At this time, I would like to rejoin my series of articles on World War II. Not only do I believe that the experiences of my grandparents' generation put into perspective the "troubles" we have today, but let's face it - these stories are darn interesting!
Several weeks ago I introduced you to Carl, a Monroe native who was born in Columbus County in 1923. As was common during the Great Depression, Carl's father relocated the family to Monroe, in order to find work. Certainly, there was no such thing as unemployment benefits during this time.
As a young man, Carl worked at the Swiss Colony. It was one day during his shift that he decided on a career with the U.S. Marines. In his words, "So the first part of January 1943 (Archie, a friend of mine, and I) signed up. So we took our first examination and they shipped us straight to Milwaukee and swore us in. Then we had to take another examination and Archie didn't pass, so he couldn't go into the Marines, but he later went in the Army."
As a true testament to the times, consider these next words: "After I passed my exams they swore me in, and that same afternoon I left for Chicago. I never got home! I got down to Chicago and was waiting for a train; it was about 9 or 10 at night, waiting to go west. I called my mother and told her I was on my way, I wasn't going to get home. I never got home for three and a half years!"
For three and a half years, Carl never saw his home or family. As soon as he was sworn in, the Marines shipped him straight to training. In California, Carl was assigned to the 5th Marine Division Pioneer Battalion. Every division had a Pioneer Battalion and, Carl says, "Our job was to unload ships and move supplies to the front lines." As deployment loomed closer, the 5th Marine Division was transferred from California to Hawaii, where they practiced countless landings.
Finally, preparation was complete - the 5th Marine Division was set to deploy. Hundreds of ships weighed anchor, and the massive American armada steamed toward Iwo Jima, or so Carl learned once under way. After 40 days of sailing, the Marines reached their destination.
In preparation for the invasion, Iwo Jima was bombed and pummeled. Carl described rolling barrages, "I've never seen anything like it." At 9 a.m. on Feb. 19, 1945, the first wave of U.S. Marines hit the shore. Initially, all was quiet - some even thought the Japanese had been wiped out by the bombardment.
Two hours later, at 11 a.m., Carl's Pioneer Battalion hit the shore, and all hell broke loose. The Japanese, having the advantage of strategic, well-fortified positions, unleashed fury on the Marines. Anyone caught in the open, which was everywhere, was a target. Movement was not possible without stepping on or over the dead and wounded. Young men unable to move were crushed by incoming landing craft, which also were targeted and destroyed. Literally, a direct hit could vaporize a landing craft; steel, munitions and men simply ceased to exist.
The onslaught forced the larger Navy ships to move offshore, and for the Marines caught on the beach, there was an initial sense of abandonment. But, despite a total lack of cover from imminent danger, order ensued. Carl described how, as a Pioneer, it was his job to offload supplies from incoming ships, and then place the wounded onboard. Despite mortars, shells and the omnipresent rifle fire, the Pioneers did their job. Supplies reached the front lines, and wounded men were ferried off the island. Carl described the crack of a rifle bullet, how it would crack when it passed close to your head. A man would duck by instinct, but it would've already been too late. Says Carl, "I never heard so many rifle shots." Miraculously, he never got hit.
Somehow, the Marines did their jobs. To me, it is incomprehensible - how does a person put aside such atrocious danger, and stand up to do his job? Carl showed me a picture, taken on the beach of Iwo Jima. There is a long line of men, which leads from the incoming ships, passing supplies to the dumps on the beach. Later, the supplies would be moved to the front lines or inland dumps. This is how the Marines offloaded the ships - under constant fire and no protection at all. Wearing only khaki fatigues as armor, the men were absolutely vulnerable. Folks, consider this:
Carl worked on the line, passing supplies along to the next man. Suddenly and without warning, someone would crumble over, hit by a bullet. Instinctively, the entire line would duck. After a few moments, someone would yell to get up and get moving, someone would fill the space of the fallen man, and supplies would continue to get offloaded. After awhile, someone else would get hit, another man would fall dead or wounded.
This vicious and indiscriminate cycle would continue, but ships got offloaded, supplies got moved, wounded men were evacuated, and the Americans gained a toehold on Iwo Jima. The Marines did their jobs, starting with the individual man, like Carl. Darkness brought an eerie quiet, a false sense of security. In their foxholes, men kept watch in shifts. At least for Carl, sleep did not come that first night on Iwo Jima.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Several weeks ago I introduced you to Carl, a Monroe native who was born in Columbus County in 1923. As was common during the Great Depression, Carl's father relocated the family to Monroe, in order to find work. Certainly, there was no such thing as unemployment benefits during this time.
As a young man, Carl worked at the Swiss Colony. It was one day during his shift that he decided on a career with the U.S. Marines. In his words, "So the first part of January 1943 (Archie, a friend of mine, and I) signed up. So we took our first examination and they shipped us straight to Milwaukee and swore us in. Then we had to take another examination and Archie didn't pass, so he couldn't go into the Marines, but he later went in the Army."
As a true testament to the times, consider these next words: "After I passed my exams they swore me in, and that same afternoon I left for Chicago. I never got home! I got down to Chicago and was waiting for a train; it was about 9 or 10 at night, waiting to go west. I called my mother and told her I was on my way, I wasn't going to get home. I never got home for three and a half years!"
For three and a half years, Carl never saw his home or family. As soon as he was sworn in, the Marines shipped him straight to training. In California, Carl was assigned to the 5th Marine Division Pioneer Battalion. Every division had a Pioneer Battalion and, Carl says, "Our job was to unload ships and move supplies to the front lines." As deployment loomed closer, the 5th Marine Division was transferred from California to Hawaii, where they practiced countless landings.
Finally, preparation was complete - the 5th Marine Division was set to deploy. Hundreds of ships weighed anchor, and the massive American armada steamed toward Iwo Jima, or so Carl learned once under way. After 40 days of sailing, the Marines reached their destination.
In preparation for the invasion, Iwo Jima was bombed and pummeled. Carl described rolling barrages, "I've never seen anything like it." At 9 a.m. on Feb. 19, 1945, the first wave of U.S. Marines hit the shore. Initially, all was quiet - some even thought the Japanese had been wiped out by the bombardment.
Two hours later, at 11 a.m., Carl's Pioneer Battalion hit the shore, and all hell broke loose. The Japanese, having the advantage of strategic, well-fortified positions, unleashed fury on the Marines. Anyone caught in the open, which was everywhere, was a target. Movement was not possible without stepping on or over the dead and wounded. Young men unable to move were crushed by incoming landing craft, which also were targeted and destroyed. Literally, a direct hit could vaporize a landing craft; steel, munitions and men simply ceased to exist.
The onslaught forced the larger Navy ships to move offshore, and for the Marines caught on the beach, there was an initial sense of abandonment. But, despite a total lack of cover from imminent danger, order ensued. Carl described how, as a Pioneer, it was his job to offload supplies from incoming ships, and then place the wounded onboard. Despite mortars, shells and the omnipresent rifle fire, the Pioneers did their job. Supplies reached the front lines, and wounded men were ferried off the island. Carl described the crack of a rifle bullet, how it would crack when it passed close to your head. A man would duck by instinct, but it would've already been too late. Says Carl, "I never heard so many rifle shots." Miraculously, he never got hit.
Somehow, the Marines did their jobs. To me, it is incomprehensible - how does a person put aside such atrocious danger, and stand up to do his job? Carl showed me a picture, taken on the beach of Iwo Jima. There is a long line of men, which leads from the incoming ships, passing supplies to the dumps on the beach. Later, the supplies would be moved to the front lines or inland dumps. This is how the Marines offloaded the ships - under constant fire and no protection at all. Wearing only khaki fatigues as armor, the men were absolutely vulnerable. Folks, consider this:
Carl worked on the line, passing supplies along to the next man. Suddenly and without warning, someone would crumble over, hit by a bullet. Instinctively, the entire line would duck. After a few moments, someone would yell to get up and get moving, someone would fill the space of the fallen man, and supplies would continue to get offloaded. After awhile, someone else would get hit, another man would fall dead or wounded.
This vicious and indiscriminate cycle would continue, but ships got offloaded, supplies got moved, wounded men were evacuated, and the Americans gained a toehold on Iwo Jima. The Marines did their jobs, starting with the individual man, like Carl. Darkness brought an eerie quiet, a false sense of security. In their foxholes, men kept watch in shifts. At least for Carl, sleep did not come that first night on Iwo Jima.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
