Editor's note: Today's column is the fourth in a series by John Waelti on the American Atomic Veterans.
"The trail of death didn't end with Iwo Jima."
- James Bradley, son of John Bradley, and author of "Flags of Our Fathers"
One 400th of a second - a barely measurable instant of time in a world war that cost the lives of some 48 million people and seemed an eternity to its survivors - was what it took for Joe Rosenthal's almost accidental Pulitzer Prize-winning Iwo Jima photo that symbolized America's war in the Pacific and captured the imagination of a war-weary nation.
As summarized in my recent columns, the three surviving members of that photo, Pfc. Rene Gagnon, Pfc. Ira Hayes, and Navy Corpsman John Bradley anchored FDR's 7th War Bond Drive. Four years later, in 1949, the three were once again united for the filming of "Sands of Iwo Jima," the movie that propelled "B movie cowboy" John Wayne to superstardom.
Fate would once again unite Bradley, Gagnon, and Hayes.
The Marine Corps' battles didn't end with the Japanese surrender in 1945. Their next battle would be bureaucratic, namely, the very preservation of the Corps and its identity. Beginning with the presidency of Andrew Jackson, the Corps had survived 11 serious proposals to either disband it or merge it with the Army.
Another investigation and another report in 1945 argued against merger. But under the guise of cost-cutting, debate continued through 1946. The matter was finally settled with the National Security Act of 1947. The Corps would remain a separate and distinct force with the Department of the Navy.
Amid the backdrop of threat to the Corps was born the concept of a permanent monument - modeled after Rosenthal's iconic photo. Sculptor Felix de Weldon was commissioned to produce a plaster version that was placed on Constitution Avenue. At its unveiling in 1946, Gen. Vandegrift used the occasion to warn policy makers of the unwisdom of weakening the Corps.
The statue proved to be a popular tourist attraction and remained there until 1947. It was moved to the Marine base at Quantico, Va. to make way for the Pan American Union Annex. But bigger plans were underway.
Amid much strife, struggle, and controversy, a larger version was created under the direction of sculptor de Weldon. First there was controversy over the location, then its design. While the Rosenthal photo was praised for its artistic qualities, the statue did not receive the same acclaim. Members of the Sculpture Society called the proposed design "ordinary," "ineffective," and "unsculpturesque." Sculptor de Weldon was denounced by the Society as a "mediocrity" and an "artistic hack."
The Marines held fast - de Weldon's version was what they liked and wanted.
November 10, 1954, under a brilliant blue sky with a chilly wind, Arlington, Va. - finally, before a vast public audience, the dedication of the controversial memorial. The three surviving flag raisers, Gagnon, Hayes, and Bradley, were united once again. Bradley, a mortician from Antigo, Wis., was now father of four. Gagnon arrived with his wife and son. Hayes arrived alone, sullen, and still uncomfortable with publicity.
The Gold Star Mothers of the three flag-raisers who had been killed in action were invited. Pfc. Franklin Sousley was killed at the age of 19 near the stronghold of Gen.Kuribayashi only days before Bradley, Gagnon, and Hayes were pulled out of combat for the 7th War bond Drive. Cpl. Harlon Block was killed in a firefight on Nishi Ridge. Sgt. Michael Strang was killed in the same firefight as Block. He now lay buried in Arlington Cemetery, within sight of his mother and the dedication of the monument honoring the Corps.
Surviving members of the unheralded first patrol up Mt. Suribachi and the first flag-raising were invited. These included photographer Lou Lowry, Lt. - now Captain- Harold Schrier, Jimmy Michaels of Riverside, Ill., and Chuck Lindbergh of Minneapolis. Sadly, they were largely ignored during the ceremony. Vice President Richard Nixon shook hands with Lindbergh, but seemed uninterested and distracted.
During planning for the dedication, President Eisenhower had equivocated on his invitation to attend. As late as Nov. 5, his appearance was still in question. He finally agreed to attend, was late for the ceremony, and stayed for the National Anthem, remaining for 11 minutes. His aides cited a pressing schedule that day, including a news conference and a meeting with the Japanese ambassador.
The dedicatory address was left to Nixon. Photographer Rosenthal was invited to the ceremony, but nowhere does his name appear on the monument.
Sculptor de Weldon remained, in the words of one author, a "virtual pariah" with the art community. The National Sculpture Society never accepted him as a serious professional.
For Hayes, the dedication brought back probing questions and bad memories of the 7th War Bond tour. He returned to the Pima Reservation in Arizona. A few weeks after the dedication, on a cold night, January 1955, he attended a poker session in an abandoned adobe hut. While his pals played poker, he nursed a jug of muscatel. He wandered outside and next morning was found frozen on the cold desert sand - dead at age 32.
Fate works in strange ways. On the very day of the funeral of Ira Hayes in January 1955, the movie, "Battle Cry," a story about Marines in love and war, opened in Washington, D.C.
"Battle Cry," based on the novel by Leon Uris, inspired countless teen-aged Marine Corps enlistments during the mid 1950s - including my own.
Let us return to 1945 when Hayes, Gagnon, Bradley, and the entire armed forces were training for the dreaded ultimate invasion of Japan. Plans for "Operation Downfall" had been underway since the conquest of the Marianas. Up to several hundred thousand more soldiers, sailors, Marines, and airmen who had survived combat thus far could consider themselves as good as dead with the planned invasion of the Japanese homeland.
To be continued.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
"The trail of death didn't end with Iwo Jima."
- James Bradley, son of John Bradley, and author of "Flags of Our Fathers"
One 400th of a second - a barely measurable instant of time in a world war that cost the lives of some 48 million people and seemed an eternity to its survivors - was what it took for Joe Rosenthal's almost accidental Pulitzer Prize-winning Iwo Jima photo that symbolized America's war in the Pacific and captured the imagination of a war-weary nation.
As summarized in my recent columns, the three surviving members of that photo, Pfc. Rene Gagnon, Pfc. Ira Hayes, and Navy Corpsman John Bradley anchored FDR's 7th War Bond Drive. Four years later, in 1949, the three were once again united for the filming of "Sands of Iwo Jima," the movie that propelled "B movie cowboy" John Wayne to superstardom.
Fate would once again unite Bradley, Gagnon, and Hayes.
The Marine Corps' battles didn't end with the Japanese surrender in 1945. Their next battle would be bureaucratic, namely, the very preservation of the Corps and its identity. Beginning with the presidency of Andrew Jackson, the Corps had survived 11 serious proposals to either disband it or merge it with the Army.
Another investigation and another report in 1945 argued against merger. But under the guise of cost-cutting, debate continued through 1946. The matter was finally settled with the National Security Act of 1947. The Corps would remain a separate and distinct force with the Department of the Navy.
Amid the backdrop of threat to the Corps was born the concept of a permanent monument - modeled after Rosenthal's iconic photo. Sculptor Felix de Weldon was commissioned to produce a plaster version that was placed on Constitution Avenue. At its unveiling in 1946, Gen. Vandegrift used the occasion to warn policy makers of the unwisdom of weakening the Corps.
The statue proved to be a popular tourist attraction and remained there until 1947. It was moved to the Marine base at Quantico, Va. to make way for the Pan American Union Annex. But bigger plans were underway.
Amid much strife, struggle, and controversy, a larger version was created under the direction of sculptor de Weldon. First there was controversy over the location, then its design. While the Rosenthal photo was praised for its artistic qualities, the statue did not receive the same acclaim. Members of the Sculpture Society called the proposed design "ordinary," "ineffective," and "unsculpturesque." Sculptor de Weldon was denounced by the Society as a "mediocrity" and an "artistic hack."
The Marines held fast - de Weldon's version was what they liked and wanted.
November 10, 1954, under a brilliant blue sky with a chilly wind, Arlington, Va. - finally, before a vast public audience, the dedication of the controversial memorial. The three surviving flag raisers, Gagnon, Hayes, and Bradley, were united once again. Bradley, a mortician from Antigo, Wis., was now father of four. Gagnon arrived with his wife and son. Hayes arrived alone, sullen, and still uncomfortable with publicity.
The Gold Star Mothers of the three flag-raisers who had been killed in action were invited. Pfc. Franklin Sousley was killed at the age of 19 near the stronghold of Gen.Kuribayashi only days before Bradley, Gagnon, and Hayes were pulled out of combat for the 7th War bond Drive. Cpl. Harlon Block was killed in a firefight on Nishi Ridge. Sgt. Michael Strang was killed in the same firefight as Block. He now lay buried in Arlington Cemetery, within sight of his mother and the dedication of the monument honoring the Corps.
Surviving members of the unheralded first patrol up Mt. Suribachi and the first flag-raising were invited. These included photographer Lou Lowry, Lt. - now Captain- Harold Schrier, Jimmy Michaels of Riverside, Ill., and Chuck Lindbergh of Minneapolis. Sadly, they were largely ignored during the ceremony. Vice President Richard Nixon shook hands with Lindbergh, but seemed uninterested and distracted.
During planning for the dedication, President Eisenhower had equivocated on his invitation to attend. As late as Nov. 5, his appearance was still in question. He finally agreed to attend, was late for the ceremony, and stayed for the National Anthem, remaining for 11 minutes. His aides cited a pressing schedule that day, including a news conference and a meeting with the Japanese ambassador.
The dedicatory address was left to Nixon. Photographer Rosenthal was invited to the ceremony, but nowhere does his name appear on the monument.
Sculptor de Weldon remained, in the words of one author, a "virtual pariah" with the art community. The National Sculpture Society never accepted him as a serious professional.
For Hayes, the dedication brought back probing questions and bad memories of the 7th War Bond tour. He returned to the Pima Reservation in Arizona. A few weeks after the dedication, on a cold night, January 1955, he attended a poker session in an abandoned adobe hut. While his pals played poker, he nursed a jug of muscatel. He wandered outside and next morning was found frozen on the cold desert sand - dead at age 32.
Fate works in strange ways. On the very day of the funeral of Ira Hayes in January 1955, the movie, "Battle Cry," a story about Marines in love and war, opened in Washington, D.C.
"Battle Cry," based on the novel by Leon Uris, inspired countless teen-aged Marine Corps enlistments during the mid 1950s - including my own.
Let us return to 1945 when Hayes, Gagnon, Bradley, and the entire armed forces were training for the dreaded ultimate invasion of Japan. Plans for "Operation Downfall" had been underway since the conquest of the Marianas. Up to several hundred thousand more soldiers, sailors, Marines, and airmen who had survived combat thus far could consider themselves as good as dead with the planned invasion of the Japanese homeland.
To be continued.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
