Be Forgotten Generation
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Hate to bore you, but Pacific War veterans will certainly be pleased with the following. At least one academic has his head screwed on properly.
gbc
----- Original Message -----
From: Dale Wilson
To: Dale Wilson
Sent: Friday, June 04, 2004 4:34 PM
Subject: The Soon-to-Be Forgotten Generation
Aloha, Friends!
Yale prof David Gelertner takes members of my generation to task for offering "too much, too late" in honor of its WWII forbearers. I'm afraid I must agree with him.
dale
Too Much, Too Late
Baby boomers heap insincere praise on the "greatest generation."
BY DAVID GELERNTER
Friday, June 4, 2004 12:01 a.m.
My political credo is simple and many people share it: I am against phonies. A cultural establishment that (on the whole) doesn't give a damn about World War II or its veterans thinks it can undo a half-century of indifference verging on contempt by repeating a silly phrase ("the greatest generation") like a magic spell while deploying fulsome praise like carpet bombing.
The campaign is especially intense among members of the 1960s generation who once chose to treat all present and former soldiers like dirt and are willing at long last to risk some friendly words about World War II veterans, now that most are safely underground and guaranteed not to talk back, enjoy their celebrity or start acting like they own the joint. A quick glance at the famous Hemingway B.S. detector shows the needle pegged at Maximum, where it's been all week, from Memorial Day through the D-Day anniversary run-up.
When I was in junior high school long ago, a touring arts program visited schools in New York state. One performance consisted of a celebrated actress reciting Emily Dickinson's poetry onstage for 90 minutes or so. I defy any audience to listen attentively to 90 minutes of Dickinson without showing the strain, and my school definitely wasn't having any.
A few minutes into the show, the auditorium was alive with student chatter, so loud a buzz you could barely hear the performance. Being a poetry-lover, I devoted myself to setting an example of rapt attention for, maybe, five minutes, at which point I threw in the towel and joined the mass murmur.
The actress manfully completed her performance. When it was over we gave her a stupendous ovation. We were glad it was finished and (more important) knew perfectly well that we had behaved like pigs and intended to make up for it by clapping and roaring and shouting. But the performer wasn't having any. She gave us a cold curtsy and left the stage and would not return for a second bow.
I have always admired her for that: a more memorable declaration than anything Dickinson ever wrote. And today's endless ovation for World War II vets doesn't change the fact that this nation has behaved boorishly, with colossal disrespect. If we cared about that war, the men who won it and the ideas it suggests, we would teach our children (at least) four topics:
• The major battles of the war. When I was a child in the 1960s, names like Corregidor and Iwo Jima were still sacred, and pronounced everywhere with respect. Writing in the 1960s about the battle of Midway, Samuel Eliot Morison stepped out of character to plead with his readers: "Threescore young aviators . . . met flaming death that day in reversing the verdict of battle. Think of them, reader, every Fourth of June. They and their comrades who survived changed the whole course of the Pacific War." Today the Battle of Midway has become niche-market nostalgia material, and most children (and many adults) have never heard of it. Thus we honor "the greatest generation." (And if I hear that phrase one more time I will surely puke.)
• The bestiality of the Japanese. The Japanese army saw captive soldiers as cowards, lower than lice. If we forget this we dishonor the thousands who were tortured and murdered, and put ourselves in danger of believing the soul-corroding lie that all cultures are equally bad or good. Some Americans nowadays seem to think America's behavior during the war was worse than Japan's--we did intern many loyal Americans of Japanese descent. That was unforgivable--and unspeakably trivial compared to Japan's unique achievement, mass murder one atrocity at a time.
In "The Other Nuremberg," Arnold Brackman cites (for instance) "the case of Lucas Doctolero, crucified, nails driven through hands, feet and skull"; "the case of a blind woman who was dragged from her home November 17, 1943, stripped naked, and hanged"; "five Filipinos thrown into a latrine and buried alive." In the Japanese-occupied Philippines alone, at least 131,028 civilians and Allied prisoners of war were murdered. The Japanese committed crimes against Allied POWs and Asians that would be hard still, today, for a respectable newspaper even to describe. Mr. Brackman's 1987 book must be read by everyone who cares about World War II and its veterans, or the human race.
• The attitude of American intellectuals. Before Pearl Harbor but long after the character of Hitlerism was clear--after the Nuremberg laws, the Kristallnacht pogrom, the establishment of Dachau and the Gestapo--American intellectuals tended to be dead against the U.S. joining Britain's war on Hitler.
Today's students learn (sometimes) about right-wing isolationists like Charles Lindbergh and the America Firsters. They are less likely to read documents like this, which appeared in Partisan Review (the U.S. intelligentsia's No. 1 favorite mag) in fall 1939, signed by John Dewey, William Carlos Williams, Meyer Schapiro and many more of the era's leading lights. "The last war showed only too clearly that we can have no faith in imperialist crusades to bring freedom to any people. Our entry into the war, under the slogan of 'Stop Hitler!' would actually result in the immediate introduction of totalitarianism over here. . . . The American masses can best help [the German people] by fighting at home to keep their own liberties." The intelligentsia acted on its convictions. "By one means or another," Diana Trilling later wrote of this period, "most of the intellectuals of our acquaintance evaded the draft."
Why rake up these Profiles in Disgrace? Because in the Iraq War era they have a painfully familiar ring.
• The veterans' neglected voice. World War II produced an extraordinary literature of first-person soldier narratives--most of them out of print or unknown. Books like George MacDonald Fraser's "Quartered Safe Out Here," Philip Ardery's "Bomber Pilot," James Fahey's "Pacific War Diary." If we were serious about commemorating the war, we would do something serious. The Library of America includes two volumes on "Reporting World War II," but where are the soldiers' memoirs versus the reporters'? If we were serious, we would have every grade school in the nation introduce itself to local veterans and invite them over. We'd use software to record these informal talks and weave them into a National Second World War Narrative in cyberspace. That would be a monument worth having.
Speaking of which: I am privileged to know a gentleman who enlisted in the Army as an aviation cadet in 1942, served in combat as a navigator in a B-24, was shot down and interned in Switzerland, escaped, and flew in the air transport command for the rest of the war. He became a scientist and had a long, distinguished career. Among his friends he is a celebrated raconteur, and his prose is strong and charming. He wrote up his World War II experiences, and no one--no magazine, no book publisher--will take them on. My suggestions have all bombed out.
If you're interested, give me a call. But I'm not holding my breath. The country is too busy toasting the "greatest generation" to pay attention to its actual members.
Mr. Gelernter is a contributing editor of The Weekly Standard and professor of computer science at Yale.
Copyright © 2004 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
June 04, 2004, 8:51 a.m.
Rivalry at Normandy
U.S. Marines barred from the June 6, 1944 landings.
By W. Thomas Smith Jr.
Sixty-years-ago, along a 60-mile stretch of France's Normandy coastline, a combined force of American, British, and Canadian soldiers began streaming ashore as German artillery, mortar, machine-gun, and rifle fire ripped into their ranks. The mission of the Allied force was to kick down the door of Nazi Germany's Fortress Europe, and then launch a drive toward the heart of Adolf Hitler's Third Reich.
Overseen by American Gen. Dwight D. "Ike" Eisenhower, the operation was — and remains to this day — the largest amphibious assault in history.
Since then, the question has often been raised as to why the U.S. Marine Corps did not play a leading role in the landings. After all, the Corps's raison d'être was amphibious warfare. Marines had been perfecting the art of the amphibious assault since the 1920's, and between 1942 and 1944, they had put their skills to practical use at places like Guadalcanal, Makin, Bougainville, and Tarawa, in the Pacific.
In the Atlantic, Marines had trained Army forces for seaborne landings prior to the North African campaign in 1942, and then made landings during the same. Marines trained Army forces for the Sicilian-Italian landings in 1943. Marine Corps amphibious experts were on Ike's staff. And most Normandy-bound Army units were in fact instructed by Marines prior to the 1944 invasion.
So why didn't U.S. Marines storm the French coast with their Army counterparts?
First, the Marine Corps was then — as it has always been — much smaller than the Army. During World War II, the Corps swelled to a force comprising six divisions, whereas the Army expanded to 89 divisions. The Corps' resources were stretched thin, and much of its efforts were focused on the fighting in the Pacific.
Second, a deep-seeded rivalry between the Army and Marines was in full bloom: Its origins stretching back to World War I; the defining period of the modern Marine Corps.
Following the 1918 Battle of Belleau Wood (France), in which Marines played a leading role, newspapers in the U.S. credited much of the success of the American Expeditionary Force to the Marines. This occurred at the expense of deserving Army units even when referring to actions in which Marines did not participate.
In one instance, a number of newspapers covering the fighting at the Marne River bridges at Chateau-Thierry (a few days prior to the Battle of Belleau Wood) published headlines that read "Germans stopped at Chateau-Thierry with help of God and a few Marines." The headlines contributed to the Corps' already legendary reputation, and the Army was justifiably incensed. The Germans in fact had been stopped at Chateau-Thierry by the U.S. Army's 7th machinegun battalion.
Army leaders — including Generals George C. Marshall, Eisenhower, and Omar N. Bradley — were determined not to be upstaged by Marines, again. Thus, when America entered World War II in late 1941, the Marine Corps was deliberately excluded from large-scale participation in the European theater. And when the largest amphibious operation in history was launched, it was for all intents and purposes an Army show.
In the wee hours of June 6, 1944, paratroopers from the American 82nd, 101st, and British 6th Airborne divisions began jumping over France. Hours later, the first assault waves of the initial 175,000-man seaborne force began hitting the Normandy beaches at the Bay of Seine. Five beaches comprised the landing areas: Sword, Juno, and Gold Beaches were struck by Lt. Gen. Miles Christopher Dempsey's Second British Army. Omaha and Utah Beaches were stormed by Gen. Bradley's First U.S. Army.
Between Omaha and Utah, 225 men of the U.S. 2nd Ranger Battalion were tasked with scaling the 100-foot cliffs of Pointe du Hoc. There, five 155-millimeter guns were emplaced in reinforced concrete bunkers. As such the position encompassed "the most dangerous battery in France." It had to be knocked out to protect the landings.
When the Rangers began suffering heavy losses, brief consideration was given to sending-in the Marines from one of the offshore ships' detachments.
Those slated to go were leathernecks from the 84-man Marine Detachment aboard the battleship U.S.S. Texas. On the morning of June 7 (D-plus-one), the Texas's Marines began making last minute preparations: Wiping down weapons, distributing grenades, waterproofing field packs, and sharpening K-Bar fighting knives. Others were on the mess decks eating the traditional pre-landing breakfast of steak and eggs: A fact that concerned the Navy's medical corpsmen who feared they would be treating stomach wounds later in the day. Those anxious to go ashore, watched the ongoing action from the ship's railings.
In his book, Spearheading D-Day, Jonathan Gawne writes, "Most of these Marines had no combat experience and had only been in the Corps for a few months [the same could have been said of many of the soldiers who had just landed]. One of them [the Marines] commented: 'This is going to be the biggest slaughter since Custer got his at the Little Big Horn.'"
At the last minute, word was passed down through the Army chain of command that no Marines would be allowed to go ashore, not even riding shotgun on landing craft ferrying Army troops or supplies. Rumors quickly spread that the Army leadership feared a repeat of the media gaffes in 1918. They did not want to see headlines that read, Marines save Rangers at Normandy. Consequently, the Marines were ordered to "stand down."
Though little-known outside of special-operations circles, Marines did however play a few combat roles in the invasion.
Prior-to, during, and after the landings, Marines assigned to the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) — the predecessor to the Central Intelligence Agency — planned and led sabotage and resistance operations with the French underground against the occupying Germans. On D-Day, Marines helped pave the way for British and American pathfinders and paratroopers who dropped behind enemy lines. Additionally, a handful of Marine Corps observers were attached to Army landing forces.
Offshore, Marines were positioned high in the superstructures of American warships in the English Channel. From their lofty perches, the riflemen fired at and detonated floating mines as the ships moved in close to "bombardment stations" along the French coastline. It was reminiscent of the Old Corps during the age of sail when sharp-shooting Marines climbed the masts and riggings and battled enemy crews from the "fighting tops."
Normandy was indeed big, but the war itself was far bigger. There was enough action in both the Atlantic and Pacific theaters for everyone, and everyone got to play. But that failed to stanch the growing interservice rivalry between the Army and Marines.
The day before the invasion of Normandy, a restless Army Lt. Gen. George S. Patton Jr. addressed his troops (the shorter, less-profane version of that address was made famous by actor George C. Scott, who ironically was a former U.S. Marine).
Publicly, Patton was full of fire and an unsated desire to kill the enemy. Privately, he was disappointed. Neither he nor his 1st U.S. Army Group — a skeleton host formed to deceive the Germans into believing that the Americans would land at Pas de Calais — were going to participate in the landings. But unbeknownst to the general, the coming weeks would see Eisenhower bring Patton off the sidelines, give him command of the U.S. Third Army, and then hurl that force against the reconstituted German defenses beyond the Normandy beachhead. In that capacity, Patton was destined to make headlines of his own.
Outlining his colorful albeit controversial vision of the future, Patton said, "The quicker we clean up this g**damned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Japs and clean out their nest, too. Before the g**damned Marines get all of the credit."
— A former U.S. Marine infantry leader and paratrooper, W. Thomas Smith Jr. is a freelance journalist whose work has appeared in a variety of national and international publications. His third book, Alpha Bravo Delta Guide to American Airborne Forces, has just been published.
http://www.nationalreview.com/comment/smith200406040851.asp
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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Bayonet Brits kill 35 rebels (Brits Go Hand To Hand 5 to 1)
The Sun ^ | 5-19-04
OUTNUMBERED British soldiers killed 35 Iraqi attackers in the Army’s first bayonet charge since the Falklands War 22 years ago. The fearless Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders stormed rebel positions after being ambushed and pinned down.
Despite being outnumbered five to one, they suffered only three minor wounds in the hand-to-hand fighting near the city of Amara.
The battle erupted after Land Rovers carrying 20 Argylls came under attack on a highway.
After radioing for back-up, they fixed bayonets and charged at 100 rebels using tactics learned in drills.
Charge ... tactics from drills
When the fighting ended bodies lay all over the highway — and more were floating in a nearby river. Nine rebels were captured.
An Army spokesman said: “This was an intense engagement.â€
The last bayonet charge was by the Scots Guards and the Paras against Argentinian positions.
http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2004223179,00.html
See Also, Post + Responses...
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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Chicago Tribune
May 16, 2004
Marines who liberated Baghdad back in the thick of Iraq fighting
BY EVAN OSNOS
FALLUJAH, Iraq - They were the poster boys - literally - for the swift invasion of Iraq: the U.S. Marines who helped tug down a statue of Saddam Hussein in an instantly iconic image of the fall of Baghdad.
None of them could have predicted where they would end up a year later.
After nine months away from Iraq, the 3rd Battalion of the 4th Marine Regiment returned in February for what its members thought would be a low-key tour of security and reconstruction duty. But within weeks, the troops were urgently reassigned to help quell the uprising in Fallujah, Iraq's most rebellious city, and found themselves in tougher combat than many faced on the road to Baghdad.
"In many ways, this was the fight that we expected last year," said battalion commander Lt. Col. B.P. McCoy. "We were working civil-military operations, handing out candy and kissing babies," when the battalion was ordered to Fallujah, he said.
Their return to combat is a testament to a conflict that still flares with brutal intensity, demanding more troops and heavier armor than expected more than a year after the declared end of major fighting.
The military has already rotated more than 100,000 soldiers into Iraq since January, but the unyielding pace and toll of the conflict has prompted military planners to put off the goal of reducing troop levels by the end of this month.
Two-thirds of the roughly 800 Marines in the 3rd Battalion were in Iraq last year, making them one of the most battle-tested infantry units now in Iraq. The troops played a key role in the invasion, seizing parts of downtown Baghdad on April 9 of last year.
After arriving in Fallujah on April 7, they found themselves in round-the-clock clashes with rebels and responded with a full range of combat power, from mortars to fighter jets.
Since April 5, fighting in this Sunni-dominated city 35 miles west of Baghdad has killed hundreds of local residents and dozens of Marines.
The violence has eased up since Marines and civic leaders reached an agreement to form a local security force to police the city, allowing U.S. troops to pull back.
"It's extremely tough because you try to help these people and in the process of doing that some of our people are getting killed," said Sgt. Cornelius Blyther, 30, a father of three from Springfield, Mass.
Cpl. Tom Conroy occasionally sees himself in pictures on postcards or Web sites that commemorate that heady moment in Baghdad last year. That's Conroy, in a helmet and flak jacket, looking surprised at the foot of the falling iron statue of the ousted dictator. Last month, he was among a company of 180 Marines who weathered an ambush and a 14-hour gunfight in the town of Karmah, near Fallujah. Three Marines were wounded; commanders estimated they killed more than 100 suspected insurgents.
"We knew we were coming back but we didn't know it would be that soon," he said.
The battalion members say they are honored by the confidence shown in them and the opportunity to apply what they know. But they don't hide the confusion and uncertainty that surrounds a conflict that lies somewhere between war and peace.
"It is hard explaining to my family why I came back here again," said Lance Cpl. Zac Garland, 21, a Humvee driver with a starburst left by enemy fire a few weeks ago on the bullet-proof windshield in front of his face. "The way I say it to them is that I am here to fight so that my kids grow up exactly as I did."
Nobody ignores the strains that the time away has placed on families, but commanders say they worked hard while at home to prepare wives and children for the months ahead.
"We told them before we left, and told them that the world is watching them and that the terrorists want to see the families be fed up and all we ask them is to support us, be patient, and to share the courage," McCoy said.
After weeks in Baghdad and the southern town of Hillah, the battalion returned last year to its home base in Twenty-Nine Palms, Calif., at the end of May. Six months later, they left to train in Okinawa, Japan. By the third week of February, they were back in Iraq.
The battalion's troops were assigned to security and support operations in the northwestern town of Haditha, visiting schools, chatting with residents, enjoying a riverside barracks with bunk beds and a cool breeze. But when Fallujah erupted in violence last month, they were summoned to help. Mortarmen and others who had been given peacetime jobs regrouped into combat teams.
Now the battalion, after five weeks in Fallujah, has been ordered to return to Haditha. There the Marines will wait for the next trip into downtown Fallujah or the next weapons-hunting expedition in the desert.
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ADDENDUM...
Ref
http://freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1018860/posts
http://freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1018860/posts
and
McCoy's Marines, Chapters 1-6...
http://sfgate.com/koopman/
-GyG
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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Local man remembers landing on Gilbert Islands during WWII
By FRANK WALLIS
Bulletin Staff Writer
Bulletin Photo by Kevin Pieper
Duane Paulson
EDITOR'S NOTE: With this story, The Baxter Bulletin begins a series of stories featuring veterans of the Twin Lakes Area. The intent of the series is to honor the men and women who served and to expand The Bulletin's capacity as a source of information on WWII and the Korean War for future generations. The series will cover all aspects of service at home and abroad -- from mail call to the mess hall to the battle front. To suggest veteran candidates for this series, e-mail Frank Wallis at frankw@baxterbulletin.com or call (870) 508-8056.
Tour of Duty
On Aug. 17, 1942, Duane Paulson, owner of Cotter Hobbies, landed with a battalion of U.S. Marines on an atoll in the Gilbert Islands in the U.S. military's first and only ground assault launched from submarines.
By day's end, the Marines had killed 83 Japanese and lost 14 to enemy fire. The victory made way for the later destruction of a Japanese airfield that had been part of a vital supply line in Japan's Pacific war plan.
By November, Col. Evan Carlson's 2nd Raider Marine Battalion, including Paulson, would become U.S. Marine legends -- America's first guerilla fighting force for 30 days behind enemy lines on Guadalcanal.
"Near as I could tell, it was the quickest way I could (confront an enemy soldier)," said Paulson of his decision to enlist. "We were at war, and it was the thing for a young man to do."
It was not unprecedented in the Paulson family. His father, Martin Paulson, fought with the Army in France during WWI.
"He got shot up," said Paulson. "I saw him cry for the first time when I left. I wondered what the hell the crying was about. Then, when my son left for Vietnam, I was crying."
During the year before Paulson's enlistment in the Marines, he accepted a football scholarship to attend George Washington University in Washington D.C. "I made a mess of that," he said. Besides being too small to play at the position of defensive tackle, he was distressed academically by "lots of women, cheap whiskey and no legal drinking age."
On the beach
Paulson, now 81, said the Makin assault made encouraging headlines in the United States, but the weather made the landing in rubber boats and retreat from the atoll a challenge that would push the Marines to their physical limits.
"We trained in 20-to-25 foot surf and thought if we can land in that we can land in anything," said Paulson. "We landed in 7- to 8-foot surf. One wave right behind the other didn't give us time to recover in between."
Eight men in each boat paddled the entire way to shore. Because of the uncooperative surf, the battalion was in disarray when it landed, but the expert guns of the Raider Marines would still shoot straight that day.
On shore, an errant discharge from a Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) was believed to have given away the Marines' position. Paulson said the Japanese had spied the Marines before they landed on the beach. After the shot rang out he ran as hard as he could straight into the jungle until he hit a single strand of barbed wire stretched about mid-chest high between trees.
He broke the wire, but it slammed him onto his back in the process and separated him from his rifle. As he was recovering from the fall, Paulson said, he saw a single Japanese patrol retreating from the area.
"I could have shot him. I should have shot him," said Paulson. It wasn't long before a fire fight was under way.
Twice the Japanese charged straight into the Marines and were mowed down under fire. Paulson said Col. Carlson didn't know it at the time, but most of the Japanese on the atoll had been killed by the end of the second charge. Paulson said there was a president's son on the ground during all the shooting, too -- Maj. James Roosevelt, who would later lead the 4th Battalion of Raider Marines.
Leaving the island against the surf proved impossible for some in the battalion. Col. Carlson would remain behind with a handful of men who ultimately carried boats to a bay across the island to rendezvous with the submarines out of the wind and surf.
'The Long Patrol'
After five days of "R and R" following Makin, Paulson went with the B Company in the 2nd Battalion on "The Long Patrol," believed to be the longest WWII patrol of its kind. Paulson said the Japanese believed they "had an exclusive" on guerilla warfare. The Long Patrol ended with 488 enemy killed, and 32 killed or wounded for the 2nd Raiders.
"They didn't think the soft, decadent Americans could do it," said Paulson. "We surprised them every day."
Paulson said he entered the jungle weighing about 208 pounds and was one of about 400 Marines to finish the patrol. Malnourished at the end of the patrol, Paulson said he weighed 120 pounds and was hospitalized a while in New Zealand. There, he discovered a little know fact about New Zealand.
"New Zealand sent the highest percentage of men per capita into the war than any other allied country," said Paulson. In other words, there were a lot of available women in New Zealand, he said.
Paulson said the delivery of food to Raider Marines during The Long Patrol was a problem for the military. Airplanes would drop rations -- including rice, slab bacon, raisins and sugar -- to the Marines on the ground. Cutting holes in the jungle canopy for the drops was work enough to burn up all the calories the rations provided. Paulson said he learned to fry rice and bananas in the bacon fat.
"I don't recall a day without food, but it was hard to get the calories we needed to do what we were doing," said Paulson.
Col. Carlson learned guerilla warfare from the Japanese as a U.S. emissary assisting the Chinese at war with Japan before WWII.
"He brought a lot of new ideas," said Paulson.
Carlson introduced the fire group patrol, a group of three marines armed with BARs, tommy guns and M1 rifles. The relatively complex movement of a battalion divided into companies and fire groups made for slow but efficient movement through the jungle.
Paulson said his bullets found their mark for sure twice during the patrol.
"It didn't feel very good," said Paulson of the experience of killing the enemy. "I was taught strictly against it in Sunday school.
"I never knew of anyone who liked to kill, but there were some who handled it well," Paulson said.
After the war
Carlson has been a businessman since completing his 12-year military career. His expert marksmanship once earned him a job guarding a nuclear facility. He was four times reactivated by the Marines, first as a rifle coach during the Korean War and three times during peacetime to compete with U.S. Marine Corps shooting teams in international marksmanship contests. He once shot with a team to one point shy of a world championship.
He was motivated politically once to work for the 1964 GOP presidential campaign of Sen. Barry Goldwater.
"I haven't found anyone since who was worthy of that kind of effort," said Paulson.
http://www.baxterbulletin.com/news/stories/20040514/localnews/417312.html
frankw@baxterbulletin.com
Email this story
Originally published Friday, May 14, 2004
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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
A Marine Comes Home--LtCol Strobl
23 April
A Marine Comes Home--LtCol Strobl
Chance Phelps was wearing his Saint Christopher medal when he was killed on Good Friday. Eight days later, I handed the medallion to his mother. I did not know Chance before he died. Today, I miss him.
Over a year ago, I volunteered to escort the remains of Marines killed in Iraq should the need arise. The military provides a uniformed escort for all casualties to ensure they are delivered safely to the next of kin and are treated with dignity and respect along the way.
Thankfully, I hadn’t been called on to be an escort since Operation Iraqi Freedom began. The first few weeks of April, however, had been a tough month for the Marines. On the Monday after Easter I was reviewing Department of Defense press releases when I saw that a Private First Class Chance Phelps was killed in action outside of Baghdad. The press release listed his hometown as the same town I am from. I notified our Battalion adjutant and told him that, should the duty to escort PFC Phelps fall to our Battalion, I would take him.
I didn’t hear back the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday until 1800. The Battalion duty NCO called my cell phone and said I needed to be ready to leave for Dover Air Force Base at 1900 in order to escort the remains of PFC Phelps.
Before leaving for Dover I called the major who had the task of informing Phelps’ parents of his death. The major said the funeral was going to be in Dubois, Wyoming. (It turned out that PFC Phelps only lived in my hometown for his senior year of high school.) I had never been to Wyoming and had never heard of Dubois.
With two other escorts from Quantico, got to Dover AFB at 2330 on Tuesday night. First thing on Wednesday we reported to the mortuary at the base. In the escort lounge there were about half a dozen Army soldiers and about an equal number of Marines waiting to meet up with their remains for departure. PFC Phelps was not ready, however, and I was told to come back on Thursday. Now, at Dover with nothing to do and a solemn mission ahead, I began to get depressed.
I was wondering about Chance Phelps. I didn’t know anything about him; not even what he looked like. I wondered about his family and what it would be like to meet them. I did pushups in my room until I couldn’t do any more.
On Thursday morning I reported back to the mortuary. This time there was a new group of Army escorts and a couple of the Marines who had been there Wednesday. There was also an Air Force captain there to escort his brother home to San Diego.
We received a brief covering our duties, the proper handling of the remains, the procedures for draping a flag over a casket, and of course, the paperwork attendant to our task. We were shown pictures of the shipping container and told that each one contained, in addition to the casket, a flag. I was given an extra flag since Phelps parents were divorced. This way they would each get one. I didn’t like the idea of stuffing the flag into my luggage but I couldn’t see carrying a large flag, folded for presentation to the next of kin, through an airport while in my Alpha uniform. It barely fit into my suitcase.
It turned out that I was the last escort to leave on Thursday. This meant that I repeatedly got to participate in the small ceremonies that mark all departures from the Dover AFB mortuary.
Most of the remains are taken from Dover AFB by hearse to the airport in Philadelphia for air transport to their final destination. When the remains of a service member are loaded onto a hearse and ready to leave the Dover mortuary, there is an announcement made over the building’s intercom system. With the announcement, all service members working at the mortuary, regardless of service branch, stop work and form up along the driveway to render a slow ceremonial salute as the hearse departs. Escorts also participated in each formation until it was their time to leave.
On this day there were some civilian workers doing construction on the mortuary grounds. As each hearse passed, they would stoop working and place their hard hats over their hearts. This was my first sign that my mission with PFC Phelps was larger than the Marine Corps and that his family and friends were not grieving alone.
Eventually I was the last escort remaining in the lounge. The Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the Marine liaison there came to see me. He had Chance Phelps’s personal effects. He removed each item; a large watch, a wooden cross with a lanyard, two loose dog tags, two dog tags on a chain, and a Saint Christopher medal on a silver chain. Although we had been briefed that we might be carrying some personal effects of the deceased, this set me aback. Holding his personal effects, I was starting to get to know Chance Phelps.
Finally we were ready. I grabbed my bags and went outside. I was somewhat startled when I saw the shipping container, loaded three-quarters of the way in to the back of a black Chevy Suburban that had been modified to carry such cargo. This was the first time I saw my cargo and I was surprised at how large the shipping container was. The Master Gunnery Sergeant and I verified that the name on the container was Phelps then they pushed him the rest of the way in and we left. Now it was PFC Chance Phelps’s turn to receive the military and construction workers honors. He was finally moving towards home.
As I chatted with the driver on the hour-long trip to Philadelphia, it became clear that he considered it an honor to be able to contribute in getting Chance home. He offered his sympathy to the family. I was glad to finally be moving yet apprehensive about what things would be like at the airport. I didn’t want this package to be treated like ordinary cargo yet I knew that the simple logistics of moving around a box this large would have to overrule my preferences.
When we got to the Northwest Airlines cargo terminal at the Philadelphia airport, the cargo handler and hearse driver pulled the shipping container onto a loading bay while I stood to the side and executed a slow salute. Once Chance was safely in the cargo area, and I was satisfied that he would be treated with due care and respect, the hearse driver drove me over to the passenger terminal and dropped me off.
As I walked up to the ticketing counter in my uniform, a Northwest employee started to ask me if I knew how to use the automated boarding pass dispenser. Before she could finish another ticketing agent interrupted her. He told me to go straight to the counter then explained to the woman that I was a military escort. She seemed embarrassed. The woman behind the counter already had tears in her eyes as I was pulling out my government travel voucher. She struggled to find words but managed to express her sympathy for the family and thank me for my service. She upgraded my ticket to first class.
After clearing security, I was met by another Northwest Airline employee at the gate. She told me a representative from cargo would be up to take me down to the tarmac to observe the movement and loading of PFC Phelps. I hadn’t really told any of them what my mission was but they all knew.
When the man from the cargo crew met me, he, too, struggled for words. On the tarmac, he told me stories of his childhood as a military brat and repeatedly told me that he was sorry for my loss. I was starting to understand that, even here in Philadelphia, far away from Chance’s hometown, people were mourning with his family.
On the tarmac, the cargo crew was silent expect for occasional instructions to each other. I stood to the side and saluted as the conveyor moved Chance to the aircraft. I was relieved when he was finally settled into place. The rest of the bags were loaded and I watched them shut the cargo bay door before heading back up to board the aircraft.
One of the pilots had taken my carry-on bag himself and had it stored next to the cockpit door so he could watch it while I was on the tarmac. As I boarded the plane, I could tell immediately that the flight attendants had already been informed of my mission. They seemed a little choked up as they led me to my seat.
About 45 minutes into our flight I still hadn’t spoken to anyone expect to tell the first class flight attendant that I would prefer water. I was surprised when the flight attendant from the back of the plane suddenly appeared and leaned down to grab my hands. She said, I want you to have this as she pushed a small gold crucifix, with a relief of Jesus, into my hand. It was her lapel pin and it looked somewhat worn. I suspected it had been hers for quite some time. That was the only thing she said to me the entire flight.
When we landed in Minneapolis, I was the first one off the plane. The pilot himself escorted me straight down the side stairs of the exit tunnel to the tarmac. The cargo crew there already knew what was on this plane. They were unloading some of the luggage when an Army sergeant, a fellow escort who had left Dover earlier that day, appeared next to me. His cargo was going to be loaded onto my plane for its continuing leg. We stood side-by-side in the dark and executed a slow salute as Chance was removed from the plane. The cargo crew at Minneapolis kept Phelps’s shipping case separate from all the other luggage as they waited to take us to the cargo area. I waited with the soldier and we saluted together as his fallen comrade was loaded onto the plane.
My trip with Chance was going to be somewhat unusual in that we were going to have an overnight stopover. We had a late start out of Dover and there was just too much traveling ahead of us to continue on that day. (We still had a flight from Minneapolis to Billings, Montana, then a five-hour drive to the funeral home. That was to be followed by a 90-minute drive to Chance’s hometown.)
I was concerned about leaving him overnight in the Minneapolis cargo area. My ten-minute ride from the tarmac to the cargo holding area eased my apprehension. Just as in Philadelphia, the cargo guys in Minneapolis were extremely respectful and seemed honored to do their part. While talking with them, I learned that the cargo supervisor for Northwest Airlines at the Minneapolis airport is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps Reserves. They called him for me and let me talk to him.
Once I was satisfied that all would be okay for the night, I asked one of the cargo crew if he would take me back to the terminal so that I could catch my hotel’s shuttle. Instead, he drove me straight to the hotel himself. At the hotel, the Lieutenant Colonel called me and said he would personally pick me up in the morning and bring me back to the cargo area.
Before leaving the airport, I had told the cargo crew that I wanted to come back to the cargo area in the morning rather than go straight to the passenger terminal. I felt bad for leaving Chance overnight and wanted to see the shipping container where I had left it for the night. It was fine.
The Lieutenant Colonel made a few phone calls then drove me around to the passenger terminal. I was met again by a man from the cargo crew and escorted down to the tarmac. The pilot of the plane joined me as I waited for them to bring Chance from the cargo area. The pilot and I talked of his service in the Air Force and how he missed it.
I saluted as Chance was moved up the conveyor and onto the plane. It was to be a while before the luggage was to be loaded so the pilot took me up to the board the plane where I could watch the tarmac from a window. With no other passengers yet on board, I talked with the flight attendants and one of the cargo guys. He had been in the Navy and one of the attendants had been in the Air Force. Everywhere I went, people were continuing to tell me their relationship to the military. After all the baggage was aboard, I went back down to the tarmac, inspected the cargo bay, and watched them secure the door.
When we arrived at Billings, I was again the first off the plane. This time Chance’s shipping container was the first item out of the cargo hold. The funeral director had driven five hours up from Riverton, Wyoming to meet us. He shook my hand as if I had personally lost a brother.
We moved Chance to a secluded cargo area. Now it was time for me to remove the shipping container and drape the flag over the casket. I had predicted that this would choke me up but I found I was more concerned with proper flag etiquette than the solemnity of the moment. Once the flag was in place, I stood by and saluted as Chance was loaded onto the van from the funeral home. I was thankful that we were in a small airport and the event seemed to go mostly unnoticed. I picked up my rental car and followed Chance for five hours until we reached Riverton. During the long trip I imagined how my meeting with Chance’s parents would go. I was very nervous about that.
When we finally arrived at the funeral home, I had my first face-to-face meeting with the Casualty Assistance Call Officer. It had been his duty to inform the family of Chance’s death. He was on the Inspector/Instructor staff of an infantry company in Salt Lake City, Utah and I knew he had had a difficult week.
Inside I gave the funeral director some of the paperwork from Dover and discussed the plan for the next day. The service was to be at 1400 in the high school gymnasium up in Dubois, population about 900, some 90 miles away. Eventually, we had covered everything. The CACO had some items that the family wanted to be inserted into the casket and I felt I needed to inspect Chance’s uniform to ensure everything was proper. Although it was going to be a closed casket funeral, I still wanted to ensure his uniform was squared away.
Earlier in the day I wasn’t sure how I’d handle this moment. Suddenly, the casket was open and I got my first look at Chance Phelps. His uniform was immaculate a tribute to the professionalism of the Marines at Dover. I noticed that he wore six ribbons over his marksmanship badge; the senior one was his Purple Heart. I had been in the Corps for over 17 years, including a combat tour, and was wearing eight ribbons. This Private First Class, with less than a year in the Corps, had already earned six.
The next morning, I wore my dress blues and followed the hearse for the trip up to Dubois. This was the most difficult leg of our trip for me. I was bracing for the moment when I would meet his parents and hoping I would find the right words as I presented them with Chance’s personal effects.
We got to the high school gym about four hours before the service was to begin. The gym floor was covered with folding chairs neatly lined in rows. There were a few townspeople making final preparations when I stood next to the hearse and saluted as Chance was moved out of the hearse. The sight of a flag-draped coffin was overwhelming to some of the ladies.
We moved Chance into the gym to the place of honor. A Marine sergeant, the command representative from Chance’s battalion, met me at the gym. His eyes were watery as he relieved me of watching Chance so that I could go eat lunch and find my hotel.
At the restaurant, the table had a flier announcing Chance’s service. Dubois High School gym; two o’clock. It also said that the family would be accepting donations so that they could buy flak vests to send to troops in Iraq.
I drove back to the gym at a quarter after one. I could’ve walked, you could walk to just about anywhere in Dubois in ten minutes. I had planned to find a quiet room where I could take his things out of their pouch and untangle the chain of the Saint Christopher medal from the dog tag chains and arrange everything before his parents came in. I had twice before removed the items from the pouch to ensure they were all there even though there was no chance anything could’ve fallen out. Each time, the two chains had been quite tangled. I didn’t want to be fumbling around trying to untangle them in front of his parents. Our meeting, however, didn’t go as expected.
I practically bumped into Chance’s step-mom accidentally and our introductions began in the noisy hallway outside the gym. In short order I had met Chance’s step-mom and father followed by his step-dad and, at last, his mom. I didn’t know how to express to these people my sympathy for their loss and my gratitude for their sacrifice. Now, however, they were repeatedly thanking me for bringing their son home and for my service. I was humbled beyond words.
I told them that I had some of Chance’s things and asked if we could try to find a quiet place. The five of us ended up in what appeared to be a computer lab not what I had envisioned for this occasion.
After we had arranged five chairs around a small table, I told them about our trip. I told them how, at every step, Chance was treated with respect, dignity, and honor. I told them about the staff at Dover and all the folks at Northwest Airlines. I tried to convey how the entire Nation, from Dover to Philadelphia, to Minneapolis, to Billings, and Riverton expressed grief and sympathy over their loss.
Finally, it was time to open the pouch. The first item I happened to pull out was Chance’s large watch. It was still set to Baghdad time. Next were the lanyard and the wooden cross. Then the dog tags and the Saint Christopher medal. This time the chains were not tangled. Once all of his items were laid out on the table, I told his mom that I had one other item to give them. I retrieved the flight attendant’s crucifix from my pocket and told its story. I set that on the table and excused myself. When I next saw Chance’s mom, she was wearing the crucifix on her lapel.
By 1400 most of the seats on the gym floor were filled and people were finding seats in the fixed bleachers high above the gym floor. There were a surprising number of people in military uniform. Many Marines had come up from Salt Lake City. Men from various VFW posts and the Marine Corps League occupied multiple rows of folding chairs. We all stood as Chance’s family took their seats in the front.
It turned out the Chance’s sister, a Petty Officer in the Navy, worked for a Rear Admiral, the Chief of Naval Intelligence at the Pentagon. The Admiral had brought many of the sailors on his staff with him to Dubois pay respects to Chance and support his sister. After a few songs and some words from a Navy Chaplain, the Admiral took the microphone and told us how Chance had died.
Chance was an artillery cannoneer and his unit was acting as provisional military police outside of Baghdad. Chance had volunteered to man a .50 caliber machine gun in the turret of the leading vehicle in a convoy. The convoy came under intense fire but Chance stayed true to his post and returned fire with the big gun, covering the rest of the convoy, until he was fatally wounded.
Then the commander of the local VFW post read some of the letters Chance had written home. In letters to his mom he talked of the mosquitoes and the heat. In letters to his stepfather he told of the dangers of convoy operations and of receiving fire.
The service was a fitting tribute to this hero. When it was over, we stood as the casket was wheeled out with the family following. The casket was placed onto a horse-drawn carriage for the mile-long trip from the gym, down the main street, then up the steep hill to the cemetery. I stood alone and saluted as the carriage departed the high school. I found my car and joined Chance’s convoy.
The town seemingly went from the gym to the street. All along the route, the people had lined the street and were waving small American flags. The flags that were otherwise posted were all at half-staff. For the last quarter mile up the hill, local boy scouts, spaced about 20 feet apart, all in uniform, held large flags. At the foot of the hill, I could look up and back and see the enormity of our procession. I wondered how many people would be at this funeral if it were in, say, Detroit or Los Angeles, probably not as many as were here in little Dubois, Wyoming.
The carriage stopped about 15 yards from the grave and the military pall bearers and the family waited until the men of the VFW and Marine Corps league were formed up and schools busses had arrived carrying many of the people from the procession route. Once the entire crowd was in place, the pallbearers came to attention and began to remove the casket from the caisson. As I had done all week, I came to attention and executed a slow ceremonial salute as Chance was being transferred from one mode of transport to another.
From Dover to Philadelphia; Philadelphia to Minneapolis; Minneapolis to Billings; Billings to Riverton; and Riverton to Dubois we had been together. Now, as I watched them carry him the final 15 yards, I was choking up. I felt that, as long as he was still moving, he was somehow still alive. Then they put him down above his grave. He had stopped moving.
Although my mission had been officially complete once I turned him over to the funeral director at the Billings airport, it was his placement at his grave that really concluded it in my mind. Now, he was home to stay and I suddenly felt at once sad, relieved, and useless.
The chaplain said some words that I couldn’t hear and two Marines removed the flag from the casket and slowly folded it for presentation to his mother. When the ceremony was over, Chance’s father placed a ribbon from his service in Vietnam on Chance’s casket. His mother approached the casket and took something from her blouse and put it on the casket. I later saw that it was the flight attendant’s crucifix. Eventually friends of Chance’s moved closer to the grave. A young man put a can of Coppenhagen on the casket and many others left flowers.
Finally, we all went back to the gym for a reception. There was enough food to feed the entire population for a few days. In one corner of the gym there was a table set up with lots of pictures of Chance and some of his sports awards. People were continually approaching me and the other Marines to thank us for our service. Almost all of them had some story to tell about their connection to the military. About an hour into the reception, I had the impression that every man in Wyoming had, at one time or another, been in the service.
It seemed like every time I saw Chance’s mom she was hugging a different well wisher. As time passed, I began to hear people laughing. We were starting to heal.
After a few hours at the gym, I went back to the hotel to change out of my dress blues. The local VFW post had invited everyone over to celebrate Chance’s life. The Post was on the other end of town from my hotel and the drive took less than two minutes. The crowd was somewhat smaller than what had been at the gym but the Post was packed.
Marines were playing pool at the two tables near the entrance and most of the VFW members were at the bar or around the tables in the bar area. The largest room in the Post was a banquet/dinning/dancing area and it was now called The Chance Phelps Room. Above the entry were two items: a large portrait of Chance in his dress blues and the Eagle, Globe, & Anchor. In one corner of the room there was another memorial to Chance. There were candles burning around another picture of him in his blues. On the table surrounding his photo were his Purple Heart citation and his Purple Heart medal. There was also a framed copy of an excerpt from the Congressional Record. This was an elegant tribute to Chance Phelps delivered on the floor of the United States House of Representatives by Congressman Scott McInnis of Colorado. Above it all was a television that was playing a photomontage of Chance’s life from small boy to proud Marine.
I did not buy a drink that night. As had been happening all day, indeed all week, people were thanking me for my service and for bringing Chance home. Now, in addition to words and handshakes, they were thanking me with beer. I fell in with the men who had handled the horses and horse-drawn carriage. I learned that they had worked through the night to groom and prepare the horses for Chance’s last ride. They were all very grateful that they were able to contribute.
After a while we all gathered in the Chance Phelps room for the formal dedication. The Post commander told us of how Chance had been so looking forward to becoming a Life Member of the VFW. Now, in the Chance Phelps Room of the Dubois, Wyoming post, he would be an eternal member. We all raised our beers and the Chance Phelps room was christened.
Later, as I was walking toward the pool tables, a Staff Sergeant form the Reserve unit in Salt Lake grabbed me and said, Sir, you gotta hear this. There were two other Marines with him and he told the younger one, a Lance Corporal, to tell me his story. The Staff Sergeant said the Lance Corporal was normally too shy and modest to tell it but now he’d had enough beer to overcome his usual tendencies.
As the Lance Corporal started to talk, an older man joined our circle. He wore a baseball cap that indicated he had been with the 1st Marine Division in Korea. Earlier in the evening he had told me about one of his former commanding officers; a Colonel Puller.
So, there I was, standing in a circle with three Marines recently returned from fighting with the 1st Marine Division in Iraq and one not so recently returned from fighting with the 1st Marine Division in Korea. I, who had fought with the 1st Marine Division in Kuwait, was about to gain a new insight into our Corps.
The young Lance Corporal began to tell us his story. At that moment, in this circle of current and former Marines, the differences in our ages and ranks dissipated, we were all simply Marines.
His squad had been on a patrol through a city street. They had taken small arms fire and had literally dodged an RPG round that sailed between two Marines. At one point they received fire from behind a wall and had neutralized the sniper with a SMAW round. The back blast of the SMAW, however, kicked up a substantial rock that hammered the Lance Corporal in the thigh; only missing his groin because he had reflexively turned his body sideways at the shot.
Their squad had suffered some wounded and was receiving more sniper fire when suddenly he was hit in the head by an AK-47 round. I was stunned as he told us how he felt like a baseball bat had been slammed into his head. He had spun around and fell unconscious. When he came to, he had a severe scalp wound but his Kevlar helmet had saved his life. He continued with his unit for a few days before realizing he was suffering the effects of a severe concussion.
As I stood there in the circle with the old man and the other Marines, the Staff Sergeant finished the story. He told of how this Lance Corporal had begged and pleaded with the Battalion surgeon to let him stay with his unit. In the end, the doctor said there was just no way, he had suffered a severe and traumatic head wound and would have to be medic-evaced.
The Marine Corps is a special fraternity. There are moments when we are reminded of this. Interestingly, those moments don’t always happen at awards ceremonies or in dress blues at Birthday Balls. I have found, rather, that they occur at unexpected times and places: next to a loaded moving van at Camp Lejeune’s base housing, in a dirty CP tent in northern Saudi Arabia, and in a smoky VFW post in western Wyoming.
After the story was done, the Lance Corporal stepped over to the old man, put his arm over the man’s shoulder and told him that he, the Korean War vet, was his hero. The two of them stood there with their arms over each other’s shoulders and we were all silent for a moment. When they let go, I told the Lance Corporal that there were recruits down on the yellow footprints tonight that would soon be learning his story.
I was finished drinking beer and telling stories. I found Chance’s father and shook his hand one more time. Chance’s mom had already left and I deeply regretted not being able to tell her goodbye.
I left Dubois in the morning before sunrise for my long drive back to Billings. It had been my honor to take Chance Phelps to his final post. Now he was on the high ground overlooking his town. I miss him.
Regards,
LtCol Strobl
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This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Courage
WITH THE NATION’S FAUX INTELLIGENTSIA still reeling from “shame-shock-horror,” and the Hounds of the Blathervilles in full cry for Donald Rumsfeld's head on a pike, the likelihood of the picture above being seen on the front pages of the "leading" newspapers, or at the top of the news on any of the network news shows approaches absolute zero. After all, just what is the story here? Why should it be of interest to the Americans these “news organizations” supposedly serve?
The story concerns a medal given to a Marine: Marine Receives Navy Cross. The marine in question is Capt. Brian R. Chontosh. “Chontosh” -- an unusual name, one that should be easy to search. But go to Google News and search for “Chontosh.” The hits are meager to say the least. As of this writing, there are eleven. To put this in perspective, a search for “Kerry Medals” returns 1,680 references from Google News while “Iraq Prisons” is a bonanza of reports and commentary -- 8, 660 to be precise. With such an overwhelming glut of news why should any news organization feature a story about the Navy Cross being given to a Marine? What’s that story got, anyway?
The story is this:
Chontosh, 29, from Rochester, N.Y. , received the naval service's second highest award for extraordinary heroism while serving as Combined Anti-Armor Platoon Commander, Weapons Company, 3rd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom March 25, 2003.
While leading his platoon north on Highway 1 toward Ad Diwaniyah, Chontosh's platoon moved into a coordinated ambush of mortars, rocket propelled grenades and automatic weapons fire. With coalition tanks blocking the road ahead, he realized his platoon was caught in a kill zone.
He had his driver move the vehicle through a breach along his flank, where he was immediately taken under fire from an entrenched machine gun. Without hesitation, Chontosh ordered the driver to advance directly at the enemy position enabling his .50 caliber machine gunner to silence the enemy.
He then directed his driver into the enemy trench, where he exited his vehicle and began to clear the trench with an M16A2 service rifle and 9 millimeter pistol. His ammunition depleted, Chontosh, with complete disregard for his safety, twice picked up discarded enemy rifles and continued his ferocious attack.
When a Marine following him found an enemy rocket propelled grenade launcher, Chontosh used it to destroy yet another group of enemy soldiers.
When his audacious attack ended, he had cleared over 200 meters of the enemy trench, killing more than 20 enemy soldiers and wounding several others.
Try to imagine, for only a moment, what those actions entail. Try to put yourself, if for only a moment, on the ground and in the boots of Capt. Chontosh. Try to envision what it is to walk down a trench filled with people whose only mission is to kill you. They number more than 20. You are one. They are all armed. You have one rifle and one pistol. When you run out of ammunition, you have to take up the arms of the enemy. You don’t know if they are loaded or to what extent. But you keep going. In time, after you have killed 20 soldiers and wounded others, the shooting finally stops. Somehow, you are still alive. Somehow, your comrades are still alive. For now.
Could you walk down that trench? I couldn’t. I know all the usual answers: training, duty, responsibility to the men under your command. None of them really answer the question, do they? Call it courage and hold your manhood cheap if you cannot begin to match it.
But you heard nothing about it, did you? You heard, instead, about the sadists until you couldn’t stand to hear any more and then you heard more. You heard about the man from an ancient war who did or did not toss medals away until you couldn’t care about it less and then you heard more.
If you were unfortunate enough to read the words of George Will, professional spinster, this morning, you read his handy guide to S&M:
Americans must not flinch from absorbing the photographs of what some Americans did in that prison. And they should not flinch from this fact: That pornography is, almost inevitably, part of what empire looks like. It does not always look like that, and does not only look like that. But empire is always about domination. Domination for self-defense, perhaps. Domination for the good of the dominated, arguably. But domination.
--No Flinching From the Facts (washingtonpost.com)
That’s what the Washington Post brought you this morning. Why? Because you haven’t had your nose rubbed in this enough yet. How does George Will and the Washington Post know this? Because it would seem that, as of this morning, Donald Rumsfeld still has his job. That’s what is important to the writers and editors of the Post and the other “leading” news organizations today. The prison story with its tops and bottoms and naked images that can be run in the paper with a little discrete blurring here and there is important to these organizations because it is something they can understand. It’s permissible porn and they like it, they really, really like it. Indeed, it would seem that George Will likes it a little too much.
Courage, though, real physical courage that requires a man to put the lives of his comrades above his own life, is beyond the shrunken moral scope of those who’ve spent the last week grinding out every last drop of rancid, phony outrage out of the Iraq Prison centerfolds they been displaying. Outrage and shock may have been permissible and even correct at the outset of the incident, but now doesn’t it seem as if there’s an element of perverse enjoyment creeping into the whole thing?
I began this comment thinking that it was an outrage that a report on the heroism of Capt. Brian R. Chontosh wasn’t deemed worthy of comment by the “leaders” of the “leading news organizations” of the United States.
I’ve changed my mind.
It is they who are not worthy of him.
Posted by Vanderleun at May 11, 2004 11:13 AM
SEE ALSO: Click-Here!
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Lawton (OK) Constitution
September 7, 2003
Time To Rethink The Military Promotion System?
By Richard Hart Sinnreich
Last week, The Washington Post reported the formal censure by the acting
Secretary of the Navy of the retiring commander of Marine Corps forces in
Central Command and the Pacific. The censure cited his "lack of judgment" in
requiring a subordinate selected for promotion to brigadier general to wear
the stars of his new rank prior to receiving the prerequisite Senate
approval.
In the military, awarding the insignia of rank in advance of actual
promotion is called "frocking." It occurs because a considerable time may
elapse between selection for promotion and the date on which the latter
legally takes effect. Meanwhile, assignment exigencies may require the
selected officer to assume the duties of his or her new rank before actually
receiving it.
Usually, such a "promotable" officer must simply operate for a time at the
lower rank. In some cases, however, and especially where interaction with
foreign military forces is involved, sporting a lower rank than the job
requires invites unnecessary complications.
In those circumstances, senior commanders may decide to frock the officer,
granting him or her the outward status of the new rank without the
associated pay and juridical authority. But the rules governing this
practice are very restrictive, especially for flag officers.
In the case in question, the officer was assigned a sensitive command in
Kuwait. Although he had been selected for promotion to brigadier general a
year earlier, the selection still had not been confirmed. In preempting that
confirmation, however well intended, the officer's superior violated an
important element of civilian control of the military, to say nothing of a
jealously guarded Congressional prerogative.
His scolding thus was justified. But the episode merely highlights a
longstanding problem with the way military rank is awarded. In most
occupations, the job determines the rank. In the military almost uniquely,
the rank at least nominally determines the job.
But today, military rank once awarded is permanent. That wasn't always the
case. Until the last century, primarily to accommodate wartime force
expansion and peacetime contraction, it was common to "brevet" an officer
temporarily to a higher rank.
Like frocking, breveting reflected assignment. Unlike frocking, however,
breveting awarded the officer all the pay and privileges of the rank.
More important, when the assignment ended, so also did the brevet. While
permanent rank, having been confirmed by Congress, could be reduced or
removed only by court-martial, a brevet could be terminated at the stroke of
a pen.
For that very reason, breveting was vulnerable to abuse. But it had the
virtue of allowing prompt and flexible matching of rank to mission
requirements. And because it conferred no permanent authority, it presented
no threat to civilian supremacy.
As American military and naval forces transform themselves to accomplish
with smaller formations tasks that formerly required much larger ones, it
may be time to resurrect the brevet in some modernized form.
Consider, for example, a contingency requiring a relatively small U.S. force
- a brigade task force, say - to deploy independently and collaborate with a
larger allied or indigenous military organization.
Today, typically, to provide the necessary senior representation, the
brigade would be subordinated to a higher headquarters, duplicating
commanders and increasing the deployed footprint. Instead, breveting the
brigade commander and augmenting his or her staff might well be cheaper and
more effective.
Or consider a current Defense Department proposal to replace component
commands in overseas theaters - each headed by a 4-star flag officer - with
standing joint task forces commanded by 3-stars. The objective, endorsed by
most military professionals, is to improve the routine integration of
multi-service forces.
But at least one senior commander in Europe has warned that reducing the
rank of a task force commander from 4 stars to 3 would seriously diminish
his or her ability to deal on an equal level with allied counterparts. In
Europe, he contends, credibility tends to be associated with rank more than
with position.
Here too, breveting might just as effectively satisfy the representational
requirement without permanently inflating general officer ranks or requiring
additional and unnecessary headquarters echelons.
Finally, it may be time to reconsider altogether the relationship between
promotion and assignment. The traditional model, in which rank is associated
with the officer rather than the job, is by no means the only one possible
and may no longer be the best.
Any alternative system must reflect the reality that military officers,
unlike civilians, lack the freedom to reassign themselves at volition. It
must assure them reasonable financial stability and career progression. And
of course, it can't be permitted to diminish the basic accountability of
military officers to civilian political authority.
Within those broad parameters, however, there remains considerable scope for
innovation. Maybe now is the time to begin exploring it.
Lawton's Richard Hart Sinnreich comments on military issues for The Sunday
Constitution.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We know a lot about U. S. Marine Corps history since 1775, and even Marines prior to that. Although French sailors had been trained and organized in 1622 to fight on shore, it was not until 1664 that a true corps of Marines was formed. This was "The Duke of York and Albany's Maritime Regiment of Foot." decreed by an order of King Charles II.' Even prior to the above examples, it could be said that there were Marines-"Marines are as old as the war at sea...',,,enkist Marines, twenty to a ship, from men between 20 and 30, and archers. (Extract from Athenian decree of June, 480 B>C>, full text in NewYork Times, 5 June 1960.).'" And there were others.
The first American Marines, however, were four colonial battalions raised in 1740 to fight the Spanish. This force of 3,00 later became known as "Gooch's Marines" between 1740 and the outbreak of the American revolution, British Marines had regularly served in North America . Marines had come to have a well-established place in the naval scheme of things, and every fighting ship had a Marine detachment.
Even before Congress had created the Continental marines, George Washington had alreadyformed a squadron of his own , including soldiers detailed as Marines.Eight colonies--Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia had their ownMarines as adjunct to state navies. All but Maryland's were in being prior to Congress; forming of the Continental Marines.
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
"Marines In Review" - Radio Show 1940-'50s....
by Dick Gaines
I have written before on my websites referring to the old radio show called "Marines In Review!"
Back in the late '40s and early '50s, it came over the radio on Sunday afternoons, broadcast from Camp Joseph H. Pendleton, Oceanside, California. I remember making it a point, as a young man at that time, to listen to that show each Sunday afternoon whenever I could.
It was a 1/2 hour show, as I recall, and it had news and articles regarding the Marine Corps--there was one regular feature of the show called, "The Old Gunny Sez!" where the old gunny was always consulted as the resident expert on some topic or other of various Marine Corps subjects that always came up.
In 1952, as soon as I turned 17 years old, I joined the Marine Corps. After boot camp at Parris Island, I received orders reading "Report to: Marine Barracks, Camp Joseph H. Pendleton, Oceanside, California."
I reported in August of that year. I was surprised to find, when I went to the #12 area theatre one night (each area at Pendleton then had its own area PX, theatre, etc., in those days) that the 'Marines In Review' radio show was being broadcast/recorded from that theatre's stage prior to the movie that nite, as was done each week.
I watched there such as movie actor John Hodiak, and his wife, Anne Baxter, who had just finished filming the movie, Battle Zone, there at Camp Pendleton, sat in the audience next to me. I also saw Chesty Puller on the same show on another occasion.
I was also surprised to see that "the old gunny" turned out to be a young Pfc or Corporal reading the lines from a script.
I have never seen anything on the Internet, or in books for that matter,regarding that old Marines radio show in all these years.
But just lately, I found some mention of it on the China Marines Band webite, which contains some information, photos, etc. regarding that show.
Ref:
CLICK--HERE!!!!!
Semper Fidelis
Dick Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
This message has been edited by Dick Gaines from IP address 209.130.148.5 on Jun 11, 2002 2:39 PM
Posted on Jun 11, 2002, 2:29 PM
from IP address 209.130.148.5
Posted on Dec 9, 2002, 9:12 PM
from IP address 209.130.218.74
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And, today, long after I wrote the above piece on Marines In Review, I received an e-mail from another Marine who not only remembers that old radio show, but was actually a part of it for a time. My thanx, Dennis, for your e-mail to me on this--much appreciated!
Semper Fidelis
Dick Gaines
~~~~~~~
From: "The Zartmans" Add to Address Book
Date: Wed, 31 Mar 2004 16:40:12 -0500 (EST)
To: GyG1345@yahoo.com
Subject: Marines in Review
Enjoyed your piece on the radio show "Marines in
Review". In late 1955
I appeared in several of the broadcasts, most
notably the USMC birthday
show where I played two parts in the dramatic
portion of the program. I
was both the young Marine who was shown around
heaven and the gnarled
old salt who was the tour guide. As you know,
the show was broadcast on
sundays but taped before then prior to the
showing of the movie. ABC
sent a director from Los Angeles along with the
networks technical
recording engineer. The rest of those on the
program were all Marines.
At the time I was stationed just down the road at
MP battalion and the
work on "Marines in Review" was just a fun
part-time thing I did. I did
maybe three or four shows and then gave it up for
it was time to get
ready for discharge.
I enjoyed your memories of watching the
performance of "Marines in
Review"
Semper Fidelis
Dennis Zartman
Lilburn, GA.
Posted on Mar 31, 2004, 5:12 PM
from IP address 69.34.2.167
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Public relations keeps U.S. flag from flying in Iraq
(Sun, Mar/21/2004)
Gerry White was hopping mad when he called last week. The Warminster resident was upset to learn that U.S. troops serving in Iraq are not permitted to display the American flag.
He considers the practice a "slap in the face" to all Americans.
Like it or not, the no-flag policy has been in effect since the war began a year ago. At the war's outset, coalition headquarters in Kuwait ordered soldiers, airmen and Marines not to display the American flag on vehicles or buildings. It was reported that the order was only loosely followed.
Then in April, the world saw the dramatic images of jubilant Iraqis in Baghdad tearing down a huge statue of Saddam Hussein. The crowd was having trouble toppling the statue of the former dictator, so some U.S. Marines in an armored tank recovery vehicle helped out.
The Marines tied the statue to their heavy vehicle, but before they tore it down, Marine Cpl. Edward Chin of New York draped the Stars and Stripes over the statue's face. Within a minute, the flag was replaced with an Iraqi flag.
The scene, broadcast all around the world, proved to be something of an embarrassment to U.S. military leaders and policy makers. It's important, they said, that Iraqis and the rest of the Arab world see U.S. forces in Iraq as "liberators" and not "conquerors."
So, another, more forceful, order on showing the flag was issued to U.S. troops, and since then the only place the American flag is displayed in Iraq is at the U.S. Embassy.
Never underestimate the role of public relations in the conduct of modern warfare.
Along those lines, here's another issue connected to the war and how it's portrayed to the public.
Not long ago, I received a correspondence from a reader who complained about the news media's conspicuous lack of coverage of the solemn ceremonies that take place when the bodies of the nation's war dead are returned to the United States.
He suggested this was more evidence of the "liberal media's" distortion of the "real story" of Operation Iraqi Freedom and an insult to the sacrifices of the men and women who paid the ultimate sacrifice for their nation.
In reality, the reason you've seen no images of flag-draped coffins accompanied by uniformed honor guards and prayed over by military chaplains is because the news media isn't permitted to cover the ceremonies.
The large military mortuary at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, to which most of the war dead are flown, has been off-limits to the press when bodies are returned since 1991. Last March the Pentagon extended the ban to all military installations around the world.
The ceremonies are conducted in private, the Pentagon says, out of sensitivity to the grief of the deceased's loved ones.
Others, however, have noted that keeping images of flag-draped coffins out of the public's eye during wartime can have certain advantages for any government engaged in a conflict. Numbers are merely numbers, but such images of death and its finality tend to remind people of the real human cost of war and could turn their feelings against it.
During the Vietnam War, images of America's dead returning to Dover and elsewhere were regular fare on the TV nightly news. It gave rise to the term "Dover test," an informal gauge of the public's tolerance of the mounting body count. Eventually, after 10 years and 58,000 dead, the Vietnam War failed to pass the "Dover test."
But for Iraq, there's no such thing as a "Dover test." For whatever reason you choose to believe, it's absent from our view. Just don't blame the press for that absence.
Lou Sessinger's column is published Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. It's also on the Internet at www.phillyburbs.com. He can be contacted at the Montgomery County office of The Intelligencer, 145 Easton Road, Horsham, PA 19044; phone (215) 957-8172; fax (215) 957-8165; e-mail, lsessinger@phillyburbs.com.
Article's URL!!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Move afoot to name secretary of Navy/Marine Corps
By Otto Kreisher
COPLEY NEWS SERVICE
3:24 p.m. March 18, 2004
WASHINGTON – Defying 206 years of history and tradition, a move is gaining momentum to change the title of the secretary of the Navy to recognize his role as manager of two distinct armed services.
A bill to change the title to "secretary of the Navy and the Marine Corps" received ringing endorsements at a House Armed Services Committee hearing Thursday. Both witnesses and committee members said the change would be a symbolic but important shift reflecting the reality that the Marines are much more than the "sea soldiers" they were in the 18th century.
"The whole issue is that the Marine Corps has been designated by past congresses as the fourth armed service," said the bill's author, Rep. Walter Jones, R-N.C. "It is not part of the Navy."
"This team has worked together from the Revolution to the current operations in Iraq and Afghanistan," said committee chairman Duncan Hunter, R-El Cajon. "But while both teams have made tremendous contributions to the cause of freedom, only one service is recognized in the title of the secretary."
Hunter, an Army veteran, said in a statement he supported the bill, as did all of the committee members present, except Rep. Susan Davis, D-Calif., whose San Diego district is home to thousands of sailors and Marines. Davis said she looked forward to discussing the issue with her constituents.
Witnesses included retired Gen. Carl Mundy, a past Marine Corps commandant; retired Navy Adm. Stansfield Turner, and Dan Howard, a former Marine and undersecretary of the Navy who briefly served as acting secretary. All strongly supported the proposed change.
"The present title is confusing, represents only two-thirds of the uniformed members of the (Navy) department and is inconsistent with the status of the four armed services in the Department of Defense," Mundy said.
The change "acknowledges the reality of life," Turner said. "The secretary has two components in his department." Turner noted that the commandant does not report to the chief of naval operations, but to the secretary. While recognizing the status of the Marine Corps, he said, "this doesn't take anything away from the Navy."
Howard said the "largely symbolic change is important in its own right. It would allow the secretary to present himself as the equal sponsor of both services."
"This is a change we would make for the warfighters, not the bureaucrats," Howard said.
Jones and all of the witnesses said the change in title would not affect the Navy secretary's authority or any of the legal functions of his department, but would give the Marines the equal status they have earned in more than a century of fighting ashore.
A spokesman said Navy Secretary Gordon England is "honored to be serving both the Navy and the Marine Corps" and would "leave to others" to decide what his title should be.
The name change was endorsed by the Fleet Reserve Association, which represents active and retired Navy personnel, and the Marine Corps Association.
Jones's bill passed the House two years ago but the Senate did not act on it. Committee members believe a key to Senate action would be the position taken by Senate Armed Services Committee chairman John Warner, R-Va. Warner served as an enlisted sailor in World War II, as a Marine officer in the Korean War and as Navy secretary in 1972-74.
Warner's spokesman did not return phone calls Wednesday.
Find this article at:
http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/military/20040318-1524-cnsname.html
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
(Via Milinet)
First Marine Division Returns to Iraq
Letter to All Hands,
We are going back in to the brawl. We will be relieving the magnificent
Soldiers fighting under the 82nd Airborne Division, whose hard won
successes in the Sunni Triangle have opened opportunities for us to
exploit. For the last year, the 82nd Airborne has been operating against
the heart of the enemy's resistance. It's appropriate that we relieve
them: When it's time to move a piano, Marines don't pick up the piano
bench - we move the piano. So this is the right place for Marines in this
fight, where we can carry on the legacy of Chesty Puller in the Banana
Wars in the same sort of complex environment that he knew in his early
years. Shoulder to shoulder with our comrades in the Army, Coalition
Forces and maturing Iraqi Security Forces, we are going to destroy the
enemy with precise firepower while diminishing the conditions that create
adversarial relationships between us and the Iraqi people.
This is going to be hard, dangerous work. It is going to require patient,
persistent presence. Using our individual initiative, courage, moral
judgment and battle skills, we will build on the 82nd Airborne's
victories. Our country is counting on us even as our enemies watch and
calculate, hoping that America does not have warriors strong enough to
withstand discomfort and danger. You, my fine young men, are going to
prove the enemy wrong - dead wrong. You will demonstrate the same
uncompromising spirit that has always caused the enemy to fear America's
Marines.
The enemy will try to manipulate you into hating all Iraqis. Do not allow
the enemy that victory. With strong discipline, solid faith, unwavering
alertness, and undiminished chivalry to the innocent, we will carry out
this mission. Remember, I have added, "First, do no harm" to our passwords
of "No Better Friend, No Worse Enemy." Keep your honor clean as we gain
information about the enemy from the Iraqi people. Then, armed with that
information and working in conjunction with fledgling Iraqi Security
Forces, we will move precisely against the enemy elements and crush them
without harming the innocent.
This is our test-our Guadalcanal, our Chosin Reservoir, our Hue City.
Fight with a happy heart and keep faith in your comrades and your unit. We
must be under no illusions about the nature of the enemy and the dangers
that lie ahead. Stay alert, take it all in stride, remain sturdy, and
share your courage with each other and the world. You are going to write
history, my fine young Sailors and Marines, so write it well.
Semper Fidelis,
J.N. Mattis
Major General, U. S. Marines
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
Ref:
GyG'sMailbag: From Marine Raider Al Careaga, 1st Marine Raider Bn-WW II
Dick Gaines
~~~~~~~
Gunny....I don't know if this Christmas Truce has come to your attention before but I think it is worh sharing with your recipients.
As is shown I have sent this to my 3 Sons.
Also a firefighter friend here in my neighborhood who is very interested in everything Marine.
Semper Fi....Raider Gunny WW2.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Hi Guys....I don't remember if I have earlier forwarded this to you....Memory loss of course.
If I have,you can just discard it....
This event actually occured in World War 1 and I think it was chronicled in Erich Maria Remarques novel...All Quiet on the Western Front, which I would wager each of you has read.
I think it is quite a commentary on the futility and
stupidity of war.
In 1943 we had a similiar experience with the Japanese.....On a much smaller scale. However, our exchanges of insults such as "Screw Roosevelt"
which we answered with a resounding "Screw Tojo" each exchange followed with raucous laughter and then bursts of automatic rifle and machine gun fire.
The next exchange would be "Screw Eleanore" We answered
"No...You screw her" and this resulted in the biggest laughter of the night...both from them and us.
All this occuring around 2-3 A.M. Needless to say we didn't get much sleep that night, but then we hardly ever got any sleep as the little nip plane we called "Washing Machine Charlie" would come over around 2-3 every morning and drop his one bomb which did little more than wake us up.
Even though this occurred some 61 years ago this July....I remember it as vividly as if it happened last night.
Guys....I am including a friend who just returned from a visit to D.C. where upon my urging he visited the Marine Corps Museum at the Washington Navy yard. I visited with Skip this morning at the dog park to hear about his visit.
At any rate...Semper Fi.........Dad.
P.S. Of course I cleaned this up....they and we also used then F
word.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, December 22, 2003
THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE
By Aaron Shepard
Copyright (c) 2001, 2003 by Aaron Shepard. May
be freely copied and shared for any noncommercial
purpose, but please do not omit any text,
including this notice.
ABOUT THE STORY: The Christmas Truce of 1914 is
one of the most remarkable incidents of World War
I and perhaps of all military history. Starting
in some places on Christmas Eve and in others on
Christmas Day, the truce covered as much as two-
thirds of the British-German front, with thousands
of soldiers taking part. Perhaps most remarkably,
it grew out of no single initiative but sprang up
in each place spontaneously and independently.
Nearly everything described here is drawn from
first-hand accounts in letters and diaries of the
time. Britishisms include using "Nowell" instead
of "Noel," and "football" instead of "soccer."
Visit my home page at http://www.aaronshep.com
to learn more about the story, get a copy in Web
format, find a reader's theater script version,
read more stories, or contact the author.
-- Aaron
_________________________________________________
Christmas Day, 1914
My dear sister Janet,
It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are
asleep in their dugouts -- yet I could not sleep
myself before writing to you of the wonderful
events of Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened
seems almost like a fairy tale, and if I hadn't
been through it myself, I would scarce believe it.
Just imagine: While you and the family sang carols
before the fire there in London, I did the same
with enemy soldiers here on the battlefields of
France!
As I wrote before, there has been little serious
fighting of late. The first battles of the war
left so many dead that both sides have held back
until replacements could come from home. So we
have mostly stayed in our trenches and waited.
But what a terrible waiting it has been! Knowing
that any moment an artillery shell might land
and explode beside us in the trench, killing or
maiming several men. And in daylight not daring
to lift our heads above ground, for fear of a
sniper's bullet.
And the rain -- it has fallen almost daily. Of
course, it collects right in our trenches, where
we must bail it out with pots and pans. And with
the rain has come mud -- a good foot or more deep.
It splatters and cakes everything, and constantly
sucks at our boots. One new recruit got his feet
stuck in it, and then his hands too when he tried
to get out -- just like in that American story of
the tar baby!
Through all this, we couldn't help feeling curious
about the German soldiers across the way. After
all, they faced the same dangers we did, and
slogged about in the same muck. What's more, their
first trench was only 50 yards from ours. Between
us lay No Man's Land, bordered on both sides by
barbed wire -- yet they were close enough we
sometimes heard their voices.
Of course, we hated them when they killed our
friends. But other times, we joked about them and
almost felt we had something in common. And now it
seems they felt the same.
Just yesterday morning -- Christmas Eve Day --
we had our first good freeze. Cold as we were, we
welcomed it, because at least the mud froze solid.
Everything was tinged white with frost, while a
bright sun shone over all. Perfect Christmas
weather.
During the day, there was little shelling or rifle
fire from either side. And as darkness fell on our
Christmas Eve, the shooting stopped entirely. Our
first complete silence in months! We hoped it
might promise a peaceful holiday, but we didn't
count on it. We'd been told the Germans might
attack and try to catch us off guard.
I went to the dugout to rest, and lying on my cot,
I must have drifted asleep. All at once my friend
John was shaking me awake, saying, "Come and see!
See what the Germans are doing!" I grabbed my
rifle, stumbled out into the trench, and stuck
my head cautiously above the sandbags.
I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely
sight. Clusters of tiny lights were shining all
along the German line, left and right as far as
the eye could see.
"What is it?" I asked in bewilderment, and John
answered, "Christmas trees!"
And so it was. The Germans had placed Christmas
trees in front of their trenches, lit by candle
or lantern like beacons of good will.
And then we heard their voices raised in song.
"Stille nacht, heilige nacht...."
This carol may not yet be familiar to us in
Britain, but John knew it and translated: "Silent
night, holy night." I've never heard one lovelier
-- or more meaningful, in that quiet, clear night,
its dark softened by a first-quarter moon.
When the song finished, the men in our trenches
applauded. Yes, British soldiers applauding
Germans! Then one of our own men started singing,
and we all joined in.
"The first Nowell, the angel did say...."
In truth, we sounded not nearly as good as the
Germans, with their fine harmonies. But they
responded with enthusiastic applause of their
own and then began another.
"O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum...."
Then we replied.
"O come all ye faithful...."
But this time they joined in, singing the same
words in Latin.
"Adeste fideles...."
British and German harmonizing across No Man's
Land! I would have thought nothing could be more
amazing -- but what came next was more so.
"English, come over!" we heard one of them shout.
"You no shoot, we no shoot."
There in the trenches, we looked at each other
in bewilderment. Then one of us shouted jokingly,
"You come over here."
To our astonishment, we saw two figures rise from
the trench, climb over their barbed wire, and
advance unprotected across No Man's Land. One
of them called, "Send officer to talk."
I saw one of our men lift his rifle to the ready,
and no doubt others did the same -- but our
captain called out, "Hold your fire." Then he
climbed out and went to meet the Germans halfway.
We heard them talking, and a few minutes later,
the captain came back with a German cigar in
his mouth!
"We've agreed there will be no shooting before
midnight tomorrow," he announced. "But sentries
are to remain on duty, and the rest of you, stay
alert."
Across the way, we could make out groups of two
or three men starting out of trenches and coming
toward us. Then some of us were climbing out too,
and in minutes more, there we were in No Man's
Land, over a hundred soldiers and officers of each
side, shaking hands with men we'd been trying to
kill just hours earlier!
Before long a bonfire was built, and around it we
mingled -- British khaki and German grey. I must
say, the Germans were the better dressed, with
fresh uniforms for the holiday.
Only a couple of our men knew German, but more of
the Germans knew English. I asked one of them why
that was.
"Because many have worked in England!" he said.
"Before all this, I was a waiter at the Hotel
Cecil. Perhaps I waited on your table!"
"Perhaps you did!" I said, laughing.
He told me he had a girlfriend in London and that
the war had interrupted their plans for marriage.
I told him, "Don't worry. We'll have you beat by
Easter, then you can come back and marry the
girl."
He laughed at that. Then he asked if I'd send her
a postcard he'd give me later, and I promised I
would.
Another German had been a porter at Victoria
Station. He showed me a picture of his family back
in Munich. His eldest sister was so lovely, I said
I should like to meet her someday. He beamed and
said he would like that very much and gave me his
family's address.
Even those who could not converse could still
exchange gifts -- our cigarettes for their cigars,
our tea for their coffee, our corned beef for
their sausage. Badges and buttons from uniforms
changed owners, and one of our lads walked off
with the infamous spiked helmet! I myself traded
a jackknife for a leather equipment belt -- a fine
souvenir to show when I get home.
Newspapers too changed hands, and the Germans
howled with laughter at ours. They assured us that
France was finished and Russia nearly beaten too.
We told them that was nonsense, and one of them
said, "Well, you believe your newspapers and we'll
believe ours."
Clearly they are lied to -- yet after meeting
these men, I wonder how truthful our own
newspapers have been. These are not the "savage
barbarians" we've read so much about. They are
men with homes and families, hopes and fears,
principles and, yes, love of country. In other
words, men like ourselves. Why are we led to
believe otherwise?
As it grew late, a few more songs were traded
around the fire, and then all joined in for --
I am not lying to you -- "Auld Lang Syne." Then
we parted with promises to meet again tomorrow,
and even some talk of a football match.
I was just starting back to the trenches when an
older German clutched my arm. "My God," he said,
"why cannot we have peace and all go home?"
I told him gently, "That you must ask your
emperor."
He looked at me then, searchingly. "Perhaps, my
friend. But also we must ask our hearts."
And so, dear sister, tell me, has there ever been
such a Christmas Eve in all history? And what does
it all mean, this impossible befriending of
enemies?
For the fighting here, of course, it means
regrettably little. Decent fellows those soldiers
may be, but they follow orders and we do the same.
Besides, we are here to stop their army and send
it home, and never could we shirk that duty.
Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen
if the spirit shown here were caught by the
nations of the world. Of course, disputes must
always arise. But what if our leaders were to
offer well wishes in place of warnings? Songs in
place of slurs? Presents in place of reprisals?
Would not all war end at once?
All nations say they want peace. Yet on this
Christmas morning, I wonder if we want it quite
enough.
Your loving brother,
Tom
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
3/22/04
The following note is from my friend, George Clark, Marine, historian, author, publisher and bookseller, etc.
Thank you, George
DickG
~~~~~
Dick
you might want to mention to anyone with
interest, that in 1914, post-action
mentioned, the British demanded that their
officers stop any Christmas good
neighborlyness in the future. They were concerned
that if the troops and the
enemy were friendly the continued killing might
end. That would have been a
shame.
German officers participated in the gift
exchange. They, both sides, even
played some soccer during the interval.
I'm not sure that the Christmas interchange
happened between the Frech and
Germans.
Just thot someone might be interested.
George Clark
~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's...
GLOBE and ANCHOR
Marines Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Semper Fidelis
~~~~~~~~~~
Note:
GyG's G&A Sites & Forums is an informational site and not for profit. Copyrighted material provided soley for education, study, research, and discussion, etc. Full credit to source shown when available.
~~~~~
