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What was our predominant motivation for enlisting? It was anger. Even more than duty, I’d say. The only information we had was that it was a sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. No warning at all. So the American people were really angry. It’s something that almost can’t be put into words—how infuriated we were as a country.
Someplace in the Midwest we stopped for coal and water. On the other side of the tracks was a large factory where a lot of girls waved at us and wished us luck. Soon a truck pulled alongside the train with box after box of sweet cider for the Marines on the train. The girls at the factory had all chipped in to buy us the cider. We all yelled our thanks to them, and they waved their hankies out the window at us as we pulled out of the station.
I was praying all the while, just trying to hold on. I was raised in the Christian church and had gone to Sunday school as a boy. You had to—it wasn’t optional. But I’d say my faith wasn’t really unshakeable until much later in life. The idea of faith is that you hope He’s real. But faith beyond that is that you know He’s real. And I now know that God is real.
You couldn’t see anything. They couldn’t see anything either. You can sense it. Don’t forget, you’re no longer a civilian. You develop senses that you don’t think you have. You can tell when someone is close. You were like an animal really. You’re in a war area, a place where you can get killed. You have to be on the alert. Again like an animal. You don’t even have to speak, all you have to do is touch somebody and they know what you’re saying. You’re in a whole different world.
Sure, there was still fear. Sure, I prayed. I’d pray to see Florence again. I grew up going to church and Sunday school and had all the faith in God in the world. But the way I figured it was that God had a lot of people to take care of, so I never wanted to bore him with any long prayers. I just always said, “God, my life is in your hands. Take care of me.” I used that same prayer all the way through the war.
There’s a phrase, “going Asiatic,” it means to go off your rocker a bit. After you’ve been in a few battles, it can put you in a certain frame of mind.
After we were married, Recie came down to New River (Camp Lejeune) with me. One night we went out for dinner in Winston-Salem. I was in my uniform complete with my Guadalcanal patch. We were in the restaurant, waiting on our order, when I noticed a middle-aged guy sitting four or five tables away. He was staring at me. Most of us who had come back, we were yellow-looking from taking all that Atabrine. I guess maybe I look obnoxious to him, I thought. I told my wife, “That guy over there has got something on his mind. If he starts over here towards us, you get up and leave and get away from the
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In the middle of that battle, I did the only thing I could think of. I dropped to my knees and asked God for help. There was nobody around me, but I’d swear somebody touched me. There was an actual physical presence, just like somebody put his hand on my shoulder. He told me to get up, stand up, go forward, and that he was going to take care of me.
The Japs weren’t on the island. They were in the island. All over the islands were these caves.
All the draftees’ serial numbers started with nine. I wasn’t a draftee. My serial number started with five. So if ever I started bitching about something, they’d ride you a little and say, “Shit, you asked for this shit.” You get to the point where you don’t complain anymore.
It was tough to leave the guys. You trained all those kids. You got so you knew them so well. They told you all about their families, everything. I had lost a lot of them, almost half of my platoon, and now I had to leave the other half behind. It hurts. It was a brotherhood. Even if the government decides someday there won’t be a Marine Corps, it’s still going to live.
In December 1943, there were 235 men in K company. The amount who ended up alive and well at the end of Okinawa was nineteen.
