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2 February 2008— Tomorrow is Super Bowl day, the most watched sports event in the world. In the USA, we eat almost as much food watching this game as we do on Thanksgiving. As a spectacle, the Super Bowl is unmatched and the same is true for the hype surrounding the game. Unfortunately, sometimes the actual play of the game itself doesn't match all the build-up to it.
My family will be watching the game tomorrow, though none of us are dedicated football fans. I come the closest, since we have the NFL Channel because I like to watch it. (I confess, maybe I'm more than a casual spectator.) My wife and son watch the game mostly because I do, and to check out all the cool new commercials that roll-out on game day.
This season, the game may reach the hype in its execution. Anybody remotely interested in sports knows how well the New England Patriots have done this season. Winning every game on the schedule is an amazing accomplishment. If the team wins tomorrow, they will have accomplished a feat that will probably never be repeated.
Now I've never been a huge New England fan. My support goes mostly to the west coast teams. I have a totally illogical system I use to decide which team I'm rooting for during any given game. It's based (sort of) on which team is from a city closest to somewhere I used to live. Of course, there's an exception. If I just like a specific player on one of the teams, then I usually will cross my fingers for that team.
Take tomorrow's game. Tom Brady, the quarterback for the Patriots, is a guy that I'd like to sit down and drink a few beers with. He seems like a genuinely nice guy. That's a plus for New England. Then, Junior Seau (former member of the San Diego Chargers, my kind-of hometown team) has always been one of my favorite players. So even though I never lived near Massachusetts, I'll be hoping they win.
The New York Giants definitely can't be discounted. This is the first time brothers have QB 'd in consecutive years on Super bowl teams. New York is America's city, especially since 9/11, and it would be cool if they won. But when I'm watching the game tomorrow, I'm going to be thinking just a bit about a former Giant you probably have never heard of. His name was Jack Lummus.
Hailing from the farm country of Ellis County, Texas, Jack was an alumnus of Baylor University, and played one season for the Giants, in 1941. He was signed by the team as an End in March 1941 and played in twelve games. That year, the Giants were the NFL Eastern Division champions with a record of eight win and three losses.
The 1941 NFL Championship Game (precursor to the Super Bowl) took place at Wrigley Field in Chicago on 21 December and the Giants were matched against the Chicago Bears. During the Depression years, the Bears were an NFL dynasty and they were arguably the best team in NFL history. The final score was 37-9 with Chicago on top.
The war intervened in Jack's football career and he joined in the Marine Corps as an infantry officer. Assigned to 2nd Battalion, 27th Marines, Fifth Marine Division, his ultimate test of courage and happened during the horrific campaign for Iwo Jima. On 8 March 1945 Jack led the third platoon of Easy Company, 2/27, during an attack against heavily fortified enemy positions.
During the assault, Jack was wounded in the shoulder and knocked down by a grenade blast. Nevertheless, he stayed in the fight and personally destroyed several pillboxes. Under intense fire, he led from the front until he was mortally wounded. Near death, he urged his Marines to keep pushing forward.
A litter team evacuated Jack to a front-line aid station, where Corpsmen worked desperately to slow the bleeding from his wounds. In a weak voice, Jack whispered to the battalion surgeon, "Well, Doc, the New York Giants lost a mighty good end today." On 8 March 1945, Jack Lummus lost the fight to live but his deeds were remembered. He was awarded a posthumous Medal of Honor by a grateful Nation and the New York Giants dedicated their game on 2 December 1945 to him and a team mate who died in combat in Europe.
Jack was one of almost 1,000 NFL players and employees who served in the armed forces during World War II. Among these men were 23 that lost their lives. He was one of two former NFL players to earn the Medal of Honor. The other was Army Lieutenant Maurice Britt.
So, I hope if you're watching the men from New York tomorrow, you'll think about the bravest warrior that ever wore a Giants uniform. He was an athlete, a Marine, an American. His name was Jack Lummus.
Semper Fidelis, Never forget,
Mark
22 December 2007— I've just finished a new page called "To Be a Marine," that I've put up in the role and organization section. It's a look at the heritage and background of the World War II Gyrene. I'm happy with how it turned out and hope that you'll have a look.
I'm very excited about a project I've been working on recently in connection with the web site. Frequently, I hear from folks who tell me, "Dad would love what you've done here, but he doesn't have a computer," and so on. After giving the topic a great deal of thought, I decided to write a book based on my writings on WW2 Gyrene. I've shipped out test versions to friends and acquaintances for review and have received positive feedback.
So, starting in early January, I'm going to offer my book, It's a Big War Mac — a Look Back at the World War II Marine, for sale on the website. In the near future I'll post ordering information, along with excerpts from the book. Writing a book has been one of my goals for several years. I felt that by doing one in conjunction with WW2 Gyrene, not only could I fulfill that goal, but also provide something tangible for people who are interested in the wartime Marine Corps.
Semper Fidelis, Merry Christmas, and happy holidays to all my friends around the world,
Mark
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| Jefferson DeBlanc during his days with VMF-112 in World War II. USMC Photo |
11 December 2007— Another World War II Marine Medal of Honor recipient has left for the far shore. On 6 December 2007 Jefferson DeBlanc, of St. Martinsville, Louisiana, died of pneumonia at age 86. As a young Marine officer, DeBlanc was assigned to VMF-112 (the Wolfpack) of the Cactus Air Force during the campaign for Guadalcanal. Flying a Wildcat fighter off of Henderson Field on 31 January 1943, he shot down five Japanese aircraft in a span of only five minutes. During the engagement, DeBlanc himself was shot down and wounded, being forced to parachute into the sea. For his courageous airmanship and heroic performance of duty, DeBlanc was awarded the Medal of Honor. In World War II, he received credit for nine aerial kills.
After the war, DeBlanc left active duty to pursue a teaching career. He taught mathematics and science for many years in St. Martinsville. He was a father, grandfather, and great-grandfather andremained in the Marine Corps reserve, retiring at the rank of Colonel in 1972. In addition to the Medal of Honor, DeBlanc held the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Purple Heart, and an array of other awards and decorations.
Jefferson DeBlanc was the best type of citizen-soldier. He was never a braggart or boaster, but was instead a quiet sort of man who went about the business of living, raising a family, and influencing the lives of others. Our nation is fortunate to have heroes such as him, and we are poorer for his loss.
Semper Fidelis, Never Forget,
Mark
8 December 2007— I've recently added some new pages to the WW2 Gyrene photo album. The first shows some infantry Marines from 2/9 in their camp on Guadalcanal sometime before the invasion of Guam. I received the picture from a family member of one of the Marines in the picture. Fortunately, the names of the Marines had been carefully inscribed on the back. Using this information, I contacted the folks at the Marine Corps Research Center in Quantico and they sent me the casualty cards for each man. It's sobering to look at this picture and realize how many of the men in it were killed or wounded in combat. But such was the reality for Marines in the war.
There's another grouping on the new page that shows a couple of photos of Fred Balester, who served in the 1st Scout Company on the 'canal and at Cape Gloucester. The scouts performed the extremely dangerous work of front line patrols at all hours of the day and night. Each time they left the lines, it was into Indian country where help was either far away, or simply non-existent. Fred's daughter, Valerie, has done a great job of preserving his memories and history. I hope you have a look and remember the story of scout/snipers, Marines who fought in the shadows with little fanfare.
I've put up another page in the photo album dedicated to MGySgt Wilfred Zeimet, a pioneer of Marine tankers who served for 26 years. Like so many World War II veterans, Willie P, as he was called, died much too young. His son, a retired Navy CPO, has never forgotten him though, and honors the memory of a fine Marine and a great American. I hope you'll check out this page and think of Willie P and his buddies who served in tanks out there in the Pacific.
Christmas is just around the corner and it's hard to believe how fast this year has flown by. It brings to mind all the Christmas seasons that I spent away from home while I was in the service. This time of the year, with its focus on the family, can be especially rugged for service members who are spending the season overseas in the combat zones. From personal experience, I know how hard it is to wake up on Christmas morning 6,000 or so miles from home. And for those young Americans stationed in the combat zones, the dangers are just as real as they were in every other war of our history.
The armed forces make an effort to remember the holiday season, but it's a shadow of the celebrations that families spend together. My own dad, a World War II combat veteran who served as an infantry Soldier in Italy, just could never listen to White Christmas , one of our best loved Christmas songs. It reminded him too much of Christmas in combat. If the song came on the radio or TV, my dad would quietly switch channels. Everyone who has served at the sharp end of the spear has a similar memory that's too painful. It's one of war's costs that are little understood by those who haven't lived through it.
So as you go about your holiday preparations, please take some time to think about the sacrifices that young and not so young Americans are making right now. In the Marine Corps, as in every one of the armed forces, operations don't stop for the holidays, especially in Iraq and Afghanistan. Christmas Day is like a thousand other days and death or injury never takes a break. Marines, Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Coast Guardsmen are giving their all to secure liberty and we owe them a debt of remembrance and gratitude.
Semper Fidelis, Never Forget,
Mark
21 November 2007— Tomorrow is Thanksgiving; one of the most special holidays in the United States. Christmas is too commercialized and the Fourth of July is all bang, but Thanksgiving is the one holiday left that has stayed true to its meaning. Corporations influence so much of what we do nowadays, but tomorrow we can sit at our tables and remember the little things that make life worthwhile.
Folks in the military know what it is to be far away from home and loved ones on days like Thanksgiving. It's awful tough to really enjoy the day when you're stuck down in the engine room of a ship, or lugging 60 pounds of gear and weapons in 120-degree heat 6,000 miles away from home. I think we as a Nation have forgotten our service members who are out there helping to defend freedom, and that's a shame.
I can't say exactly how many Thanksgiving Days that I spent overseas or on duty during my career, and it really isn't all that important. I suppose the most memorable was Thanksgiving of 1990, when I was stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas. My unit, the 1st Infantry Division, had been alerted for deployment to the Middle East for Desert Shield and we were deep in the middle of our pre-deployment train-up.
Thanksgiving of that year was the first day we'd had off in a month. But, we weren't really off in the traditional sense of the word. Instead, we were on stand-by to take our tracks to the paint shop to get painted sand color. On Wednesday afternoon, our platoon sergeant told us the good news at final formation. He warned us that, if the call came to move the tracks, we'd only have about an hour to report to the company and drive over to the shop. The paint crews there were trying to paint 2,500 vehicles of our division all in a compressed time schedule.
Sure enough, as my wife and I sat down to eat our turkey, the phone rang. It was my platoon sergeant and damned if the paint shop didn't want us right then. My wife made me a turkey sandwich and I ran out the door and went over to the barracks. Rounding up my crew, we headed over to the paint shop, which was maybe a 10-minute drive from our motor pool.
We got to the paint shop and there was already a long line of tanks waiting to get painted. They were doing two at a time and it took maybe 30 minutes per vehicle, so we knew it would be awhile before they got to us. I sent some of my guys over to scout out the closest open mess hall and pretty soon, we were rotating guys for chow. I ended up eating turkey dinner in the mess hall with some of my buddies. I can't remember too well anymore whether or not I enjoyed the meal.
To all of my friends and acquaintances, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving and best wishes for the future!
Semper Fidelis, Mark
16 November 2007— For the past month or so I've been having some issues with my heartbeat and last week I went to the ER at our local hospital to get it checked out. They ran some tests that day and then set me up to take a treadmill stress test and some other exams. A couple of days later I went back and did them and am now in a holding pattern to find out what's up.
Since I started having this thing going on in my chest, I've been thinking about life and everything that I have to live for. Let's face it. You only get one heart and it's sort of like the engines on a spacecraft. They both have to work right every time. When I was a kid, the space program just fascinated me and my dad. We'd get up at 0-dark-hundred to watch the launchs, splashdowns, and about every little part in between.
When the Apollo commmand modules were coming back to earth, Walter Cronkite would always be on TV demonstrating with models and animation the itsy-bitsy little re-entry window. The spacecraft had to hit this window at exactly the right angle and speed, or it would bounce off into space, leaving the astronauts stranded with no chance of rescue.
Your heart's like that. It just beats away in your chest and you expect it to work. When it doesn't, you start thinking about what could happen to you. As a human being with hopes, dreams and lots to live for, it's impossible not to think about mortality when your heart isn't working quite the way it should. I'm trying not to worry, but it's like a little nagging itch that's always there. You know what I mean. It doesn't keep you from doing whatever you're involved in, but never really leaves you.
War and the chances of combat can be like that too. I remember being in the desert over in Saudi Arabia back during Desert Shield in 90-91. The thing reached this tipping point and the place was just jammed full of people and equipment. You just knew that we weren't all just going to pack up and head back home without a fight.
We had to go to these threat briefings on the Iraqi army. The S-2 guys gave us these booklets that listed all the equipment the Iraqis had and how they fought. Afterwards, we went back to the tracks and talked about chemical agents, artillery and all that. Remember, we didn't know before the war down at our level just how hollow the Iraqis were.
I sent my wedding ring back home to my in-laws just in case along with a letter for them to give my wife if I didn't come back. Death wasn't something that obsessed me, but let's face it, we were taking pyridostamine tablets, getting secret shots for whatever and got issued enough chemical protective equipment to kill a horse. Plus, our chemical agent detectors kept going off. You couldn't help but think about what if. Anyway, in my job as a scout for an armor battalion, it wasn't like I was going to be in the rear with the gear.
As I think back on it, I don't know that my crew talked a lot about dying. I honestly don't think we had to. We weren't far away from another track that got hit by a Hellfire missile right before the ground war started. The explosion and fire literally melted the hull and the turret sunk down inside what was left of the vehicle. When you watch something like that happen to a vehicle just like the one you're standing in, there isn't too much to imagine. Two guys got killed in that incident. I mean, it's all right in front of you.
In 1989 in Germany, my unit was out on the range at Grafenwoehr when an M1 tank knocked out two Bradleys from our sister squadron in a training accident, killing the driver in one vehicle and wounding eight other crewmen. I knew a guy who got crushed by a truck that he was ground guiding. During one of our rotations at the NTC, a helicopter flew into a hill killing everybody on board. When I was a corpsman, I knew a guy that got shot in the leg by a .50 caliber round by accident.
Another time, a mortar platoon in one of our sister battalions at Camp Pendleton got near-missed by a bomb that an airplane dropped too close to them. One time I was standing behind a Bradley that had a free-fall ramp talking to some other guys. The driver was sitting in his compartment and accidentally dropped the ramp, which weighed something like half a ton. That happened almost 20 years ago, and to this day, I still can't figure out how three of us weren't crushed. One of the other guys heard the click of the ramp latches as it released and yelled a warning a split second before the ramp dropped.
I could go on and on. Even in peacetime or when you're not in combat, the military can be a dangerous place. Maybe it's that when you're young, the idea of mortality just doesn't have the same impact on you as when you're older and have experienced so many good and nice things in life. I don't know, honestly. But I know that even right after the ground war ended in '91 and we topped off with ammo and fuel, I hoped we wouldn't have to do it again. I can't imagine (thankfully) what it must've been like for Marines and Soldiers who had to go into the fight again and again in World War II, or any war for that matter.
Semper Fidelis, Never Forget
Mark
PS: During the past week or so, I completely re-did the section in honor of the First Marine Division. I hope you'll take a look.
2 November 2007— Last night I attended Roundtable training with my district in Scouting and I invited mt friend Tom Williams, who served as an infantry Marine in World War II. Our committee had planned a short thank you to honor those who've served in the armed forces because Veterans Day is coming up soon. And since Tom was a Scouter in Orange County for many years, I thought he would have fun at Roundtable anyway.
Rich Schellenger, one of the committee members, invited another World War II veteran who was a paratrooper with the 101st Airborne Division in Europe. I didn't know this gentleman, but he was an awfully nice guy and he and Tom really seemed to click. They sat together in the back of the room and it was amazing to watch them as they chatted like they'd been buddies for years. In maybe 20 minutes or so, they briefed each other on the places they went to in the service, life after the war, their families, and probably more that I didn't hear.
The Marine Corps will celebrate its' 232nd birthday on 10 November 2007. What an amazing thing that Marines of all eras think of this day as their collective birthday. This is a testament to what the Corps means to those who wear the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. To honor the day, I've done some reworking to the page on the Commandant's birthday message. To all fellow Marines and Doc's, I wish you a happy Marine Corps birthday and many happy returns on the day!
Semper Fidelis, Frater Aeternae,
Mark
26 October 2007— I've decided to start updating some of the older pages on WW2 Gyrene and started that endeavor this morning. The first page I finished is the Pacific battleground section. Over the next couple of months, I intend to go through all the older sections on the site and make sure they're good to go. Another thing I've been doing recently is re-checking links to external sites. The web is always changing and what's here today is likely going to be gone or modified at some point. It's hard to believe, but there are over 500 links here on WW2 Gyrene.
One day last week I drove up to Junction City with my buddy, World War II Marine Tom Williams. We met Craig Leman for lunch and I listened as they chatted about their days in H 3/26. I can sit with those guys for hours while they reminisce about their time in the Corps. My mom always told me I used to day dream too much as a kid. Maybe keeping my head stuck in World War II is an extension of that. I don't know, but I sure enjoy sitting with those old Devil Dogs. Plus, Tom picked up the tab for chow, which was a pretty good deal for Craig and me!
The weather is changing here in Oregon. It's beginning to get chilly in the mornings and you can feel the snap in the air. I love this time of year.
Last Friday I took my dog Panzer down to Fall Creek and we wandered for a long way along the stream bank. When we head out to the woods, I generally carry an old German rucksack I've had for 20-some years. I throw in my lunch, a rain jacket, etc. (I was a Boy Scout, after all — Be Prepared...)
Anyway, the weather was just beautiful and dry and the path was pretty easy. Above is a picture I snapped with my cell phone while we were underway. The terrain was so beautiful down there and I didn't pass another soul the entire time we were out walking. It gave me a lot of time to think and my mind got to wandering. I thought for a long while about all the places I've walked in my life.
When I was at lunch with Tom and Craig, we talked about the hikes in the Fleet Marine Force. Of course, I served a long time after they left the Corps, but we likely breathed the dust on the same trails at Camps Pendleton and Lejeune. During my walk, I was thinking about how different it is for me now to walk in the country with my dog under a clear sky, just the two of us. I don't set any land speed records, to be sure. My load is light and I can stop whenever I want to smell the flowers or marvel at Oregon's beauty.
It couldn't have been more different in the FMF. There was a sense of urgency to Marine Corps training, even in peace time. We didn't even call it hiking. Sure, that word was listed on the training schedule, but we never used it when we talked about it. To us it was a hump, used both as a noun and a verb. There was no fun in humping. It was flat out hard work that pushed us to the limit, especially in the summer when there wasn't a lick of shade in the hot afternoons.
On our company humps we'd go across country. The skipper walked at the head of our column and he set a stiff pace. Our battalion humps were always on Friday and depending on how far we were going, muster would be hours before dawn. I remember standing in the chow line and smelling SOS, mess hall coffee and the eucalyptus trees.
After chow, we Corpsmen would head over to the Battalion Aid Station to run sick call. Inevitably, there'd be a line of Marines outside sickbay waiting for us. These were the guys, for whatever reason, who were trying to get out of walking. We never had much sympathy for them seeing as how we Corpsmen had to walk every mile just like all the rest. We'd quickly work through the line of the sick, lame and lazy and then grab a last hurried cup of BAS coffee. Then we'd strap on our packs and head out to the parade deck.
I remember standing out there in the pre-dawn darkness when the rest of the world was still in bed asleep. We tried not to think of how far we had to go, especially if we were still nursing blisters to begin with. There was nothing worse than starting a hump with sore feet. It made the miles go down miserably. I'd shift my pack to try and find a halfway comfortable spot for it to ride over my flak jacket. I went on a lot of humps, but I never did get the adjustments quite right.
Nowadays of course, my training schedule is totally different, although the mechanics of walking are the same. There's no helmet, no pistol on my hip, and definitely no flak jacket. Just a light rucksack and my faithful dog. The only thing in my hand is my hiking staff. I'm proud of my service to the Marine Corps, but I'm glad I don't have to do it anymore. Military life, particularly the infantry, is a young man's business.
Semper Fidelis,
Mark
15 October 2007— This weekend I finished a page in the photo album dedicated to Walter Brown of Philadelphia, Penna. Walter died as a young Marine during the campaign for Tinian in the summer of 1944. He was one of many Americans who sacrificed their lives in that war so long ago. To me, the idea of a "Greatest Generation" is too simplistic for describing the American people of that era. The war was a national effort that people of all ages, sizes, shapes and colors participated in.
There's no disputing the ages of most of America's war dead. They were young men, many still in their teens and twenties. That's the way it always is in war. When we talk about those young guys whose lives were cut short, we often say things such as, "I wonder what he would've done if he hadn't died." But we don't often ask what the unborn children of those young men would've accomplished in life. Think about that for a minute.
I was shocked to learn a few days ago that there are still 74,384 Americans missing and unaccounted from the Second World War. Included in this group are 3,119 Marines. That's an entire infantry regiment's worth of men. Imagine if an entire regiment went into combat and just disappeared. You better believe someone would do something about that. But it didn't happen that way. These men went out on patrols in the night and died in the confusion of firefights. They stayed in their gun turrets on doomed ships, or disappeared without a trace in the cauldron of war. Every one was a man whose family never even had the cold comfort of a casket to bury. That's a damned shame. How many of the MIA families from the war still hold out hope that their loved ones' remains will yet be recovered? It's just another example that World War II really isn't over, and it probably won't be for a long, long time.
The armed forces are awfully good at commemorating things. Go to any military installation and drive around for awhile. You'll see what I mean. There are streets, buildings, ball fields, and so on, all named after Medal of Honor recipients, famous battles, units, etc. But where's the monument to the missing? It's not as if the government doesn't know their names. Reading through the lists of missing Marines from World War II, I found alphabetical rosters with full names, service numbers, ranks, and dates of loss. It isn't specified in these lists, but I know beyond that they even know the units and places where these men went missing.
Maybe there's no memorial to them because there isn't any political expediency involved? Let's face it. The parents of the missing of World War II have themselves been dead for decades in most cases. For some families, the men who died so long ago became faded images in moldy scrapbooks. You can find the pictures for sale on E-Bay sometimes. That too is a damned shame.
Semper Fidelis, Never forget,
Mark
10 October 2007— This past weekend my son and I went to our Boy Scout council fall rendezvous, which happens each year. On Saturday morning I had to run back to our church to pick up some equipment the boys forgot when we left on Friday night. When I pulled back into the lot at the rendezvous site, a young man and his Cub Scout son watched me park.
As I got out of the truck, the young man came up and stuck his hand out. He said he was a Marine recruiter and saw my First Marine Division license plates and wanted to thank me for my service. We exchanged "Semper Fi's" while shaking hands. We chatted for a few minutes and went on our ways.
As the day went on, I thought back to that few minutes in the parking lot. It was such a short meeting, but really exemplified to me what the Marine Corps means. I pondered some of the lessons I learned from great Marines that helped me in my career and the things I still carry inside to this day. Things like duty, honor, country.
I confess that I'm too sentimental, but I still get a chill when I hear the Marines Hymn. Hearing the last fading notes of Taps always brings a tear to my eye and I stand a little more straight when I see a Marine color guard. Each time I'm outside and the National Anthem is played, I pop a sharp salute and think of what sacrifices were made for our nation.
As a former FMF Corpsman, I don't often wear clothes or caps with the Marine Corps Emblem on them. People see the insignia and often ask things like, "Were you a Marine?" It's too hard to explain the nuances of being in the Navy serving with the Marine Corps. Of course, Marines know right away what it means to be a "doc." But I wear the Emblem where it counts the most — inside.
Semper Fidelis, Frater Aeternae,
Mark
3 October 2007 — War and memory are so closely intertwined, the two are nearly impossible to separate. Combat veterans often want nothing more than to suppress their experiences and forget them. War leaves psychic scars that are so deep, survivors spend years trying to forget. Every veteran of combat is touched in some way by his past. The sights, sounds, and smells of the battlefield linger for a lifetime, try as veterans may to forget.
Children of these men on the other hand struggle to learn about what their dads did in the war. This is a constant theme in e-mails and guest book entries here at WW2 Gyrene. As the World War II generation is passing, their children of the baby boomer era are reaching a place in their own lives where they have more time to think about questions like, "Where did I come from?" All of us whose dads served in the war have been touched by it in ways large and small.
It's a helluva thing to be the son or daughter of a man who literally looked into the face of hell when he was a young man. We want to know so much about our dads and are looking for ways to try and connect with them and find out things to deepen and enrich our family histories. Meanwhile, they are trying, even sixty years on, to just forget. Let's face it, not many people are eager to dredge up old memories, especially the kind that come with surviving combat.
The funny thing is, that most people who've experienced war can't forget it. Even over fifteen years after Desert Storm, smelling diesel fumes as I drive past construction sites always takes me right back to the desert. Sometimes when I'm fiddling with the stereo there's a sort of heated up smell of electronics, I guess. That odor, no matter how faint, takes me right back into my turret. Hardly a day in my life passes without a memory of that time popping into my head. It's just that I don't much feel much like sharing it with anybody.
The other night my gal and I watched the last episode of Ken Burns' program The War on PBS. She was sitting on my lap in our big easy chair and my son had already gone to bed. Anyway, this episode was about the end of the war and all the veterans returning home. I got to thinking about my dad and his life as he tried to cope with getting back to normal. Thinking about what a tough hand he'd been dealt in life and how the war never really stopped for him, I felt my eyes welling up with tears..
My gal, who's a whole lot smarter and more intuitive than me, said something that really hit me between the eyes. Through her own tears, she whispered, "Think of all that pain." I knew exactly what she meant — the unthinkable amount of anguish of an entire generation as they tried to get on with their lives. Men struggling to adapt to life after war. Women trying to move on after losing their husbands and sweethearts. Parents dealing with the deaths of their sons.
So much pain.
And mostly alone and in silence.
Of course, nowadays, even average folks understand that the war wasn't some neatly wrapped crusade for freedom. Millions of Americans have seen Saving Private Ryan, Band of Brothers, and so forth. People are fairly sophisticated about the world today, We watched the horrors of Rwanda, civil war in what used to be Yugoslavia and that horrible day in 2001. It was all right there on our TV screens. We saw the dead bodies of American Soldiers being drug through the streets of Mogadishu in 1993. About 10 years later, we saw, still on TV, torched American corpses in the dusty streets of Fallujah.
The world is a lot smaller than it used to be and everyone's looking for answers. Naturally the past is a good place to start. But as children of wartime veterans, we need to accept that some stories will just never get told. Like my own dad who took his memories with him to the grave, some combat veterans just cannot say what is in their minds and souls. We can be thankful for those who have the ability to share what they lived through.
Semper Fidelis, Never forget,
Mark
PS – I just put up a new section on the 6th MarDiv in the spotlight on heroes section.
23 September 2007 — Yesterday my wife and I took a drive up the McKenzie Highway in Oregon into the central Cascades. This part of Oregon is one of the most majestic spots anywhere on earth and I never get tired of the fresh air and the grandeur of our mountains. On our way back home we detoured to Clear Lake and ate lunch at the snack bar there. The food was old-fashioned and simple; hamburgers and french fries in a plastic basket, probably like they've been making it for decades.
As we meandered back home I was in a sort of reflective mood. Maybe it was because tomorrow is my birthday — I'll be 48 years old — or the fact that winter feels just a little closer up in the mountains with the bracing wind and all. I'm not sure why I was feeling that way, to tell the truth. Anyway, we stopped in a gas station on Highway 126 to fuel up and get some coffee and today's issue of USA Today caught my eye on the news stand. There was a front page story about Ken Burns new series, The War, which previews tomorrow on PBS.
I skimmed over the headline and the few lines on the front page. What caught my attention mostly was the photo accompanying the story. It showed the haunted face of a young Marine in combat in the Pacific. There's a good chance you may have seen this photo somewhere as it's been reproduced before. But this sort of image never loses its impact for me, no matter how often I see it.
The story mentioned the idea of World War II being "the last good war" or something to that effect. I think the implication was that the war was more clearly focused and finite than our wars that came after it. Studs Terkel, a pioneer in interview-based history, coined the phrase "The Good War", in his his book of the same name. I read the book a long time ago, although I don't recall exactly when. The tern has stuck around long after the book left the bestseller lists.
When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12 years old, we studied World War I in school. This was the first time I ever heard that war referred to as "The Great War". That night when I was doing my homework, I asked my dad about why the war had that name. Never one for long drawn-out answers, my dad said gruffly, "There's nothing great about war." The look he gave me left no doubt that our conversation was finished. Looking back on it, I know my dad, not an educated man, had answered through his own lens as a combat infantryman in World War II. This conversation so long ago popped into my mind as my wife and I were on the way home after seeing the headline about The War.
Is the phrase "Good War" an apt way to describe World War II? I'm not sure. I know beyond doubt that the war was a just one and the Allied cause was moral and clearly the side of good. But what was good about the war? Victory was good, but what else was? Definitely not the souls lost in the battles around the world. America lost so many, their couldn't even be individually named on the World War II Memorial in Washington, D. C. The seeming best that they could figure out was 400 gold stars to represent the approximately 400,000 Americans who died in the war.
Think about that for a minute — 400,000 Americans — the vast majority young men in their teens and twenties when they lost their lives. What was so good about all those young? Remember, I completely agree that World War II was a just cause. But imagine 400,000 Western Union telegrams, and many 10 times that many letters from buddies and leaders commemorating the lost. Can you hear the echo across time?
I can.
Semper Fidelis, Never forget,
Mark
16 September 2007— As the events of World War II recede into the depths of history, it's easy to lose the sense of immediacy that participants felt. With so many years between us and the war, many people have simply forgotten (or just have never known) that the war was as life and death as it gets. Such is the case with historic events large and small.
Those of us who lived through that terrible day in September 2001 remember with vivid clarity where we were and what we were doing when we first learned that our Nation was under attack. Like Pearl Harbor and the death of President Kennedy, 9/11 left us all with a horrible knowledge that things would never be the same again. So it was when Nazi Germany invaded Poland and Japan attacked Pearl Harbor.
Like the drops of sand through an hourglass, these events propelled the United States and its inhabitants along a course that wasn't clear at the time. Americans young and old, but especially the young, were drawn into the war. Unlike the narratives in history books, the war was not a straightforward chain of great deeds and sweeping battles for the men who went out to fight. Their war was complex, terrifying, endless and exhausting in ways none of us will understand who didn't live through those years.
So it is in every war. Historians help us to see the events of wartime through their lens and we can learn a great deal by reading and study. Thank God though, that we do not have to experience the battles ourselves— falling in a dying bomber, pinned to the fuselage by centrifugal force for endless agonizing seconds as the doomed plane plummets to earth at terminal velocity. Or struggling forward across the reef under the weight of weapons and equipment while torrents of machine gun fire sleet past, tearing friends to pieces all around. Or lying in a shallow grave as earth is shoveled in.
Only to the unknowing does victory appear simple and clean. In real war it is never so. War leaves so many questions and loose threads in its wake. They echo across time, fading but never silent. It has been that way since the beginning and sadly, will always be so. War strips the trappings of humanity and leaves its participants standing alone before its fury. That young men stand and endure is a testament to the human spirit. People are eternally optimistic and hope for the best even in the darkest of times.
The echo of World War II today consists of grainy black and white combat camera film, captured by photographers who themselves were deathly scared but had a job to do. The subjects are mostly nameless, caught on film for seconds as they went about the business of war. In a moment in time, they moved past the camera lens and are preserved forever. But we should never forget that every one of them had a name and a family and a future that he wanted to live to see.
Maybe the greatest cruelty of victory — and the greatest irony — is that those who pay the ultimate price never see the results of their sacrifice. The next time you watch a program on the History Channel about the war, take a minute to reflect on the identities of those young men on your screen. Think about where they came from and what they were doing before the war started. Most of all, ask yourself, "I wonder what his name was."
Semper fidelis, Never forget,
Mark
31 August 2007— A few days ago I learned that Colonel James A. Donovan, USMC (ret), passed away in Sandy Springs, Georgia, on May 27th of this year. As a young Marine officer, Col Donovan served with the Sixth Marines in World War II and went on to serve over 23 years in the Corps. During his career he taught at the Basic School, was the editor of Leatherneck Magazine and served in a variety of other duty assignments.
Col Donovan wrote many articles for Leatherneck over the years and added immeasurably to our knowledge of World War II. He had a knack for writing detailed and vivid battle accounts that not only gave his reader the "big picture," but all the view from down in the weeds. As a soldier-scholar, Col Donovan ranked among the best and he left an awful big pair of boondockers to fill.
Semper Fidelis to a gallant Marine,
Mark
27 August 2007— I don't usually watch military programs on TV (I know that might come as a surprise, but it's true) but last night I watched an interesting show called "Shootout." This is a program that uses live action reenactments, computer imagery and original combat footage along with veteran interviews to tell the story of a particular engagement. The one last night was about the U. S. Army 1st Infantry Division in World War II. Several engagements were portrayed for which Soldiers later received the Medal of Honor. Most powerful to me was the story of Walter Ehlers, one of my personal heroes.
A whole heckuva lot has changed in the decades since Marines and Soldiers stormed ashore on enemy-held beaches in World War II. But, as I read about the courage and sacrifice of our modern day warriors, I can't help but be struck by what they have in common with the young men who answered the call of duty in the 1940's.
In over four years on the internet, I've never used my web log as a political forum either for or against our current war. But, I've often written about the high caliber of our Marines and Soldiers and the tough work they are doing overseas. War is a terrible business and it never is as easy as books make it seem. Young men, and increasingly young women, have to make a thousand split second decisions under incredibly stressful conditions.
A few days ago I was reading somewhere that guys who've never served in combat really look forward to proving themselves in combat. I thought back to my own history and what I thought about this before Desert Storm, and I suppose it's true. You train, train, train some more and the peacetime cycle never really ends. Deployments, gunnery, field exercises, hikes, rifle range and a thousand other things are all designed to keep men and units in tip-top shape "for the big game."
Some people thrive on war and have the ability to make immediate sense out of the mess. My platoon sergeant in Desert Storm was like that. I was always amazed while we were in combat how he stayed so calm. Nothing ever seemed to faze him. Maybe it was an act. I don't know, but if it was, he should've gotten the Academy Award.
Semper Fi,
Mark
21 August 2007— It's been a long time since I last updated WW2 Gyrene and I thought I would drop a few lines to everyone who has been wondering what's going on here in paradise. Nothing terrible has happened to me. Life has been going 110 mph in the Flowers family and I've been busier than a private on field day.
A few days ago I bumped into one of my old Soldiers who I served with in the National Guard. We deployed to Kuwait way back in 2000 and he served in combat during OIF II in 2003-2004. Of course, by that time I'd already retired, so I watched the battalion from the sidelines. I often run into Soldiers I served with as I go about my business here in Eugene. During the years I was in the National Guard, I worked with hundreds of men and knew more by reputation.
My wife and I were out in the local Barnes and Noble when I encountered my Soldier. (I still think of them all that way.) My wife, who's extremely perceptive, spotted right away that this young man was troubled and needed to talk to somebody who understood. She told me she was going to look at books and took off at high port and my Soldier and I went over to the coffee shop.
After getting some coffee, we found a table and sat down. My friend told me a story that would ring true to anyone who has served in combat. He talked about the taste that clung to the back of his throat and odors that stayed with him long after he'd come home. He explained how the guys were initially excited about the prospect of combat, but then realized it wasn't a game. He related to me how hard it was to go on patrol day after day, and about being pinned down under mortar fire for hours.
With a haunted look in his eyes, this strapping young man with tattoo-covered arms finally told me about his team member who died in combat. My Soldier felt like he was responsible for the death and kept trying to figure out why it happened. As I listened to him with concern, I was struck by how different we were from the other customers in that coffee shop. In different wars we'd lived through experiences they thankfully would never understand, much less comprehend.
People try to find commonality to events and our brains are always looking for patterns. We want things to make sense, but sometimes they're just random occurrences that have nothing to do with each other. I told this to my friend but I'm not sure he was convinced. Then I explained that combat is so random that it's impossible to piece it together and sometimes the only thing to do is accept that. Healing comes when you find the place where you can stop asking why. My friend hadn't reached that place yet in his life.
Never forget,
Mark
22 February 2007— Last night, I watched a powerful documentary film on PBS entitled The Marines. The film cut back and forth between enlisted and officer training, interspersed with pictures and artifacts from the Corps' history. The main theme was the timelessness of the Marine Corps ethos. It resonated throughout the show. I strongly recommend this film for anyone who wants to learn more about what makes Marines tick.
A few days ago, a visitor posted the following entry in the World War II Gyrene guest book:
| "My father served in the 3rd MarDiv from 1943-1945 as a commissioned officer in the Engineers. He never spoke of his time in the Pacific, but I think all of his children experienced what it meant to him, and we all were scarred by it. When he died in 1997, I was surprised when two Marines turned up at his funeral with a flag. This site has given me my first appreciation of what he must have gone through. Thank you." |
This particular post struck a chord in me. As the son of a World War II combat veteran, I grew up in the war's shadow as my dad struggled with his past. The above sentiment only underscores the fact that World War II still resonates through our Nation. For millions of people, the war may as well be ancient history. But in reality the war is still taking its toll on those who were touched by its ferocity.
Of course, in the aftermath of the war, every one was just happy to be alive and back home. The insidiousness of post-combat stress wasn't recognized back then and veterans were left to their own devices in sorting out their feelings and memories. Most made the jump back to civilian life but others fought and refought the war in one way or another for the rest of their lives. Some are still in the struggle.
I went to the Iwo Jima luncheon in Sutherlin, Oregon, a few days ago. There were maybe ten or so Iwo survivors in attendance, along with about thirty guests. It was an informal and homey affair with lots of home made food at the potluck. I brought along some memorabilia from my collection to display. My great friend Tom Williams drove down with me from Eugene.
The survivors gathered for pictures in front of a large hanging map of Iwo Jima. I got roped into taking snapshots with some of their cameras. As I watched these elderly men, I tried to imagine them in their youth during the 1940s. What they experienced has stayed with them in one way or another right up to today. It's a testament to the human spirit that they've done so much good with their lives.
Semper Fidelis, Never Forget,
Mark
3 February 2007— A few days ago I went to see Clint Eastwood's Letters From Iwo Jima, the companion film to Flags Of Our Fathers. To be honest, I wasn't expecting too much from this movie. I watched FOOF when it first played in the theater and I had trouble connecting with the characters. I felt that movie was a serviceable attempt at telling its story, but there were several areas that should've been stronger.
So there I was, sitting in my seat when the lights went down, eating some licorice and expecting a decent movie. The opening montage was of modern day recovery efforts by Japanese search teams looking for their soldiers' remains on the island. Right away, I sensed that something about the style and tone of this film would be altogether different from FOOF.
Watching Letters confirmed my first impression about the film. This movie was everything that FOOF wasn't. Simply put, Letters From Iwo Jima was a beautifully done film that captured the essence of Eastwood's story. It was shot in washed out colors that really added to the somber mood. I looked hard to find any glaring errors in the movie, but never noticed them. After a point, I was so sucked in to the story, it didn't matter anyway.
The key actors were outstanding in their roles. Ken Watanabe as General Kuribayashi was a stand out. I liked him as the rebel leader in The Last Samurai and he was every bit as expert in this film . He exudes a command presence on screen that's very realistic. I felt he struck the right notes as Kuribayashi and gave his character dignity and honor. Kazunari Ninomiya played Saigo, who was a Japanese buck private that had a wife and baby back home and was stuck in the Japanese war machine with all that entailed. Ninomiya made me believe.
What really hit me the most watching this film was what I like to call "the other", or the way the enemy is portrayed. It hit me like a ton of bricks that this time, American Marines were the others. They're only depicted to a minimum extent to do their jobs in the movie. Most of the time you only see them as little figures moving in the distance. Eastwood exercised an amazing touch at reducing their impact on the tone of the film.
Letters From Iwo Jima had an almost lyric quality, like the best parts of Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line. Unlike that movie, Eastwood remains firmly locked into his reality in Letters. You never forget—not for a second—that this is life and death. The soundtrack added to the mood. It was at times uplifting and at others haunting.
I'm awfully picky about war movies but this one is tough to find fault with. The scale is manageable and the locations are ultra-real. Although I've never set foot on Iwo, I've studied maps and looked at hundreds of hours of combat films and so forth. The locations felt like they were shot on Iwo. The actors are believable in their roles, good or bad. The story fits with what I know from studying history and the Japanese way of war.
Letters From Iwo Jima has been nominated for the Academy Award for best foreign film. I truly hope Eastwood receives this distinction, because its an example of what a war film should be. It may well be one of the best combat films of all time.
Semper Fidelis, Never Forget,
Mark
1 February 2007— Yesterday I put up a new page in the photo album on the 6th Radio Intelligence Platoon, FMFPac. This was a very small, but critically important unit that gathered signal intelligence in support of Marine ground units. Several months ago I received an e-mail from Burke O'Kelly of Melbourne, Fla. Burke served in the 6th RIP during the war and had a set of platoon pictures he wanted to post for the wider world to see.
To be frank, I had never heard of this unit. But after corresponding with Burke, I did some digging and learned that the radio intelligence platoons served across the Pacific. They not only collected data from radio transmissions, but also had direction finders to target enemy command posts for artillery and close air support.
Learning about Burke's old lash-up has once again reinforced for me how much of the World War II story is still out there waiting to be told. Each of these small units performed an important function that added pieces big and small to the final victory. The infantry Marine stood at the tip of the spear, delivering the force of the Fleet Marine Force in combat. With him were engineers, tankers, corpsmen, radiomen and so many others who did essential jobs.
The Marine Corps' leadership prior to and during the war was incredibly wise in how units were activated and organized. As I study the seemingly continuous way that tables of organization changed in the war, I can easily picture harried battalion commanders shaking their heads at the latest in a string of changes. I'm sure that more than one scratched his head and muttered something like, "What the heck do they thing we're doing out here?"
In reality, the Marine Corps implemented changes in an efficient and rational manner that took maximum advantage of every campaign. This built stronger and more flexible units for the next battle. No other fighting force in World War II did this quite as well.
The image of the fighting Marine has always been a rugged, suntanned man, ramrod straight. He knows his weapons and his tactics like the back of his hand. He knows how to field strip every weapon in the armory and is familiar with every slop chute within 30 miles. He is loyal to his country, his Corps and his shipmates.
But there's another image that's just as important. That's the one of a studious, intelligent Marine who thinks of the next battle, the future campaign. Think of General Holland M. Smith, one of the true architects of victory in World War II. Known to his closest friends as "Hoke," Smith definitely didn't look like a stereotypical Marine. he wore thick glasses and resembled nothing so much as a school teacher.
In reality, General Smith was one of the most brilliant military thinkers of the twentieth. He and a handful of other Marines in the prewar era had a vision of the future. While managing the imperatives of the Depression era Marine Corps, they asked questions like, "What will we do in the next war?" Not content to simply postulate and write articles for professional journals, these Marines took concrete steps to forge a Marine Corps that would play a crucial role in a global war.
Have a fine Marine Corps day,
Mark
26 January 2007— A few days ago I went to my bank for a business transaction. I encountered a bank employee who was wearing a blue star pin on here jacket. Explaining that I was a veteran, I asked the woman if someone in her family was in the service. She replied that both her daughters were Marines, one on active duty and the other in the reserve.
We chatted for quite awhile. I told the woman about my service as an FMF Corpsman and of my lifelong interest in Marine Corps history. Also, I shared with her some of my feelings about how the Marine Corps changes lives, not just while in uniform, but for always.
As I was driving away from the bank, I was struck by how tightly knit the Corps is. In reality, I suppose, there are former Marines who'd rather forget they served and that's their right and choice. No one can or should fault them for feeling that way. But the vast majority of Marines are proud to wear the title.
Hardly a day goes by that I don't spot a vehicle displaying a Marine Corps sticker of some kind. While I don't make any attempt to wave or anything like that, I always feel that bond. Now, when I'm in the store or out and about, and see someone who's wearing a Marine Corps shirt or cover, I always take a moment to stop give them a rousing "Semper Fi!"
Earlier this week I was in Albertsons Grocery Store picking up some rations for my family. As I was pushing my cart up and down the aisles I spotted a young Marine wearing cammies in the check-out line. Now, that's not an every day occurrence here in lil' old Eugene, Oregon. You just don't see many Marines in this neck of the woods. I walked up to the Marine, Pfc Moyes, stuck my hand out and said, "Thanks for your service, Devil Dog."
In my humble opinion, our Nation doesn't do enough to recognize and thank those who serve. Service members and veterans, too often, are used like tokens to pull out. Way too many people mouth words such as, "We support the troops." I'm sure you've seen the yellow ribbon magnets with these words on them. Sometimes when I see one, I think, "What have you done to support anyone other than stick a magnet on your truck?" But that's the cynical side of me coming out, I suppose.
Semper Fidelis, Sepius Exertus, Frater Infinitas,
Mark
PS– I posted a new page yesterday on the officer rank structure in World War II.
6 January 2007— I received the sad news a few days ago that my friend Doc Danny Thomas passed away from a heart attack on New Year's Day. Danny was a Corpsman in F 2/23 on Iwo Jima and went to college on the GI Bill after the war. He was a pharmacist in Texas for many years before retirement.
One day in 2004 Danny posted an entry in the World War II Gyrene guest book. Like so many, it was a heartfelt tribute to his fellow Marines of World War II. I never met Danny, but corresponded with him frequently until a few months before his death. A few years ago he sent me a CD with many pictures of him and his buddies in World War II, which I used to make a section in the World War II Gyrene photo album.
Several years ago Danny went back to Iwo Jima and was featured in the documentary Price For Peace. Like so many veterans, he carried a piece of his war with him to the grave. But he used his time as a Corpsman into a career that helped not only the Marines he fought beside, but also the citizens of his community back home.
I'll never forget Danny Thomas and his example of quiet humility. He was truly a great American and an outstanding Devil Doc.
 |
Danny Thomas standing on the 4th MarDiv beach on Iwo Jima. |
Semper Fidelis and Happy New Year,
Mark
PS– Yesterday I finished a new page on the enlisted rank structure in World War II. I had a lot of fun doing the research for this page, which also includes information on the development of the Marine Corps rank system. I plan to make a page in the next few weeks on the officer rank structure.
29 December 2006— I received an e-mail a few days ago questioning my opinion that the BAR was the best squad automatic weapon of World War II. I've tried sending a reply to the author of the e-mail, but his mail box is full and won't allow any new messages. Below is my reply:
"Hi there and thanks for e-mailing World War II Gyrene with your comments. I'm always happy to hear opinions of my readers. From my study of the BAR's development, I don't believe John Browning had any concept of "walking fire" when he did the initial design work of the BAR. he was looking to build a reliable, shoulder fired automatic support weapon for the rifle platoon. The walking fire concept evolved separately in France as an answer for how to get across No Man's Land. The Army took the BAR (as it would've any issued weapon) and put it in a tactical niche.
In my opinion, the German machine guns used by the rifle squad were over engineered for the purpose of giving the squad leader a light support weapon. The MG34 was, as you probably know, replaced for this very reason with the MG42. Having fired the NATO version of this weapon, I can tell you it has too high a rate of fire for the rifle squad to sustain. Both the MG34 and MG42 would have been much better as platoon or company level medium machine guns. Firing 1200 rpm, ammo consumption on the 42 was always a big issue for the German infantry to overcome. Having loaded the German Army fixed link belts myself, I can tell you it's no fun and takes a long time, especially when you consider how quickly the gun burns through ammo.
The BAR was never intended to be a light machine gun. It was designed as an automatic rifle, and employed as such in the US armed forces. Virtually every rifle squad in the US Army and Marine Corps was equipped with at least one BAR. No other Army in World War II came close to this ratio of issue for a squad automatic weapon. During its production, over 200,000 BARs were manufactured. The other major combatants on the war used bolt action service rifles, giving them a much lower volume of fire in comparison with our Soldiers and Marines. The infantry of the US Army and Marine Corps could produce a much higher rate of long range fire than any other infantry. When you consider the M1 rifle, the BAR, the M1919 machine gun and the M1917 at battalion level, the infantry battalion had an incredible amount of firepower. You have to factor this in when discussing infantry support weapons.
The BAR man was issued with a speed loader with his tool kit and it was a simple matter to reload magazines from the 5 round clips that were packed and issued for this purpose throughout the war. I don't know specifically about how the Army did it, but the BAR man in the Marine rifle squad had an ammo bearer who was a rifleman. This Marine carried a BAR belt with 12 extra magazines and ammo for his M1 in bandoleers. In the absence of 5 round clips, it was a relatively simple matter to reload magazines by stripping rounds from eight round M1 clips.
In terms of combat reliability, the BAR offered unparalleled performance. The Marine Corps's official history made a special note of this fact, as have many Marines who I've talked to over the years. As a retiree who spent 22 years in the service from 1979-2001, I know from personal experience that Soldiers and Marines often complain about the weight of their equipment. When we transitioned to the M240 machine gun (a very fine weapon with many years of service) Soldiers griped about its weight even though it was an effective weapon. That's what Soldiers and Marines do. When I trained with the German Army in the 80's, I heard many complaints from machine gunners about what they perceived as the excessive weight of the MG3.
I am not dogmatic about this subject and I have developed my opinion through research and study. In general, I feel the US Soldier of World War II has not been given his due in comparison with the other major combatant armies. Although its not my primary focus, I feel strongly about this. (My dad served in the Army infantry during World War II.)
Semper Fidelis,
Mark Flowers"
This morning I finished the primary work on a new section in the WW2 Gyrene photo album dedicated to the Marines of L 3/4. I've posted about 20 pictures from when the 4th Marines was on Guadalcanal in 1944-45. This is an outstanding record that I was able to get access to because of Randy Ellis, the son of world War II Marine Ray Ellis. I have many more photos to format and post, so stay tuned.
Have a fine Marine Corps weekend,
Mark
22 December 2006— Here we are two days and a wake up from Christmas. It's been raining again where I live in Oregon's Willamette Valley. One of my pine trees blew down in the recent wind storm and we lost 16 feet of our wooden privacy fence in the back yard. All things considered, we made off pretty easy.
Yesterday, I had lunch up in Corvallis with my buddies, World War II Gyrenes Tom Williams and Craig Leman. Of course, Tom was wearing his Iwo Jima survivor cover. A young waiter stopped by the table and asked if Tom was a World War II veteran. I explained to him that Tom and Craig both served in the same platoon on Iwo Jima.
The waiter told us his grandfather served on Iwo as a wireman. He thanked Tom and Craig for their service and then picked up the tab for our lunch. I couldn't help but feel I was sitting in the presence of history. Here was a young guy, 22 years old, who actually felt strongly enough about service and honor to do something special for two old warriors.
I've begun doing some clean-up work now that the section on 1/27 is finished. While doing research on 1/27, I came across Marine Gunner Ira Davidson's Navy Cross citation. The Gunner was a 37mm gun platoon leader in the 4th MarDiv on Iwo Jima and his story was amazing. I added this information to the page on the 37mm antitank gun. Yesterday, I put up a new page on the bazooka, which was a marvel of American technical know-how.
Have an outstanding Marine Corps day,
Mark
16 December 2006— I've completed the last chapter in the history of 1/27 in World War II and posted the entire story in the Spotlight section. Without a doubt, this is the most complex piece of research and writing I've ever done and I'm pleased with the finished project. It really is an amazing story of bravery and sacrifice.
Last week I was busy with the last few chapters and I had to take a break to run my son over to his scout meeting. I dropped him off in the parking lot of the church and parked the truck in the lot. I sat there staring off into the distance. (Maybe something like the thousand yard stare…)
Looking out into the darkness, I got to thinking about the phrase, "fighting and dying for yards". Anyone whose read a war book has seen this term. I suppose it has even become a sort of cliche that writers use when they can't think of a better way to describe it.
Sitting there in the truck, I estimated the distance from the parking lot to the tree line behind the church. I imagine it must've been around 150 yards from where I sat. In many of its battles on Iwo, the Marines of 1/27 had to move out in the attack across naked ground with no cover. I pondered the meaning of "fighting and dying for yards."
Suddenly it occurred to me these guys weren't fighting for yards—they were fighting for inches. Iwo Jima was such a compressed battlespace, the whole idea of maneuver and flanks was extremely difficult to achieve. Many times, Marines would launch an assault and get pinned by multiple heavy weapons. Some days, they spent hours and hours stuck in tiny folds in the ground with bullets slamming into the ground right in front of their faces.
What sort of courage did it take to endure this day after day after day?
Working on the story of 1/27 taught me a lot about historical research and writing. For days, I had a pile of books, after action reports, and letters stacked on my desk. The wall map of Iwo Jima was close at hand and I was constantly taking my glasses off to find grid locations. I was very exciting to be engrossed in this piece of history.
During the writing and editing, I found that I had to leave out many important parts of the story. Working with the folks who helped tell the story as it currently exists on WW2 Gyrene, I hope to expand it into a book-length project to do true justice to this important piece of history. It's that important.
This morning, I put up the link to the World War II Gyrene Christmas pages. This has become a popular section during the holiday season and has become a WW2 Gyrene tradition.
Semper Fidelis, and have a fine Marine Corps weekend,
Mark
2 December 2006— Working on WW2 Gyrene, I've become acquainted with people from around the world. Many of them are family members of World War II era Marines. Among the most dedicated is John Butler, Jr., the son of Navy Cross recipient LtCol John Butler. LtCol Butler died in combat leading his battalion on Iwo Jima.
Over the past couple of years, John and I have corresponded regularly and our acquaintance has grown into friendship. Together, we've undertaken the mission of writing the story of 1/27 in World War II. This is a large project and it is the most comprehensive I've ever tried. I started doing research several months ago when John sent me a packet of information on his dad.
During the past few weeks, I've been writing and researching steadily and posting the chapters as I finish them. This is an important project to me for a variety of reasons. Among them is the chance to work closely with my friend, Craig Leman, who served on Iwo Jima and is one of the nicest guys I've ever known.Also, getting to know author, racing car driver and World War II Gyrene Chuck Tatum has been a pleasure.
I've put the other things that I've been doing with the site on hold to finish the book before Christmas. I feel confident that I can make it happen with the pace I've been researching and writing. Please take time to look at the chapters I've finished. It's a tribute to an outfit of gallant Marines.
Semper Fidelis, Frater Aeternii,
Mark
18 November 2006— This past week, I've spent quite a bit of time replying to messages from families of Marine who died in World War II. Maybe this is related to folks going to see Flags Of Our Fathers and then doing web searches for their Marines. I'm not sure, but it's an honor for me to help fill in some of the gaps for people who want to know more about their grandfather, uncle, brother, etc.
I feel both privileged and saddened to help people with these information requests. Time and distance have lessened the impact of the fallen from World War II, but I often think about those young guys that died in the war. I wonder sometimes what they would've done in life, if they'd been able to live.
Last week, I read somewhere that in the US, there are only about a dozen World War I veterans who are still alive. Four and a half million Americans served in uniform during that "war to end wars." How many modern Americans know and honor the sacrifices made in that far off time?
Thousands upon thousands of the young men that died in World War I, as in every war, were nineteen, twenty or twenty-one years old. They never had time to "make their place in the world." They didn't leave businesses behind, write books, have children or discover the cure for the common cold. All they left was a cross in a sea of crosses.
It's up to us to remember them, and honor their lives. In my humble opinion, war's greatest waste is the young lives cut short. Just think about the things you did after your twentieth birthday. When I was that age, I didn't even know what I didn't know. For most of us, our potential at that stage of our lives is much greater than what we've already done.
One of my most important trusts is to help Marines who can't speak for themselves. Every one of the Marines who died in World War II has a story to tell. It would be impossible for me to give voice to every one of them. But by helping families learn about them, I'm providing a link to a past that was alive and vibrant; not black and white, but in color.
Semper Fidelis, Frater Aeterni,
Mark
11 November 2006— Yesterday at the opening of the National Museum of the Marine Corps, President Bush confirmed that Cpl Jason Dunham will receive the Medal of Honor in a White House ceremony. This marks the first time our Nation's highest military honor has been awarded to a Marine since the Vietnam War.
If you don't know about Cpl Dunham and his life, you owe it to yourself to learn about him. He represented the good in America. Probably to himself, he was just a man and a good Marine. But, as a warrior who gave his all for his fellow Marines, he rose up above the rest of us and achieved something eternal.
From the Army Times report on Cpl Dunham's action on 14 April 2004:
"While leading a patrol of his Marines in Karabilah, Corporal Dunham received a report that a Marine convoy had been ambushed. He led his squad to the site of the attack — where he and his men stopped a convoy of cars trying to make an escape,” according to the Corps press release. “As he moved to search one of the vehicles, an insurgent jumped out and grabbed him by the throat. The corporal engaged the insurgent in hand-to-hand combat.”
Dunham shouted to the other Marines “No. No. No. Watch his hand.” As the two scuffled, the Iraqi dropped a grenade with the pin removed, and Dunham quickly jumped on it, using his Kevlar helmet and body to smother the blast.
Shrapnel pierced Dunham’s skull, and he died eight days later with his parents by his side at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md.
Three of Dunham’s platoon mates with Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines, suffered shrapnel wounds but survived. Two weeks later, Kilo Marines mourned Dunham at a memorial service held at their camp in Qaim, Iraq.
“He knew what he was doing. He wanted to save Marines’ lives from that grenade,” said Lance Cpl. Jason Sanders, 21, a mortarman."
To learn more about Cpl Dunham and his incredible act of selfless heroism, visit the Jason Dunham memorial website.
We can't afford to forget guys like Jason Dunham. They give meaning and bear witness to the cost of military service. So many of our war dead perished in places where their deeds of courage could never be recorded. Others were just never recommended for well-deserved awards. Jason and the other Medal of Honor recipients represent all the Americans who've served in our armed forces.
A piece of metal and a silk ribbon can never bring back a beloved son. But they give meaning to the loss of a good Marine and a fine American. In the modern world, folks often wonder about where the United States is heading. With young people like Jason Dunham as an example, we don't have anything to worry about.
Semper Fidelis, and Happy Veterans Day.
Mark
