CHAPTER TEN
Political correctness (?) and Fire Ants
KC: "Talk of Ballalae leads me to another query for you:
what were you told, and what was the scuttlebutt, about the Japanese
Army? What were you told about their insane brutality and cruelty?
Did you hear of this? Did you fear them? Did you fear getting
captured (well, of course you did, I presume...)? By the time
you left Guadalcanal, what was your attitude towards the Japanese
first as fighting men, and human beings, second?"
JM: "There may have been some degree of political correctness
even back in those days, as we were mostly told that the Jap was
a very tenacious fighter, as well as devious, clever and almost
unobservable in the jungle. All of those things proved to be true.
Though there weren't many opportunities, the Japs chose not to
take any prisoners.
"When they would surprise and surround one of our patrols
by ambush, we would always find all of the bodies (not necessarily
in one piece) which indicated to us that they made no efforts
to take prisoners. Apparently they weren't interested in gaining
any info, only in eliminating us, and Hirohito had told them they
would do it.
"By the time we left we began to realize that though clever
in some respects, they were quite lacking in others. They seldom
ever followed up or pursued the few occasions when they had done
serious damage to us or had gained a strategic advantage. Pearl
Harbor was an example of this rationale. Perhaps they just didn't
realize and were too timid to try to find out.
"It was very difficult to make any kind of determination
about them as human beings in that we had almost no contact with
them except through the rifle sights. The very few prisoners that
we took were taken for intelligence gathering (we had no place
to incarcerate them; very little food to feed them; and our medical
supplies were in very short supply)."
KC "I write these things because I have concluded that, with
the possible exception of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge in Cambodia in
1975-79, this century has not seen a crueler army, from top to
bottom, than the Japanese Imperial Army.
"Even the Nazis, in my view, were a different army, though
no better of course. After Guadalcanal, when I returned to the
real world, I went back to work, this time in Bangkok. I had occasion
to spend a weekend at the real "Bridge on the River Kwai,"
in Kanchanaburi, Thailand. This was also a site of infamous Japanese
Army brutality. Tens of thousands of non-combatants, as well as
more than ten thousand POWs, died at the hands of the Japanese
commander there.
"But such brutality and inhuman cruelty was typical. Ballalae
is a case in point. As I wrote, it was a POW camp during the war
-- it wasn't liberated until after the war had ended and all the
prisoners had already been murdered or had died-- but, to my knowledge,
no Americans were there. Prisoners were mostly British from fallen
places in SE Asia like Singapore and the Malay peninsula, Australians
and New Zealanders.
"They were used as slave labor, they were tortured, many
died of dysentery, and others were shot for saying that the Japanese
wouldn't win. Some were so consumed with hopelessness that they
deliberately ran into the path of our bombs during air raids,
meant mainly to simply harass the base rather than destroy it.
Others were beheaded and the remainder were executed when the
airfield was finished. Ballalae was only briefly mentioned during
the other war crimes tribunal held after the war in Tokyo. As
I wrote, it was so typical it was relatively unremarkable."
JM: "You're absolutely correct. I heard only of Ballalae
in terms of being a Jap island base. I hadn't even heard that
it was a POW camp. The Tokyo war crimes tribunal was so little
heard of that some wonder if it ever happened. The Nazi version
was far more publicized. With McArthur in charge I'm surprised
that it wasn't the most publicized. And of course, I have read
about the Japanese brutality during their sweep southward in the
Pacific. I have often wondered if perhaps by the time the Guadalcanal
campaign began, they had just stretched themselves too much.
"Imagine the logistics of detaining hundreds of thousands
of people in so many different locales stretched nearly the length
of the Pacific and you begin to see some of their problems. Who
knows, maybe that was the American strategy: Wait them out until
they have reached their most vulnerable point in terms of supply
lines and then cut them off.
"I also often wonder what would have happened had they reached
Australia and New Zealand. Most of the men of those two countries
were off in faraway places fighting, so the remaining population
was comprised mostly of women and old and very young men - children
primarily."
KC: "I've been jumping the last week. Just now getting around
to responding to your e-mails.
"I will indeed contact Joe in Melbourne. It would be wonderful
for me to contact those families. I'll have to dig those letters
out first and get their names and last known addresses.
"Oh, yes...just remembered your question about quakes in
the Solomons. We had two while I was there: one in the middle
of the night, which I didn't feel, and another while I was hovering
about 80 feet deep in Iron Bottom Sound diving on one of those
Jap transports I told you about. We heard it of course instead
of feeling it -- sounded like a huge, thunderous rumble passing
through the water. Very weird.
"I lived in So. California for six years so I was fairly
used to quakes when I moved to the Solomons. Our greatest fear
was a quake while we were diving IN those ships -- lots of loose
debris, steel and iron hanging precariously in several places.
A quake while we were in some of those tight pockets would have
been a disaster. We always planned ahead as to what we would do
in the event of such a cataclysm. And we weren't foolish -- as
much as our curiosity impelled us, we didn't take stupid chances.
"On land, several people were similarly concerned about quakes
while caving. As you may know, Guadalcanal is home to many byzantine
caves. I never went into these caves precisely because of the
quake threat, even though I grew up as an avid caver in Tennessee.
An earthquake during a caving expedition on Guadalcanal could
simply mean certain death. So we simply stayed away from that.
"Anyway, will try to get back into the routine here this
next week.
Thanks, Kent"...
JM: "Kent,
"Apparently the quakes aren't too frequent in the Solomons.
But even one is enough for me. Being a lifetime East Coast guy,
except for travels to other parts, I had never experienced a quake
before the one on the 'Canal. I've been to the West Coast several
times and have been lucky enough not to have had to feel one of
them under my feet.
"But yes, that quake while underwater must have been quite
an experience. My first thoughts would have been, - have I disturbed
the spirits of the many men who went down with those ships. And
of course I would have high-tailed it the hell out of there, pronto.
"But that leads to another thought, - have any divers ever
reported seeing the remains of bodies on any of those ships? The
flesh certainly would have decomposed over a period of time, but
the skeletons probably should be fairly identifiable. Did you
ever think about such an event or discovery when you were on or
near the ships? Or perhaps our country took steps to recover whatever
they could for proper burial purposes???
"Did you dive to ships of both countries? From underwater
photos of the ships, both ours and theirs, they seem to be in
amazingly good condition. Even the gear left on the upper decks
seems to be, except for being barnacle encrusted, almost usable.
One would think that conditions below decks would be even better
as it wouldn't be subjected to any damage or erosion due to light.
Food for thought.
"I did hear about the caves on the island. The Aussie Coastal
Watchers used them at times to hide from the Japs and they related
some of the stories of them. Apparently a lot of them were originally
excavated by gold-hunters and perhaps some by the natives themselves
for shelter. The Coastal Watchers weren't too keen about them
but they did save some of their lives while hiding from the Japs
though.
"Will get to your other email next. 'Til then.... Jerry"
KC: "Jerry --
"Want to catch up on a couple of things before I forget them...The
biting fire ants -- oh, I know them all too well. Brings to mind
a scene that is, in retrospect, pretty funny...
"While in the Shortland Islands, on the island called Faisi
#2, I was staying in the guest house of the Shortland Islands
Council of Chiefs. The Chairman of the Council, John Pita Bitiai,
owned the tiny island and the guesthouse where I stayed. This
island was a Jap destroyer base during the war. The island is
littered with debris from the war. On the opposite end of the
island, there are two downed Zeroes. I have a piece of one of
them in my living room.
"I'm not certain, and John Pita couldn't tell me for sure,
but Faisi may have been Tanaka's base for a while during the Guadalcanal
campaign. Anyway, John Pita was a farmer -- he had several pigs,
a few goats, a dog, and, several longhorn steers and cattle.
"As time went by during my days on the island, the cattle
got used to me being around. They always hung around my side of
the island and grazed a lot near the guesthouse. At times, they
seemed to get tired of the grass and ate the sweet leaves off
low-hanging branches of the trees.
"One day, I noticed this old steer trying to reach just such
a branch right in front of my porch. It was just out of his reach.
I decided to help him. I grabbed my machete and slowly approached
him. My eyes were on him, of course. And I was ready to bolt the
second I thought he didn't want me around. But he just watched
me.
"I stood under the long, lush branch he had been trying to
reach. I took my machete and, with a good hard stroke, tried to
chop off the branch with one hit. It didn't quite cut through.
But something else happened: I was soon covered with dozens of
crawling, angry red fire ants that had been all over the branch.
Man, they started biting as soon as they knew they were on some
fresh meat. I slapped at this for about two seconds, realized
the futility of this, and then just ran the 20 feet into the sea.
I dived under the cool water. Anyway, I know about those evil
fire ants."
JM: "Kent,
"Never knew they were called fire ants, but I can understand
why. Their bite left a sting that was just like a burn. My bites
would always swell up and they looked like hives. Not many of
the other guys puffed up like that, but some others did. It took
a few days before the itching and burning stopped. After the first
time, I was very careful about where I stepped.
JM: "Hi Kent,
"In one of my emails, which was in response to your telling
me that you were having the Solomon Islands Olympic team over
for a "custom feast", I mentioned that I was involved
in a project with my local Rotary club regarding the Solomon Islanders
and I asked you to remind me to tell you about it. Well, you won't
have to, as I remembered it.
"To put it in perspective; I was a member of the Hampton,
NH Rotary Club. The time was early 1993, and I was casually looking
through the Rotary International Directory of all clubs, worldwide.
When I got to the H's, I noticed the name Honiara which meant
nothing at all to me, but following Honiara was the name Guadalcanal,
Solomon Islands. Now that really meant something to me. My first
thoughts were that I must have the wrong place. How could the
Guadalcanal I knew, not only have a place called Honiara, but
also, a Rotary Club?
"The Directory has listed with each club, the name of the
current President and Secretary and the club's mailing address,
so I decided to write to the Secretary just to satisfy my curiosity.
It was a man called Mick Kranthias. The Mick sounded very Aussie.
I asked him if the place where he was could possibly be the same
place I had been in 1942 with the US Marines? A few weeks later
he replied that, yes, it was the same place and that just the
previous year (1992) there had been a 50th anniversary celebration
of that battle and many of the Marines that had fought there returned
for the occasion.
"He very graciously sent me a copy of the 50th anniversary
commemorative program, as well as other magazines of Guadalcanal.
Needless to say, I was dumbfounded. I couldn't get over seeing
pictures of the 'new' Guadalcanal with its hotels, beautiful beaches
and areas where we had slogged through mud and rain and dodged
bullets, bombs, shells and other assorted discomforts.
"We began corresponding fairly regularly, (not like email
with its speed), and he eventually told me that the mission of
the Rotary there was primarily to provide assistance to the native
population in the form of educational and medical relief. He also
told me that they were always in short supply of normal everyday
school items like pencils, tablets, chalk, erasers, etc. as well
as first-aid type medical items. It was in the form of a 'Rotary
club to Rotary club' request for any help we would care to provide.
"I thought it was a very worthwhile cause so I presented
it to our Board of Directors as an International Service Project,
for which Rotary is famous. At the time I was a member of the
Board, as the Treasurer, and I also asked for $2,500 to pay for
the "postage and handling" and was surprised that they
were anxious to approve the request.
"My plan was to solicit all of the general area hospitals,
medical supply houses, doctors, pharmacies, etc.; as well as schools,
stationery stores, office suppliers, etc. I got volunteer teams
from the club to visit, call or write to all of the places that
carried the needed supplies; get a commitment; pick up the offered
supplies; pack them in boxes and ship them to Guadalcanal. Everything
was set up, organized, and ready to roll when Murphy's Law took
over.
"I really believe that being of Irish ancestry, that fellow
Murphy watches to see what I'm trying to do and when things are
about set, he steps in and stomps on all of the well-laid plans.
Well this time, he decided to create an in-house, America-only,
deck-clearing, drop-everything, genuine, first-class, emergency:
to wit, the devastating floods of the Midwest, in particular,
the Mississippi River disaster floods during that year of 1993.
"The entire central section of our country was inundated
with swollen rivers and streams which flooded about one-third
of the land area of our country causing devastation and suffering
seldom ever seen. A massive call for assistance was made to the
country's hospitals, medical supply houses, doctors, pharmacies,
schools, stationery stores, office suppliers, etc. As it should
be, those suppliers heeded the call for a national emergency and
ignored our requests for supplies for the Solomon Islanders. The
hoped-for and expected supplies for my project fell off to a bare
trickle.
"At that time there were thirty-five Rotary clubs in this
district of the United States. I had hoped to collect thirty-five
boxes of supplies, (educational and medical) in my club alone
and to challenge the remaining thirty-four clubs in the district
to provide just ONE box of supplies to send to the Honiara Rotary
club for a total of sixty-nine (hopefully more) boxes of supplies.
But, old 'Murph had to step in and create a flood that year, so
it screwed up all of my plans.
"As it turned out, I managed to collect a total of only SEVEN
boxes (whiskey carton size) filled with educational and medical
supplies. The total weight of the boxes was over 200 pounds, so
it wasn't a total loss.
"It took nearly six weeks to ship them by post. (I investigated
other means, and I couldn't get any "gratis" shipments.)
It cost the club about $1,100 in boxes, tape, labels, etc. and
parcel post charges to ship the supplies to Guadalcanal.
"The thing that really frosted me was that by the time the
boxes arrived there, most of the Rotarians I had originally communicated
with had returned to Australia. (I guess most of the business
people there are sort of "on loan" from their businesses
in Australia.) I had been told that they would take pictures of
the arrival and then the distribution of the supplies to the natives
on the different islands. Well of course it never happened.
"I was greatly disappointed and when I couldn't produce any
evidence of the arrival of the supplies, many members of my club
were equally disappointed. I did get two letters confirming receipt
of the supplies from two Rotarians there, but no pictures had
been taken. Rotary did get the boxes, all 7 of them, and the Rotarians
made distribution of them: the school supplies were passed along
to three of the most needy schools in Honiara, one of them the
Red Cross School for physically and mentally handicapped children.
The First Aid supplies went to the local St. John Ambulance and
Rural Health Clinic.
"The news media were also disappointed, because they had
covered the project well and had hoped for some climactic ending
pictures. The Associated Press had played it up in most of the
New England papers and was hoping for a finale story. The only
thing I can say is, "Thanks a lot, Murph.
"So there you have it, - the story of the famous (or perhaps
infamous) Hampton Rotary Club International project to supply
the Solomon Island natives with educational and medical supplies.
Not exactly a big zero, but on a scale of one to ten, it would
probably rate a one point one. I was greatly disappointed and
yes, a little embarrassed about all of the original hoopla and
the resultant phffffft! I often wonder if any of the Solomon Islanders
knew of or even cared about the project.
"Did you ever hear of it? I mean of any Rotary Club supplies
from USA arriving there about September 1994? I think a place
called Bradfords or Barretts store was the place they were received.
He, (Bradford or Barrett) was a Rotarian and the local post office
was in his store.
"Of course my intense interest in the project lay in the
fact that the island natives helped us go greatly - more than
we realized at the time, to be aware of the presence of the Jap
troops and to be ready for them, and that we never really did
get a chance to properly thank them for all they did for us.
"It may have taken over 50 years to realize how much we owed
them, but I just had to try to show my gratitude. Sending supplies
to their grandchildren was what I hoped to accomplish, but, again,
old 'Murph had to interfere. Hey, all I can say is that I tried.
And if I ever get a chance to do it again, I will. I will because
I truly believe that if they hadn't provided us with the information
we needed about the enemy troop movements, I wouldn't be writing
this today. Jerry"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Diving: The Lost Ships
KC: "Jerry, about Ballard...
"He and his crew were my sometimes drinking buddies in the
Solomons in July-August, 1992. He was there filming the National
Geographic special that produced the book you have. As a matter
of fact, my running buddy during those early days on Guadalcanal
was a photographer from Seattle, a guy named David Gaddis. If
you look in your book, you'll see several photographs attributed
to David. Good guy, good photographer. True adventurer."
JM: "His pictures are excellent. He seems to prefer rusted,
deserted wrecks and weapons, but the beautiful, scenic backgrounds
emphasize their obsolescence."
KC: "To be quite honest, Jerry, I didn't care at all for
Ballard's National Geographic special. Could and should have been
much more. To my way of thinking, it was simply the same story
of Guadalcanal told over again. Nothing new at all, except a few
moments of semi-drama when they came upon a few lost ships in
Iron Bottom Sound.
"He had so many veterans there he could have talked to; he
could have told the stories of the ships he was searching for
so much better; he could have put the entire thing into the context
of the titanic struggle for Guadalcanal that emerged during the
last four months of 1942 which I'm sure you remember so well."
JM: "I have never gotten to see it. A friend one day asked
me if I had seen the "story about Guadalcanal" on TV
the night before and frankly, I don't watch TV much anymore. I
should look at the listings though. That type of show is usually
repeated many times however, so maybe I'll get to see it one of
these days.
"One thing I noticed almost immediately was that in his book,
he refers to a Lieutenant H. Christian Merillat, a Public Relations
Officer and quotes him referring to our departure from the island
in December. I have a book that was published in 1944 and written
by a Herbert Laing (correct spelling) Merillat, titled simply,
"The Island" and the accounts given in his book are
verbatim quotes as seen in Ballard's book. He also was a Public
Relations Officer on Gen. Vandegrift's staff on the island."
KC: "In short, I would have written and produced it differently.
Of course, what do I know? In Ballard's defense, he was under
the gun with the USN because he was using their research ship
(and US tax $) to pursue the stated objective of finding several
of those lost ships. He couldn't just stay there indefinitely
or roam around exploring. So he was limited by his benefactors.
Kent"
JM: "Yes, considering the pressures of time and money, it
is understandable, but Ballard has built a reputation with oceanic
types and marine biologists as being a very exact guy. I worked
with those types while I was with National Marine Fisheries Service
of NOAA and they too are very exacting guys (and women) and they
usually double and triple check anything before they state it
as fact.
"On the previous page I commented that Ballard had referred
to a Lieut. H. Christian Merillat, a Public Relations Officer.
I also mentioned that I have a book about Guadalcanal titled simply,
"The Island" which was written by a Herbert Laing Merillat
who also describes himself as a Public Relations Officer on General
Vandegrift's staff on the island. Since writing that, I have also
read "Guadalcanal Remembered" by Herbert C. Merillat
who explains that he was also known as Herbert Laing Merillat
in his earlier writings. The "Laing" was used as a tribute
to his mother's family name. So that explains the puzzle."
KC: "Before I get to anything else, my wife just handed me
the mail tonight. She forgot to give me your latest snail mail.
Sir, I can't tell you how much I appreciate the 1st Div. patch.
That means a great deal to me, to have an original. Yes, I've
other, newer versions from the USMC Historical Society and I'm
proud of those. And Tony has Uncle Ray's originals, of course.
But to have one of the very first issued -- I mean, that's right
when the patch was designed, right? Right after Guadalcanal? I
mean, you guys had just earned the thing, correct?"
JM: "Hi Kent,
"Can't think of anyone I'd rather give it to. Your dedication
and respect for what was done over there is deserving of something
special.
"Yes that particular patch is one of the originals issued
to us in Australia. The very first ones so issued. We had heard
that it was one of Gen. Vandegrift's priorities and he had some
of his staff working on it before we left the island. I personally
was never asked, but I did hear that a lot of the outfits were
questioned about it and the Southern Cross seemed almost a unanimous
choice for the background.
"You'll notice that the patch is slightly worn, the reason
it isn't more worn, is because as we got newer ones they seemed
a lot stiffer with different types of thread than the first ones.
I and several of the other guys decided to save those originals
from any further wear and we replaced them with newer ones and
saved the first ones.
"I don't know how true it is and I've never taken the time
to do any research on it, but we were told that it was the first
time in Marine Corps history that a Division identity shoulder
insignia had been authorized for wear on the Marine uniform. I
do know that we were all very proud wearers of that patch. We
had paid a very steep price for it, many, the maximum like your
uncle and my school chum from home.
"I believe they gave us about five of them at first. I somehow
had managed to hang on to three of them and I'm most pleased to
give one of them to you. I know it's only a small piece of cloth,
and most people wouldn't understand the significance of that small
piece of cloth, but I know you do which is why I wanted you to
have it."
KC: "Jerry, thank you so much for parting with it for me.
My wife is going to sew it onto my favorite blue-jean jacket.
It means a lot to me.
"It's strange that you mention our experiences diving on
those ships, Jerry, and ask about what we found, our feelings,
etc. Because I've wanted to tell you about a couple of episodes
and I wasn't too sure how you'd react. But since you've asked...
"The scent of death is all around those ships. They are huge,
hulking monstrosities of twisted iron that have become a part
of the sea, which has claimed them as its own. They are haunting
and eerie. Yes, we found human bones on one -- a femur or tibia,
to be precise. Every single time I dived on those wrecks, I always
took the history with me -- what happened the morning they were
bombed and shelled into oblivion, what happened the night before
(Nov. 14, 1942) when Admiral Tanaka ordered these four, new, fast
transports to intentionally beach themselves in a desperate attempt
to land reinforcements and supplies to the Japs who were starving
on shore. I dived in awe and respect of the sacrifice made there
by hundreds of mothers' sons, the massive loss of life. I couldn't
help but think of what the final hours on those ships were like.
Horrible, I'm sure.
"We always dived with respect -- at least the gang I dived
with did. We were always prepared to run across something startling,
such as skeletal remains. But I was told that the Japanese embassy
in the Solomons had tried over the years to recover all the remains
from the ships and send them back to Japan for proper ceremonies,
etc. (That's what they did with those two Japanese skeletons found
across from the hotel when Telekom was digging a trench.
"Everyone in the Solomons knew to contact the embassy if
any obviously Japanese remains were found; I personally called
the charge d'affaires at the Japanese embassy and told him about
the bone we found on the "Ruiniu" (that's the local
Solomons name for the wreck, not the name of the ship.) Never
found out what happened.
"I don't know how you feel about the Japanese these days,
Jerry, and I will never judge any veteran of the W.W.II Pacific
theater for his feelings towards the Japanese. Most veterans I've
talked with seem pretty philosophical about the war. Uncle Ray's
view was the Japs he was fighting were, at the end of the day,
just men like him following orders, men who had a job to do and
who, like him, wanted to go home as soon as possible. Some vets
I've met, however, still harbor great animosity towards the Japanese
people and I can understand that perfectly, particularly those
whose personal losses were directly attributable to an act of
infamy or other atrocity. The relatives and friends of those who
lost their lives at Pearl Harbor and in the Philippines come to
mind."
JM: "I had the good fortune to be able to go to Japan after
the war. I say, good fortune, because the picture I got of the
Jap soldier and his vicious, brutal behavior was nothing like
the picture I got of the Japanese family while I was in Japan.
"I had been in Korea where they would steal everything that
wasn't nailed down and if it was nailed down, they'd somehow get
the nails out and steal them too! At night the 'slickey boys'
as they were called, would slip into and out of our barracks and
rooms without any noise whatsoever. While there, they'd steal
anything they could carry. We always had to leave someone with
our Jeeps because otherwise they'd be gone when we got back.
"But in Japan you could leave your wallet on the bar or on
a table in a restaurant, go to the rest room (benjo) and find
everything intact when you returned. Very honorable people. I
grew to like and respect them very much. I even met a soldier
who had been on Guadalcanal and had been shipped out because he
had an arm blown off.
"We met in a bar in Tokyo in 1956 or 57 where I had gone
with one of my buddies who left me there while he went to get
measured for a suit. This Japanese man sat down near me and very
politely started casual conversation, which somehow got around
to the recent war. That's when he told me he had been in the Army
and had lost his arm on Guadalcanal. I was of course slightly
stunned and when I told him that I also had been there, he stood
quickly and snapped off a very sharp salute saying that he had
great respect for how we had won over there under such terrible
conditions. He even apologized for saluting me with his left hand.
"He couldn't believe we were such good fighters and particularly
at night. He said that they were told that we couldn't see too
well at night and that we all slept at night so it would be easy
for them. He spoke fairly good English, but it was obvious that
we weren't comfortable talking about the island so we just sort
of dropped the subject.
"I bought him a drink and he invited me to come to his house
for a meal, but I didn't have the time to take him up on it or
I would have. Maybe there we would have relaxed and started to
talk more, but I really don't know. I was pretty closed-minded
about it and just wanted to forget all about it and he certainly
seemed the same. So as you can see I harbor no grudges or animosity
towards the Japanese people. That is not to say that I had any
great admiration or respect for their military personnel who,
in retrospect may have been under the orders of mad men and were
unable to act humanely. Those latter men I called Japs, a term
intentionally signaling disrespect. The people I met while in
Japan were different and commanded my respect and I will always
refer to them as Japanese.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Respect, Was the Common Thread
The preceding page was the last of the emails exchanged between
Kent Cooper and myself relating to the battle for Guadalcanal,
Solomon Islands in 1942.
A few years ago when news organizations realized that the events
of World War II had reached or were about to reach their fiftieth
anniversary, they sought out veterans of the early combat campaigns.
In that the Pacific theater of operations was the first of a combat
nature for the United States, veterans of Pearl Harbor, the Midway
Island naval battle and Guadalcanal - the first major ground offensive
against the Japanese, were much in demand for stories, pictures
and interviews. Most local veteran's organizations such as the
VFW or the American Legion were contacted for information on their
members who may have been in these early engagements. In one such
interview I called my experience of the battle for Guadalcanal,
"my three thousand hours of living hell! Which I had intended
as the title for this story 'til I heard about General MacArthur's
remarks about our survival.
Never before in the history of American battles has one of its
fighting units been subjected to the daily horrors of brutal combat
for anywhere near as long a period of time without some form of
respite or relief as were the Marines on Guadalcanal. From August
7, 1942 when we landed on its beaches until December 15, 1942,
the day I went on board a transport ship and left, we experienced
actual front-lines duty. Those four months, plus eight days equaled
130 days, or 3,120 consecutive hours of physical and mental misery.
There were no places on that horrible island where fatigued, diseased
and physically debilitated Marines could go for hospital care,
or even short rests from the rigors of the incessant combat demands.
The total land space of the small hold we had on the island was
all considered front line territory. Mental fatigue was a problem
as serious as the physical rents to our bodies.
Sudden screams at night from a nightmare or hallucination had
to be muffled quickly to not alert the enemy and provoke the possibility
of the arrival of some unwanted artillery or sniper fire in our
midst. The set-upon Marine would battle back with the ferocity
of two men and it would take several others to subdue him until
the internal 'devils' took leave of his mind.
We were confined to an area with a perimeter roughly five miles
long and three miles wide at its longest and widest points; the
ocean on the northern side, steep jagged mountains on the southern
side and mostly mud, muck and jungle between two rivers on the
east and west sides.
The island overall was about ninety miles long and about thirty-five
miles wide with a large mountain spine down its length in the
middle. We controlled about one half of one percent of the total
island and the Japanese controlled the other ninety-nine and one
half percent. Had we not been denied the use of about sixty percent
of our food, supplies and equipment that departed prematurely
when the ships that had transported us there from New Zealand
fled from enemy bombers and heavy naval vessels we could have
secured the island and departed within days of our arrival. The
number of lives that might have been saved as well as the numbers
of men who would not have contracted malaria and other jungle
sicknesses and diseases would be impossible to determine.
Lacking the vital necessities to sustain an offensive, while the
Japanese freely brought in fresh troops well supplied with food,
supplies and equipment, we were forced to defend the small perimeter
we occupied while under nearly constant bombing and shelling each
day and night.
The absence of our U. S. naval vessels and the air support they
could provide meant that the enemy had total superiority of the
land, water and skies all around us.
The nearly completed airstrip within our small perimeter was our
only hope of getting some air support for our mission. But the
enemy bombing and shelling, as well as the lack of the proper
equipment necessary for the land grading and filling, meant that
the needed air support would not arrive for fourteen days from
the date of our landing. We filled the holes and graded the strip
mostly with our bare hands mostly during moments when we weren't
engaged in some form of combat, which added to the delay.
I used the word "we" in the previous sentence because
every unit of the First Marine Division had to furnish manpower
at some time or other to help with airstrip construction.
This was done between torrential tropical rainfalls; blistering
100 plus degree heat coupled with humidity in like numbers; little
fresh water; even less food; a fighting organization that was
about as physically fit as the residents of the terminal compound
in a leper colony; battles, skirmishes, bombings, shellings and
general everyday sniper and harassment fire from the Japanese.
If an infantry battalion was not actively engaged in "locked-in"
combat, at least one of its companies would be used to work by
hand at the field. Getting that strip ready to receive our planes
was a priority exceeded only by engaging in direct combat with
enemy ground forces.
By the time our air support arrived, the Japanese had built their
war machine into a formidable force, with fresh bodies, clothing,
food, weapons, ammunition, supplies and heavy and light maneuverable,
short and long range weapons. Their ships controlled the sea-lanes
preventing our ships from returning.
Morale amongst our troops was at a dangerously low point and then
to complicate matters, sickness in the forms of malaria, dysentery,
open sores that wouldn't heal, serious weight loss and overall
weakness and debilitation, spread like wildfire. The outlook for
survival was poor. We didn't know it at the time, but many military
commanders and high echelon civilians considered us as facing
a hopeless task and doomed.
I can vividly remember a very high number of times when the feeling
of hopelessness and despair was so prevalent that we would sit
around deep in our own gloomy thoughts. These periods usually
came just before an attack was expected, either on land, sea or
air. Not many words were exchanged, just a few looks that said
it all.
All of those men were like my brothers. We all cared for, looked
out for and protected each other like family members do. Being
in a very depressed state didn't always mean that you were worried
about yourself alone. Often I would think to myself, "God,
I hope John, or Elmer or Gary doesn't get hurt." I was unable
to use the word "killed", it was just unthinkable.
Then afterwards when the attack was over and we cautiously looked
around hoping that all would be safe and well accounted for, we
would be more able to relax and be happy at the outcome. But whenever
there was a serious wound or injury it hurt nearly as much as
if it had been ourselves. The death of a very close buddy was
like a knife in the heart. You just didn't want to believe it,
even if you actually saw and knew that it was true.
For several days afterward the depression of knowing that one
of the guys you sat with, talked with, smoked a cigarette with
and confided your deepest secrets with would no longer be there
when you woke up or came back from the head. I mean those guys
were like a part of you. You had been with them twenty-four hours
a day, seven days a week for many, many months. And now they were
gone. And it felt like a big hole was right in the middle of your
heart.
But, oh my God, what a wonderful feeling when you looked around
and saw everyone that mattered still there, still grinning at
you with a wink and a nod, that showed their happiness at making
the same discovery. Man, family doesn't get any closer than that.
But it was feelings like those that drove us to excel under the
vilest of conditions. That one little extra ounce of exertion
might be just the catalyst needed to overcome the diversity and
allow you one more day with those friends. Women are more inclined
to physically show emotions with other female friends. Men rarely
ever shed a tear or hug another male friend. But wartime combat
can make grown men cry over the loss of a comrade and want to
hug that same guy when he's found to be safe.
The circle of life begins at home midst family, then sometimes
it ends away from home, but still in midst of family, now called
friends. They were as much my brothers as if we shared the same
last name. I couldn't have loved them more.
There are so many memories of that island, Guadalcanal; nearly
all bad, but there are some good ones too. The best memory that
I have of that place is of the others that were there with me.
We went there a diverse group of men, some in their forties, some
in their fifties, the younger "old-timers" in their
twenties and thirties who had joined the Corps before the start
of World War II.
Then there were the teen-agers, such as myself who looked up to
anyone who had a lower serial number or who had been a Marine
before my enlistment date, even if only by a day. The Marine Corps
had assigned personal serial numbers in numerical order from the
date of its founding. My serial number was 343848. So anyone who
had a lower number, even 343847 was senior to me.
When we departed from that island the differences had all but
disappeared. We were all pretty much in the same category: older;
wiser; sicker; weaker; quieter; more thoughtful; more considerate
of the guy next to us and all the way down the line.
We had all become "old-timers". The teen-agers walked
next to the forty and fifty-year olds and were recognized as equals.
Rank, though still respected, meant nothing in terms of our personal
relationships with each other. Oh, the officers and the sergeants
still barked out orders, but now it was just the Marine barking,
not the guy inside. He was one of us; individually we were one
of him.
We had all experienced the same hardship and sickness of both
mind and body. We watched helplessly as some of our comrades were
taken from us either permanently or from severe injury. We were
all very much aware of the high degree of possibility that none
of us would make it safely off of that doomed island. We flirted
with and came breathtakingly near the brink of total extinction
but somehow managed to make that one last great effort to hang
on and persevere.
In spite of extreme adversity we came out of it with our heads
held high, our pride intact. The one common thread shared by all
of us for the others was, in a word, respect. We were United States
Marines!
Earlier here I alluded to a poem titled, "The Grassy Knoll",
that was written about the trials and problems encountered on
the first two to three days on the island. Though the actual landings
were virtually unopposed, the several thousand-man contingent
of Japanese soldiers that had been on the island moved inland
and away from the airstrip and beaches. Despite being poorly armed,
they nevertheless were able to provide some resistance to our
movements and their sniper fire was deadly.
Those first three days on Guadalcanal gave us samples of what
was to come. The drudgery of the terrain, jungle and open fields;
the oppression of the environment with its steamy, sauna-like
envelopment that made breathing a laborious endeavor; and the
chicanery of the enemy as well as his tenacity and bitterness.
The misery of living according to what he, the enemy, would allow,
particularly concerning personal hygiene, cleanliness, rest, as
well as nourishment. And not to forget the chilling fear of death,
either to ourselves or to our close friends, that was seldom out
of our minds; and finally, the battle for survival. The poem in
Appendix A details some of it.
APPENDIX "A" - OPEN TO THE GRAVEST
DOUBTS
THE GRASSY KNOLL
By
Jerry McConnell
----
> 'Twas on August 7, back in '42
> We climbed down the nets into boats
> There was an air of sharp apprehension
> We all had a lump in our throats.
> The Captain had briefed us beforehand
> On what was to be our goal -
> A huge mound of earth near the airstrip
> Insignificantly named, "Grassy Knoll."
> With this in our hands, it was offered
> Our aircraft can land on the strip.
> But to many of those who listened,
> It would be their very last trip.
> The ocean spray lapped over the boat
> Cooling faces now sweated with fear.
> Not a word was heard from the bodies there
> Crouched low from the weight of their gear.
> A sudden thump announced our arrival
> As the boat crunched the sand on the beach
> The whine of the bullets were taking their toll
> And more men were thrown into the breach.
> Our target was seven miles distant
> Which at the moment seemed mighty remote.
> And we, who were going to be heroes
> Were donning the horns of the goat.
> The enemy had full intentions
> Of stopping us dead in our tracks.
> There was no way to go but forward
> As the ocean was right at our backs.
> The noise and the tumult were maddening
> And the wounded were screaming with pain.
> But it seemed that with each man who fell there
> Our assault inched forward in gain.
> We fought back away from the beaches
> Into jungle that steamed from the heat.
> And now our troops were determined
> That they weren't about to be beat.
> The enemy men were soon routed
> And our forces were gaining control.
> But much to our later discomfort
> They drew back to the big "Grassy Knoll."
> We plodded our way through the jungle
> Losing two steps for each one we'd gain.
> Our bodies and clothing were sweat-drenched
> As though we'd been soaked in the rain.
> The effects of the day were now showing
> That though tired, we were nervous with fear
> And some men were firing at random
> At each sound they happened to hear.
> With this each man grew more cautious
> And struggled to stay awake,
> Lest he accidentally make noises
> And get himself shot by mistake.
> The night seemed long and endless
> And we gratefully greeted the dawn.
> But the sleepless night had taken its toll
> And our bodies were tired and drawn
> We ate up the last of our rations
> Before we were forced to move on.
> We felt like a legion of doomed men -
> All our water and food were gone.
> Our parched tongues were begging for water
> And on nary a face was a smile,
> And every man among us knew
> We'd get none, for quite a while.
> Each dew drop that perched on a plant leaf
> Was greedily lapped up in thirst.
> And thirst crazed men who once were friends
> Battled to get to it first.
> Discipline fast was fading
> And tempers were getting hot.
> Battle fatigue was fast setting in
> We were a tattered and torn looking lot.
> Then a rumble spread down thru the column
> Sending chills clear down to the soul.
> The dreaded time was approaching ---
> We were nearing the big "Grassy Knoll."
> The battered and weary Marines
> With dirt, sweat and grime on their hide,
> Quickly stopped all the grousing
> And stiffened their backs with pride.
> Hunger and thirst were forgotten
> Men welded together as one.
> Orders were quickly obeyed then ---
> There was a big job to be done.
> Apprehension once more called for caution.
> We crept stealthily forward with care.
> Not a man ever failed to take cover
> Not a man would even dare.
> At last we came into a clearing
> That stretched out for several miles
> The strain of the jungle was succored
> And our faces were wreathed in smiles.
> But our joy was soon turned to sadness
> And we wished for the jungle again,
> 'Cause the heat of the sun was oppressive
> And flesh-eating ant bites brought pain.
> The canteens we carried were emptied
> As men tried to slacken their thirst.
> It looked like the heat would soon kill us
> If the ants didn't do the job first.
> The grass in the clearing was very tall
> With blades like razor-edged knives
> That cut and slashed our bodies and clothes
> And further imperiled our lives.
> Our pack straps cut deep in our shoulders
> >From the weight of the gear stowed inside.
> But with bodies now aching and retching
> We forged on, driven purely by pride.
> We had made our landing at daybreak
> Planning to arrive at our goal by noon.
> It was now fast approaching nightfall
> And we hoped for some light from the moon.
> We moved on, to get out of the clearing
> 'Ere darkness obscured our view
> And plodded on back into the jungle
> Thankful the clearing was through.
> The dense underbrush of the jungle
> Which earlier had near spelled our end,
> Embraced us with all-'round protection
> And now became a good friend.
> Our bodies and souls were so weakened
> And the strain was breaking our backs.
> When the order came to secure there
> Every man fell down in his tracks.
> The jungle so hot in the daytime
> Became freezing cold at night,
> And our weary and battered bodies
> Were shaking from cold and fright.
> A deathly silence prevailed there
> Each man was deep in his thoughts.
> When suddenly the quiet was broken
> By the crackling of rifle shots.
> The crack of a rifle then signaled
> Our scouts had discovered the foe.
> The advance was steady and cautious
> All movements were careful and slow.
> The noise of the fight was increasing
> More rifles were joining the fray.
> It was a time when men came close to God
> And to themselves, they'd silently pray.
> The full fury of war came in minutes
> The cries of the wounded increased.
> But for many a man who fell to the ground
> The toil and suff'ring had ceased.
> The enemy fire was deadly
> Crisscrossing our lines at will.
> Only one thing was on the enemy's mind
> Line 'em up, squeeze 'em off, and kill!
> It was difficult trying to move up
> The cover-less grassy slopes.
> But the withering fire of the enemy guns
> Did little to dampen our hopes.
> For we were determined to win there
> And in spite of tremendous odds
> We moved steadily onward and upward
> While shell-fire tore up the earth in clods.
> At last we were nearing the summit
> Return fire was beginning to thin.
> The tide was completely reversed now
> And we knew we were going to win.
> The last handful of stragglers were captured
> And the air was at last serene.
> It was then we were able to survey
> The bloody and grisly scene.
> The dead and the wounded were littered
> Most everywhere you could see.
> There was sadness in spite of victory
> For dead friends --- and enemy.
> It's hell when you stop to consider
> The price that was dearly paid
> For this lousy chunk of God's green earth
> That on a lonely island laid.
> Many a man paid the maximum price
> He forfeited his life for the toll.
> And all he got forevermore
> Was a plot on the big "Grassy
Knoll."
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