RECRUIT LANCE CORPORALS IN THE 1930s... -Dick Gaines

The lance corporal rank in the U.S. Marine Corps came about during the Indian Wars of the 1830s, and possibly even earlier. Through the years there were both lance corporals and lance sergeants, used as temporary ranks when NCOs were needed. During the World War (WW I), the Marine Corps authorized an insignia for the lance corporal rank--a single stripe chevron (point up) worn on one sleeve (blues) only. It was also during WW I that a Marine Private First Class grade was created; the first class private, however, then wore an insignia of crossed rifles only w/o chevrons.

Most of the above information is somewhat well known now, however, that there were also "recruit lance corporals" during recruit training in the 1930s might be surprising to many.

RECRUIT LANCE CORPORALS MID-1930s...

"In the mid-1930's, training activity had sunk to a low ebb. Although six captains were authorized as training officers, one first lieutenant was able to do the work involved. About 300 recruits arrived each month; each week, one or two platoons of 48 to 52 men were formed.

There were no company or battalion organizations.<28>

An innovation introduced at this time was the appointment of recruit lance corporals. These men, who were recommended for their payless promotions by their instructors, wore their chevrons on one sleeve only and had authority over only recruits junior to them. The possibility of winning such a promotion was designed to provide incentive to excel and to promote a spirit of competition.<29>"
Ref

Marine Corps Historical Reference Series, Number 8, Brief History Of The Marine Corps recruit Depot, Parris Island, SC 1891 - 1962, Historical Branch, G-3 Division
Headquarters USMC, Washington, D. C. Revised 1962

http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/usmchist/parris.txt
http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/usmchist/parris.txt

For further information on the L/Cpl History in the USMC, CLICK-HERE!!!!!
~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's Marines
GLOBE and ANCHOR Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~

OLDEST LIVING MARINE...

NOTE:
From Gunny G's Mailbag:
Another of those "oldest living Marines" stories...
-DickG
~~~~~~~
Oldest Marine Found Living in Syracuse, NY
Submitted by: 1st Marine Corps District
Story Identification Number: 20031016102215
Story by Staff Sgt Jonathan Moor



SYRACUSE, NY(October 16, 2003) -- As Eugene Lee, a native of Liverpool, NY, enlisted in the Marine Corps during World War I, he never thought that he would one day be the Oldest Marine alive at 104 years old, a survivor of the Battle of Belleau Wood and a Silver Star recipient.

According to Maj. Daniel C. Kane, Inspector-Instructor at Marine Corps Reserve Center, Syracuse, NY, who during his tour as I&I has acted as the liaison between Lee and the Marine Corps, Lee's status as the Oldest Marine was discovered only recently.

"I called Headquarters Marine Corps to see who the Oldest Marine alive on record was. They told me a 103 year-old Marine living in Florida was the Oldest Marine. I told them I had them beat," explained Kane, with a sense of pride that indicated he viewed Lee as a cherished member of the local Marine Corps community.

Lee has been a member of the Marine Corps community for well over three quarters of a century.

"I always thought the Marines were wonderful. From a kid up, I wanted to be a Marine," Lee declared boldly. "I became a Marine as soon as I was old enough. I joined the Marines when I was 18 years old and maybe three weeks or so." At that time having a high school diploma or an equivalent degree was not an enlistment requirement of the Marine Corps. Lee, who has seen three centuries, had neither.

"I told my mother I was going in. She said it was okay," he mentioned, reflecting a time when being over 18 did not negate a young man's moral responsibility to honor his mother and father by asking for permission, even if it wasn't legally required.

"I was sworn in three different times: when I was recruited in Syracuse; and then Buffalo; and then down in the Philadelphia Navy Yard."

Lee learned to be a Marine at the Philadelphia Navy Yard just before being shipped to France. "That's when they trained us to do things. They put us on the rifle range. Then we came back, packed up, and they put us on board ship.

"We stayed in New York Harbor for, I dunno, two or three days, I guess. Then we started to cross. It was thirteen days getting over there, on account of the submarines. We were the first convoy over," Lee said of his journey across the Atlantic Ocean.

Lee was with the 51st Company, 5th Marine Regiment. "They put us in with the 2nd Division, the Indian Head."

"After I first got there I had what they called the German Measles. They kept me in the tent."

While Lee's memory stretched back to a distant land and time, his eyes sparkled as youthful scene flashed across his mind. He recalled men, Marines from his unit. He remembered 5th Marines commander Col. Wendell Neville, who would later become Commandant of the Marine Corps from 1929-1930. "I didn't see much of 'em," Lee joked dropping a subtle innuendo about his junior enlisted rank at the time.

Another name that brought up strong memories was his battalion commander Lt. Col. Frederick Wise. "Oh, Yeah! I remember him! I don't know whether the fellas liked him too well."

On the first day of the Battle of Belleau Wood, June 1, 1918, 2nd Division troops dug in along a defensive line just north of the village of Lucy-le-Bocage. Capt. Lloyd Williams when advised by French officers to withdraw, replied, "Retreat, Hell! We just got here!" Williams did not survive the battle.

Lee recalled a time he knew Williams, a face with a name from more than an average lifetime ago. Lee struggled to reconstruct the mental scene that surrounded Williams' face. He seemed to resign the effort though when he looked about at the faces surrounding him and realized that none of them could relate to what he was picturing because, even the oldest was young enough to be his grandson.

As Lee's mind played back the footage of his Marine years, the World War I Battle of Belleau Wood came into focus.

"The way we got to Belleau Wood, they had to transport us from some place. They put us on some road starting to move towards Belleau Wood. We met all these refugees that were coming back, old people and ones they could carry and all. I felt sorry for 'em.

"There was one French soldier. He was walking back. He stopped. He just kept hollering, 'beau coups boche.'

"We got up there and they split us out into formation. They had the first wave go so far. They kept on firing in the woods there. The next wave would come and jump over them and they'd go so far, and would fire till they got in the edge of the woods." Lee explained that the wave would advance in a leapfrog manner. He was in the third wave. It took four waves across the field to make it to the wood line.

Lee stopped talking as the memories brought on a wave of emotions he couldn't withstand. He dropped the dignified air that a man of his years is accustomed to carrying and sobbed uncontrollably for a brief moment.

"I'm a damned fool!" Lee whimpered out, ashamed of his tears.

When Lee regained his composure he returned to his first hand account of the Battle of Belleau Wood. He explained how one wave of Marines would rush forward a number of yards. As that wave dove to the ground and began firing across the field at the German positions imbedded in the woods, another wave would come from behind. The second wave would run past the third wave as far as the first wave had run.

"I remember a sergeant. He was the first man I seen fall. Before we got to the woods, I seen him fall from view."

Lee wasn't sure how many Marines made it to the wood line with him. "When we got to the woods, there was fighting in there." His voice trembled after the comma of the previous sentence as another memory returned him to tears. He recovered more quickly, with the same courage it must have taken to overcome the fear experienced during the up-close fighting in the French woods. What kind of battle caused a Marine's voice to waiver after 86 years?

"When we got fighting in the woods there, we were mixed up," Lee said. The fear that comes from the disorienting confusion know as the fog of war, which Lee must have been experiencing at that moment in time back then, could still be heard in his voice as his few words implied so much.

"After we got settled there, I helped carry some of the fellas back so far," he said modestly.

The Battle of Belleau Wood raged from June 6 to 26, 1918. There were 9,777 U.S. casualties, of which 1,811 were fatal.

Lee received the Silver Star for his actions at Belleau Wood.

He went on to talk about his experience at the end of the war when the news of the armistice came to his unit Nov. 11, 1918. "The morning of the 11th we had crossed the river and laid on the bank. Nobody had fired a shot. It was all quiet.

"When it come 11 o'clock, way up on the hill a fella came 'long waving a white flag. He started walking down the hill with an aid. One of our officers walked out there and met him.

"When they met, the German soldiers... they come running down the hill. They didn't have any guns. Our fellas got up.

"Some could speak German and some of the Germans could speak English. That's the way we celebrated the armistice. That was the end."

Throughout World War I Lee never needed to use his mask. "We had some kind of a gas mask, but we didn't get any gas," Lee explained with a slight tone of scorn in his voice meant for those historians who portray World War I as time were every shot was fired by Marines wearing chemical protective masks.

According to Lee, God brought him safely through World War I. "I think He helped me all the time."

After the war, Lee came home with a composite regiment. "We paraded in England, Philadelphia and New York."

When Lee's time as an active duty Marine ended, he returned to Syracuse and took up employment with the Syracuse Lighting Company.

Lee met his wife while skating one crisp up-state New York winter morning, in a time when fires were still used for warmth and entertainment. His wife of 63 years has gone on ahead of him. They never had any children. His only surviving relative is a niece who resides in Ohio.

Lee moved out of his home in March, and into the retirement ward of an up-state New York hospital.

Lee told a story he has told many times since it actually happened. He didn't tell his story from the retrospect of the history books, including large-scale details he wasn't privy to at the time. Instead he told his story as thought it happened to him yesterday. He spoke only of what he lived.

Lee didn't have any disparaging comments about the country he once helped to liberate. There was no mention about France's lack of support for the current endeavors of the United States. He did his best to keep tears from falling as his words memorialized his youthful companions who fought and died by his side as they liberated France from it's German attackers for the first, but not the last time in American history.

As Lee talked about the carnage he experienced at Belleau Wood, the thin veil of time and space separating that time from this one seemed to dissolve for a little while as Eugene's memories flooded the room. The small room he now resides in quickly filled up with many unseen Marines. Those Marines of long ago were the only ones who knew what Lee was feeling. They were the only ones who could truly relate to his story.

There were a few times Lee seemed lost for a moment, like a straggler left behind in this world while the rest of his generation had already gone on to the next.

An honorary high school diploma on Lee's wall was presented to him by Liverpool High School in 2000.

At 104, his long life is a matter for careful consideration. Lee attributes his longevity to several factors. God's grace is the primary reason, followed by the facts that he quit smoking 64 years ago, stayed out of trouble, and never did drugs. Lee urged today's youth to stay out of trouble and never pick up cigarettes or drugs.

Lee gave a message to all young men who are considering becoming one of the few and the proud by earning the title of United States Marine, "they couldn't get in a better force."

Eighty-six years after earning the title, Lee still takes great pride in being a Marine. "I'll always be proud of being a Marine, always," he declared with tears filling up in his eyes once more.
http://www.usmc.mil/marinelink/mcn2000.nsf/main5/82C9924390FC1EA485256DC1004EF11C?opendocument
http://www.usmc.mil/marinelink/mcn2000.nsf/main5/82C9924390FC1EA485256DC1004EF11C?opendocument
-30-
~~~~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's Marines
GLOBE and ANCHOR Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~~~~

RETIRED MARINE RECALLS YEARS AS POW OF THE JAPANESE

Haunting memories rehashed - Retired Marine recalls three years as POW in Japanese prison camp
Submitted by: MCRD San Diego
Story Identification Number: 2003922144720
Story by Lance Cpl. Jess Levens

MARINE CORPS RECRUIT DEPOT SAN DIEGO, Calif.(September 19, 2003) -- Tattoos fade, despite portraying memories meant to live forever. And though ink may fade and distort, powerful memories stay sharply in focus.

The black skull and crossbones on Robert Farner's forearm is fading, but it reminds him constantly of his younger days as a U.S. Marine. He got the tattoo during his first time on liberty away from Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego in 1939. He was 16.

His recruiter never inquired about Farner's age. Farner just said he was 18.

With World War II in full stride, Farner found himself in a raging fire fight against Japanese forces in the Philippines on an island called Corregidor. After a night of intense warfare, the Americans, under Army leadership, surrendered the next morning.
Now, prisoners of war, the Americans were forced to march to a POW camp in Manila, Philippines, to construct an airport, according to Farner. On the march, Americans were slaughtered constantly.

"The only tools we had were saws, shovels and picks," said Farner. "And we built an entire airport from nothing."

The Japanese soldiers beat the American POWs on a daily basis, according to Farner, but one day, he caught the brunt of it.

Farner got sick and was kept out of work one day. Just outside the fence, he could see a tree garnished with three our four juicy papayas.

"I said to my friend, 'Let's get those papayas,'" said Farner.

The fellow prisoner was all for getting the fruit, but he didn't know how to do so without getting caught.

Farner noticed a board near the tree and decided to tell the guards the cook wanted the board. He was allowed to retrieve the board and when he got it, he used the board to knock the papayas out of the tree. Phase two of the plan was complete. But phase three was a little trickier, according to Farner.

He then tried to sneak the fruit back into the camp and was caught. The punishment was anything but light. Farner was made to stand at attention while a guard hit him in the back with a six-foot iron pole. The first blow knocked Farner to the ground, but it was the more generous hit as the second blow broke both his arms.

The injury landed him in a "hospital" run by American POWs. They had no medicine and all they could do was reset Farner's arms and use sticks for splints.

"I'm lucky I went to the hospital," said Farner. "While I was there, the Japanese massacred about 175 prisoners. Only about seven escaped."

In another instance of harsh cruelty, Farner was forced to stand at attention against a wall while all the Japanese guards took turns banging the back of his head against it.

"What a headache that was," said Farner, making light of the painful incident.

While working on the airfield in Manila, the POWs were broken down into squads of 10, according to Farner. If one man from the group escaped, the other nine were executed.

"Every time they killed somebody, which they did a lot, the bodies were buried under the runway," said Farner.

Once Farner was back to work from the hospital, he was standing at the back of a line when a guard hit him in the spine with the butt of his rifle.

"I was sure they broke my back," said Farner. "I felt paralyzed for about a day."

Farner said he made the guards think the injury was worse than it actually was. He was taken to a hospital to see a Japanese doctor. To make sure Farner wasn't faking his injury, the doctor impaled Farner's foot with a four or five-inch pin.

"It hurt a little bit," said Farner. "But we learned how to take a lot of pain while we were there."

After Farner's "severe" back injury, he was sent to another camp.

One night at the camp, Farner snuck into the Japanese mess hall to get more food and was immediately caught by a guard. Luckily for Farner, he had the Japanese soldiers' Kryptonite - American cigarettes. The POWs occasionally received Red Cross packages containing cigarettes and other supplies.

The guard looked Farner in the face and said, "I smoke, you eat." Farner made this a nightly occurrence.

"I was eating so well," said Farner. "I used to trade my breakfast for cigarettes so I could bribe the guards at night."

Farner tried to share with his fellow prisoners and brought some food back with him. Farner was discovered and he knew he was in trouble. The Japanese soldiers took Farner that night and drenched him with cold water and let him freeze in the winter night. When he was pretty much frozen to the bone, he was beaten with large sticks repeatedly.

If that wasn't enough punishment, the translator told Farner he was about to be beheaded and asked him if he had anything to say.

"I wasn't about to let them just cut my head off," said Farner. "So I told them that we wouldn't sneak around and we would get more work done if they fed us better."

The translator relayed the message and the Japanese soldiers discussed it for a while, according to Farner.

Apparently Farner made some sense, so instead of decapitating him, the guards continued to beat him. As a result of the beating, Farner was taken to the Japanese medical facility and stayed there recovering for about 10 days before returning to work.

"The other prisoners thought I was dead," said Farner. "They had no idea what happened to me."

After that, Farner was moved to another POW camp, this time in Japan. There, he melted scrap iron in a factory.

"The last camp was by far the easiest," said Farner. "We weren't beaten as much and the work wasn't too hard."

Farner remained at this camp for the duration of the war and was finally liberated by American forces.

Farner said being a POW was a horrible experience and he hopes no one ever has to endure the pain and suffering he and his comrades went through.

"You didn't know if you would live to see tomorrow," he said. "I'm just lucky to be alive."

Farner further urged that if anyone ever becomes a POW, stick to the code of conduct by always trying to escape, learn to eat whatever possible and know the area and terrain as well as possible.

Farner was awarded a Silver Star, a Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts for his actions in World War II.

Being a POW for three and a half years was never part of Farner's plan as he sat in that chair in 1939, getting a black tattoo with his fellow new Marines. He was just a young kid who jumped a train, saw a nice blue uniform and wanted to make something of his life.
-30-

Photos included with story:

(left) Robert Farner is pictured as a WWII prisoner of war in 1944. (right) A smiling Farner in Shanghai, China, four years before he saw combat. Photo by: Photo illustration by Sgt. Scott Dunn (left) Robert Farner is pictured as a WWII prisoner of war in 1944. (right) A smiling Farner in Shanghai, China, four years before he saw combat. Photo by: Photo illustration by Sgt. Scott Dunn
Retired Staff Sgt. Robert Farner remembers his days as a prisoner of war in World War II. Photo by: Lance Cpl. Jess Levens Retired Staff Sgt. Robert Farner remembers his days as a prisoner of war in World War II. Photo by: Lance Cpl. Jess Levens
http://www.usmc.mil/marinelink/mcn2000.nsf/0/05180FA1BAB1826985256DA9006735E5?opendocument

Text version of story is attached below:
~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's Marines
GLOBE and ANCHOR Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~~

ALL HANDS AND THE SHIP'S COOK: NEW POEMS FROM MIKE TANK

"ALL HANDS AND THE SHIP'S COOK -- NEW POEMS FROM MIKE TANK"

The following is a selection from GyG'sMailbag, from "Sully"

For: All Hands and the Ship's Cook.
Subject: New Poems by Mike Tank.

Have added two new poems by Mike Tank to our web
site, "My Father's Tears," and "Nightmare #9."

Please look at the background photo on "My
Father's Tears." I saw this photo many years ago
for the first time, and to me it is one that
rivals the second flag raising photo on Iwo Jima.
When I saw the photo initially, it had to be
during the summer of 1945. I was on Okinawa at
the time, and, of course the photo was taken on
Okinawa. It shows a father kneeling by the
stretcher of his son, who had just been killed in
action. The original caption read:

"6/14/45 MARINE FUNERAL IN OKINAWA WORLD WAR II.
Lest we forget--this photo shows how one father
spent Father's Day. Marine Colonel Francis I.
Fenton of San Diego, Calif. kneels beside the
flag-draped body of his son, Pfc. Michael Fenton,
killed in action in Okinawa. Michael, 19, was a
scout-sniper in the first Marine Division, in
which his father is a regimental commander. Of
the boys who died with his son, Col Fenton said,
"The poor souls, they didn't have their fathers
here."

When I first saw the photo I had no idea who Col
Fenton or his son Mike were. A very few years
later, I was to meet Mike's twin brother in the
1stMarDiv at Camp Pendleton prior to the Korean
War in 1950. His name? Why Ike, of course. By
that time Col Fenton, retired as a BGen, had been
killed by a drunken driver in an automobile
accident. Now, only Ike was left to carry on the
Fenton name in the Corps. Ike went to Korea with
the 1stProvMarBrigade in July '50 as an
understudy to Captain John Tobin, CO of "B"
Company, 1/5. Those of you who may know the
photos of David Douglas Duncan, collected in the
coffee table sized photo-journalist book "This Is
War," have seen the picture of Captain Ike
Fenton. Captain John Tobin had been seriously
wounded and left the company a few hours before
the picture was snapped during the first Battle
of the Naktong. Ike, now commanding "B" Company,
stands in a pouring rain, with a fire fight
raging on all sides, as he was told, "Captain,
we're almost out of ammunition." Every time I
see that photo I think of the biblical Job,
already beset with nearly every affliction on the
face of the earth, being told that there is a
huge hole in the Ark. I'll see if we can't get
that picture posted here one of these days just
so you'll be able to judge whether my take on the
photo is the same as yours.

"Nightmare #9" is another on the theme of Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder. There is an
underlying thread of PTSD that runs through so
many of the writings and poetry that emanates
from veterans of all wars. Many of you reading
this will recognize precisely what Mike describes
in his poem. A few nights ago I was watching the
biography of Lee Marvin. As some of you are
aware, Lee was a Marine PFC wounded seriously on
Saipan in June '44. Lee, although a talented
actor, had the same trouble "finding himself"
when the war was over, and eighteen months in
hospital recovering from his physical wound. His
psychic wound would never heal. His social
history is full of broken relationships and
marriages. It is also full of a continuing story
of drug and alcohol addiction. Lee's second wife
was interviewed for the biography, and her
description of Lee's behavior could have been
taken directly from the description of PTSD in
the American Psychiatric Association's
"Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM)."

The problem for Lee Marvin, and other vets of WW
II and Korea, is that PTSD was not "invented"
until the third edition of the Diagnostic and
Statistical Manual III was published in 1980.
Anyone complaining of the symptoms of PTSD was
told to "Get over it." Now we know that
sufferers of chronic PTSD have had biological
changes to the brain that no one is ever going to
get over. Psychotropic medicines help many
sufferers, but they are palliative at best. The
essential condition remains, and will emerge
inevitably when the meds are stopped.

If you enjoy Mike's poems, why not drop him a
line and tell him so at michaeltank@cox.net

As always, please go to my site at
http://www.sullyusmc.com, click on "Menu,"
"Writers and Stories," "Mike Tank," and finally
his poems "My Father's Tears," and "Nightmare
#9." Should you wish to be dropped from my
distribution list for this site, just drop me an
email with "Remove" as the subject. "Stay off
the Skyline. Keep a ten pace interval."

=====
~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's Marines
GLOBE and ANCHOR Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~

GyG'sMailbag: All Hands/Ship's Cook: An American Soldier In Iraq, by Mike Tank...

For: All Hands and the Ship's Cook.

Subject: An American Soldier in Iraq, a new poem by Mike Tank.

Say what you will about Mike Tank, he is most timely in his poem writing. That is what is reflected in his recent poem An American Soldier in Iraq. And don't say that Mike doesn't have friends in high places, as witnessed by the following exchange.

Gentlemen,
Jack Wing, a retired Marine Warrant Officer sent my last poem to a friend of his in Iraq, Col. Joe Dunford. Col. Dunford was the CO for the Fighting Fifth Marines and is now Chief of Staff of the 1st Marine Div. I wanted to forward his comments so that all of you will know how these young Marines feel about us old guys. I also took the liberty to wish him well from all of us.

SF,
Mike



Mike--

My good friend Jack Wing sent me a copy of 'An American Soldier in Iraq.'
It was a great read. Thanks for sharing it with me.

Those of us here in Iraq have been mindful of how fortunate we are to follow
in the footsteps of Marines like Mike Tank and Jack Wing. Thanks again for
thinking of us. More importantly, thanks for taking care of business on
your watch.

Semper Fidelis
Joe Dunford


Mike wrote back to Colonel Dunford:

Sir,

Thank you for taking the time to reply from what surely must be a busy schedule. It was kind of Jack to forward my poem to you. Besides belonging to a great bunch of Marines known as the FOOOMP's, I also belong to a group of Vietnam Veteran's from 1st Battalion, 1st Marines. Know that you are all in our hearts and prayers. On their behalf, I will thank you for your service to our Country and wish you all God's speed in the completion of your duties. Please come home safely.

Semper Fi,
Mike

Now, other than Mike's referring to us "Old Guys," which I'll take up separately with him to see who he was referring to, I consider that the foregoing exchange is important to note as the continuing thread that makes all of us who wore or wear the "EGA" simply the continuation of those who went before us. At least in my opinion, those of us who have seen the elephant, have fought and if necessary died, not for mother and apple pie, and not even for the flag itself. We fought for each other, and we take care of our own, or die trying. My proof? Just read a few citations for medals. Most were awarded when the Marine/Corpsman, often at the price of his own life, was covering for "his" Marines/Corpsmen. When I was so fortunate as to command an infantry battalion in Viet Nam, and would watch my Marines move toward a target under fire, I was reminded of the old saying that "We fight on the shoulders of those wearers of the "EGA" who went before us. We are not now going to do less than they did so that they would be as proud of us as we of them." >From reading Colonel Dunsford's note it is apparent that the Marines of today are as cognizant of the foregoing as we were.

Other than the fact that I'm jealous of who Colonel Dunsford, who was the CO of the 5th Marines, a position I always coveted but didn't achieve, I'm sure that we all send the same kind regards to him and the Marines around him who are carrying on where we left off. Let's see, what did we say in the 'Nam? Oh, yeah. "Get some!!!"

To find Mike's newest contribution to the site, go, as usual, to my web site at http://www.sullyusmc.com, click on "Menu," "Writers and Stories," "Mike Tank," and finally The American Soldier in Vietnam.

If you enjoy reading Mike's latest effort, why not tell him so at michaeltank@cox.net"

"Keep Warm," "Maintain a ten pace interval," "Stay off the !@#$% skyline," and Semper Fidelis, Sully

~~~~~~~
This is...
Gunny G's Marines
GLOBE and ANCHOR Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~~

CHARLES LINDBERGH & WW II

Charles Lindbergh and the 475th Fighter Group


Thomas McGuiree and Charles A. Lindbergh

The Lone Eagle, Charles Augustus Lindbergh. In 1927 Lindbergh's solo trans-Atlantic flight stunned the world and turned him into an overnight hero. Two years before the Depression struck, Lindbergh seemed to epitomize the very essence of an ebullient America that never looked back. His lanky good looks, nicely muted by a shy, almost diffident smile, proved the perfect foil to a deed of enormous courage. The U.S. bowed happily before its new hero, " Lucky Lindy. "

With fame and hard work, Lindbergh prospered. His marriage to Anne Morrow, daughter of distinguished statesman and diplomat Dwight W. Morrow, proved long and abiding. His fortunes multiplied, as did his family, when Anne bore their first son on 22 June 1930, her birthday. Novelist E Scott Fitzgerald wrote: "Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy. " On the night of I March 1932, the Lindbergh’s’ child, lovingly called "Fat Lamb" by Anne and "Buster" by Charles, was kidnapped and murdered. The weeks of anguish which followed embittered Lindbergh, heightened by the intrusions of the press and hideous crank calls that mocked his grieving. Nothing quenched Charles' disappointment - in America and its people. On 7 December 1935 he made a decision, telling Anne to pack and be ready to leave on a day's notice. They would abandon the U.S. Fifteen days later the two set sail for England.

Lindbergh's dalliance with Europe forever changed his life. An earlier acquaintance and distinguished British civil servant, Harold Nicholson, offered Charles and Anne the use of Long Barn Cottage, near Nicholson's castle at Sissinghurst in southeastern England. At that place the Lindbergh's rebuilt their lives in the solitude of the Kentish countryside; from that place Lindbergh ventured out into a changing world.

Over the next few years he became acquainted with a number of people but it was through the Army Air Corps' singular attaché in Berlin, Major Truman Smith, that Lindbergh went to Nazi Germany. He accepted an invitation from the Nazi Government, initiated and forwarded by Smith, to visit Berlin. Once there, German officialdom threw down the red carpet and dazzled Lindbergh. The Lone Eagle came away from that trip with a changed perspective.

At heart Lindbergh had one serious flaw. An honest man, he believed people returned that honesty. That others lied, the man found hard to accept; that a government lied was beyond his comprehension. His tour had been carefully staged; unseen were the political camps and obvious anti-Semitic demonstrations. Instead Lindbergh saw a dynamic Germany churning out "defensive weapons," awesome in numbers and quality.

The epicenter of his crises, however, devolved on a simple fact - Lindbergh feared for the U. S. How could the Depression-crippled nation he left behind compete with the material

and moral superiority of a resurgent Germany? Lindbergh returned home in the spring of 1939. But he had seen and understood too much to remain silent any longer. So the Lone Eagle set in motion events that would eventually see him fly with Satan's Angels’.

In the years following his return, Lindbergh slowly alienated himself from the Administration and the American people. He joined one of the strongest Noninterventionist groups, the American First Committee, in April 1941, and became a major figure in its campaign to keep the U.S. neutral. The crunch came with a series of radio talks in which Lindbergh warned against supporting the Allies because of a perceived German conquest of Europe. His stature among Americans was seen as a powerful counterweight to FDR.'s attempt to support the Allies " short of war. "

Charles Lindbergh (2nd from left) on Emirau Island May 1944
Charles Lindbergh (2nd from left) on Emirau Island May 1944
On 29 April 1941, two days after Roosevelt impugned his loyalty in a speech, Lindbergh resigned his colonelcy in the Air Corps Reserve. Public reaction that once idolized him, was no longer sympathetic.

The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor sank both ships and isolationist aspirations. It placed Lindbergh in a quandary but in a patriotic spirit he offered to aid the U.S. by returning to the Air Corps. It was too late. The Administration refused his services and then, in a mean spirited mood, forced Lindbergh's many aviation employers to cancel his advisory positions, including Juan Trippes' Pan American Airways. Only one man resisted that move, Henry Ford, and Lindbergh went to work for him on 3 April 1942 as a technical consultant helping Ford convert from auto to bomber production.

Over the next year Washington loosened a bit. Lindbergh's undeniable expertise with aircraft and pilots thawed the bans against him. Indeed, his diary shows an enormously busy schedule of test flights that solved pressing problems of new aircraft. In that process the Lone Eagle flew, and came to know well, almost every combat craft in the U.S. inventory. But Lindbergh hungered for combat and as early as January 1944 had made inquiries as to that possibility. The Marines responded first. Cautiously, a tour of Corsair bases in the Pacific was arranged.

In April a friendly U-S- Navy sanctioned and covered Lindbergh's trip. He would go to their theater, the Pacific, as a civilian technical assistant. Neither the White House nor even Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox knew of this trip. After kitting up with Navy uniforms from Brook; Brothers (sans any insignia) and taking the usual rounds of shots, Lindbergh left San Diego for the War Zone.

By March he had already regularly contacted the United Aircraft Corporation, producer of the F4U Corsair, and had agreed to act as its liaison in the field. Once situated at Guadalcanal, South Pacific Area, he corrected problems of the "bent-winged bird" established better communications between United Aircraft and the Marines. There, local Marine officers consented to take Lindbergh on a patrol to Rabaul, the first of fourteen combat missions he would fly with the Corps. With the exception of air-to-air combat, Lindbergh flew patrol, escort, strafing, and dive-bombing assignments- As would later occur with the Army Air Forces, officers winked at his extraordinary activities by according him "observer status." Lindbergh concluded his business on the Canal. By 15 June he landed at Finschafen bound for the 475th Fighter Group.


Charles Lindbergh on Emirau Island, May 1944. The plane is an F4U, earlier nicknamed "the Dippy-Winged Widow Maker", because of erratic flying characteristics during its development.
The next day Colonel Robert L. Morrissey briefed Lindbergh on the Lightning. For all his flying experience he had never flown the P-38. A major motivation for the civilian's trip to New Guinea centered around United Aircraft's interest in the feasibility of a new twin-engined fighter. The P-38 was the sole American representative of that genre. He had heard that the 475th was a hot Lightning outfit so Lindbergh sought to learn from the best.

He announced his presence to V Fighter Command at Nadzab. -Colonel Merian C. Cooper lunched with Lindbergh and on Sunday. evening, 18 June, the civilian dined with Whitehead, talking of New Guinea developments and, doubtless, Lindbergh’s plans. This proved later insufficient for proper authorization in the theater. On Tuesday he got in an hour and twenty minutes Lightning time with 35th Squadron, 8th Group. A week later Lindbergh flew to Hollandia and walked in on MacDonald and Smith's checker game.

After obtaining permission to accompany the group on the next day's mission, Lindbergh retreated to V Fighter Command Headquarters only to be retrieved later by MacDonald. The mission, explained the colonel, would launch at dawn. It would be better to rest at the 475th camp and cut down transportation problems. Lindbergh agreed.

Meanwhile the "word" spread quickly. Lindbergh was among Satan's Angels. In the 433rd camp, First Lieutenant Carroll R. "Andy" Anderson tried to summon up enough strength to write a long overdue letter to his wife, Virginia Marie. Suddenly friend C.J. Rieman popped in and announced, "Charles A. Lindbergh is going to fly with us!" Letters were quickly forgotten.

The next day's mission was to Jefman Island, now a familiar target for the 475th. With the possibility of interception much higher than on Guadalcanal flights, MacDonald took no chances. The four-craft patrol included some of the best pilots in the group: MacDonald, with Smith in the number two slot, followed by Lindbergh and his wingman Mac McGuire. By that flight the veterans already had a total of thirty-six victories between them.

Except for flak, Jefman produced no action and so, as had been the recent practice, the quartet of Lightnings shot up barges and luggers on the way home. The Japanese used the terrain to mask their boats from air strikes. Spotting a barge in an indentation formed by two hills leading to the sea, Lindbergh flew up and over the nearest ridge clearing the top by a dozen feet, shooting as he partially straightened, and then banked hard left to clear the opposing hill, all this at 250 miles per hour indicated air speed. The four Lightnings left several craft sinking or burning before turning for home.

Later the group approved of Lindbergh is handling of that first mission. Intelligence Officer Dennis G. "Coop" Cooper was impressed by his accurate and thorough observations during debriefing. He flew well and low against the targets. They did not realize that Lindbergh's time on Guadalcanal had already honed his combat skills.

.A number of his missions in F4Us involved strafing difficult targets. In that process, he learned to fire accurately no matter what his fighter's attitude. " I do not think about the plane's position; that is taken care of subconsciously. All my conscious attention is concentrated on the sight. The tracers are going home, that's all that matters. " Further, Lindbergh was a natural marksman. He shot trap and skeet and while on a PT boat speeding at 26 knots, shot a flying fish with his .45 automatic Before going overseas he practiced air-to-air gunnery at El Toro, California, and Hickam Field, Hawaii, and his time at Guadalcanal allowed him to fire guns in action. Lindbergh's modesty kept him silent about his skills.

Lieutenant John E. "Jack" Purdy of the 433rd looked forward to meeting Lindbergh. Eventually a seven-victory ace, Purdy brooked no formality; already it was "Charlie." Almost as if sensing the stir caused by Lindbergh's appearance, MacDonald called a meeting two days after Lindbergh's arrival. The 475th's C.O. sought to clarify the civilian's status among Satan's Angels. The Lone Eagle would be accorded all officer's privileges and would be addressed as "Mister Lindbergh" as befitting his non-military status.

The Lone Eagle sortied regularly with the 475th and the missions reveal two things only partially seen by the group itself. The first concerned changing roles. Japanese resources dwindled at this, the closing of the New Guinea campaigns. Now they faced the terrible mobility of Nimitz's Central Pacific carrier task forces while MacArthur primed for the drive north against the Philippines) Gone were the relentless daylight air attacks. Husbanding resources in the Southwest Pacific, the enemy took to nocturnal raids against targets like newly-invaded Biak. Until MacArthur moved against the Philippines, the 475th provided aerial protection but did little damage to Japanese resources. This was unacceptable to Charles MacDonald.

Satan's Angels' C.O. began ordering strafing missions on the homeward leg of all patrols. Andy Anderson of Possum Squadron explained that the skipper was "a real bear for getting his money's worth on every mission. " Thus the recent spate of strafing attacks like the one that concluded Lindbergh's first outing with the 475th.

On the mission slated for 30 June, his second, the Lone Eagle took part in another of the many tactical transformations the group witnessed in recent months. With nil aerial opposition the group carried 1,000-pound bombs to Noemfoor Island. They would continue to carry "freight" for the rest of the war and Lindbergh accompanied them on this second such attack.

The seventeen ships lifted off the mat strip, flying through broken clouds and out to sea by 1125. Over the target they circled, waiting for the A-20s to complete their runs, watching them crater the revetment area down the entire side of the enemy runway. The resultant smoke cleared and the 475th began its attack. Lindbergh, the only one who had recent dive-bombing experience, rolled off at the edge of a squall, steadied his Lightning, and "pickled off" his weapon at 2,500 feet. He pulled out of the dive before the ten-second delayed bomb touched off.

Later the group's Official History recorded all bombs were delivered with "fair accuracy." Lindbergh saw part of the subsequent attacks and noted "three bombs in the target area, two in the jungle, and three in the ocean." Experience, however, would make the 475th as proficient with bombs as they were with bullets.

The second and critical passage made by the group concerned fuel consumption. With additional fuel cells in the J model P-38, Satan's Angels had been making six and one-half and seven-hour flights. On I July Lindbergh flew a third mission with the group, an armed reconnaissance to enemy strips at Nabire, Sagan One and Two, Otawiri, and Ransiki, all on the western shore of Geelvink Bay. Already Lindbergh's technical eye noticed something. After six and one-half hours flying time, he landed with 210 gallons of fuel remaining in his Lightning's tanks.

Two missions later, on 3 July, the group covered sixteen heavies on a strike against Jefman Island. Lindbergh led Hades Squadron's White Flight as they wove back and forth above the lumbering B-25s. After the attack the Lightnings went barge hunting.

First one, then two pilots reported dwindling fuel and broke off for home. MacDonald ordered the squadron back but because Lindbergh had nursed his fuel, he asked for and received permission to continue the hunt with his wingman. After a few more strafing runs, Lindbergh noticed the other Lightning circling overhead. Nervously the pilot told Lindbergh that he had only 175 gallons of fuel left. The civilian told him to reduce engine rpms, lean out his fuel mixture, and throttle back. When they landed, the 431st driver had seventy gallons left, Lindbergh had 260. They had started the mission with equal amounts of gas.

Lindbergh talked with MacDonald. The colonel then asked the group's pilots to assemble at the recreation hall that evening. The hall was that in name only, packed dirt floors staring up at a palm thatched roof, one ping pong table and some decks of cards completing the decor. Under the glare of unshaded bulbs, MacDonald got down to business. "Mr. Lindbergh" wanted to explain how to gain more range from the P-38s. In a pleasant manner Lindbergh explained cruise control techniques he had worked out for the Lightnings: reduce the standard 2,200 rpm to 1,600, set fuel mixtures to "auto-lean," and slightly increase manifold pressures. This, Lindbergh predicted, would stretch the Lightning's radius by 400 hundred miles, a nine-hour flight. When he concluded his talk half an hour later, the room was silent.

The men mulled over several thoughts in the wake of their guest's presentation. The notion of a nine-hour flight literally did not sit well with them, "bum-busters" thought some. Seven hours in a cramped Lightning cockpit, sitting on a parachute, an emergency raft, and an oar was bad, nine hours was inconceivable. They were right. Later, on 14 October 1944, a 432nd pilot celebrated his twenty-fourth birthday with an eight-hour escort to Balikpapan, Borneo. On touching down, he was so cramped his crew chief had to climb up and help him get out of the cockpit.

The group’s chief concern surfaced quickly, that such procedures would foul sparkplugs and scorch cylinders. Lindbergh methodically gave the answer. The Lightning's technical manual provided all the figures necessary to prove his point; they had been there all along. Nonetheless the 475th remained skeptical. A single factor scotched their reticence.

During their brief encounter, MacDonald had come to respect Lindbergh. Both men pushed hard and had achieved. Both were perfectionists never leaving things half done. And both had inquisitive minds. John Loisel, commanding officer the 432nd, remembered the two men talking for long periods over a multitude of topics beyond aviation. If, as MacDonald had informed his pilots, better aircraft performance meant a shorter war, then increasing the Lightning's range was worth investigating. Lindbergh provided the idea, but it was MacDonald's endorsement, backed by the enormous respect accorded him by the group, that saw the experiment to fruition. The next day, the Fourth of July, Lindbergh accompanied the 433rd on a six-hour, forty-minute flight led by Captain "Parky" Parkansky. Upon landing, the lowest fuel level recorded was 160 gallons. In his journal entry Lindbergh felt ". . . that the talk last night was worthwhile. " The 475th had lengthened its stride.

On 7 July Lindbergh flew back to Nadzab. The 475th continued its tasks but began to incorporate the lessons taught by the departed aviator. But it was not the end of their association. They would meet again on the road to the Philippines, a road that MacArthur had long been anxious to travel.

MacArthur's clean-up of Eastern New Guinea took fifteen months. With supplies, experience, and proper tactics, he had leaped the top of the Guineas west to Vogelkop and then north to the Moluccas in three months. On 15 September MacArthur looked north from Morotai. He was only three hundred miles from the Philippines; it could have been the moon.

Pacific plans still remained unjelled. Ironically this time the culprit was success. The success that saw MacArthur's seizure of New Guinea also sent Nimitz rampaging through the Pacific islands. On 26 July 1944 MacArthur and Nimitz met with President Roosevelt at Pearl Harbor. FDR explained that Washington planners felt encouraged to scrap the year-old "Strategic Plan for the Defeat of Japan." This guideline posited the securing of China's southern coast, Formosa, and Luzon as a prerequisite to striking the Home Islands. Now Washington boldly sought direct attacks against Formosa, or Japan itself, thus bypassing Luzon. The ensuing conversation was lively.

Nimitz generally conceded the need for long-range aircover in any attempt at taking Formosa. In a long exegesis, MacArthur pointed out the moral imperative: freeing the gallant Filipino people and expunging a defeat of American arms; his defeat, the general might have added. In an earlier message JCS head George C. Marshall reminded MacArthur that "personal feelings and Philippine politics" should not cloud over the war's prime objective, to defeat Japan. To MacArthur they were one and inseparable. FDR reacted to those lofty sentiments by taking an aspirin . . . and ordering another for the morning. Nonetheless the meeting's end saw FDR agree to support the two commanders and push for an invasion of the Philippines.

For the 475th, those were great - but distant - events. Life for them still revolved around coral, seas, and sky. Lindbergh's departure made no dent in the 475th's regiment. On 2 July 1944 the Allies strengthened their grip on routes to the Philippines by attacking Noemfoor, most westerly of the Schouten Island group. Lightnings from the group covered that landing as well as those at Sansapor, the northwestern-most part of New Guinea on the thirtieth of the month. By then Satan's Angels had moved again.

Biak Island highlighted a continual problem for Southwestern Pacific campaigns. The heart of that dilemma involved Allied dependence on captured Japanese airstrips. Japanese-engineered runways lacked the polish of their American counterparts. The lighter enemy craft could employ runway surfaces that were thinner, their lengths shorter. U. S. fighters had difficulty enough, but steel matting helped convert them to American specifications. The real problem revolved around the heavies, B-24s and -17s. The enemy had no such massive craft and so heavy bomber runway facilities were hardest to develop. The many moves completed by Satan's Angels stemmed as much from airfields proved inadequate as from the rapid progress of the war. Cape Gloucester, Finschafen, and Hollandia evicted the 475th. Biak now beckoned.

Located 275 miles west of Hollandia, Biak had been attacked by the 41st Division on 27 May 1944. Local defense commander Colonel Naoyuki Kuzume had learned that Japanese troops on the waterline inevitably died or could not retreat under pre-invasion bombardments. He pulled his men back into coral catacombs dotting the landscape. The ensuing struggle for the island was one of the worst of the war. Even as the Seabees and engineers reconditioned strips at Owi Island, just off Biak, and then on Biak itself, Japanese snipers and suicide teams kept the area a combat zone. Some of the enemy held out for months. The 475th again lodged hard on the edge of battle.

On 10 July the air echelon landed on Mokmer Strip, Biak. Two men were missing. Crew chief Sergeant Teddy Hanks, swinging aboard the last C-47 transporting the air echelon to Biak, noticed a 38 limping back to land, snafued. With no mechanics left, Hanks and fellow Sergeant George A. Brown dismounted. Brown had repaired airplanes before the war and was one of the few men that came to the 475th with prior experience. Together they repaired the Lightning, telling the pilot to buzz them on the way out. Happy to oblige, the pilot roared in so low that a terrified earth-mover operator bailed out onto the ground. The entire group completed the move four days later.

Mokmer strip had been chiseled out of a hillside overlooking the beach and sea. The runway was white, compacted coral with good drainage in rain and dusty in the heat. The temporary camp lay at the eastern end of the strip. The later "permanent" encampment at Sorido would be a mile and a half from Mokmer, connected by a bumpy road. Both sites spread out over the same crushed coral as the strip, road, and island. Early on, Tokyo Rose acknowledged the 475th's presence as the "Butchers of Rabaul" and promised a nasty welcome. A 432nd pilot later explained, "It's hell trying to dig a foxhole in coral."

Foxholes were no laughing matter. The temporary camp lay but 400 yards from the mopping up operations and in the early weeks firefights could be heard beyond the perimeter. Furthermore, Japanese night bombing raids were frequent if inaccurate, the men theorizing that the center of the airstrip was the safest place during such attacks. Gas masks also made them aware of the war's proximity. Intelligence officers worried, knowing that Colonel Kuzume had received orders to employ poison gas in the island's defense. Nothing came of that order but masks decorated each American's cot for sometime to come.

General camp conditions were decent by earlier standards. While hot, the tradewinds cooled things off in the evening and the ocean always beckoned for a swim. Showers were available, and while the food improved little, one could always scrounge survival, " melt-proof" chocolate bars from the parachute riggers who seemed to have an endless supply. Liquor remained habitually scarce. Yardbird Lieutenant Lloyd C. Lentz, Jr., 431st Squadron, solved the problem in style. His wife sent him Scotch or bourbon in medicinal containers. On scattered Pacific atolls "are empty Listerine bottles in island trash heaps," mute testimony to American ingenuity and the demand for a decent drink.

A welcomed addition arrived in the Satan's Angels' revetment, a B-25 Mitchell. Late of the 345th Bomb Group, it had flown its share of missions and now served to make "Fat Cat" runs to Australia. A silvery ship with a solid metal nose, the Mitchell bore the title "Fertile Myrtle, " a name straitlaced Lindbergh found objectionable. On its maiden voyage, officers and men kicked in money for supplies and especially fresh produce, milk, and meat. Much to the disappointment of the EM'S, "Myrtle" returned with liquor, most of which went to officers' country. Later flights were more equitably divided. Unfortunately even with fresh provisions, their proper preparation was still occasionally lacking. Private First Class Curtis E Tinker, Jr., of the 432nd Squadron, recalled that the cooks, upon receiving a shipment of fresh eggs from a "Fat Cat" flight, promptly fried them in Australian mutton tallow.

Air engagements grew increasingly rare as the Japanese girded for the forthcoming struggle for the Philippines. Except for victories in the first four days of July, the group waited out a drought in air fighting. By the end of the month circumstances changed.

On 16 July Lindbergh returned to the group. Earlier Kenney had called him back to Brisbane, the civilian arriving by 21 July. Apparently the problem stemmed from miscommunications, protocol, and a genuine concern for the Lone Eagle's safety. Conversation brought agreement and much like Marine Corps officialdom on the Canal, Lindbergh received " observer-status" and permission to use his guns in self-defense because, as Kenney told him, ". . , no one back in the States will know whether you use your guns or not. Officially sanctioned, he returned to the 475th.

Lindbergh easily re-entered the flow of group activities. Despite the mandated "Mr. Lindbergh" title, the officers and men accepted the former Air Corps colonel as well as any outsider could expect. They kidded him, carefully measuring Lindbergh's response and never finding him wanting.

Good humor, in fact, was necessary because flying combat missions had not made him a combat pilot. After one takeoff, Lindbergh noticed he lagged behind the 433rd despite his best efforts to catch up. A pilot quipped over the radio, "Get your wheels up! You're not flying the Spirit of St. Louis. " Lindbergh had forgotten to retract his landing gear. Other incidents had less humor but were met with the same unfailing grace.

Possum Squadron, the 433rd, owned and groomed an idiosyncratic reputation, They did nothing by half measures. Major "Louie" Lewis insisted on sharp flying, often bringing the squadron over a runway in precision order, each fighter trailing ribbons of condensation from wingtips as they peeled off to land. Lindbergh received a rude introduction into the intricacies of squadron styles while flying with the 433rd. Lewis employed a rapid two-craft takeoff, the entire squadron expected to be emplaced within a single circuit of the field. Sound reasoning backed his method. Long takeoffs and assemblies meant less gas in flight, often spelling the difference between success and failure over the target or life and death on the long trip home. On one such mission Lewis looked back to see a lone P-38 on the strip, Lindbergh's. After the squadron completed a number of circuits the Lightning ambled off the runway, made a leisurely ascent, and joined up with the now fretful Possums. Later Lewis explained how the squadron operated and Lindbergh promised to preflight before the 433rd assembled and to "pull streamers" on takeoff. The Lone Eagle was learning.

In support of the Sansapor invasion, a raid had been slated for the next day but bad weather delayed the mission until 27 July At 0745 the group lifted off to escort the first U. S. strike on Halmahera, one of two major islands in the Molucca Group, air "Intel" estimating 150 aircraft scattered over three fields, 75 to 100 probably fighters. With the 431th Lindbergh flew close cover to the B-25 strafers, the other squadrons flying at intermediate and high altitudes.

Now fully aware of radar's ability, the battle group traced the sea at 2,000 feet staving off their presence on Japanese plotting boards for as long a; possible. Halmahera's hazy purple coastline appeared, then cleared to white sand beaches and verdant jungles. High cover rose above the group and the 475th broke into its combat strings that wove protectively above the forty gunships. The sweep into Galela strip, their target, took them past an active volcano, its sulfurous fume; invading cockpits, ashen smoke reducing visibility to a minimum. As the leading wave of B-25s smothered Galela in a wash of tracers and parafrags, Lindbergh and the 433rd rose and circled the drome watching the second line of Mitchell's do their work before escorting the third echelon of strafers out to sea. In their wake the Fifth left sixty smoldering Japanese craft. The 431st tangled with some Oscars and despite skillful enemy flying, shot down three, one falling to Mac McGuire. This was his twenty-first, making him the SWPA’s leading ace.

The next day, 28 July, the big fighters again cleared Mokmer by 0740, target Amboina, a small island off the southwest coast of Ceram. The B-25s of the 345th Bomb Group had already launched and the Lightnings easily caught them at the Mccluer Gulf, forming up into airborne legions as they swept past dead or dying enemy fields like Babo, Kokas, and the Sagans. As they passed on, the weather worsened until the Mitchell main force quit and turned for home.

MacDonald and Lindbergh, flying with the Possums, led two flights up to 18,000 feet and cleared the thunderheads. Unnoticed, Lieutenant Herbert W. "Herbie" Cochran's Lightning, number 186, was going down after first the right, then the left engine quit. Too low to bailout, Cochran successfully ditched in the sea. So quickly had the lieutenant gone in that later his wingman, Lieutenant Ethelbert B. "E. B." Roberts assumed the downed pilot had snafued and had gone back to Mokmer.

Floating in his emergency raft Cochran paddled about. Suddenly droning engines caught his attention, the 345th had aborted the mission and now flew directly overhead. Only then did he notice the open bomb bay doors. Unseen from above, a tiny figure furiously waved an oar. Cochran thought , "Don't drop those damn things here. You're gonna kill me." Suddenly the air filled with bombs which somehow all missed the lieutenant. Later Cochran paddled ashore and, still wet, was greeted by "What happened to you?" Usually a calm man, he blurted out " What happened? What happened! I darned near got killed, that's what happened!"

Blue and Yellow Flights of the 433rd, sans Cochran, broke free of the storm front and closed on Ceram Island. Moving south towards enemy fields the squadron swung into their loose, weaving formation and upped speed to the preferred 250 mph Approaching Amahai the cloud deck forced the squadron to just below the billowy white at 10,000 to 13,000 feet. Around 1000 the radio waves evidenced an unseen fight.

Two Mitsubishi 51 Sonias, armed, two-place reconnaissance-attack craft, returned from searching for a comrade missing after escorting a convoy of the 35th Division to Sorong. Part of the 73rd Independent Flying Chutai, the Sonias were piloted by the 73rd's C.O. Captain Saburo, Shimada and Sergeant Saneyoshi Yokogi, doubtless happy to be nearing home at Amahai. It was then that the P-38s of "Captive" Squadron, the 9th Squadron of the 49th Group, dropped down on the Japanese duo. The "49er;" had forged an enviable record in the SWPA despite the fact that only the 9th Squadron flew Lightnings. It was that squadron that now squared off against the two Japanese over Amahai.

The enemy pilots were clearly veteran;. While Sonias shared basic characteristics of other Japanese craft- low wing loading and a high power to weight ratio- they were still two-place airplanes with fixed landing gear. And yet beset by the 9th's Lightnings they flew like demons stymieing "Captive's" best efforts.

MacDonald's flights traced the 9th's growing rage and frustration as the frantically twisting Japanese continued to evade their P-38s' gunfire. They listened anxiously to their radios, following the course of events as best they could:

"Damn ! I'm out of ammunition."

"The son of a bitch is making monkeys out of us. "

"I'm out of ammunition, too. "

MacDonald keyed his mike asking for the location of the fight, but the 9th grimly ignored the call; enemy craft were scarce enough without competition from Satan's Angel's. A 49er, Lieutenant Wade D. Lewis's cannon shells caught a Sonia in the left wing triggering a fire. As the enemy straightened out to run, Lieutenant J.C. Haslip finally slipped behind the green and brown mottled ship, fired a long burst drawing smoke, the stricken craft diving down into the sea. So died Sergeant Yokogi.

For thirty minutes Captain Shimada fought off Captive Squadron while MacDonald's flights frantically searched for the fight. Banking around a huge thunderhead, black flak drew the 475th to the long running battle three miles off Amahai drome. At 1045 drop tanks fluttered away as MacDonald led the flights into a turning dive from 3,000 feet, triggering a short burst that spangled the Mitsubishi with hits. It began to smoke. Trapped, Shimada decided to fight. Banking furiously, his wingtips streamed condensation as he wracked his craft around in a wicked left-hand turn. MacDonald's wingman and Group Operations Officer, Captain Danforth "Danny" Miller, tried pulling lead on the hostile fighter. Danforth caught it briefly in his sight's reticle and then lost the Sonia's track, his tracers falling off eighty feet behind. By then Shimada had completed his turn and dove on the next attacking Lightning lining up on the second element leader, Charles Lindbergh.

For all his experience the civilian had never seen, let alone fought, an enemy craft. Now he and Shimmed flew at each other head-on at 500 mph. Lindbergh instinctively sighted on the Mitsubishi is radial engine and held down the buttons, his fighter bucking, gunpowder fumes filling his cockpit. The civilian's bullets and shells, six seconds worth, slammed into the front of the Sonia, its propeller perceptibly slowing but still Shimada refused to break off. A moment before impact, Lindbergh pulled hard on the yoke vaulting Chimera’s ship by mere feet. As the stricken Mitsubishi poured smoke, it half rolled and took its last dive. Lieutenant Joseph E. "Fishkiller" Miller, Lindbergh's number two, snapped out rounds that took the Sonia in the wing, ripping off pieces. Shimada’s gallant fight ended in a spray of foam that briefly marked his passing. Years later MacDonald expressed admiration for that pilot who single-handedly outflown a squadron of P-38s only to be killed by Charles Lindbergh.

A grinning "Fishkiller" Miller, so named for his missed bombing strike that brought thousands of stunned fish to the surface, carried the word back to his comrades. Lindbergh scored his first kill "I was there, and the old man got a Sonia fair and square. . . . It really was something. I blew some pieces off the wing, but it was Mr. Lindbergh's victory." Congratulations flew through the camp.

Three days later, on I August, Lindbergh ventured out on a hazardous mission that almost proved his last. In a sense the affair happened because of boredom. Air activity had diminished and the pilots hungered for victories. Hades Squadron's Diary entry for July 1944 reflected a general frustration with the lack of combat. A mission on the twenty-seventh brought hostile contact and the squadron took on two Japanese fighters. Air discipline broke down and ". . . a general melee followed in which there occurred more danger from midair collision of friendly attacking aircraft than from enemy action. " It was from this hunger for victories that the Palau raid was born.

The evening of 10 July brought no hint of future events. MacDonald and Lindbergh played checkers, Meryl Smith tossed cards at a hat, while Major A.R. "Sam" Fernandez, Group Adjutant Officer, brewed powdered coffee for an honored break called "smoke" or "smoko." The field telephone sounded. Danny Miller announced the next day’s mission, escorting a B-25 raid back to Amboina on Ceram Island. Dropping the receiver in its holster, MacDonald glanced up at the wall map, focusing on a small group of islands 600 miles from Biak, the Palaus.

The colonel turned to Lindbergh. " You know, " he mused, ". . . with what you've taught us about fuel economy, we could go to Palau and stay at least an hour. " Lindbergh enthusiastically agreed. "Smitty " Smith broke in, reminding them of the morning's mission. Everyone forgot the suggestion, everyone but MacDonald.

The raid was postponed the next morning for an hour when F-5 "recco'' Lightning reported Ceram sealed in clouds. Half an hour later word came down, the mission had been scrubbed. MacDonald turned to Lindbergh, Smith, and Miller, "Do you want to go to Palau?" They agreed. At 0927 their Lightnings raised coral dust as they lifted free of Mokmer.

The northerly Palaus had been slated as a future invasion target but more than that, meteorological reports gave an atypical green light for passage to and from the target. Recent intelligence sightings estimated over 150 enemy craft secreted at various dromes, targets enough for all. And in a sense MacDonald also complimented Lindbergh by inviting him along. The four would make a 1,200-mile, over-water flight to an untested target. This would not be the usual "milkrun" mission reserved for beginners.

On the sweep north the civilian dove on a reef, clearing guns as he checked the boresighting on his borrowed Lightning. MacDonald, navigating skillfully with only a compass heading and a wristwatch, climbed to 8,000 feet and lit a cigarette, prepared for the long haul ahead. Despite frontal disturbances the flight crossed the southern portion of the islands, Peleliu, approximately two and one-half hours later. Climbing to 15,000 feet the marauding Lightnings skirted the eastern fringe of the islands as they moved north.

MacDonald was trying to pick off hostile craft in isolation but when none crossed his path the colonel decided "'to ring the doorbell." Slanting down into a fast, shallow dive, the four ships drew ack-ack fire over Koror Town hall-way up the island chain. Circling back to the coast they flew north to Babelthuap, the largest of the Palaus. Again crossing the surf divide they moved inland, now at combat speed, weaving through scattered clouds returning south. The Americans dived to the deck hunting the enemy. Skimming a lagoon they spotted several small boats and promptly strafed them.

Suddenly Meryl Smith radioed, "Bandits two o'clock high!"

Lindbergh's untrained eyes failed to see the pair of Zero floatplanes, "Rufes," that patrolled the far end of the convoy. Thus he later expressed some surprise when the lead elements drop tanks tumbled away. Following suit, he felt a slight bump as they cleared his ship. Instinctively hands reached out turning mixture full rich, brightening the gunsight light to compensate for the sun's glare, a glance showing 2,600 rpms and forty-five inches of manifold pressure.

Swinging starboard, the four Lightnings swept after one of the Mitsubishi’s low on the water. Lindbergh saw its partner to the left but held station, fully aware that the Palaus' overwhelming air defenses now knew that intruders threatened. MacDonald moved in behind the floatplane as it headed for the clouds, cut across its wild left bank and fired. The Rufe caught fire and a second later broke up on the sea's surface. Now freed from guarding the attacking element, Lindbergh radioed that he was going after the lone survivor. The last time he saw Smith, the major flew wing position but as the civilian made his final stalk an indistinct motion caught his eye to the left. Instinctively he turned to the threat and snap fired at too great a distance. It was Smith. Fortunately Lindbergh missed and dutifully lined up behind the major as the 475th pilot took the Rufe under fire.

MacDonald watched from above. Suddenly he noticed four, not three, craft above the water: the Mitsubishi, Smith's and Lindbergh's Lightnings, and a Japanese Hamp that simply materialized from above and behind. Before the C.O. could warn Lindbergh, Smith opened fire, bright motes of tracer bullets searching out, then catching the Rufe. It hit the water at a shallow angle, skipped, and then blew up as Smitty hit the fighter a second time. Firewalling his P-38, MacDonald warned Lindbergh, "Zero on your tail!"

Apparently Lindbergh either did not hear or misunderstood the warning because he never mentioned the event in his otherwise meticulously-kept journal. MacDonald dropped hard astern the Hamp. The Japanese, seeing him, pulled up into a sustained vertical climb that carried him to safety in some clouds. The time spent in combat, coupled with the hostile fighter, served notice that things would only worsen. The 475th's C.O. gathered the flight and withdrawing, spotted an enemy divebomber. With Smith and Lindbergh as high guard, he dove and sent the craft down in flames. After thirty minutes over the Palaus, MacDonald extracted the quartet of P-38s, taking advantage of cloud cover by flying east before resuming a course south to Biak.

Colonel MacDonald and Danny Miller led a mile ahead as the flight headed out to sea. Suddenly Lindbergh announced "Zero at six o'clock! Diving on us." A Zero plunged through a scattering of clouds curving towards Smith. Lindbergh responded too quickly, banking to intercept the bandit before the Japanese pilot had fully committed himself' to pursuing the major. lnstantly the Mitsubishi broke off its initial attack and cut inside Lindbergh’s turn, coining out on the American's tail.

The situation could not have been worse. The flight had retreated at a low altitude and the enemy had accrued a speed advantage through his dive. Lindhergh could not outclimb or outsprint the Zeke and help looked distant, MacDonald and Miller a mile ahead. Smith, still believing himself the target, climbing hard for the clouds.


Minnesota Historical Society Photo
http://www.mnhs.org>
MacDonald had already turned back but the Mitsubishi flew for the kill. Lindbergh rammed rpm forward and throttle; to the firewall; the Lightning surging forward but the enemy craft still grew larger in his mirror, now within gun range. Realizing the futility of trying to outrun the Zero and too low to dive, the civilian continued turning, denying a no deflection shot at his pursuer while he hunched low in the seat and its armor plating. Lindbergh remembered his family with startling clarity as the Zero; nose and wings sparkled with gunfire.

MacDonald saw he was too late. Still far out of range he saw the Zero fire, delicate tendrils of tracers reaching out and enfolding Lindbergh’s fighter. Apparently, America had no monopoly on bad gunnery. Lindbergh's P-38 never faltered. lnstead it began a high speed turn, responding to MacDonald's call "Break right Break right!" Slowly the Lone Eagle led his pursuer in front of MacDonald's element, the colonel tightening his turn, ship groaning, buffeting, the tiny lighted "pipper'' in the sight sliding through the Japanese craft until proper lead had been established. Putt Putt Maru's gun package erupted bullets and shells; the Zero pulled hard for altitude. Smith flashed in for a quick shot, then Danny Miller, banking at the vertical, caught the climbing enemy with a full burst that drew plumes of black smoke. Critically low on fuel the flight left the crippled fighter and flew for home, landing at Mokmer at 1600.

Upon their arrival V Fighter Command summoned MacDonald on 2 August 1944, a day after Lindbergh almost died over the Palaus. Word of the mission had spread. Colonel Bob Morrissey, the civilian's contact at headquarters, phoned a day after MacDonald arrived. Unhappily he informed Lindbergh that the 475th's C.O. had been reprimanded and grounded for sixty days.

Most assumed MacDonald drew a reprimand for risking Lindbergh on a dangerous mission. While true MacDonald shouldered direct responsibility for Lindbergh's safety, one could argue that the free and easy liberties granted the civilian in both Marine and Army areas of operation lent an air of permissiveness to his stay. The extent of Lindbergh’s aerial involvement came clear two days before when he shot down a hostile craft, and yet no official prohibition surfaced then. The reasoning behind MacDonald's punishment further weakened in the following days. Lindbergh continued to fly combat. From 3 to 13 August he flew live operational missions that saw fighters, flak, and strafing runs. Not until the latter date did Kenney ground Lindbergh, by then on the verge of returning stateside.

Lindbergh, himself, suggested another reason for the V Fighter Command's peevishness:

It seems that the bombers have been requesting fighter cover for their Palau raid; for some time past and they have been turned down by Fighter Command on the grounds that the distance was too great and the weather too bad. Since our flight somewhat refutes this claim. Fighter Command feels that it has placed them in an embarrassing position, which they do not appreciate.

MacDonald had stumbled into a political tangle not of his own making and paid the price.

In recognition of his outstanding record, both as a pilot and a leader, Kenney softened the blow by simultaneously granting the 475th's C.O. a two-month state-side leave, a chance to go home to his wife and a son. MacDonald had never seen. His comrades rejoiced at the well deserved rest, but it carried unspoken assumptions. He would probably miss the culmination of MacArthur's campaign, the invasion of the Philippines, and it would mar an otherwise distinguished record.

Just before departing for the U. S. Lindbergh flew a mission touched by tragedy. On the morning of 4 August the same day MacDonald began the first leg of his trip home, Lindbergh accompanied the 43lst on a bomber escort mission back to Amboina Island. Through a mix-up in signals the civilian lost contact with Hades Squadron, so he tacked on as a number four man to a flight of Lightnings. The target lay almost completely shrouded in overcast, strata pierced by spires of huge cumulus clouds.

Over Piroe Bay Lindbergh saw two bogies to the starboard. External fuel cells dropped away but as his flight wheeled to intercept, more than a dozen Lightnings converged on the enemy and a melee began. Captain Bill O'Brien, whose cool-headed leadership brought the 431st through "Black Sunday", spotted a Zero and dove for the kill. The enemy pilot spotted the approaching P-38 and pulled hard on the stick, attempting a loop either to come out on O'Brien's tail or, with half a roll at the top, to reverse his course and escape.

One or both pilots misjudged their actions. As the Zero went up, over, and straightened out, O'Brien flew head-on into the still inverted enemy fighter. Over a mile away Lindbergh saw a flash of light that meant only one thing, a midair collision. As the falling ball of flame burned out, thin black smoke rained fragments no larger than a Lightning's tail surface. Despite a search by the 431st the next day, O'Brien never returned and it was on that sad note that the civilian took leave of the group eight days later. Mr. Lindbergh was going home.
http://www.charleslindbergh.com/wwii/
http://www.charleslindbergh.com/wwii/

From the book "LIGHTNING STRIKES".



~~~~~
This is...
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By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~

WAR WITH MEXICO?

"Another War With Mexico?"

Posted by Robert Klein Engler
Sunday, October 19, 2003

At the time of the first Mexican-American War, there were strains in Mexican as well as American society that parallel the strains in both societies today. Most importantly, the Mexican government at that time was split between the Federalists and the Centralists. The Centralists favored an autocratic government and wanted to regain the lost territory of Texas, whereas the Federalists we more in favor of democratic reforms.

In the United States, the major strain was between the liberal Abolitionists who feared that Texas would become a slave holding state, and the Nationalists who envisioned America stretching ''from sea to shining sea.'' It may be helpful to look again at some of this history to see if we can understand what the future may hold for these two countries.

People on both sides of the Mexican/U. S. border have to be reminded that Mexico has a different history from the United States. The indigenous Aztecs practiced such cannibalism and human sacrifice that it shocked even the brutal Spanish conquistadors. Mexico has yet to repudiate its Aztec past the way the Germans repudiated their Nazi past.

The 1910 revolution in Mexico was no stroll down the Paseo de la Reforma, either. One just has to read Martin Luis Guzman's book The Eagle and the Serpent, to realize how bloody that revolution was. Although military casualties were high on both sides of the American War Between the States, civilian casualties were much higher during the Mexican Revolution.

Mexican culture is also different from American culture. An example of one important cultural difference between Mexico and the U. S. is religion. Mexico has Roman Catholic traditions, while the U. S. mainly has Protestant traditions. There were cultural reasons why Texas did not want to remain part of Mexico and first seceded and then became part of the United States. Many of those reasons are still valid today, in spite of NAFTA and Mexico's immigration and nationalization policies. Many Mexican immigrants to the U. S. have no desire to assimilate, to speak English, nor to become Americans. They are aggressively seeking to replace our culture with theirs.

When we celebrate Columbus Day in the U. S., and the Mexicans celebrate ''El Día de la Raza,'' a statement is being made about how two cultures view their place in the world. El Día de la Raza can be translated as ''The Day of the Race,'' an expression that has definite racist overtones. Columbus Day may carry overtones of conquest, but it links our culture with Europe. The Day of the Race links Mexican culture with a brutal and indigenous people, the Aztecs, and carries shades of revenge and empire. The day of the Race is Mexico's answer to our ''manifest destiny.''

During the ''conquista,'' Spain tried to impose on Mexico a common western language, religion, and culture, and to the degree it was successful. It was also anti-American. We should remember that the Spaniards were building the great cathedral at the Zocolo in Mexico City a hundred years before George Washington took control of the Continental Army at Cambridge, Massachusetts. Here are two different world views, sharing the same continent.

In his article, Clash of Civilizations?, Samuel P. Huntington reminds us that cultural differences may cause future wars, and that these wars will be along cultural ''fault lines.'' The U. S.--Mexican border is one of those fault lines. Huntington writes, ''Civilization identity will be increasingly important in the future, and the world will be shaped in large measure by the interactions among seven or eight major civilizations. ...The most important conflicts of the future will occur along the cultural fault lines separating these civilizations from one another.''

In regard to Mexico, Huntington writes, ''During the past decade, Mexico has assumed a position somewhat similar to that of Turkey. Just as Turkey abandoned its historic opposition to Europe and attempted to join Europe, Mexico has stopped defining itself by its opposition to the United States and is instead attempting to imitate the United States.'' However, unlike Canada, Mexico has a large, nonwestern, indigenous population that has not yet been integrated into modernity. This native population also carries an unconscious weight of resentment towards the Spanish conquest, which it now mistakenly displaces onto the U. S.

Mexico's indigenous population is one of the contemporary strains in that society. Sub-Comandante Marcos and the uprising in Chiapas of indigenous people is a prediction of what is to come in Mexico if that strain cannot be relieved. The Mexican elites have decided, therefore, to reduce this strain by sending north as many poor and jobless Mexicans as they can. Instead of solving their own problems, which might entail a reduction of their status, the ruling Mexican elites have decided to keep the fiesta going and let the U. S. handle the cleanup.

A top adviser to past Mexican President Carlos Salinas de Gortari described to Huntington all the changes the Salinas government was making. When the advisor finished, Huntington remarked: ''That's most impressive. It seems to me that basically you want to change Mexico from a Latin American country into a North American country.'' He looked at me with surprise and exclaimed: ''Exactly! That's precisely what we are trying to do, but of course we could never say so publicly.'' What also could not be said publicly is that Mexico wants to reclaim its ''lost'' territory. It will use economics and illegal immigrants to do this.

Many Mexican elites believe that to become a modern nation, Mexico has to restructure its economy and regain the territory it lost during the first Mexican war. For over a century, Mexican nationalists have used the myths and symbols of a lost but glorious indigenous past to motivate its plans for expansion. D. H. Lawrence wrote about this myth building in his novel, The Plumed Serpent.

Nowadays, the Mexican elites realize they do not need an army when they have NAFTA and illegal immigrants to do the job just as well. The Mexican elites have devised a foreign policy to achieve these objectives. This policy uses the poorer elements in Mexican society as foot soldiers. By moving poor and jobless Mexicans north, Mexico can make the U. S. absorb the cost of welfare and at the same time re-colonize large segments of so-called lost, Mexican territory.

Lets look at aspects of Mexican foreign policy to see how its aggressive actions towards the U. S. may be understood. Writing in The Miami Herald, for Sunday, January 12, 2003, Andres Oppenheimer openly wonders if Mexico's former Economy Minister and now new Foreign Minister, Luis Ernesto Derbez, ''may weaken what has been one of (President) Fox's most important accomplishments: bringing Mexico's foreign policy out of the dark ages of knee-jerk nationalism and pointless anti-Americanism.'' In fact, Derbez's job will be to say one thing and do another. Nationalism and anti-Americanism remain a part of Mexico's foreign policy, it's just not called that anymore.

Prior to Derbez's statements, Mexico's previous Foreign Minister and former Marxist, Jorge Castañeda said that nationalism and anti-Americanism made sense in the 19th and 20th centuries but are not viable in a globalized world, in which countries depend more on exchanges of goods, services, and people than at any time in recent history.

Mexico's traditional anti-Americanism '''creates a brutal national schizophrenia,''' said Castañeda. He further noted that 90 percent of Mexico's trade is with the United States. Yet, integrating the Mexican economy with the U. S. economy may be viewed more sinisterly. This economic integration can be also just one aspect of a Mexican foreign policy designed to get back territory.

Internationally, Mexico is a non-permanent member of the Security Council. It's hostile intentions towards the U. S. were made clear when it opposed any unilateral action against Iraq without a mandate from the Security Council. This stance on Iraq further angered many to the north.

If another 9/11 attack did occur in the U. S. and it did not damage Mexico's interests, Mexico would remain indifferent. Mexico may even unintentionally aid terrorists by encouraging illegal immigration to the U. S. Furthermore, Mexico has never broken off relations with communist Cuba and gives it considerable development aid. In spite of American policy toward Cuba, Mexican President Fox visited the island in February, 2002.

The first war between the United States and Mexico began with a Mexican attack on American troops along the southern border of Texas on Apr. 25, 1846. On Monday, May 11, President Polk presented his war message to Congress, and on Wednesday, May 13, over the opposition of the Abolitionists, the U. S. Congress voted to declare war on Mexico. Fighting ended when U. S. Gen. Winfield Scott occupied Mexico City on Sept. 14, 1847. The peace treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed on Feb. 2, 1848, ending the war.

Ironically, the Confederate hero Jefferson Davis emerges as a figure from that war who may help us predict our future foreign policy towards Mexico. Davis distinguished himself fighting for the U. S., especially at the battle of Monterrey. You have to wonder if Davis ever imagined his world would be turned upside down when 15 years later he would become President of the Confederate States of America. Will our world also be turned upside down years from now because of NAFTA, illegal immigration, and drugs from Mexico?

As a Nationalist, Davis could see the importance of Texas to the expanding union. The Abolitionists argued that the move to the Rio Grande was an aggressive act by President Polk to start a war with Mexico in order to add new slave territory to the United States. The Nationalists and Davis carried the day and the war was successfully waged.

Yet, years later Davis could not convert to the Abolitionist cause. He sided with the southern confederacy against the north. The War Between the States settled that issue, and Jefferson Davis ended up a federal prisoner held for trial on a charge of treason. In light of this history, one has to wonder if the liberals in the U. S. today, who favor NAFTA and open immigration will still stay with that position 15 years from now when Texas, New Mexico, California, and Wyoming secede from the U. S. and become part of Mexico.

The war with Mexico is considered by some historians to be the most costly by casualty count in American military history. Despite the objections of the Abolitionists, the Mexican war received enthusiastic support from all sections of the United States. The war was fought almost entirely by volunteers.

So, too, a future war with Mexico will be opposed by the liberals, but will receive support from America's white, working class, and many African-Americans. If past indications of Mexico's bloody history are to be projected to a new Mexican war, we can expect high casualties on both sides. Many northern U. S. cities like Chicago with large Mexican barrios as fifth columnists, may also suffer destruction.

In order to put oil on the troubled waters of current Mexican--U. S. relations, the two countries have been trying to downplay differences. This may look good on a diplomatic level, but has not altered Mexico's aggressive policies towards the U. S. in the least. While talking, illegal immigration continues, cocaine flows across the border into the U.S., the Mexican government remains corrupt, and the Mexican elites still rely on the U. S. to solve the social and economic problems of Mexico.

President Fox was the first foreign leader to be received by President Bush after his inauguration. Likewise, President Bush's first trip abroad was to Mexico in February 2001. George Kourous writes about these visits. He says, ''The White House has scheduled Bush's first official state dinner to crown the visit and is dressing up the event with pomp, circumstance, and recycled rhetoric about the new era of U. S.--Mexico relations. 'The fact (that) this is the first state dinner ought to send signals about our unique relationship,' Bush then told reporters.''

Just what those signals are, remain to be seen. Writing in Chronwatch.com, Fernando Oaxaca says, ''Before the California Recall exercise ended, El Universal, a more moderate Mexico paper than La Jornada, reported that Foreign Secretary Derbez had announced a new '''security doctrine''' for Mexico. It clashed with what Washington had expected would be a dependable partnership with Mexico and other nations in the war on terror. Never using the word ''terrorism,'' Derbez said that the concept of ''one for all and all for one'' was an ''outdated, World War II concept!''

Foreign Secretary Derbez went on to add, ''No state can impose on another its own security agenda, nor the order of its priorities. Security should be understood as a reality for each country--not as hemispheric, because there is no military, strategic, or ideological enemy outside the region which is attacking it as a whole.'' Clearly, Mexico is not troubled by threats to the United States on the terrorist front.

On the economic front, Mexico's President Fox took office praising the benefits of expanded U. S.--Mexico trade. He promised to create 1.4 million new jobs. Instead, an estimated 100,000 to 200,000 jobs have been lost, mostly as a result of an economic slowdown in the United States. This slowdown is not good for Mexican imports to the U. S. The slowdown also creates less of a need for low-paid, illegal immigrant workers. Still, there has been no letup in the migration northwards.

If the ''reconquista'' continues unchecked for the next twenty years, the U. S. will be a fundamentally different society than it is today. There will be more poverty and low-wage jobs in our cities. We will be a dual language society, with more and more Spanish and less and less English spoken. The price for this social transformation will be paid mostly by the U. S. white, working class, and African Americans.

About 820,000 people migrate to the Untied States every year. Eventually, there will be a movement of population away from the socially divided and increasingly Latino north American cities to states like Montana, Oregon, and Kentucky. Joel Kotkin has already documented the beginning of this population shift in his 1996 Washington Post article, ''White Flight to the Fringes.'' Add to the Latino immigration the high rates of other foreign immigrants and it is understandable why many white Americans will abandon our cities. The U. S. Census Bureau projects that by the middle of this century, whites will constitute just over half of the U. S. population. By 2060, whites will be a minority. Then, the ''reconquista'' will be complete.

The liberal plan for North America imagines a peaceful blending of cultures accomplished by shared economic goals. Based on a past war and present Mexican foreign policy, it is hard to see how this plan can work. Nor can we imagine how uncontrolled and illegal Mexican immigration to the U. S. is in the interest of African-Americans or the white working class in America. Just as past Abolitionist policy concerning Texas was mistaken, so the present liberal policy of uncontrolled immigration to the U. S. is also mistaken. Perhaps only another successful war with Mexico will show that to be the case.

Today, Mexico is more of an enemy than an ally of the U. S. Its foreign policy is as belligerent as any of our other past enemies. An invasion of drugs and immigrants are some of the many reasons why the United States may fight yet another war against Mexico. All the conditions for that war are present. If you talk to some Americans living near the border, then you will hear the war has already started.


Robert Klein Engler lives in Chicago. He is a graduate of the University of Chicago Divinity School. His book, A WINTER OF WORDS, about the ethnic cleansing at Daley College, is available from amazon.com.

Copyright © 2003 ChronWatch. All rights reserved.
Questions? Contact us today!
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~~~~~
This
is...
Gunny G's Marines
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By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
~~~~~

"LORD, WHERE DO WE GET SUCH MEN?"

"Lord, Where Do We get such Men?"
"General Paul X. Kelley, 28th Commandant of the Marine Corps, wondered aloud after presenting LCpl Jeffery Lee Nashton, a survivor, with a special gift at Maryland's Bethesda Naval Hospital, 15 Nov. 1983, while Nashton's wife, Laurie, looked on.
Gen Kelly previously had visited with LCpl Nashton in the intensive care ward at Frankfort, Germany, 25 Oct. The general said he observed Nashton "with more tubes going in and out of his body than I have ever seen. When he heard me say who I was, he grabbed my coat, went up to the collar and counted the stars. He squeezed my hand, and then wrote, "Semper Fi."

In Bethesda, Gen Kelly presented Nashton with his four stars, the Marine Corps emblem and the words "Semper Fi" inscribed on a plaque. Gen Kelley later said, "When I left the hospital, I realized I had met a great human being, and I took off those stars because at the time I felt they belonged more to him than to me."
~~~~~
Ref:
Leatherneck, Oct 2003
~~~~~~

This is...
Gunny G's Marines
GLOBE and ANCHOR Sites & Forums
By R.W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72

THE GOSPEL LESSON...

Note:
The following "mystery" article, which was e-mailed and posted to various messageboards around the Internet these last few weeks, has been determined to have been published in the October, 2003 Marine Corps Gazette.
-DickG

TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY-ONE SONS

Eli Takesian, CAPT, CHC, USN (Ret)


The Gospel Lesson

In early November of each year, a religious service is conducted in Washington National Cathedral honoring the United States Marine Corps.

As the Chaplain of the Marine Corps, it was my task to prepare the order of worship for 1983. Several weeks prior to the service, General Paul Xavier Kelley, the 28th Commandant of the Marine Corps, agreed to read the Gospel lesson. After looking over my recommendations, he called me and said, "Eli, I like your choices, but for this, my first year as Commandant, I would like to read the passage in which Jesus tells his disciples about the Good Shepherd. That particular teaching never fails to inspire and challenge me."

It was an appropriate choice for this Commandant, with whom I had served in Vietnam, where I first observed his charismatic qualities and, above all, his faithful shepherding of troops.

In 1970, weeks before our initial meeting, I learned of his reputation. When my outfit, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines, was notified that Colonel P. X. Kelley was to become our regimental commander, it prompted glowing comments from a gunnery sergeant:

"He'll do a bang-up job! P. X. and I served
together in 1966, when he was honcho of
2nd Battalion, 4th Marines. He took us
through some tough campaigns. A fearless
leader! And hell-on-wheels in combat!
There was nothing he wouldn't do for us
… and nothing we wouldn't do for him!
On field operations, P. X. never carried a
weapon when he walked the perimeter at
night. He'd stop at every foxhole and talk
with his Marines, especially the young ones.
Whenever they'd remind him that he didn't
have a weapon, his answer was always the
same: 'As long as you're here protecting me,
why do I need a weapon?' He touched our
lives, and gave us the confidence we needed."

The words of John C. Maxwell come to mind: "A leader knows the way … goes the way… shows the way."

On the day Colonel Kelley took command of the 1st Marines, I became his regimental chaplain. The gunny's prophetic words were manifested time and again, for in so many ways, grand and simple, P. X. Kelley cared for his troops -- his flock -- earning their profound admiration and respect.

I remember one significant occasion, when he put his career on the line in a courageous and justifiable defense of one of his subordinates. Unfortunately, confidentiality prohibits my divulging details of the incident.

During his tenure with the 1st Marines, the last ground combat organization to leave Vietnam, Colonel Kelley was affectionately known as "The Good Humor Man From the Sky." Whenever he flew out to visit regimental units operating in the field, he was armed with containers of ice cream, cases of Coke, and hot chow.

23 October 1983

Any Marine on active duty on Sunday, 23 October 1983, can remember exactly where they were upon hearing of the terrorist attack at Beirut International Airport, which took the lives of 241 soldiers, sailors and Marines. I was on an official visit to the Marine Corps Base, 29 Palms, California.

Returning to Washington the following day, I learned that President Reagan had asked the Commandant to fly to the Marine unit in Beirut as his personal representative. General Kelley and Sergeant Major Robert Cleary, the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, had already departed. Otherwise, I would have gone with them.

My first opportunity to meet with the Commandant took place a few days later, after he had returned from Beirut. It was at the Pentagon helicopter pad. We shared an embrace and with tears in his eyes he said, "Eli, I have just lost 241 sons." Minutes later, he and his party, including me, departed for the U. S. Air Force Base in Dover, Delaware, to greet and honor the first planeload of our fallen comrades.

At Dover, in a cold and drafty aircraft hangar, the Commandant addressed grieving families that had so suddenly lost loved ones. He underscored the quality, vitality and importance of these superb troops whose lives were unexpectedly taken by terrorists; and then, looking down the line of flag-draped caskets, he asked, "Lord, where do we get such men?" During moments that were emotionally wrenching, draining, and spiritually consoling, General Kelley met with members of each family and, together, they shared their mutual, heartfelt grief.

On the return trip to Washington, the Commandant informed his party that he had requested the Secretary of Defense to convene a commission to investigate circumstances surrounding the terrorist attack, and that Secretary Weinberger had consented. A panel was soon established and became known as the Long Commission.

The next week was one that would test to an extraordinary degree the leadership, loyalty, emotions, endurance and values of the Commandant, who had assumed the office only four months before the terrorist attack. His frustrations were particularly obvious when, during four days of grueling testimony before Congress, not one member of either body asked him if he knew the identity of the terrorists who had planned and executed the attack. In his closing remarks before four congressional committees, the Commandant said:

"I would hope that the Congress would use
this incident of cruel and premeditated mass
murder to help us determine ways to tell
nations that they cannot export and support
terrorists who kill innocent Americans with
impunity. The perpetrators and supporters
of this challenge to the rights of free men
everywhere must be identified and punished.
I will have little sleep until this happens."

Moreover, he shared with me an off-camera meeting with two senior members of the House of Representatives. When they suggested that the two Marine commanders in Beirut be court-martialed as soon as possible, "to get this all behind us," his refusal was adamant. Appalled, General Kelley informed them that, as a United States Marine, he had taken an oath to support and defend the Constitution, which includes the right to due process. His concluding remarks to the astonished members were, "Not only no … but hell no!"

The Commandant and I met frequently during that long ordeal, most often in private. I shall always remember one particular morning when, speaking with his usual candor, he said:

"Eli, I've spent many years of my Marine
Corps career here in Washington, and
have a lot of respect and admiration for
politicians on both sides of the aisle.
Several of them have given me invaluable
advice and counsel on how the Marine
Corps should deal with this, the worst
tragedy in its entire peacetime history.
However, some others have jumped the
gun and are looking for a quick and easy
way out.

"One suggestion, which I find particularly
offensive, is that I should become less
visible and let responsibility roll down hill.
I've always lived by the principle that
authority and ultimate responsibility are
inseparable. The law gives me the authority
of the Commandant and, therefore, I have
certain inherent responsibilities. First and
foremost, to obviate any suspicion of a
cover-up, I have, as you know, requested
an independent investigation to determine
the facts.

"Another suggestion I strenuously reject
is that we should sweep as much dirt as we
can under the rug. Eli, five words stuck in
my mind that night last June when I
became keeper of the Marine Corps Color:
courage … devotion … compassion …
honesty … and integrity. If I learned
nothing else from the Augustinian
Fathers at Villanova, those last two words
made an indelible impression, for without
honesty and integrity, the others are
meaningless."

On another occasion, General Kelley addressed the matter of sweeping dirt under the rug. I vividly recall his words:

"Marines would never expect, or want,
their Commandant to lie to them … or to
lie for them. Therefore, I will not lie to my
Marines … to the President of the United
States … to Congress … or to the American
people!"

By refusing to take an easy way out, or to protect himself, or to victimize others by seeking scapegoats, the 28th Commandant remained steadfast and faithful in caring for the Corps of Marines.

Washington National Cathedral

This brings me to 6 November 1983. The worship service in Washington National Cathedral that Sunday afternoon honored all Marines, past and present, focusing primarily on our casualties in Beirut.

At the appropriate moment, the Commandant of the Marine Corps walked with dignity to the lectern and recited the moving words of Jesus, as recorded in the tenth chapter of Saint John's Gospel, beginning at the eleventh verse … ironically, the same reading he had chosen several weeks before, excerpts of which are printed here:

"He who enters by the door is the shepherd
of the sheep. To him the gatekeeper opens;
the sheep hear his voice, and he calls his
own sheep by name and leads them out.
When he has brought out all his own, he
goes before them, and the sheep follow
him, for they know his voice. A stranger
they will not follow, but they will flee from
him, for they do not know the voice of
strangers. I am the good shepherd. The
good shepherd lays down his life for the
sheep. He who is a hireling and not a
shepherd, whose own the sheep are not,
sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep
and flees … He flees because he is a
hireling and cares nothing for the sheep.
I am the good shepherd; I know my own
and my own know me …"


Gunny G's GLOBE and ANCHOR Weblog
by R. W. "Dick" Gaines
GySgt USMC (Ret.)
1952-72
Gunny G's...
Marines G&A Sites & Forums!
http://www.angelfire.com/ca/dickg/gunny.html
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