ACT V

LEGACIES

JAPAN'S LEADERS HAD BET THAT IF THEY MADE THE COST OF THE WAR HIGH enough, the United States would relent on its goal of unconditional surrender. The kamikaze represented the logical extension of that policy. The second atomic blast convinced Emperor Hirohito to overrule the other members of the junta and surrender his country. An alternative future became possible. A U.S. invasion of Japan would have had all the savagery of Okinawa or Iwo Jima at five times the scale. The absence of this apocalypse allowed the United States of America to be magnanimous to her defeated foe. Her combat veterans reacted differently, of course, to the peace and prosperity that followed. A man's capacity to let go of his pain, or to recognize the advancement of human civilization that America's victory enabled, was not solely a function of his personality, but also of where, when, and how he had served.

ON THE SAME DAY ADMIRAL NIMITZ ORDERED OFFENSIVE ACTIONS AGAINST the Japanese to cease, August 14, 1945, Lieutenant Colonel Shofner and other senior officers learned that the 1st Marine Division would sail for China at the end of September. The marines had to accept the surrender of the Japanese forces in China; secure the cities controlled by the Japanese and the stockpiles of Japanese weapons and equipment; and turn it all over to the nationalist forces. The communists in China would be denied these key locations and essential equipment. Shofner's enlisted men could be expected to hate this assignment; many of them had already begun to assert that the 1st Marine Division--as the first in and the last out--merited a ticker-tape parade in New York City. Others said Tokyo. A lot of the division's officers could also be expected to covet a quick ticket stateside. They certainly had the points for rotation.

It would have been impossible for any marine or soldier on Okinawa to have served in combat for a longer period than Austin "Shifty" Shofner. He had been there the day it all began. He did not wish, however, to go home. Commanding the 1st Battalion, First Marines, had given him enormous satisfaction. He was a professional marine and he had a black mark on his record. Serving in China would bring him back to where he started and give him another chance to excel. His record changed markedly, however, a few days later. General del Valle awarded Lieutenant Colonel Austin Shofner the Legion of Merit for "exceptionally meritorious conduct." The citation read, in part:

Assuming command of his battalion in the midst of a critical battle, Lieutenant Shofner, by his tactical skill, untiring determination and outstanding personal courage, directed the activities of his unit to the successful completion of numerous assigned tasks. Although his battalion was reduced in efficiency by severe casualties, his continued personal leadership and supervision in the face of fierce enemy resistance . . . was an inspiration to his men in his command.

His regimental commander, Colonel Mason, followed up the medal with an excellent fitness report. Although in a two areas, like "cooperation with others," Shofner's performance dipped to the "very good" category, Mason described him in the comments section as "a particularly aggressive officer of the go-getter type." Shifty was back because he had never given up.

EUGENE SLEDGE REPRESENTED THE MAJORITY OF ENLISTED MARINES WHEN HE wrote in late August, "I got in the Corps to help win the war--it's won and I can't get out any too fast to suit me." The point system for rotation had been changed recently to fit the army's system. Gene received 1 point for each month of service, 1 point for each month of being overseas, 5 points for each decoration, and 5 points for each campaign in which a battle star was issued. A few other factors, like dependent children, added points. The magic number was 85. Gene informed his parents that he had 60 points. "Small compared to Ed, eh?" His older brother was already on his way back home. His buddy R. V. Burgin would depart soon. Gene faced the prospect of being overseas awhile. Remaining on Okinawa would have been acceptable--Gene liked it there and thought so highly of its people he was known to bow to elderly Okinawans.¹ He had fought the IJA too long, though, to forgive the Japanese, whom he called "blackhearted." He fervently hoped he would not be sent to Tokyo. On September 1, he submitted his request for a discharge from the USMC, just in case.

The news of late August and early September--on radio, in newsprint, and in the newsreels--often featured the name of Douglas MacArthur. In a daring move, the general landed at an airfield outside Tokyo in his personal airplane, the word "Bataan" stenciled on its nose, on August 30.² Millions of Japanese soldiers in the vicinity had not yet officially surrendered. He had stepped down onto the tarmac in a khaki uniform, without a jacket, tie, or medals. He wore aviator glasses and carried a corncob pipe. His cap, famous around the world, was that of the field marshal of the Philippines National Army. Standing on Japanese soil, he said simply, "Melbourne to Tokyo was a long road, but this looks like the payoff."³ A few days later, MacArthur presided over the ceremony in which the representatives of Japan's military government signed the instrument of unconditional surrender. The legal documents that they and the leaders of the Allied powers signed had been printed on a rare parchment found amid the wreckage of Manila. The ceremony took place on the deck of the battleship USS Missouri, lying at anchor in Tokyo Bay and surrounded by the vast U.S. fleet. MacArthur's statements affixed no blame; instead he offered a prayer that "peace be now restored to the world." He expressed the hope that "out of the blood and carnage of the past" a better world would emerge. "Nor is it for us here to meet . . . in a spirit of distrust, malice or hatred. But rather it is for us, both victors and vanquished, to rise to that higher dignity which alone befits the sacred purpose we are about to serve."⁴

"Well, now that the war is won," Eugene exclaimed, "who has completely taken over? MacArthur. Nimitz, Halsey, and the Marine generals won the war. Now it's all an army show and the Navy & Corps sit back and smirk while all the Army brass hats eat up the credit." Like many marines, Eugene believed the Central Pacific Campaign, led by Admiral Nimitz, had been more important than the South Pacific Campaign, led by MacArthur.^ao The newsreels of MacArthur wading through the surf to return to the Philippines or presiding over the surrender were therefore interpreted as grandstanding by many marines in the field. "I think the Corps has gotten its share of the credit and so has the Air Force, but not the Navy. We sure have a good Navy too. We all hate to see Nimitz left out in the cold after the fine job he and the Navy have done."

The armed services of the United States, with the enemy defeated, prepared to maintain a military presence in countries across the Pacific, most especially Japan itself. The men of King Company began to receive daily instruction in occupational duties. Eugene not only wondered where he might be sent, but what areas needed to be occupied. "America will keep Okinawa," he hoped, "for it's a good base to watch the nips with. . . . They will behave perfectly and humbly and when they think no one is watching--bingo--they pull some sort of treachery." When each marine in the 3/5 received three new blankets, an overcoat, long underwear, and wool clothing, Gene guessed they would be leaving Okinawa. Soon thereafter he and the other enlisted men learned they were shipping out for duty in China.

R. V. Burgin, who had long figured he would ship out for Texas any day, got the word on September 15, 1945. He was being transferred stateside. "I almost volunteered to go to China with the 1st Division, and I got to thinking about it and I thought, well hell, I've already been through three battles and I go to China and get run over by a damn rickshaw or something, and get killed . . . that doesn't make sense to me, so I'm going home." He said his good- byes and caught a truck south, to the port area. Two weeks later, his company made its own journey to the port.

THE FIRST MARINES DEPARTED FOR CHINA AFTER THE SEVENTH MARINES, WHO had landed ashore as assault troops, and before the Fifth Marines. Lieutenant Colonel Austin Shofner's 1/1 boarded USS Attala and sailed west. They disembarked on October 1 at the port of Taku, on the Hai Ho River. Trucks, many of them formerly the property of the Imperial Japanese Army, took them seven miles upriver to the city of Tangku, which they had been told had a population of a hundred thousand, "and they all must have come out to greet us when we marched into the city. We started marching 4 abreast, but were squeezed single file as all those people pressed in, hugging and kissing us."⁵ The people knew the sacrifices made to defeat Japan and were grateful. Trains took the 1/1 on to Tientsin, a city of more than a million people. The battalion moved along broad, paved streets to an area of the city that had a distinctly Western look. Their quarters had been built by the English and until recently had been used by the Japanese Army as their barracks.

While the Chinese people showered the marines with gratitude and affection, the ancient civilization fascinated them. The fears of U.S. commanders like Shofner that the fifty thousand Japanese troops stationed in his area might choose to fight proved unfounded. The occupation of China began with a few weeks of problems of logistics and supply, which meant that one of Shofner's first concerns was making sure his troops got fed. With the arrival of the Fifth Marine Regiment, the units of the 1st Division spread out in order to protect a few key cities, their ports, and the railways that connected them. The division HQ and the Fifth Regiment took up residence in Peiping, China's ancient capital city. The First Marines remained in Tientsin, and the Seventh guarded Chingwangtao.^ap

In front of the French Municipal Building, the First Marines accepted the surrender of the enemy's military forces stationed in and around Tientsin on October 6. The ceremony took place before a great crowd of Chinese, who filled the streets, the windows, and the rooftops. The officers of the Imperial Army offered their swords to their counterparts and filed off to their camps "to the strains of The Marine's Hymn."⁶ With the formalities completed, the marines began to inspect the bases and barracks of the Japanese. Without any foot-dragging, the Japanese complied with all instructions, surrendering all material not needed for subsistence. Their prompt cooperation earned them the right to continue to administer themselves in their camps. Each tenth soldier was allowed to keep his rifle and five bullets. The United States had determined that the Japanese needed a few rifles to protect themselves from angry mobs of Chinese.

The animosity of the Chinese to the defeated foe grew into an attack on October 13 in Tientsin. The First Marines shoved their way in and separated the two sides. In this and other actions, the United States enforced its policy. The Japanese were going to be repatriated as quickly as possible. In the meantime, retribution for their crimes against the people of China would not be exacted by angry civilians. One afternoon, two well-dressed Japanese gentlemen appeared before Shofner at his headquarters. They had asked to speak with the marine commander and were brought before his desk. They introduced themselves to him, explaining that they had been officials of the Japanese consulate before the surrender. The two men had come to say, " Thank you very, very much for protecting our people."

"This incident shows the difference in honor between my country and yours," Shofner replied. He let that assertion sink in for a moment before he told them about Bataan, Bilibid, Cabanatuan, and Davao. The two diplomats became uncomfortable and eventually declared that they had known nothing of these places. When Shifty decided he had enlightened them sufficiently, he said, "Your thanks are not wanted. You are free to go."⁷

As strange as protecting Japanese soldiers and civilians seemed, the other mission of the marines surpassed it. The protection they extended over the cities, rails, and ports denied these assets to the Chinese communists. The Chinese nationalist government, which had been at war with the communists for many years, was too weak to garrison these important locations with its own troops. The marines guarded as many key sites as they could. Since there weren't enough marines, though, the nationalists left units of Japanese forces in place. The U.S. stance angered the communists, who threatened war but could only afford to engage in the occasional skirmish. Austin Shofner's 1/1 was not only expected to protect the enemy, but to fight alongside them. The world the 1st Marine Division encountered in China had proven to be far stranger than they ever imagined.

THE BRICK BUNGALOW WHERE KING'S MORTAR SECTION TOOK UP RESIDENCE HAD hot and cold running water, electric lights, sofas, and two sunporches. It reminded Eugene Sledge of a college campus, although it had served so long as quarters for servicemen it was, he thought, "haunted by the spirit of Rudyard Kipling."⁸ The warmth of the welcome from the Chinese he described as "a rosy dream and I just can't believe it. Four months ago I was sitting in a foxhole on Okinawa--last night I was sitting in the dining hall of the Wagon Light Hotel eating a five course dinner and listening to Strauss waltzes by a Russian pianist and a violinist. The [dinner] was free and given us by the Chinese government."

The section of Peiping in which he lived boasted the ancient city's best restaurants and theaters. Every other day, he received liberty from two p.m. to ten p.m. A ride in a rickshaw cost him a nickel, so he set off to visit the Forbidden City, to drink his first glass of milk in nineteen months, and to make the most of this great opportunity to experience an ancient and beautiful culture. A lot of his comrades, in the meantime, "spend their time in one of the three cheap imitations of stateside beer joints and know nothing more of Peiping than I do of London." In the Forbidden City, Gene saw a solid gold statue of Buddha standing five feet tall, every inch of its generous girth covered in precious stones. He quickly learned to love Chinese cuisine, started to eat with chopsticks, and escaped "the mess hall with its dehydrated chow." He befriended the owner of one restaurant who spoke English and enjoyed teaching Gene about his culture and language.

Some of the officers of the 3/5 attempted to bar enlisted men from a few choice restaurants. Sledge called them "the Semper Fidelis officers (hooray for me & to hell with you)" and was delighted when their effort failed.^aq "Of course the days on the lines that we all lived together, ate with the same spoon, and used nicknames are now forgotten by the gentlemen and they are once again bathing in the glory the rifleman made on Peleliu and Okinawa." As he related it to his parents, "the Army may have officers like Ed, who did things themselves which brought decorations, but [in] this outfit--the men did the deeds and the officers got the credit." Gene may have been referring to Lieutenant George Loveday, "Shadow," who received the Bronze Star in late October for his actions on June 1 on Okinawa. ⁹ Shadow rotated home soon thereafter. In a book about his experiences, E. B. Sledge later recounted a series of problems with the new officers and NCOs who arrived to replace the vets. He resented taking orders from men who had not served in combat.¹⁰

Gene's duties inside the city were light and he never failed to note something of interest, like the locals' attempts to entice marines with signs that read, "Please come upstairs and drink and cakes." He went into the shops, looking for special presents for his family. "As the nips carried most of the real silk articles to Nippon with them finer things are pretty scarce." He also became friends with a Chinese family and spent much of his free time enjoying their company. The Soong family "opened their hearts to me" and their friendship deepened his respect for the Chinese people. Their friendship helped him start to heal the wounds in his heart.¹¹ As winter came on, he found he could distinguish between someone speaking in Chinese and Japanese. The former had a delightful singsong quality, the latter "is snappy & sounds like chattering with the mouth barely open." The Japanese still living in Peiping, however, tried to stay quiet and off the streets. When the former enemy saw Sledge, they saluted him, regardless of their rank. Whenever Sledge saw "a Nip on the streets," he watched "the Chinese point to them and make a motion of throat cutting."

In late October, Eugene pulled duty in an area between Peiping and Tientsin where the communists were active. Not only was the duty cold and uncomfortable, it was dangerous. On at least one occasion, shots were fired. Although he did not write home about the incident, his letters changed dramatically. The fond wishes of a quick return to Mobile so he could go hunting with his father and horseback riding and so forth gave way to a pointed criticism of U.S. foreign policy.

"In my opinion, the statement that we are staying here till all Japanese have returned home is a farce. As long as we remain here the Communists are afraid to enter Peiping & as the National government is too weak to stop them we are here. There is no reason in the world for us being involved in a Chinese civil war, and every U.S. Marine in this area resents being here and having their lives in danger." The marines had also noticed that the average Chinese civilian found the communist government more appealing than the nationalist.¹² U.S. military officers had explained that a lack of shipping had slowed the process of rotating men stateside. Gene had no patience for such rhetoric. "About 10 days ago 21 American transports took about 20,000 japs home." These shipments had been going on for months. The navy had also aided the nationalist government by ferrying their forces from one area to another. When he missed his brother Edward's wedding, Eugene's patience at this "outrage" ran out. In letter after letter, he began to press his mother to join with other "Marine Mothers" and "put up a squawk to get us point men home." Eugene now had more points toward rotation than anyone in King Company. "If anyone asks you why I'm still in China," he advised his parents, "say I'm looking out for the future of American big business in China."

IN LATE 1945 AUSTIN SHOFNER RECEIVED A LETTER FROM THE WHITE HOUSE. IT had been sent to all Americans who were repatriated prisoners of war.^ar The president of the United States wanted "to welcome you back to your native shores and to express, on behalf of the people of the United States, the joy we feel at your deliverance from the hands of the enemy. It is a source of profound satisfaction that our efforts to accomplish your return have been successful." This letter reached Shofner not at home in Shelbyville, Tennessee, but in Tientsin, China. It indicated that someone other than Lieutenant Colonel Shofner had liberated him. The person credited in the U.S. media for liberating the POWs was General Douglas MacArthur.

Austin Shofner may have wondered when MacArthur was going to put Emperor Hirohito, Japan's absolute ruler, on trial. Shifty "longed to see the Emperor of Japan hang for the atrocities he allowed his troops to visit on their POWs and their occupied nations." Many Americans felt as he did. The first trials of war criminals, begun in December in Tokyo, had not included Hirohito. General MacArthur had decided the emperor was "a complete Charlie McCarthy."⁺ MacArthur quietly began to convince Washington that Hirohito should not stand trial for war crimes. He also remade Japan.¹³

"From the moment of my appointment as supreme commander," General Douglas MacArthur later wrote, "I had formulated the policies I intended to follow, implementing them through the Emperor and the machinery of the Imperial Government . . . the reforms I contemplated were those which would bring Japan abreast of modern progressive thought and action. First destroy the military power. Punish war criminals. Build the structure of representative government. Modernize the constitution. Hold free elections. Enfranchise the women. Release the political prisoners. Liberate the farmers. Establish a free labor movement. Encourage a free economy. Abolish police oppression. Develop a free and responsible press. Liberalize ⁺Charlie McCarthy was a wooden puppet. The ventriloquist who operated him had a world-famous comedy routine at this time. education. Decentralize political power. Separate church from state."¹⁴ The unprecedented changes MacArthur wrought went beyond what he had been authorized to do. At its core, though, his program represented the will of his people: revenge cost more than humanity could pay.

SIDNEY PHILLIPS'S SEMESTER ENDED IN LATE DECEMBER 1945. THE V-12PROGRAM had been canceled. He returned to Mobile with two years of college credits and the opportunity to finish his degree because passage of the GI Bill meant that Uncle Sam would pick up the tab. Feeling a little flush, he "spent every penny I had to buy Mary a watch, and she pouted, and said she wanted a ring." After Christmas, he took a quick trip back to North Carolina for December 31, when his enlistment expired. Sid Phillips received an Honorable Discharge from the United States Marine Corps for four years of faithful service.

THE END OF 1945 FOUND MIKE MICHEEL SERVING AT NAS MIAMI. THE NAVY, like all of the service branches, had begun to scale back its manpower dramatically to fit a postwar world. It knew the ones to keep, though, and had promoted Micheel to lieutenant commander. He settled into a routine as the head of the ground school. His CO described him as "aggressive in a friendly fashion that encourages friendship with his associates and facilitates working with others." Early in 1946 he got a phone call from his girlfriend, Jean Miller. She had been in a car accident. With plenty of rest, she would make a full recovery. Her doctor had suggested she escape the icy winter in Philadelphia and go someplace warm to recuperate. She thought Miami would be just the place and asked him if he thought that was a good idea. "Oh, sure," he said. Jean came down to Miami and stayed at a hotel on the beach.

THE 5TH MARINE DIVISION RETURNED TO CAMP PENDLETON IN DECEMBER 1945 and was disbanded. Lena Basilone was still stationed there, so she would have heard from the marines of her late husband's unit that the navy had known prior to the invasion of Iwo Jima that the seventy-two days of bombing by the B-24s had produced "negligible results" and that the number of hardened enemy positions had continued to increase in the months leading up to D-day.¹⁵ The navy had still cut the length of the preinvasion bombardment. There were angry men in the 5th Division. Of the fifty-seven men in her late husband's machine-gun section, twenty- nine had been wounded and thirteen had been killed. The fate of the five smiling men in her wedding party could hardly have been worse. Johnny had been buried near his friends Edward Johnston and Jack Wheeler. Rinaldo Martini and Clinton Watters had both been seriously wounded. Clinton's leg healed fine. Rinaldo lost an arm on Iwo Jima.

The duty her Johnny had once fled now fell to her. At the invitation of the secretary of the navy, she traveled to Beaumont, Texas, on December 21. She christened a new destroyer, USS Basilone, and gave an interview on the radio.¹⁶

THE FLOOD OF REPLACEMENT MARINES ARRIVING IN CHINA REACHED ELEVEN thousand by mid-January 1946, enabling the remaining "60 point men," like Eugene Sledge, to ship out at the same time as the "50 point men." It took three weeks to cross the Pacific. His discharge at Camp Lejeune in mid-February caught him in the midst of an automatic promotion to corporal. He did not care. The USMC checked his belongings to ensure he had the clothing and uniforms to which he was entitled, but nothing more. He had to turn in his cartridge belt, canteen, haversack, fork, knife, spoon, knapsack, and "1 can meat with cover." Gene had served for one year, eleven months, and three days. The corps paid him the amount remaining in his account, added an extra $100 for mustering out, and handed him an Honorable Service Lapel Button. Asked for his future plans, Eugene said he planned to go to college, but remained undecided as to job preference. The course of study that most interested him was history.

ON FEBRUARY 5, 1946, LIEUTENANT COLONEL AUSTIN SHOFNER FLEW HOME FROM China by way of India. As a senior officer, he was allowed to bring home one hundred pounds of baggage free of charge. The baggage allowance and the earlier reimbursement for his personal items had not settled the score, according to Shifty, however, and one of his first orders of business was to submit another claim for the items he had had to abandon on the dock on Olongapo in December 1941. He figured the USMC owed him another $600. The corps reviewed the paperwork, disallowed the ivory statues of Chinese women, and eventually paid Shifty another $410.

Home on leave before departing for his next duty station, Shifty went to Chattanooga to visit his alma mater, the University of Tennessee.¹⁷ He had to go see his old football coach, Bob Neyland. Neyland had returned to coach the Volunteers after serving as a brigadier general in the army during the war. Shofner had been a starter on the team in 1936 and 1937, during some disappointing seasons.¹⁸ They sat together in the coach's office with some of the current players and Shofner told him about his long war. Any expressions of disgust at MacArthur would not have found a receptive ear with the coach, who had served under MacArthur years earlier as an assistant football coach at West Point. General MacArthur, though, did not define the story of Shifty Shofner, who had gone from one end of the war to the other. Neyland wondered how he had survived all of it. "General," Shifty said, "I just did like you said we should do." Neyland looked astonished at this. Shifty continued. "You always told us to make our breaks on the field and when we forced a break, to score . . . your words kept me alive."

MARY HOUSTON WANTED TO GET MARRIED ON HER TWENTY- FIRST BIRTHDAY, April 15, 1946. Sidney Phillips said, "Yes, dear." On the appointed day the Trinity Episcopal Chapel in Mobile was bedecked with Easter lilies. Mary wore "a bolero suit of periwinkle blue."¹⁹ Sid asked Eugene Sledge to be his best man. The ceremony began at five p.m."Thank goodness the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor," Sidney thought. "It kept the boys away from Mary until I could grow up." Sid went on to medical school and became an MD in 1952. As a general practitioner, he spent a career serving a small community outside the city of Mobile until he retired in 1991. Mary and he had three children. He lost Mary in 2000, four days before their fifty-fourth wedding anniversary. "I will be OK and get over her death in about 25 more years." These days he works outside, tending his property. On Fridays he meets with the "lunch bunch," all of them veterans, "and we tell lies." Listening to him recount his tales, one could easily assume that his service in the war was a lark. He has always believed "the Marine Corps had been really good to me."

IN THE SPRING OF 1946, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER VERNON MICHEEL TRAVELED home to Iowa. He went to see his uncle, who ran the family's dairy operation, and asked, "What happens if I come back? Can I implement some of my ideas?"

"Not unless you got more money in it than me," said his uncle. That was not encouraging. Mike had also sounded out Jean about returning to Iowa. She had "decided Mike and I would be pen pals if he moved there." Mike returned to Miami and eventually applied for a transfer out of the naval reserves and into the regular navy, which was approved. Vernon Micheel and Jean Miller married in August 1946 in her hometown, Philadelphia. He served his country for another thirty-one years, rising to the rank of captain and in a variety of capacities, including as the commander of air wings of jet fighters. Over the years, he received more medals for his service in World War II, including four Air Medals, a Distinguished Flying Cross for his leadership in the attack on Manila Bay, and a Gold Star in lieu of a second DFC for landing his SB2C aboard Hornet with a big hole in her wing from an AA gunner on Peleliu. All of the men with whom he served aboard USS Enterprise and USS Hornet--black shoe and brown shoe--received the Presidential Unit Citations. Unknown to Mike, his old skipper, Ray Davis, had recommended him for a second Navy Cross for his service on Guadalcanal. "With utter disregard for his own safety," Ray wrote, "he carried out all assigned missions unflinchingly." The dairyman from Iowa has had a distinguished career in the United States Navy.

For more than sixty years, Jean Miller has watched her husband get quiet whenever the talk came to the war. "He could not say 'I did this,' or 'we did that.' He would just sit and listen to others." Still, his job has required him to put on his dress uniform on certain occasions and it comes with a lot of ribbons. Captain Micheel's ribbons tend to elicit questions from men who knew their significance. Whenever navy pilots hear a little of his background, they have to ask, You flew at Midway? Yes, he replies. Follow-up questions, Jean knows, "get a yes or no." Avid students of the Battle of Midway press further, knowing that several bomb hits from Scouting Six's first sortie on June 4 remain unattributed. His friend Hal Buell calls Mike's refusal to say that his bomb hit the Japanese carrier Kaga modesty. Mike calls it fair.

AUSTIN SHOFNER FOUND HIS FUTURE SOMEWHAT IN DOUBT IN THE IMMEDIATE postwar years because of the uncertainty over the future of his beloved Marine Corps. While he served at the marine base in Quantico, Virginia, the United States Congress debated the idea of the "unification" of the armed services. In general, the army supported the idea of creating a single Defense Department, while the navy opposed it. General Archer Vandegrift, the commandant, believed the bill would result in the marines' "subjugation to the status of uselessness and servility." The great hero of the Battle of Guadalcanal told Congress, " The bended knee is not a tradition of our Corps."²⁰ He preferred to have it disbanded than to see it subsumed.

Vandegrift won his key point in July 1947, when President Truman signed the National Security Act, which established the Marine Corps' special amphibious function. Only two divisions of the six that fought the war survived. The 1st Marine Division, the last marine division to return from overseas duty, returned in 1947 and made its home at Camp Pendleton.

That same year, Austin Shofner married his college sweetheart, the former Miss Kathleen King of Knoxville, Tennessee. During the next twelve years, Shifty would hold a variety of positions, including as the naval attache at the American embassy in Peru and as a member of the staff of the chief of naval operations in Washington. More awards came to him as the years passed, including a Bronze Oak Leaf Cluster in lieu of a second Silver Star for gallantry in action on Corregidor in April of 1942, and the "Special Breast Order of the Cloud and Banner" from the National Government of the Republic of China. He also wore the Presidential Unit Citation due all men who served with the 1st Marine Division on Okinawa.

Shofner received a promotion to the rank of brigadier general upon his retirement in 1959. He and his wife and their five sons returned to Shelbyville, Tennessee, where he became active in numerous businesses. They would lose one son in a tragedy and watch the other four become men of great achievements. Most of the men with whom Shofner escaped wrote accounts of their time as guerrillas on Mindanao. Shifty, who had his daily diary, never published an account.

After the Korean War, Shifty received a phone call from Private First Class Arthur Jones, who had served as his message runner on Corregidor in 1942. They arranged to meet. Jones said he still had the plaque of the Fourth Marines that Captain Shofner had entrusted to him on the day Corregidor surrendered. Jones had been sent back to a camp in Japan to work and had been liberated in August of 1945. He had been close to death many times. Keeping the plaque safe had been part of what sustained him. Arthur Jones wanted to give it to Austin to complete his mission. Shofner loved the story and the gesture, but he said the plaque did not belong to him. It belonged to the Marine Corps. They arranged to give it to the marines' museum. At the small ceremony, Jones said, " The plaque has a story which tells about the discipline, loyalty, spirit and stamina and fortitude of Marines...."²¹ Shifty declared, "Once a Marine, always a Marine."

Brigadier General Austin "Shifty" Shofner passed away in 1999, a few years after his beloved "Koky." At his funeral, the pastor concluded with a fact about him that his neighbors all knew. In his conversations with them, he liked to ask, "Is there anything I can do for you?" Following his death, the people of Shelbyville erected a memorial marker to him at 615 N. Main Street.²² The large metal sign with small letters only just manages to outline the military career of Shifty Shofner.

EUGENE SLEDGE'S MEMORIES OF COMBAT DISTURBED AND PAINED HIM. THE gratitude of the Chinese people for their liberation and the love of the Soong family had helped wash away some of his anguish and grief. Being reunited with his family meant everything to him. Attending Government Street Presbyterian Church with his family, that long-awaited moment, however, did not mark his return to an easy and joyful life. When at last he went hunting with his father, he realized he had no interest in it. " The war," E. B. Sledge would later write, "had changed me more than I realized."²³ He labored under what he called a "severe depression."²⁴ He spent much of 1946 writing a detailed account of his war, using the notes he had kept in combat and the longer pieces he had recorded while on Pavuvu and in China.²⁵

Adding to the psychic trauma he had suffered in Peleliu and Okinawa, Eugene found himself "totally unprepared for how rapidly most Americans who did not experience combat would forget about the war."²⁶ As for a career, he considered following in his father's footsteps. He learned that the failing grades he had incurred in the V-12 program in order to serve his country now prevented him from attending medical school.²⁷ It was a bitter irony, since only by enduring combat had he returned to his interest in science. He studied business administration at Alabama Polytechnic Institute (now Auburn University) and tried his hand as an insurance salesman. His brother Edward, on the other hand, made a good start in a career upon his return. It seemed Ed was, as he had always been, one step ahead of Eugene.

Most every man Gene met in the late 1940s described himself as a veteran. He noticed that "even those who had been mail clerks in Noumea" had a lot to say about their war. Their complaints, and civilians' inability to distinguish between "rear echelon troops" and "combat troops," galled him. The sheltered people had no idea. "It has always seemed a bit strange to me," he wrote a friend, "that the guy who got a million-dollar wound and was evacuated was considered a decorated hero, whereas his buddy who never got hit but stayed in it until his mind broke from stress is listed as a non-battle casualty." The nightmares would not abate. Working in insurance brought him no joy, either.

At a friend's wedding, he met Jeanne Arceneaux, also a native of Mobile. Their relationship grew quickly and they married in March of 1952, less than a year later. Although he did not describe his war to her, Gene's aunt warned her never to wake her husband by touching him--he would instantly leap to her throat. Jeanne learned to put her lips close to his ear and whisper, "Sledgehammer." His eyes would snap open.²⁸ She also noticed that he always carried a canteen of water with him on outings. "Why do you do that?" she asked.

"Well, we got so terribly thirsty the first day on Peleliu that it just seared into my brain that I would never be without water within reach the rest of my life."²⁹

He eventually went back to school to study science, earning a PhD in biology from the University of Florida. Mastering the data of his new career, he found, allowed him to escape the nightmares. As the years passed, Gene noticed many combat veterans, including his older brother, struggle with their memories in ways that made their lives and their families' lives more difficult. E.B. became a professor of biology at the University of Montevallo in northern Alabama. In his spare time he collected books about World War II and the Marine Corps. He continued to fill pages with his recollections of combat.

In 1968, Sledge almost gave up writing. He had recently received the muster rolls for K/3/5, and reading those names and seeing the entries of when and where his friends were wounded or killed hurt him. Although it felt like he had "finally reached the end of my tether," he could not stop. As he later explained to R. V. Burgin, "My feeling of obligation to our buddies to tell it like it was wrote me on--often against my will."³⁰ The books he read failed to convey the horror of war because they too often relied upon official records and quoted men who had not served in a rifle company.³¹

In the next decade, the 1970s, Japan emerged as a powerful economy, a stable democracy, and a staunch U.S. ally. Americans tended not to celebrate the wonderful transformation they had done so much to create, nor to recognize the tremendous perseverance and hard work of the Japanese to raise their nation from the ashes. Americans regarded Japan as an economic rival. In 1972, the United States gave the island of Okinawa back to Japan. Japan considered the return of Okinawa the final act of the war. Two years later, the former commanding officer of Second Lieutenant Hiroo Onoda of the Imperial Japanese Army flew back to the Philippines to assure Onoda that Japan had indeed capitulated (not surrendered) and to order him to lay down his weapon. Lieutenant Onoda walked out of the jungle in 1974 in his uniform. He was armed with several hand grenades, his rifle, and five hundred rounds of ammunition. In the twenty-nine years since the war ended he had exchanged fire with local Filipinos on several occasions and killed about thirty people. He returned to Japan a hero and wrote a book.³²

In December of 1980 E. B. Sledge completed his manuscript. He described it as "not a history, but a personal narrative of combat."³³ His narrative candidly revealed the riot of fear and the wrenching dehumanization he had endured. Both he and Jeanne, who turned his handwriting into a typed draft, hoped it would encourage leaders not to use war as a means of resolving conflicts.³⁴ An editor helped cut the draft down from the more than eight hundred typed pages. E.B. wanted to entitle it Band of Brothers, but it was changed to With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa. As it went off to press, he wrote his friends R. V. Burgin and Stumpy Stanley to say: "Now I'm ready to lay down the pen. Now, I think I've earned the privilege of trying to forget. I fulfilled an obligation I felt to write it all down in memory of buddies living and dead. Now, I want to enjoy the happiness of those wonderful K/3/5 friendships at the reunions, and forget what I tried to remember for so long."³⁵ That same year he attended the annual reunion of the 1st Marine Division for the first time. He saw R. V. Burgin, Snafu, and so many comrades dear to his heart. They told stories of the war, used nicknames not heard in decades, and caught up on one another's lives. Burgin had made a career with the U.S. Postal Service in Texas; Snafu, with a lumber company in Louisiana.

On the plane ride home from the reunion, Gene cried. He loved his wife, his two sons, and his life, but saying good-bye to King Company "felt like I was leaving home." He was fiercely proud of having served with K/3/5 even as he hated the war. Riven by that contradiction and propelled by a pervasive honesty, Sledge's memoir has become the most important personal account of the Pacific War ever written. The success of the book made it difficult for him to continue to attend reunions. He remained in touch with his friends and enjoyed rehashing the war with Bill Leyden. Seeking to help them both come to terms with their experience, Leyden wrote, "Our comrades that lost their lives were loved by their Creator just as much as the survivors. . . ." Eugene Bondurant Sledge passed away March 3, 2001. A year later, Jeanne Sledge published another section of the original manuscript entitled China Marine.

THE LEGEND OF MANILA JOHN BASILONE GREW IMMEASURABLY ON AUGUST 12, 1946, when the secretary of the navy awarded him the Navy Cross posthumously. Awarded for his service on Iwo Jima, the citation began, "In the forefront of the assault at all times, he pushed forward with dauntless courage and iron determination . . . [and] contributed materially to the advance of his company during the early critical period of the assault." The recommendation had been written soon after the battle by a lieutenant in Charlie Company who had landed with John on Red Beach Two.³⁶ The medal placed him in an elite pantheon of American military heroes. Lena accepted it in a ceremony in December of that year, wearing the dark clothes of a woman in mourning. She was always careful "never to say or do anything that would tarnish her husband's name."³⁷

Lena was discharged from the corps the following January. She went back home to Oregon for a time and later worked as a secretary. As a woman of limited means, she was unable to attend the second burial of John's body at Arlington National Cemetery in March 1948, although she had chosen it for him.³⁸ Nor could she witness the parade that the city of Raritan staged in memory of John in June. Scores of civic and community groups marched past a crowd of ten thousand. As the highlight of the celebration, John's mother, Dora, unveiled a statue of him at the American Legion Triangle, where three of the city's important streets intersected.³⁹

Lena came east in 1949. She met John's parents and his sister Mary in Boston for the commissioning ceremony of USS Basilone in July.⁴⁰ John's widow served as the ship's sponsor but she did not speak. The captain pronounced USS Basilone "ready for any service demanded by our country in peace or war." Lena next paid a visit to her husband's hometown and his family. Dora and her daughters showed her the statue of him. She brought them a few pictures of the wedding. Their meeting was strained, though, as the earlier meeting had been. They did not know her or trust her. She had married him after he had become famous and, as Sal and Dora saw it, at a time when John should have been closer to home. The Basilones had heard the news of their son's death by a reporter, who had arrived at their house before the telegram. The reporter had been looking for a quote. A radio announcement followed the telegram's arrival by a few minutes. The first visitors and more reporters began showing up soon thereafter. The family's grief had been played out in the media and in front of most of Raritan. The challenge of sharing their Johnny came again on the day of Lena's visit. To commemorate their meeting, the local newspaper took a photo of them all admiring John's portrait.⁴¹

Making the most of her trip, Lena met a friend and they went south to Washington and visited John's grave in Arlington National Cemetery. After lunch, she and her friend Lauretta hailed a cab. Taking a chance, Lauretta asked the cabdriver "if he knew of an American Legion Post in Arlington named after John Basilone?"⁴² The cabbie smiled knowingly. "Yes," he said, "there was such a post."

"We've been trying to find it," said Lauretta, "but it isn't in the phone book and we haven't been able to trace it."

" That's easy," the cabbie said and laughed. "I'm a member of it myself."

"Well," said Lauretta,"this is Mrs. Basilone." The words snapped his head around. Vance introduced himself to the two ladies and then set about creating a warm welcome. That night, the John Basilone American Legion Post put together a reception for Lena at their temporary headquarters in Arlington's Jefferson Firehouse. She met marines who had fought at Iwo Jima and elsewhere. Of all the friends they had lost, of all the brave marines they had known, they had dedicated their post to him. They also had contributed money to pay for the statue of him in Raritan, a picture of which hung on the wall. She was their guest of honor. Lena, who "had come in search of a memory," had found it. It was the last time Lena traveled east.

In the years that followed, John's legacy continued to touch her, as it did the Basilone family.⁴³ It became clear to one and all that America would never forget Gunnery Sergeant John Basilone. Memorials to him have been created every few years. For his family and to his widow, these tributes were just and fitting. In John's case, though, while the legacy endured, the legend grew.

In late 1962 John's sister Phyllis Basilone Cutter published a multi-installment history of his life in the local newspaper, the Somerset Messenger-Gazette. Her heart was in the right place. The Cold War had prompted her to remind Americans "that no matter . . . how desperate our situation is, somehow, somewhere, in this great melting pot, there arises a great American to give life and hope to a tired and weary people, and to inspire and lead them from the bitter depths of despair to the heights of victory by his shining example of raw courage and dedicated devotion to his country."

Based upon her memory, her talks with some of his friends, and a loose interpretation of the newspaper articles in her family's scrapbook, Phyllis created a bigger and better John Basilone. Her brother had been the U.S. Army's undefeated boxing champion in Manila. He had run around Guadalcanal for two days barefoot, singlehandedly winning the battle. He had been such a star on the bond tour that the Marine Corps had wanted to keep him on it indefinitely. John had had to fight to get off it. He had returned to a combat unit knowing full well that he was going to die in combat, but went anyway. For the most part, Phyllis's brothers and sisters agreed with this portrait of him.⁴⁴ Written about a man who once joked about being "a bull thrower," her article opened the floodgates.

Every few years since Phyllis Cutter's series of articles in the Somerset Messenger-Gazette , a writer of military history had found John's story as told by Phyllis Cutter. The articles bear such titles as " The Perfect Marine Who Begged to Die" and "Medal of Honor Winner Rejected a Hero's Life for a Hero's Death."⁴⁵ The legend of Manila John Basilone has grown beyond all proportions. A newer and as yet unproven claim holds that General Douglas MacArthur called John Basilone "a one man army."

In 1981, the students of the Raritan-Bridgewater Elementary School Band wrote a letter to the borough council, asking why there was no longer a parade in honor of John Basilone. The members of the council thought the parade was a good idea and formed a parade committee.⁴⁶ The first parade, somewhat modest, formed up at the railroad tracks, took a little jog around La Grange Street, marched all the way down Somerset, and ended at the statue of Manila John. The members of the Raritan-Bridgewater Elementary School Band proudly marched. The John Basilone Memorial Parade has grown ever since.

By the time the parade became an annual tradition, Lena Basilone had stopped attending public memorials to her husband. She also refused to speak with most of the authors who wrote about him. She made her career as a secretary. After she retired, she remained active in her church in Lakewood, California, and with a veterans' support group. She never remarried. When, late in life, Lena was asked why she had remained a widow, she said, "Once I had the best, I couldn't settle for second best."⁴⁷ Lena Basilone passed away in June of 1999 and was buried wearing her wedding ring.