During the final days at El Centro we and a crew from North American Aviation had a hectic time readying the aircraft for overseas departure. All engines were changed, five flight hours put on the new engines and the required engine maintenance done. The NAA contingent installed the package guns on the fuselage. One of the NAA troops was an engineer whose primary function was to assist us in any way he could including check out of all flight and engine instruments. Some years later I encountered this engineer (then in NAA flight test) when we in the technical section required some flight test work. His first question was, "Were you in a Marine squadron at El Centro?" Then he launched into his story of "the crazy pilots". I can't verify his story since I was not a participant but his claim was that for checking the instruments in flight (pilot unnamed) he was kneeling in the bombardier's compartment with his back to the aircraft nose and his arms and head in the back side of the instrument panel. When he finished and looked around he found he had been tinkering with flight instruments while flying well down in the Grand Canyon. From then on whenever the two of us were in any meeting those present had to hear about those crazy pilots in VMB 423.

On Espiritu Santos one day when we were moving from the fighter strip to the bomber strip on the hill at Luganville I observed the ultimate in dedication to physical exercise. I am returning from the bomber strip to the fighter strip when I meet Joe Musselman going uphill with his semi loaded with crated engines. Nothing unusual in that except that Joe was walking up the hill next to his cab.

Six-volt automotive batteries were like gold and always scarce. Early on at Green Island things were in good shape because the Navy CB's had a battery overhaul facility. When the CB's left things became tight and many vehicles had to be towed or pushed to start. One day it was necessary to fire up the cat. In the process of towing it the operator in engaging the transmission succeeded in dropping it into reverse gear. Being a fuel injected diesel it started and ran although not very efficiently. Lots of smoke and instead of 5 speeds forward. and one speed reverse we had 5 speeds reverse and one speed forward. I don't recall who the operator was but repeating the process and getting it right returned the cat to a useable piece of equipment.

Also on Green the ground officers were billeted in a tent by the flight line. One night a PBY landing on the airstrip bombed us, dumping two bombs at the approach end of the strip. I don't recall the time but it was dark and we were all dead to the world when it happened. But "Gunner" Hoover, who had been on Guadalcanal, was outside digging a fox hole before the rest of us were awake.

I have a vague recollection, but can't recall the details, of Rich Stewart's ride on a mule (See his story above). - Harold Sweet

Before commencing my Marine Corps experiences, let me return to the days before my enlistment. I graduated in June 1941 from Central High School, Akron, Ohio with little chance of

obtaining a job, since the European War had already begun and employers were not hiring the young and able who might soon be drafted. However, my family had a very close friend who was chief engineer for the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company and suggested that I contact him to see what might be available. I did make the contact and later sat in Mr. Beiswenger's office while he telephoned several colleagues looking for an opening. Nothing seemed to be available except a U.S. Government Training Program in aluminum hand-forming, located in the old Kelly-Springfield Plant in East Akron. Mr. Beiswenger asked whether I would consider that employment. The wages were good, the working hours were good, and it was a start. So, I accepted the offer and began a six-month training in aluminum shaping, only to find out that I had a talent for making aluminum follow my hammer. At the end of my six-months training, the school offered me an appointment as an instructor in the same program and I accepted.

During the months that followed, although I was still instructing, my own hand-forming abilities increased greatly, and other opportunities began to open. There was scuttlebutt that Goodyear Aircraft in Akron was opening a new plant (Plant C) for the purpose of assembling a new aircraft, called the B-26; a single tail, twin engine, hot take-off and landing speeds, about the size of the B-25 (which, by the way, I had not seen yet). Opportunity knocked, and I was offered a position to provide training for 125 lady "Rosie-the-Riveters." Little did I realize that this personal training in hand-forming and aircraft assembling would serve me well in the Marine Corps and that VMB-423 would eventually be my home for months of additional training and eventual combat duty in the South Pacific. While at Goodyear Aircraft, B-26s began to take shape, some so heavy with screws that the test pilots were hesitant to fly. But, fly they did.

By this time, the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor and the urgency to build more aircraft, and in greater numbers, became the order of the day. Also, I was getting older and putting pressure on my parents to let me enlist. Finally, after much arm twisting, my family said yes, and it was only a matter of a few days before the Marine recruiting office was contacted. The swearing-in ceremony took place in Cleveland, following our physical examinations. When the ceremony was over, each Marine grabbed his suitcase, boarded the bus to the Cleveland Train Station, some departing for boot camp in San Diego, CA. and others for Parris Island, S.C. There were many of us in line during the medical examinations, and when we were medically approved, we were given the "choice of the draw." The first man (odd numbers) was assigned to the regular Marines and went to Parris Island, while the second man (even numbers) was assigned to the reserves and went to San Diego. I was an even number, and off to San Diego I went. I'm probably still in the reserves to this day and don't know it.

SAN DIEGO RECRUIT DEPOT

The train ride to boot camp was uneventful, just long. The San Diego training center is a beautiful military base in downtown San Diego, surrounded by San Diego residences on the hillsides. The buildings at the Recruit Depot were, and still are, awe inspiring. Our first stop, of course, was to the barber, where he took our manhood (hair) and gave us nothing in return. Then, on to the Quartermaster, where we were provided with clothing, personal conveniences, wash boards and buckets for the next 3 months. And, finally, to our platoon drill sergeants, who were formidable objects. Just big enough to kill us, but knowing they shouldn't.

Boot Camp was as difficult then as it is today, for the simple reason, we were all enlisted (no drafted Marines until 1943), and we received absolutely no leniency from anyone, especially the drill instructors. During those years, if a trainee mouthed off too much, the drill instructor would arrange a private meeting behind the barracks, and take the trainee on. Our training was the most inclusive of all military training in those years, and if you were going to survive this war, you wanted to be trained by the U.S. Marine Corps.

BALBOA PARK NAVAL BASE

Upon graduation from boot camp in March 1943, I was assigned to the Balboa Park Navy Base (which is now the San Diego Zoo) to complete my mental examinations and then receive my final assignment. The men had the option of joining the Sea School Marines, the Parachute School Marines, the Aviation School Marines, or any number of line companies. My first reaction was to enter the parachute school and, as such, I took the first steps to sign up. When the Sergeant looked up from his paper work and saw me standing there, all 5ft. 7inches tall, 120 lbs, he said, "Son, if I let you become a parachutist, and you make your first jump, you'll probably never come down." Little did I know then that the minimum requirement for a parachutist was 5ft. 11inches, and 160 lbs. However, I'm glad my first would-be assignment was so momentous, and, had I been permitted to join the Parachute-Marines, I might "never" have come down.

The examination results, combined with my former work experience at Goodyear Aircraft led to my assignment at Navy Pier, Chicago, Ill. This adventure was to be the start of a new person, a new life, and a new dignity. The person became a Marine with ideals; the new life showed me how to cope with adversity; and the dignity showed through in confidence, integrity, and honor. The Marines had just changed a life from playboy to responsibility. During the 6-months of aviation training at Navy Pier, I experienced two separate events that also shaped my life, but to a lesser degree than becoming a Marine. During the Navy schooling, it became evident that much, if not all, of the aluminum training I was to receive was a duplication of previous experiences, and the Navy teaching staff elected to have me take the final examinations without going through the class room activities. However, they did expect me to be in attendance during class, but to be helpful to others who might be having problems. Upon my graduation from Aviation School, I received the rank of Corporal (skipping PFC) and a rating of "honor-man" in the company.

My second experience at Navy Pier was to audition for and eventually be accepted, for the Navy Choir. Among the multitude of performances that were required of the Navy Choir, each of us had the opportunity to audition for the male singer position with band leader, Orren Tucker, who directed the "Ahoy America" program, with girl singer "Patricia Willis" during weekly broadcasts from Chicago's radio station WGN. I had the great distinction of winning that vocal contest ("Ahoy America") and appeared with Orren Tucker's orchestra during my stay in Chicago. What an experience!

CHERRY POINT MARINE BASE

In August 1943 I was assigned to the Cherry Point Marine Aviation Base, N.C., which also became my introduction to VMB-423, although the squadron was not commissioned until September 1943. At that time I had no idea how truly fortunate I was to be chosen as one of the first twelve members before the squadron was even commissioned. As a corporal, having just graduated from Navy Pier, and an aluminum specialist, I was assigned to the metal shop, where we prepared to open the shop, maintain whatever aircraft was assigned, and get into the business of ground support for the squadron. We also provided support for the various pilots and their flight crews regarding the construction of aluminum clipboards, lighting devices for the clipboards, and other personal items that each pilot felt necessary. By October 1943, the squadron and our particular shop had grown in personnel. Since the squadron was now commissioned, we were required to have certain numbers of personnel with certain ranks. Sometime in October 1943, the squadron was transferred to Edenton, NC, where we wintered over while still learning to work and live with each other as a team. On 16, November 1943 I was raised to the rank of sergeant and became NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge).

EDENTON MARINE AIR BASE

The duties while at Edenton, NC were probably the very best for all of us. We were stationed for the first time with lady Marines, and this made quite a sensation. The war, while we were stationed at Edenton, seemed very far away, since men and women could be together on the base, date each other, and eventually plan marriages to each other. The older, married members (pilots, etc.) of the squadron sent for their wives, while the to-be-married members were setting up their wedding dates. Life was very natural (almost like home), but the reality of the war was just around the corner. Time moved on and the squadron was alerted to depart for El Centro, CA in January 1944. Those leaving as well as those remaining, were devastated. I remember parading through the base, and out of the main gates, in full dress green uniform, with flags flying. There was probably not a dry eye. But war had come, and we were part of that war.

EL CENTRO MARINE AIR BASE

El Centro was a small airbase on the edge of the Mohave Desert, east of San Diego, CA and probably the coldest place on earth at night during the months of October, November and December. During the day, the weather was tolerable, but when night came, the only way to stay warm was to place your rubber poncho around your canvas sleeping-cot while wearing full clothing. To this day, I remember the Mohave Desert and the cold.

Our workload at El Centro was similar to Edenton, NC except that our training, from flying to ground support, was improving and it became obvious to the squadron that we would soon be alerted for overseas duty. That notice arrived in the early days of February 1944, when we boarded a train, destination, San Francisco, CA. What a ride! We were in full dress greens with heavy woolen overcoats, rifles and backpacks. We rode that train all night, sleeping sitting up in the coach. When we reached the San Francisco Embarcadero area in the early morning, a rain was lightly falling. We made our way up the ramp into the bowels of our new home, namely the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Prince William, a small converted Liberty Ship. Sickness, starvation and boredom came upon us during the 30-day voyage while zigzagging across the Pacific Ocean, trying to outwit the Japanese Navy and not provide an easy target for them. Some men went directly to their beds and never stood again until the ship docked on the other side of the world. Their only food came from comrades who brought them dry crackers or bread from the galley during the day. Believe me, it was hard to stay well during this shipboard duty. However, we did get to hear some of the newer teen-age music (music we had not heard yet) that was in vogue during 1943 and early 1944,through the ship's deafening loudspeakers.

One very beautiful experience I remember was to sleep on the top deck of the aircraft carrier tied by my belt to the aircraft's guy wires. The belt was to keep me from becoming a casualty by rolling off the edge of the deck during nighttime, while the ship continued to zigzag, and roll in the waves. Some of these waves reached 20-feet-or-more during the course of the 30-day trip. I also remember, dress green uniforms floating in the Pacific as we continued on to our destination. What a strange sight, to see uniforms with outstretched arms and legs floating in the ocean. But, of course, we didn't need this heavy clothing where we were going.

In March 1944, we arrived at the British held island of Espiritu Santo, the largest island in the New Hebrides group. We were in the South Pacific, on the other side of the International Date Line, and the other side of the Equator, and northeast of Australia. You talk about the Mohave Desert being un comfortably cold at night, but nothing is hotter than a South Pacific island when you are near the Equator, where temperatures reach 105 degrees during the heat of the day.

THE NEW HEBRIDES

Soon after reaching Espiritu Santo, I was promoted to Staff Sergeant. While becoming acclimated to the tropics we read, laid in the sun, played volleyball, basketball, baseball, and any other sport (mostly poker) that one could think of. Many of our aircraft had not arrived on the island when we got there, but when the planes began to arrive, we resumed our training posture, trying to get back the edge that was lost during the trip across the South Pacific. I don't remember many things about the New Hebrides, except that we were housed in metal Quonset huts, which were unbearable during the heat of the day. The ground crew lived with MAG 11 during the several weeks before the entire flight echelon arrived. Much of our gear had been lost or damaged by water during the trip over. It was during this time that we experienced our first causalities. We lost Lt. Carlson and crew and then two nights later, we lost Lt. Lallathin with his crew, but were never able to retrieve the bodies or the Lallathin aircraft.

(Only recently, within the last 5-years, has it come to our attention, that Lt. Lallathin's aircraft (same serial number), was found by natives in the New Hebrides jungle some55-years after crashing, but due to our Government's stretched resources, we are told, the remains cannot be immediately recovered, DNA tested, and returned to the United States for proper burial. I can't believe this has not been corrected yet. Perhaps our squadron should write to President Bush, suggesting that he assign responsibility to someone for further action and let the living children or grandchildren of these Marines, know of their ancestor's fate).

GREEN ISLAND MARINE BASE

We received our orders to move forward in January 1944, and the squadron was ordered to Green Island in the northwest Solomon Group. Green Island is an atoll, a ring-like coral island surrounding a lagoon. Its size is approximately a half mile wide and 8 miles long.

Little did we know that this island would be our home for the next 17 months. Leaving the island would be easier than taking the island. I say this in jest, since when we were deployed to Green Island, we did not know whether the Japanese were still there. The ground crew, or at least my echelon, embarked from the Espiritu Santo on a small troop ship, and after reaching Green Island, we disembarked down the customary rope ladder, with full packs and rifles to the landing craft below. The landing craft was then maneuvered to the shoreline, and the front gate was lowered. When our feet touched the coral, we saw a sight we didn't expect: a sign with the words, "Sorry Marines, the Sea Bees were here first." So, without question, we knew that the Japanese were gone. That ride in an LST, and that island invasion, was the last of this Marine's "line company training" until I returned to the States.

By this time, my military rank had gone quickly from Staff Sergeant through Technical Sergeant and by 21 January 1945, I was presented with my Master Technical Sergeant stripes. It was here at Green Island that the squadron began to reap the rewards of their early training. Our tent shops went up near the flight lines and we were quickly in business to prepare and keep in working condition the various 12-out-of-15 aircraft that would fly each day, weather permitting. My shop consisted of 12 men at this time, but then came the announcement that each department would have to cut back to only a portion of their staff. Then came that terrible, sinking-feeling, that some men would have to go. Which men would be transferred? And, after working together for so many months, would they understand? The men were being sent to create new squadrons where they could contribute their talents in combat positions further to the north, nearer Japan. My staff eventually was cut to 7 men (including me) but, being selfish, I kept those with diverse talents. Talents that the squadron would need for whatever problems came along. One man was a good welder (both aluminum and metal); one man was very thorough when the aircraft needed patching following flack damage; one man could read blue prints quite well and analyze what needed to be done; one man was an expert trouble shooter.

One man I'll always remember was Roland (Zeek) Seckinger, who now lives in Ft Lauderdale, FL, and whom I see frequently. Staff Sergeant Seckinger was my assistant and capable of handling any emergencies. I remember when one of our PBJs returned from a mission with more than 100 anti-aircraft holes throughout the fuselage, wings, and tail sections. Some holes were as large as 12-inches in diameter. Seckinger and I commenced work on the aircraft as soon as the body of the tail gunner, PFC Willie Phillips, could be removed from the tail gunner's position. The turret gunner, Sgt. Ed Huie, had been slightly wounded. The aircraft was rolled near the hanger and we commenced removing the small irregular holes in the aluminum and filling the area with new sheet material. The larger areas needed some hand forming to help the aluminum follow the double curves in the aircraft body, both forward and aft, as well as top to bottom. This took some considerable time, so we decided to continue working on a 24-hour basis so that this injured bird would be ready for duty when called upon. We worked continuously for 36-hours without rest, and I told S/Sergeant Seckinger that if he would remain on site for a few more hours, I would get some rest, return and finish up the work. Seckinger stayed on the project for another 4-hours or more while I rested and to this day, I believe, he stayed on the project after I returned until the aircraft was finished, and only then did he get any rest. His dedication is indicative of the men we had, not only in our shop, but also throughout the squadron.

Green Island is situated in the northwest corner of the Solomon Islands, and is not far from the Japanese air base and ground-troop stronghold of Rabaul. That proximity was probably the reason Green Island was chosen as a base from which to launch our assaults..

Our pilots and flight crews knew only too well what their assignments were. Those of us on the ground knew the seriousness of these missions, but only from afar. However, since I was on flight pay I needed to satisfy certain requirements in order to get the pay. The main requirement was that I fly at least 4-hours per month. Some of these flight hours could be obtained by simply flying non-combat missions, where our test pilots were reviewing damaged areas on the aircraft that had been repaired, and certain department heads were requested to fly along. However, the alternative often surfaced, where the only flights remaining were combat flights. In my situation, there were several combat missions that I took to satisfy this flight pay requirement. Other than my hourly flight notes that were turned in each month to the squadron office, no other records were ever kept, so I can't specifically identify the combat flight taken. What I do remember about the combat flights is the Japanese anti-aircraft fire that exploded around the aircraft. Some explosions appeared very close to the fuselage, while others were obviously quite a distance away. But, throughout the many hours in the air (from approximately May 1944 through June 1945), I do not recall any shrapnel piercing the skin of the aircraft during my flights. One flight I will always remember as a "mystery," I described in a recollection published in the first book of memories, Remembering "VMB-423. I consider that flight the most dangerous and, at the same time, the most rewarding of all my flight activity while in the South Pacific.

When the ground echelon was given sleeping assignments, we were paired up four to a 16ft by 16ft tent. This seemed to work for a time, but eventually the men who worked together or had other friends, didn't want to bunk together. Early on, my bunkmates, were from the metal shop, but we decided to make some changes. I eventually shared a 16ft by 16ft tent with Bob Hatch, of the parachute department. Staff Sgt Hatch later went on to become an all-American football player at Boston College, and subsequently became the Athletic Director at Bates College.

Our flight line duties were very intense: First, we had to keep up to date with normal repairs to planes -- that meant repairing flack and small arms damage as quickly as possible. When new aircraft came aboard, we had certain updates that needed our attention These included: adjusting the side package 50-caliber guns to fire directly forward. To do this, from manufacture's pre-engineered plans, we first constructed, a welded tubular apparatus that fit over the two 50-caliber guns Only when the guns were aligned with the longitude of the plane would the guns fit in the apparatus. Secondly, with the pilots help, we worked together to develop a gun-sight, made of aluminum, that was attached to the instrument panel. This gun-sight of course, was to allow the pilot to aim the side-package guns at a target by aiming the aircraft at it.

Another modification was short lived, since it involved a 20-mm cannon on the port side of the aircraft and in the aluminum portion of the nose cone. When the cannon was fired, it caused considerable damage to the skin by causing large cracks to develop, which also could have provoked structural damage, and possibly the loss of an aircraft. Replacing the normal size rivets with larger rivets was our attempt to combat this problem, but it did not stop the cracking. This all became moot eventually for the simple reason that the 20-mm cannon was rejected and the later PBJ models came to the squadron without the cannon.

TYPICAL DAY on GREEN ISLAND

Our typical day on Green Island consisted of the following: reveille at 6:00am, toilet needs, an early shave and shower, breakfast, drive or walk to the flight line, clean and oil all instruments and equipment, monitor and dry the aluminum sheet stock (4ft X 8ft) for excess moisture, and in general, wait for the line chiefs (M/Sgt. Bender, M/Sgt. Horton, or M/Sgt Cox) to request repairs to damage inflicted the previous night. When lunch hour came, we probably all headed to the chow hall, except the men that might be out on the flight line in one revetment or the other, and not finished with their repairs. The afternoon was similar to the morning: repair, weld, braze, silver solder, or hand-form any of the objects that were necessary to keep the aircraft flying. At dinnertime (between 5:00 and 6:00pm), we would return to our tents, probably take a swim in the ocean partly for medical purposes if we had received cuts during the day, take a shower with brackish water, and have our chow. The evening was free (depending on our work load) to play cards, drink beer, join in with a sport activity, write letters home, read, go to a movie, or just drop off to sleep.

In other off duty hours, we constructed rainwater holding-tanks from 50-gallon drums, where we placed cheesecloth over the top opening, and used the tent run-off water to fill the tanks. This was used for brushing teeth or cleaning up between showers, but never for drinking. We also built a boat made by cutting an old bomb bay gasoline tank into two longitudinal pieces, welding tie struts between the two halves, and forming a catamaran type boat. With this boat, we worked ourselves toward the center of the island lagoon, and using bomb detonator caps, released the caps into the water, and waited for the explosions, not realizing how dangerous this was. However, we retrieved many fish.

During our occasional treks into the jungle we picked long, green bananas, which became edible after a week or so under paper bags. It took the darkness to ripen the fruit. While exploring the island, I occasionally ran into wild boar. This could be disturbing, since I couldn't tell whether or not they were friendly. The better part of valor was to leave the area immediately - those tusks were just too big. Occasionally, I would meet up with natives (called Tunganese), who resembled the Japanese people (I have often wondered why no one was shot).

For complete relaxation, I enjoyed walking in the surf around the perimeter of the island, looking for seashells and other marine life that could be used to make bracelets, belts and other items. These walks, in bare feet, could be dangerous because of the stings caused by the underwater creatures with spine needles that numbed our feet and lower legs for many minutes, sometimes an hour or more. The walks were also breath-taking, for the scenery and the colors of the foliage, the ocean, and the sky were so beautiful and vivid. These were colors that I had never seen before or have ever seen since.

REST and RECUPERATION in AUSTRALIA

One interesting aspect of being in the combat zone was that occasionally the men would be given an R & R visit to the city of Townsville, Australia. Townsville is in the northeast part of Australia, on the ocean. Fortunately, someone must have thought I needed a rest, so, I was advised by one of the flight Master Sergeants to pack my bag and be available on a certain day to fly with our PBJ crew that was scheduled for Townsville to purchase steaks, eggs, and beer, while also doing chores for the big-brass. Sometimes this meant transporting shoes or other gear from Australia to Green Island for the Army.

There were two of us going on R&R and when we arrived in Townsville we were let out on the tarmac and told to meet at that same location in 2-weeks. We weren't told which way to walk to the city but, being Marines, we figured that out. Both of us were dressed in our khaki uniforms, dress hats, and dress shoes, knowing that we would be subject to inspection by the shore patrol. Being dressed in a full uniform, after spending months in a combat zone, was hard to handle. But, when the shore patrol saw us for the first time, with sleeves rolled-up to keep cool, we were read the riot act and told, "no more rolled up sleeves."

Up to now, we had no place to stay overnight, so we spoke with other military and they directed us to an establishment that cared for transients. The home was large, with a screened-in porch that overhung the sidewalk, with some 10-or-more canvas cots set parallel to each other in the upstairs porch area. The windows had no glass, but were all screened, and the bathroom was, fortunately, on the porch level, but without a shower. Separate rooms with showers were available in the basement, made with concrete block, painted white, with drains in the floor. It was O.K.

Townsville appeared of average size (25,000 more or less), with very friendly people, no off-the-street beer bars, except for hotels, where they did serve alcohol at certain times of the day, but very limitedly. The off-the-street bars were called "milk bars" where one could get ice cream, sodas, sundaes, chocolates, and other items to satisfy the sweet tooth at any time of the day or late evening. Townsville, as I recollect, was behind the times, since every billboard was advertising the purchase of "electricity." I know it was early 1945, but I can't recall that the States, when I left civilian life, were still advertising for this utility. In any event, Townsville seemed to be a city not quite up to date.

When I visited families in their residences, I found the homes to be nicely kept. Those near the ocean were up on stilts, without landscaping, only sand around the buildings. The families were very friendly and appreciative of Americans helping to push the war toward the Japanese mainland and away from the Australian coast.

Nightly events that pleased me very much were the organized concerts in the park. These were great for listening, as well as for meeting local families and for being invited to dinner. The Townsville Symphony Orchestra performed the concerts, with the audience sitting on blankets placed on the ground, surrounded by slightly rolling hills, which acted as an amphitheater. I can't remember when music sounded so beautiful. How quickly a war can be forgotten when you are removed from it temporarily and you are surrounded by such beauty. I won't forget Australia.

RETURN TO GREEN ISLAND

Two weeks later, I stood on the Townsville tarmac, ready to board the aircraft, and return to reality. When the flight touched down on the return trip, some 6-7 hours later, Green Island looked the same, with the same problems, but I'm sure I met those problems with a different attitude after spending two beautiful weeks recuperating.

Only later, did we realize that during this time frame Marines had invaded Iowa Jima on 19, February 1945, and the Okinawa invasion occurred in April 1945, where it took 83 days of combat to clear that island as a major Japanese stronghold.

Sometime around April 1945, Sergeant Major Woods called me into the office tent and asked whether I would consider transferring, leaving the squadron, and returning to the States to enter OCS (Officer's Candidate School). Of course, I said yes, and days passed while I waited to hear about my departure date. Nothing materialized for at least another month and, at this time (May), we all began to anticipate when our replacements would arrive (supposedly, an 18-month combat tour was maximum) and we would be sent back to the States for further training and reassignment. The squadron's status took on a period of uncertainty during this time and the Master Sergeant who was to replace me arrived toward the middle of June, so I returned to the States without knowing the final results of OCS school. To this day, I don't know the full story.

My return to Stateside was aboard the U.S.S. President Tyler, a troop ship that probably carried 7,000 men. We were provided with 2 meals a day, not nearly as good as the food on the trip over some 18 months before. Of course the difference between 350-men versus 7,000-men, and the difficulty this created for the Navy cooks, made a difference. The return trip took approximately 7 days, whereas the trip over took 30 days.

STATESIDE DUTY

When I did return to duty following my 30-day furlough, I was assigned to a special two-week survival training course at a base near Cherry Point. Upon completion of the survival course, we were to return to the South Pacific for a second tour. When the atom bomb was dropped, and the Government became aware of the results, the survival course was canceled.

I returned to Cherry Point and was assigned as NCOIC of the metal shop. This was a big operation, since the shop was responsible for repairing all aircraft from different squadrons for the entire base. There was probably 60-men assigned to this shop when I got there, no department head, with everyone coming and going as they chose. This made my job difficult when certain repairs were needed and the men with that expertise were missing. So, I remember initiating a morning check-in and organizing the men into units of 10, each unit with a leader, and each leader responsible to me. This improved the situation.

Up to this time, my aviation repairs had been confined to the B-26 and the B-25. Looking around Cherry Point's flight line, I could see aircraft that I had never seen before. I remember thinking more than once: how good it would be if the telephones would go dead, and no engineering officer would call for repairs that day. However, the telephones never did go dead, and engineering officers did call requesting repairs ranging from the common problems associated with aluminum aircraft to welding engine manifolds of stainless steel (not easy to do, since the metal would drop away quickly).

Then in late November 1945 I received word that my

discharge from the Marines was imminent. My replacement, Master Sergeant Bob Kingsley, arrived and I worked with him for several days, getting him up to speed. He purchased the house that I had leased in Morehead City, NC, as well as the furniture, so that he could bring his family on board.

On November 20^th, I was discharged.

I'm sure I didn't realize what I was leaving. The Marines had been good to me, giving me a lot of responsibility at such a young age, and soon the light would be out. Using Public Law 346, I returned to College in 1947, receiving a Bachelors Degree in 1950 and a Masters Degree in Fine Arts in 1951.

Just like the rest of our squadron, I have remained a Marine throughout my lifetime, and will be buried as a Marine.

These "remembrances," written in June 2002, represent just a small portion of one life in the Marine Corps during World War II.

Robert C. Vernon

One morning at Cherry Point, after we had come back from overseas, some of us radio-gunners were hanging around in the radio shack, doing nothing constructive I'm sure, when in walked Lt. Ball. He was looking for Jack Brun whom he had promised to take up for a hop in an open-cockpit two-seater. Jack was nowhere to be found, so Lt. Ball asked if any of us would like to take his place. I said I would. That was my first mistake. He told me to pick up a chute and meet him at hangar such and such. I did, and off we went into the wild blue yonder, and I do mean wild. After we were away from Cherry Point and up high enough, Lt. Ball started TRYING - I emphasize the word - TRYING - to do a complete backward loop. Three times he tried, three times he failed.

A little while later, we were flying along and the plane started rocking side to side, over and over again. When I got up enough nerve to look up I found out he was trying to signal to me asking if I wanted to take over the controls. I respectfully declined. Meanwhile, I said to myself - of all the lousy, rotten days to leave my St. Christopher medal back at the barracks. Me and my big mouth. I could still be hanging around the radio shack, maybe even picking up a few easy bucks playing pinochle. Instead I'm up here with this Evel Knevel of the airways attempting somersaults.

The next thing I knew we were at some dinky little airport - somewhere in North Carolina - and Lt. Ball was going to practice landings. He got the go-ahead from the control tower but his first two attempts were unsuccessful and on his third approach the tower waved him off. I guess they figured they didn't have enough ambulances and fire engines on hand. Anyway we returned to Cherry Point where Lt. Ball made a perfect three-point landing. I thanked him for the experience and headed back to the radio shack to calm my nerves. It was then that I realized how soft I had it sitting in the back of that B-25 with Hazlehurst at the controls.

I hope Lt. Ball is still alive and if he reads this won't hate me too much and remembers this episode somewhat the way I do.

Tom Wallimann

Within a half hour it was drizzling rain. I got quite damp before abandoning the post, assuming all of the men were aboard. The "choicest" spots amid the gear and aircraft anchored to the deck by steel cables were quickly taken. Some lucky lads may have gotten cots, very likely the very ones used on Espiritu Santos and on Green Island. The blanket roll and poncho (or shelter half) served as mattress and mattress cover. What luxury! I do not recall wearing a life jacket at any time. That is not to say we did not. At this moment in time I would sleep with it on, wear it to mess, and maybe to the shower if I should be so lucky as to be able to take one.

For unknown reasons, light ropes hung over both sides of the ship, reaching the water. Nothing was said when someone tied a garment to the rope and let it be towed through the water. When it was retrieved a little later it was in tatters. The results stopped this practice quicker and more effectively than a sign or verbal warning would have.

At sea there was nothing to see but sky and sea except when we encountered a school of flying fish. We were far from Mandalay. The destroyer escort (less powerful than a destroyer) was ever on the go to protect our collective butts. Never learned its identity.

Several buddies have told me a bunch of Curtis Helldivers, SB-2Cs, Scout Bomber 2 by Curtis, were tied down on the flight deck. It utterly baffles me that I never saw them as they were large single-engine planes with large fins and rudders. A year or two ago, the History Channel on TV had a program featuring U.S. Navy planes including the SB-2C. After landing it on a carrier, the pilot called it a Son of a Bitch-2nd Class.

Ol' buddy Lloyd W. "Buck" Rogers, no relative of Roy, but one of the sons of a cabbage farmer, had been a member of a country or western band in the Finger Lakes region of New York State. Well, he would let loose with a ballad, or two, or three, as we stood at the railing watching the sun go down. He wasn't half bad either. You might say his rendition of the Wabash Cannonball was Finger-Laking good.

Aircrewmen got their daily rest at their own discretion. Some would hit the sack upon return from the last heckling patrol of the previous night. I didn't. I stayed up and went about the day as usual. If I was on the next-to-last heckling patrol, I would hit the sack upon return but got up when the ones who hadn't flown got up. There was no reveille. Time between flights was spent roaming around, BSing, reading, writing, washing & repairing clothes. BSing was most popular.

The Marine Corps became a tad dissatisfied with the way the Navy was rendering close support for Marine ground forces, so Marine F-4U fighter planes, under Marine command, were put aboard certain carriers. In keeping with close support, VMB-423 did some high-speed, simulated attacks over water and over land. Things were really rough back in the tail - tougher on the plane than on the tail gunner!! The fins and rudders shook so much I wondered when the tail assembly would shake apart.

In Sydney, Australia, I bought 3 or 4 bottles of liquor in a "store open only to Americans." Returning to our rooms at the residence, I took a taste of each. Not much later, I took another taste of each. I fell asleep on my sack. In the AM, ol' Bax let me know in no uncertain terms that he had cleaned up what I had thrown up and would never ever do it again! He never had to. I finished them off little by little.

When our crew was in Sydney, Australia, in November 1944, Bax and I went to see the famous Bondi Beach. It was slightly pre-season, too cool for people, too warm for penguins, windy enough to fly a kite. Bax snapped me with my little English camera. We returned to the states on the escort aircraft carrier, U.S.S. Long Island - the only carrier with no island - and no escort, either!!! On this January voyage, once across the equator, it was soon too cool to sun bathe. I recall going under the Golden Gate Bridge, a short stay on Treasure Island which may have been a transient depot. It was a real treat to take a real shower again. Chow was good, too. We saw an excellent new actor, Gregory Peck, in "Keys of the Kingdom" one night.

While ashore in Honolulu, I passed by a civilian giving a sermon to any and all who would stop to listen. He quoted James 1:27: "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction and to keep himself unspotted from the world." How does a memory recall a sentence and not remember anything occurring during a couple weeks aboard a crowded ship? Easy!! Memories do as they please.

When at Cherry Point, NC in early 1945, there was a picture of Mrs. Roosevelt and a short article. It was taken at that little recreation island near Espiritu Santo I visited with my Navy brother. She opined "how lucky you men are to have your own private Coney Island," words falling on unappreciative swabbie ears. One innocent slip of the tongue had made her visit counterproductive. Well, the White brothers "missed" her; I was stateside and Charles was on a destroyer, U.S.S. Caperton, enjoying Kamikazes and a rough typhoon. Army brother, Raymond, was enjoying the Italian campaign.

On this page are 3 views of a PBJ. A number of variations were produced, coming to PBJ-J, the 2^nd J being the modification. Notice the widespread vertical fins between which the turret gunner may fire. There are vertical and horizontal "stops" stopping the turret gunner from shooting up the tail and tail gunner. Bottom view is of the bomb-bay doors between the engine nacelles. On occasion, 30-caliber machine guns were set up on both sides of the plane at the square windows between the turret gun and vertical fins for the radioman to use. The round bulge at the bottom is the radar unit the radioman operates. There is a low and narrow crawl way over the bomb-bay for crewmen to go forward or aft. There is a crawl way at the bottom of the cockpit for the bombardier to get to his station in the nose. There is a forward and an aft hatch to enter or exit at the bottom of the plane. The odd-shaped opening at front is for the nose wheel to retract. The main wheels go up into the nacelles.

Another incident making news while I was at Cherry Point was when someone from FDR's inner circle went on an errand, or junket, accompanied by a dog. It wasn't Fala. On the return trip a soldier on furlough was bounced off a military plane in order to transport the dog in compliance with military regulations and protocol. The pooch could not be left behind and must occupy a seat. The N.Y. Daily News kept up a constant critique of the administration at all times and places.

Somehow the official photo of Clark's crew was omitted from the "VMB-423 Seahorse Marines" book printed after the war but a symbolic drawing of Keith Clark, "It pays to conform" appears on the third roster page. Well, the official photo appears at the end of this story.

I find myself looking forward to "mail call" again. There is much more junk mail than mail. (The Post Office should raise the rates for junk mail and businesses). Mail is letters from kin or friends, checks and bills. Most checks go directly into my checking account electronically and some bills are paid directly from it electronically. My phone has no answering device, caller ID, call waiting, or whatever. My radios do not go "dah dit." Instead of a radar blip to watch, I have cable TV (VCR, too). I don't have and won't have a computer - there's not enough hours in a day already. I don't have to get up to fly anymore. I do some of the hardest work of my day before breakfast - getting up. My wife of 49 years and 72 days passed on 14 July 96. We miss her.

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I graduated from high school. Six or seven weeks later I was a bookkeeper at a retail lumber yard. Along came the war. My mother had asked me to wait until I was called. I was called eight or nine months later. I went to New York City to enlist. All went well until someone directed me to the rest room, handed me a beaker, and asked for a sample of that urine of mine. I couldn't produce a drop of it. I wasn't the only one. A future buddy with a copious yellow stream supplied a number of us, on the Q-T, of course.

Since I was a minor, the recruiters in NYC gave me a form for my parents, Madeleine Alice Marchand White and Edward Jeremiah White, to sign in the presence of a notary public. My father was in the hospital at Trenton, NJ. This was a problem as a notary public insisted on both parents being present. As a favor, the lumber yard CPA notarized it anyway, no charge, best of luck, Paul.

It was the largest swearing-in at that place up to that time. We left NYC before noon, arrived at P.I. (Parris Island) in the early evening of the following day, hungry, thirsty, tired & dirty. A group of Marines leaving gave a hearty greeting to our group arriving, "You'll be sorreeee!"

Once aboard P.I., we were taken to the mess hall. They unsecured it for us. They brought trays of assorted cold cut chunks to the tables featuring that Marine Corps favorite created and named after an equine phallus by an anonymous gourmet chef of yesteryear. They brought pitchers to the tables, probably ice water. It seemed like each of them asked if any of us was from his home town, "Anybody from Kokomo?" I'm curious whether there ever was a civilian version of that rare sausage. Is it still in the mess halls for such occasions?

We were lodged in one of the temporary barracks having separate quarters for the DIs, (Drill Instructors). PFC John L. Koons from TX and Pvt. John B. Beverley, III, from VA, acting corporals and good men. One of the first things we learned was how to make a bed. They insisted beds be made precisely as they showed us. It's amazing how much they taught us in just six weeks. A shave every morning was a definite must. The "head" was another temporary, separate building close by. I don't remember the sinks and urinals and there were no commodes, per se. Instead, a sixteen-foot length of twenty-four inch pipe was cut in half lengthwise, horizontally, forming a gutter, with wooden seats spanning across. Water ran constantly from the upper end to the lower end, flushing away fecal matter. On occasion, some comedian would make a ball of paper, ignite it and launch it at the upper end. As it sailed downstream 'neath the butts of those getting a load off their minds, it singed vital areas causing them to rise up in pain and anger, to everyone's amusement.

They marched us to the mess hall morning, noon and night. We marched forth and back in the chow line doing to-the-rear marches over and over till we got to the mess hall door. After eating, we made our way back to the mess hall on our own without ever getting lost. After evening mess we were on our very own around the barracks till about 20:30 hours (8:30 PM) That's when we fell out clad in towels and field shoes only. We marched to the shower in another temporary, separate building close by. The mosquitoes were having a feast -- no swatting permitted. Inside, everyone stood nude, soap in hand, waiting for the water to be turned on. After exactly three minutes, it was turned off along with the lights. The first time, I returned all soapy, with my soap and towel, one of my shoes and one shoe belonging to someone having big feet.

We learned to march and drill in between getting shots (hypodermic needles), taking tests, getting clothing, hearing lectures, etc, etc as scheduled. One day we returned to barracks with the '03 rifle, swathed in cosmoline, at trail arms. They taught us to clean and field strip it. "This is my rifle, this is my gun." Soon we were doing the manual of arms, standing as well as marching. "Slap those pieces!" Then the day came when the DIs inspected our rifles daily in the AM with us in formation on the drill field, the mosquitoes having breakfast and/or brunch. Soon, the bayonets were included in the inspection, extending the ordeal. Not many days after that, came physical exercise under arms, "Butts, muzzles, butts down", etc, etc.

It is said DIs can not make a recruit do anything. All they can do is make him wish he had done it, whatever it was. It doesn't ever approach that point. Are you bragging or complaining? We brag about how rough things are and don't complain how tough it is.

Incoming packages from home were opened by the recruit in the DI's presence, contents shared. One time only, one recruit was allowed to go to the PX nearby to buy "pogie bait", etc., for members of the platoon. The merchandise was checked out when he returned.

The regular site for drilling was a sandy field which has since been black-topped. Extra DIs were on hand when the drilling was heavy and prolonged, probably to prevent their getting hoarse from giving orders. Short breaks were taken during the day at which time, but not immediately, the DI announced, "The smoking lamp is lit," meaning smoking is permitted. Tradition!

After a certain needle, which would give each recipient a sore arm for the next day or two, everyone washed his clothes at the outdoor laundry facility nearby with table tops and running cold water. We had learned to wash previously, had been issued (and charged for) a galvanized pail, scrub brush, towels, soap, tie-ties, etc. Tie-ties, cords with tips like shoe laces at each end, were used to hang our clothes crosswise between two lines. A guard was posted lest an unprincipled character from some other platoon help himself to our nice, clean clothes.

Every Friday evening was field day when bunks and foot lockers were taken outside into the sandy street. Then the interior of the barracks was thoroughly cleansed. Our street was "policed up" as often as once or twice a day. Being a non-smoker, I resented picking up cigaret butts thrown on the ground by stupid people who should have torn it apart and rolled the paper into a tiny ball. I kicked sand over the butts -- never got caught or who can tell what punishment I might have had levied on me--disobeying a direct order!

On three separate occasions the platoon took written tests. I scored 138 on the GCT (general classification test),134 on the MAT (mechanical aptitude test). I got 80 on the RAT, (radio aptitude test), involving signals heard when wearing a head set. I have had tinnitus, a ringing/buzzing in my ears, all my life and couldn't much tell a dah from a dit. Both ears hear less nowadays, thanks be to the PBJ exhaust system. On the basis of these three tests men were sent to the infantry or to Cherry Point, NC where the cheery characterization and/or greeting was, "So this is the cream of the cream of the crop!"

A recruit from a Pittsburgh platoon who could not keep up with the others was dropped back into our platoon. A few days later he died. The senior DI was court-martialed and exonerated. Others may have been court-martialed as well but such news never came to our knowledge.

Koons and Beverley remained at PI when our platoon went to Tent City at New River, NC, later called Camp Le Juene, for the final phase of boot camp. We were billeted six, or eight, to a pyramid tent on a wooden deck with a small, circular kerosene heater in the center. It was November. A light bulb hung from the top of the tent on a single wire, to screw in or out, to turn on or off.

I got my first taste of guard duty here on a cold, windy night & was ever so glad when my overdue relief finally came. I can't recall the head, or the showers, in that miserable place. I can recall the platoon standing at "present arms" for forty-five minutes while the senior DI ranted and raved about things in general, but mostly about us in particular. Everything said, or done, has a reason, serves a purpose.

This mess hall was in a new brick building. Talking was strictly forbidden. Everyone stood by a seat at the table till the signal was given to sit. Food was on the table in serving bowls. One grabbed a bowl and took what one wanted and then exchanged the bowl with someone else for something else. Anyone not in our platoon at the table didn't fare so good. Sometimes the situation was reversed.

We "snapped in" with M1 rifles, firing pins removed, for one long, boring week. We practiced in pairs: one took aim, squeezed the trigger. When it "fired" his partner hit the bolt to the rear with the outside edge of his hand, representing what happened when a shot was fired. Every half hour or so, positions were switched, making for equal time in each position.

The platoon spent four days on the range adjusting windage and elevation of the sights. The fifth day was record day! Firing was at 200, 300, and 500 yards and was off-hand, sitting, kneeling and prone. Trees behind the butts had been cut off by rifle fire. I would have made expert if I hadn't gotten careless at the 500-yard line. After scoring several fives, I got a two and a three before getting back into the black again for a final of 305, one point short. Experts got $5.00 extra pay per month, sharpshooters got $3.00 extra and marksman got nothing extra. Non-qualifiers got nothing less.

Everything was much better at Cherry Point: barracks, head, showers, food, etc. 71s were given and many went home on a weekend despite the mileage limitations. 72 hours was considered a furlough and would be entered in the record book. Someone came around to each barracks to explain the courses available at certain Navy schools east of the Mississippi: Ordnance, Aviation Machinists Mate, Metal Smith, etc, etc. Questions were encouraged and answered. We had our choice.

Liberty at Cherry Point was hardly irresistible! New Bern, NC offered little in the way of diversion. It was over-run by men from nearby military installations on weekends. Going on liberty entailed getting all dressed up, enduring a stand-up trip on a bus into town and spending some of what remains of the $53 a month after an allotment and the $6.50 insurance premium was deducted.

The alternative was not to go! It made sense to avoid the bother and cost and to avail ourselves of the free meals, free movies, a slop chute offering beer at low prices. The PX offered a range of quality merchandise at reduced prices.

Amongst other things, I bought a wrist watch in 1945 and two engagement rings, one for my Navy brother. The other one was not given to the one I bought it for in the first place. It was given to my final choice.

We fell out to hear the change in the Marine Corps Hymn read to us. It would now be "in the air, on land, and sea" superceding "on land and on the sea". It is not generally known that the tune was taken from the opera "Genevieve de Brabant" by Jacques Offenbach, if you please.

The uniform of the day was posted on the bulletin board-- we had to see what to wear every day. It never varied much. If we were shipping out, that's a time to be damned sure to check it. 'Twould be worse than starting off on the wrong foot.

Following over a month at Cherry Point, a group was leaving for Jacksonville, FL. I decided to get a haircut as there seemed to be more than ample time to do so. Alas, my absence was discovered as I was getting shorn. Guys went about looking for me, many not knowing me. Two strangers would ask each other, "Are you White?" When I showed up, nothing whatever was said -- not a word by anybody. What luck! All hands scheduled to go boarded the train. It rolled southward for maybe a whole hour before it was shunted onto a siding for several hours. While standing still, lights and heat were nonexistent. An Atlantic Coast Line troop train is not luxurious. A few coaches had cracked or broken windows. We were not wearing overcoats or back packs meaning we had no blankets. The sea bags were in a baggage car. I am positively uncertain whether or not there was a dining car. There were water fountains in each coach as far as I know. The heads were in working order. Nobody was sorry when the trip was finally over.

I spent my first Christmas away from home and family in a flat, sandy environment amongst strangers and new friends in uniform. It just didn't seem like Christmas. It didn't!

The liberty situation in Jacksonville was much like it was in New Bern altho it offered more and bigger attractions, including a beach. It, too, was surrounded by military bases which flooded the city with men on weekends. I can recall being in the bus station and hearing "There's A Star Spangled Banner Waving Somewhere." It was very apropos --it would be today. Somebody should rediscover it.

I saw a fruit and vegetable stand and decided to treat myself to some grapes. The woman running the place ordered me out as soon as she caught sight of me. She opined to her cohorts that she had no use for those in the military- they are a bunch of rowdies, or words to that effect.

We had been given lectures on military courtesy at various times. At first, saluting was an enjoyable novelty but it became apparent that enlisted men were not always saluting as the officers thought they should. To be truthful, our salutes weren't always returned, especially by Army Air Force lieutenants. If three, or four, of us were walking together and an officer was seen in the distance, we strung out so he would have three or four salutes to return.

At the naval base, one of the mess halls served a different kind of bean at each meal on Friday. Our class went on mess duty for a month, followed by some time policing up the area. A buddy found a $5.00 bill in a Christmas card blowing around on the ground. Once a Lt.(jg) sitting on a bicycle outside the mess hall exit, ordered me to go back inside and eat the apple I came out with. Each of us usually took a pie a day back to barracks when they were available one week. They were all the same kind.

Returning to base by bus, all enlisted passengers were required to get out of the bus inside the gate. Marine guards frisked passengers for alcohol as they dismounted. After the guard had checked the interior of the bus for bottles, etc on or under seats or elsewhere, passengers were allowed back on the bus. On one occasion, a lad from our class held up his arms, like everyone else, but holding a fifth by its neck, like nobody else. The frisker did not notice the friskee's bottle. A Navy officer sat on a bottle left on the seat by another lad from the class while the guards checked the bus. Then the officer returned to where he had been sitting. I wonder what happened to the booze the guards confiscated. It was an incentive to conduct a thoro search.

Upon completion of the AMM-3C course, the top 25 in the class became corporals, the rest became privates first class. First and second in the class chose to be instructors. I finished third and was one of those to sign up for aerial gunnery. Before leaving Jacksonville, we served two weekends of Shore Patrol duty in town. How we spent the other five days, don't ask -- I haven't the faintest.

Then we would-be gunners were shipped out to H O L L Y W O O D (Hollywood, FL that is) for 50-caliber machine gun instruction. We were stationed at the Riverside Military Academy, a once-elite boys school. One day our class defeated two successive Navy classes in a tug-of-war. Another day all but one of us completed a double-time run of 4 ¾ miles in step. A Navy instructor accompanied us--he liked our attitude. Nobody else made that run that I know of.

Again, I was one of those selected to draw guard duty, this time with an unloaded shotgun in the middle of nowheres. Again, relief was late, very late. I thought they had forgotten me. I believe this was the last guard duty I ever pulled except for once on Espiritu Santos.

Believe it or not, one Sunday a buddy and I hitch-hiked to Miami solely "so he could say he'd been there." We made it to the outskirts and turned back.

Back to Cherry Point by train we went and into plywood Dallas huts due to housing shortage then and there. A Dallas hut is about 16xl6, maybe 12xl2, hardly better than a pyramid tent. There were big, rectangular screened openings in each wall. Ventilation was achieved by lifting up a plywood flap covering the opening, giving the Dallas hut an appearance of having awnings of a sort. The huts were all painted a dull green. Even with all these flaps up it was not what could be called comfortable in summer heat. I disrecall how many dwelt in each. Showers and heads were in adjacent brick barracks, reminiscent of ye olde out-house. Should a call of nature occur during a rainy night ...

One Sunday morning, after breakfast, I did some wash, probably on the shower floor in the barracks. It was much later in time before we used the station laundry service. When I took my wash off the line a pair of my dungaree pants were missing. So I took a replacement, S.O.P. (Standard Operating Procedure) As I was removing the hem from the bottom of the legs, a hut mate from Ohio asked why. I told him why. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, in comes Corporal Norman L. Duncan, Jr. from Indiana, PA (Jimmy Stewart's hometown) moaning and groaning that some dirty S.O.B. had stolen his pants. I tossed him his pants declaring I would not re-hem the cuffs. We had a good laff. I suppose I procrastinated replacing the replacement. I honestly don't recall but it's likely I did procrastinate--until the next wash day.

Our class was put into MOTS-8 (Marine Operational Training Squadron-8). My favorite girlfriend wrote that a friend of ours had gotten engaged to a lieutenant we knew in the Army Air Force -- no surprise. I was rather surprised to read further on that "we should get engaged, too, since you will soon be a 2nd lieutenant"! In my reply I ignored that suggestion and instead inquired why she hadn't congratulated me on my becoming a sergeant.

It wasn't mentioned again until both of us attended a 3-day all-classes Flemington High School reunion in Florida in 1997, 54 years afterwards. She was a divorcee and I a widower. Many FHS graduates retired to Florida. Someone started those reunions after publication of the Alumni Directory. This book lists each graduate, his or her last employer, current address, phone number, spouse's name and names of children.

Training included radar theory and operation. I disliked peering intently at a moving radius of light sweeping a dial revealing "blips." There was aircraft and warship recognition, Japan, U.S. Slides project an image on a screen in black and white. An instructor points out the different features and configurations. This goes on and on until you're quite unsure of anything. After a couple weeks, many identifications were readily and accurately made when a picture was flashed on the screen momentarily. There was simulated aerial gunnery utilizing a 3A2 trainer. There was probably more instruction and/or physical training like C.O.D.(close order drill), judo, etc., not even vaguely recalled at this point in time, it's just that this aspect is never omitted.

Returning about dusk from a short furlough we were directed to spend the night in a vacant Dallas hut. We slept on a mattress with another mattress as a cover. These mattresses are not heavy, or thick, but all there was for that night in particular. Any port in a storm, they say.

Soon we were taken to Edenton, NC and housed in old, crude, dilapidated CCC quarters in an area referred to as Peanutville. Here we had sheets and our blankets. Transportation to and from the main base was by cattlecar, open trailers with wooden seats, on a several-times-a-day basis -- don't miss it! There was a PX on the base. I doubt a movie was in operation at that time. It was at Edenton we were assigned to VMB-423, VMB-413 being organized first.

For some mysterious reason, recollections of this period are quite vague. I had my first flight in an airplane, a twin-engined Beechcraft. A pilot, with instructor, was practicing take-offs and landings. All of them were successful.

Residents of the area surrounding the base were getting frequent interference on their radios in their cars and homes from "Mike Baker" AKA Marine bomber, when tuned in to regular radio stations. It must have been irritating to say the least, like the same conversation all the time, all day long and into the night, as well.

Early one Sunday a few of us went on liberty in Edenton. We found it to be just a small town. We hadn't had breakfast on the base so we sought a restaurant. Asking what was for breakfast, the reply was, "Breakfast!" Great! After that breakfast, whatever it was, we discovered the only other activity thereabouts was young blacks wanting to shine our shoes. I reckon we returned to base early because I do not recollect lunch or dinner in that town.

A Mitchell exploded in flight one afternoon killing all on board. A detail of ground crewmen and aircrewmen were brought to the site where the main wreckage was found. We fanned out to scour the country-side picking up pieces of debris. I don't believe the cause of the tragedy was ever definitely determined. I never heard of a similar accident but then we never heard much of anything anyway,

Crews were formed. "BJ" (Joe Parisi) and I were assigned to a crew as turret and tail gunner respectively. Either the pilot, copilot, or both were assigned and reassigned more than once, leaving BJ & PW as the crew regulars. At that time the crew had no navigator/bombardier or radioman. By the time the squadron packed up all its gear and loaded it aboard railroad cars for shipment to California, the pilot problem had been solved to our satisfaction.

Good luck happened upon us. Our crew was selected to fly cross-country to El Centro, CA. First stop was at Barksdale Field, LA, a posh Army base. The area was flat and low and it rained intermittently. I recall gunners Green and Hallbauer being with us on liberty. Next stop was El Paso, TX. It was discovered an exhaust stack had come off the starboard engine. We overnighted there. The stack was replaced. A small group of us went into Mexico and had a pleasant evening, my first time ever in Mexico.

Arriving at El Centro, we were quartered in pyramid tents again. It was quite cold at night. A week later it didn't seem so cold anymore. Maybe it wasn't. A sandstorm lasted more than a day. Fine sand made its way into closed tents and into our sea bags, like snow does. There were more training flights. Long flights overland were boring and tiring. We flew a short distance in the Grand Canyon.

A small number of us went into Mexico on liberty from Calexico. To my ears, the musicians seemed to be playing the same tune wherever we went. Somehow, I returned to base safely, although alone, unable to recall how in the morning. Many Mexicans can speak English in Mexico. When they cross the border north, they can't. A few of them are all the way up here in Manasquan.

Since our crew consisted of two pilots and two gunners we borrowed a bombardier from another crew for a certain training flight. On this occasion we had gotten where we shouldn't have been, perceiving this too late. Poor communications resulted in the bombardier dropping a water-filled practice bomb. The bombardier may have been so concentrated on the bombsight he didn't hear the pilot's order not to drop. A couple civilians and a swabbie working on the raft target dove into the water when they saw the bomb-bay doors open. No one was injured--just a bit scared. The practice bombing incident resulted in the pilot getting court-martialed altho similar incidents in the past had gone unpunished. His attorney, VMB-423 intelligence officer Lt. David Rein, was confident he could win the case. It would take a little time. However, time was of the essence. Crew members testified separately, being present only when giving testimony. I like to think our pilot opted to keep his crew, remain in VMB-423, and miss promotion to lst Lt. The alternative, I suppose, was getting transferred to another PBJ squadron and maybe not getting penalized at all.

From somewhere in 423, one J. R. Baxter showed up one day to become our very own nav/bom. We didn't get a radioman until after arriving in Espiritu Santos, in the New Hebrides Group, when Jack Brun was liberated from the ground echelon. These two lads worked out just fine, outlasting BJ and me in the crew and the squadron. Gunners were the first to be relieved and returned to the states. I never ran across either of them again but they're still alive & kicking and there's a remote possibility we may get together in Pensacola.

There was an inactive volcano on Espiritu Santos. I recall Ben McGee diving and swimming in it. It was shaded and the water looked strange. I don't recall anyone else swimming there altho Ben was definitely enjoying the dip. He put on quite an aquatic display with commentary.

It's probable that Stirling is where the Aussies and/or New Zealanders made rings of aluminum inset with some kind of multi-colored stone or what is called a "cat eye". Both looked factory made. I don't know if anybody bought any -- they weren't cheap and they looked fragile.

One night on Green Island I decided to visit another movie on the island. No one would accompany me. I hitch-hiked, getting a ride in a lorrie with some Aussies and/or New Zealanders. They talked and laughed but I couldn't understand them. I was thankful to get back after the show without walking all the way. It had been a stupid thing to do. I believe the films made the circuit of the outfits on the island, our own movie couldn't have been any handier than it was. You learn by experience.

One of the gunners of another crew mentioned how that crew would leave the Rabaul area at "half time" of their patrol, and the whole crew would enjoy coffee and a snack of some sort. He was a Texan so you know it was true. Furthermore, they survived the war with nary a difficulty--it has to be a matter of not being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In Sydney I bought a couple Aussie wrist watch bands. The strap was in one piece, going behind the watch. If one of the posts, or strap ends failed, the watch would be held by the other end. This saved my watch once. The band had a molded leather cover for the watch face.

For some unremembered reason I bought a big pair of hand-operated hair clippers. I actually used them once on Green. Frank Light borrowed them on occasion, always returning them promptly with thanks.

Someone staying at the residence in Sydney figured he had been short- changed several times. I decided I would be watchful. On a tram where the conductor goes along the outside of the conveyance to collect fares, I didn't have the exact fare. He put my change into my open palm and was leaving for the next ride when I saw he had shorted me a thrupenny bit, smaller than a dime and worth less. I tapped him with my free hand and pointed to the change. He took his forefinger and moved the small pile of coins about. Voila! There it was, Yank.

When it came time to leave Sydney, I found the booze, books, and other stuff would not fit into the nice new suitcase bought for that purpose. I was lucky enuff to discover this when there was still time to buy a bigger bag. I bought a bigger bag at a shop that didn't sell luggage. He drove a hard bargain. I had to give my bag and money to boot for his old, beat-up satchel. It did the job. I still have it, store stuff in it in the attic. Moral: Don't wait till the last minute to pack.

It was wonderful returning to the states even tho it was aboard a crowded little aircraft carrier, the Long Island, which had no island, offering next to nothing in amenities for enlisted passengers. We arrived at Pearl Harbor on a sunny morning. The ship's captain wanted a quantity of ammo moved. He turned to the ranking Marine who was only too glad to comply with the wishes of his gracious host. That is how some of us who were in the wrong place at the wrong time were volunteered to perform this bit of exercise for the swabbies. 'Tweren't the work--'twere the principle of the thing. It's akin to a stage-coach passenger riding shotgun.

It was welcome news to hear we could have liberty in Honolulu. The problem for most of us was rounding up something resembling a uniform. Those who went ashore borrowed something from others. Some could not be bothered, stayed on the ship. MPs and SPs stopped government vehicles to provide free transportation into town, as well as back to the ship. A small group from 423 went into a fine hotel at the beach for lunch. Almost anything would be better than what the Long Island offered. I disremember what I ate but it was the first Chinese food of my young life. I distinctly remember a certain tail gunner tell the waiter, "I didn't order this!" It looked like vomit. It was taken away with an apology and promptly replaced. Aloha!

Pretty soon the ship docked in California and we were aboard the good ol' USA once again. After a few days at the Navy base we were on a train heading east to Cherry Point again, but not for long. Next were our thirty-day furloughs.

I found Mom and Sis doing well. Mom was working at a defense plant outside Trenton, Eastern Aircraft, making Grumman Avengers. Lorraine was in high school. We had no telephone at home -- got along quite well without it. We did some visiting of old family friends. Mainly, I sought out my favorite gal pal. While I could see her, it would be for only two or three times a week. Most guys were away in some part of the armed forces so I had no trouble filling in the gaps with three other gals I had known for years.

After the furlough, it was back to Cherry Point. Many 423 gunners were placed with dive bomber squadrons at outlying fields from Cherry Point. Somehow, someplace, I met a radio gunner from 423 whose acquaintance I had never made. It was S/Sgt Ted Rundall! I had returned from home with a late-model Nash Ambassador with overdrive. Ted credits me with his learning to drive. He was an apt pupil and, of course, I was a good DI (Driving Instructor). He mastered starting, shifting, and stopping in a few hours, the car still in good condition.

As luck would have it, I got assigned to another PBJ crew as tail gunner, the rest of the crew being green except for the pilot who was a captain and quite easy to get along with. I had to sell the car as soon as possible as we were slated for overseas in the near future.

Perhaps you recall that FDR died 4/12/45 at age 63 while at the little White House in Georgia. Here I am 80.5! Being president too long nay be hazardous to your health. Just about everybody felt a loss. We experienced gains on VE Day when Germany surrendered unconditionally a few weeks later. We experienced more gains on VJ Day when Japan surrendered unconditionally. "They"devised a point system to discharge vets as fairly as possible and as soon as possible. On 11/2/45 I was a civilian again. FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!

A few of us ruptured ducks engaged a serviceman outside the gate, can't recall what branch. He had a big, old black car, to take us to Rocky Mount, NC. On the way, the car had several blowouts, not flats, and couldn't continue. We made it to a town having a bus depot. A Trailways bus would be leaving in a few hours. We thought they were optimistic as at the moment the cylinder head was off, getting a valve job. It was ready by departure time and we got to destination without incident or accident.

I discovered a place selling cold beer in bottles. They had Camden Beer, a brand I never heard of, made in Camden, NJ. This was before a genius invented the six pack. I bought some, thought it was positively great. Maybe it was just the occasion that made it great. Anyhow, I was never able to find it anywhere else. T.S.!

My homeward journey is quite vague. I got home okay. I presume I took a train to Trenton, NJ, then a bus to a point outside of Trenton. From that point it was hitch-hiking. The next time I awoke, Mom made breakfast for her first son to return from the war. Be it ever so humble, or not humble, there's no place like home, especially after a war. Within a few months my Navy brother, Charles, four years my junior was home again, marrying soon thereafter. A few more months went by and our Army brother, Raymond, two years my junior, was home again. He was not only married, he had a son, Ray, Jr.

I didn't marry until 1947. My favorite girl friend married her favorite boy friend a few weeks after my last furlough. Actually, what she had done was marry a very good friend of mine I never met!! I got engaged to a lovely girl, one of the "other three" I knew from elementary school, only to get disengaged a couple months later, our ideas being so different. I missed out on a great honeymoon.

I met my wife at the .home of one of the other two gals from my last furlough. I believe we were meant for each other. We became parents of five stalwart sons: 1947 Edward Jay 6'1", 1948 Paul Douglas 5'9", then 1956 Russell Stuart 6'4" and 1959 Thomas Glenn 6'3", and finally 1965 Charles Raymond 6'6" on Marion's fortieth birthday. (It was agreed he would be named William Warren but my wife double-crossed me and named him after my two brothers. She had always wanted a girl to name Heather Marion.) They all got college educations. My wife suffered with rheumatoid arthritis for years. Both knees and both hips had been replaced. A knee was replaced a second time, a blood clot developed causing a heart attack on 7/14/96, the day before she was to come home from the Medical Center at Princeton.

There's the lawn I mow with an electric mower, edge with an electric edger and trim with an electric weed whacker. There're the leaves to get to the curb in the fall for the town to pick up and take away. I have an electric blower and a rake and neither way is it fun. Finally, there's snow on occasion hereabouts, you know. When the "Winter Wonderland" arrives on the scene, the walk must be shoveled. I no longer have to commute forty miles each way to work by car pool with people who are not my friends.

Shell Oil Company has been paying me for not working since 10/1/83. It's called a pension, earned while working 31 + years. Shell subsidizes our twice-a-year retiree dinners and helps with health insurance. Y'all buy Shell products now, y'hear.

I hope to have a small garden again: six each of tomatoes and cucumbers and cabbage. I really relish a vine-ripened Jersey tomato. Some tomatoes sold in stores look positively perfect and beautiful, others look so anemic. I want to eat them -- not look at them. Either is almost devoid of flavor. You should know. Grow your own.

Ye olde vet of World War II has been living

somewhat like a hermit six years already. I hardly ever go out after supper--you know what they say about that night air-- it's dark -- do it in the daylight. I have lived in this ol' house, in this summer resort town, since October 1960. The offspringers are scattered: one is in Connecticut, one is out west, and three are in northern NJ. I visit them several times a year and they visit me several times a year, as well as visiting each other. My branch of the White family has a reunion, or two, every year. My only great grandchild so far, a real Connecticut Yankee, turned three in March.

It's church, St. Mary's by-the-Sea Episcopal Church and I am a lay reader. It's the club, meets weekly at 10:00 AM Thursdays, the Old Guard of the Greater Point Pleasant Area Chapter, for retired men, 246 members (there is a Lady Guard for the girls), and I am the recording secretary. Then, it's the house, the car, the TV, mail call, food, drink, sleep, and dreams, not necessarily in that order. It's THE GOLDEN YEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Semper Fi,

Paul White, Octogenarian

Flying with the C.O.

by S/Sgt. Bill Woolman, radio-gunner.

Reunions

At our reunions someone is always telling about something that happened "way back then," and each story inspires another from someone else. If only all those bull-sessions could have been tape-recorded, what a book they would make! Unfortunately, those conversations are not recorded. All we have is photographs of the guys yakking, and some of those photographs are included in the following pages. The one exception to the lack of written recollections occurred at the 2001 reunion, held at Branson, MO. General Norman Anderson and his charming and lovely wife, Irene, were feted by the men of VMB-423 and the rest of the assemblage. This event is especially appropriate for inclusion in a book of memories because quite a few squadron members "remembered" their commanding officer, and wrote down those memories, which were read aloud at the tribute, and are repeated here. Unfortunately, the jokes that accompanied those readings were not recorded and so cannot be included. (That is just one more reason why it "pays" to attend reunions!)

Ned Wernick "emceed" this tribute and the following biography and recollections were presented by Ted Rundall, Lee Bender, Chuck Gardner, Elvin Krumsee, Al Ueckert and Benson Jones.

A Biographical Sketch of Major General Norman J. Anderson

All four of Norm's grandparents emigrated to America from Norway. Norm's father, Anton Oliver Anderson, was raised on his parent's farm in Amherst, Wisconsin. He graduated from high school at the turn of the century and promptly joined the Navy. He was honorably discharged in 1904 as a Chief Electrician's Mate. He then went back to school and studied electrical engineering and built a life-long career in that field. He married an Amherst girl, Mabel Foxen, who had been a music teacher. Mabel gave birth to two sons, Thomas Foxen Anderson in 1911 and Norman Jacob Anderson in 1913. Both boys had the same birthday, February 7. The family moved several times to different parts of the country in pursuit of the father's business interests and they finally settled in Glendale, California

Norm's older brother achieved fame within the scientific world for his pioneering work with what was then a new instrument -- the electron microscope. He was considered several times for Nobel awards ... but somehow they never quite came about.

After graduating from Glendale High School, Norm enrolled at UCLA and while there he took four years of ROTC training. He majored in history but he says his favorite subject was definitely ROTC.

Norm, along with five close friends were accepted as Cadets, all five were sent to NAS Pensacola for

flight training, and about year later, all five received

their Wings of Gold and their commissions as 2^nd Lieutenants.

When war was declared, Norm's outfit, the 1^st MAW, was ordered to the west coast and then overseas. Norm served with MAG-25, flying R4Ds from New Caledonia to the Solomons. In this assignment, Norm helped to establish something new - an air transport service to deliver urgently needed materials to the beleaguered Marines on Guadalcanal. The service became known by its acronym SCAT (from South Pacific Combat Air Transport) On one of his trips to Guadalcanal, Norm was surprised as well as pleased to see that among his passengers was his old friend from college and from flight training, Bill Gise. Bill was now a major and CO of a just-commissioned squadron of Corsairs, and they were moving up to Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. During the flight, Norm and Bill had the opportunity to catch up on old times. Norm learned that Bill and his squadron were scheduled to fly their first combat mission the very next day. The R4D was unloaded at Henderson Field and then reloaded for the return trip, and Norm flew the plane back to New Caledonia. The next day, Bill Gise took off on that first mission, -- but he never returned. A flyer from his squadron saw what happened but could do nothing about it. A Japanese Zero coming from out of the blinding sun attacked Bill, and Bill never had a chance.

In September, 1943, Major Anderson came to VMB-423,, as our Executive Officer. When Col. Winston was transferred to Group HQ on Emirau, in July, 1944, Norm became our CO. We are all familiar with the remainder of that tour of duty.

Norm again returned to the U.S. and again resumed various executive and command positions. During this period he attended the National War College. Shortly thereafter, his personal life changed, quite dramatically. In a letter, Norm wrote the following:

"Irene Fernandez and I were married in June, 1954. We had met about a year earlier when I completed my War College exposure. She had been employed by the CIA. (In a capacity never revealed). Our first boy, whom we named Norman Foxen Anderson, arrived on the 12^th of January 1956 - and the second, Kirk Christian Anderson, on December7, 1957. Their faithful mother took wonderful care of them during my deployments, to Japan in 1959-60 and to Vietnam in 1967-68, but I must also give much credit to her father and mother in Vermont where she spent the summers. Irene also received a lot of support from her two sisters in Washington.

Norman Foxen Anderson, after receiving his degree from the University of Virginia, joined the Peace Corps serving five years in Paraguay. After that he attended the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard. His work now is devoted to liaison between certain U. S. industries and the countries of South America, particularly Brazil. He and his Paraguayan bundle of energy have presented us with a grandson, Norman Gabriel now fifteen years old and a granddaughter, Janina, now twelve.

Kirk Christian Anderson's career has followed an academic route, specializing in the geomorphology of the Southwestern United States with emphasis on the native American civilizations of the Colorado Plateau. He and his lovely wife, who is half Irish and half Navajo, are faculty members at the University of Northern Arizona in Flagstaff. They have provided Irene and me with two stalwart grandsons, Noah age seven and Ethan, two.

Irene and I make it a point to spend holidays and other special occasions with these two hospitable families several times during the year. We'll probably be in Flagstaff this Christmas. You may be sure we are very proud of the lot."

Norm retired from the Corps in 1972 but he didn't stop working. In that year he accepted the position of Executive Director of the Douglas MacArthur Memorial Foundation in Norfolk, VA. He held that position for ten years.

During the latter part of his Marine Corps career and thereafter, Norm wrote a good many articles and book reviews for the Marine Corps Gazette that give us a peek at the intellectual capabilities of the man we called our CO. They revealed the wealth of experience he had acquired during his career and his mastery of the tactics of aerial warfare. Some, such as his review of Gregory Boyington's biography, Baa Baa Black Sheep" revealed his understanding of human nature as well. He wrote a really wonderful article about the organization called SCAT mentioned earlier. These articles were written with impressive and even entertaining style.

If you consider only the bare facts of Norman Anderson's career, you might conclude that his success was merely a matter of being the right man - in the right place - at the right time. But there is more to it than that. Norm flew 107 missions while with VMB-423 and 67 missions in Korea and 2 in Vietnam. He also flew unarmed transport planes through enemy territory to bring supplies into Guadalcanal. It goes without saying that that takes bravery. But there is a special dimension to this bravery. While in Korea, Norm was 37 years old. He was not an impetuous youth. By that time, he had seen many comrades die and he knew full well that he himself was not immune to sudden death. But he flew those missions anyway. Norm would be the first to tell us that there were many combat pilots who did the same that he did, and more. So, we can add modesty to his other attributes

Here is another aspect of the man. In Korea, he was simultaneously Deputy Commander of his aircraft group, and flight coordinator for supporting the Marine ground troops - yet he flew every possible combat mission besides. (Does this sounds a little like a movie role for John Wayne?) I have come to realize that whatever his assignment was, Norm not only challenged himself to do an excellent job but he continually prepared himself for even greater responsibilities. I believe that this striving for excellence was Norm's way of fulfilling the obligation and the sense of duty he felt to the Marine Corps and to his country and was an expression of his loyalty to both.

In addition to all of the qualities previously mentioned, Norm has a nice sense of humor and a keen wit. At last year's reunion, at Myrtle Beach, Norm asked me to write an account of that reunion for the Marine Corps Aviation Association's newsletter. I was a little surprised and asked him, in all sincerity, "Do you want me to include everything we did here? He replied, with a twinkle in his eye, "Oh, No - - only the laudable things."

I conclude by giving thanks from all of us to Major General Norman Anderson for having been

our leader, and our teacher, and, as Ken Meyer recently put it, for having been our shepherd. §§§§§§§§§

Aug, 18, 1944 was scheduled for a nine-plane day raid, target Matupi Island. Col. Anderson flew the lead and I happened to be the Nav.Bomb. I know I wanted to do the best possible. I don't know how many times I bombed Matupi on the way. I would sight on a white-cap, make a dry run; sight on a white-cap, make a dry run; sight on a white-cap etc. etc. etc. When we were coming on target all I had to do was sight, engage, open bomb-bays and drop. With the Col. giving me the opportunity, no way could I miss... The island was engulfed in flames as we flew away. Howard Bauer "Ski" (Navigator/bombardier)

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When I was first informed that a tribute to Gen Anderson was planned for this evening, my first thought was that it was long overdue . I knew I would be very remiss if I didn't share one or two thoughts about serving under Gen. Anderson.
Most of my contact with the general was through our engineering officer Gunner Jim Hoover. Our crew chiefs and crews had more direct contact with Gen, Anderson when he would fly their plane on a mission. Sgt. Major Woods probably had the closest association with Gen. Anderson than any other enlisted person in the ground echelon.
There is one particular incident I would like to share with you to give you an idea what kind of CO and caring person he was. On the evening before we were to depart from Green Island for our return to the states, Gen. Anderson came down to the flight line, what was left of it, and personally said good-bye to me and thanked me for the good job our ground crew performed while on Green Island. I later found out that before he came down to the flight line he came up to our tent area looking for me.
Sir, it has been a privilege knowing you and being able to serve with and under you. To me you will always be Col. Anderson, our C.O. Lee Bender (Line Chief)

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"The Old Men"...During the squadron's tourism in the South Pacific there were young men and old men....I'd heard that Major Norman Anderson's age could have been as high as thirty and Colonel John Winston was even older than that.....On our first briefing for a low-level mission the Officer of Intelligence detailed what it would be like: squadron of planes approaching target area, flying low over the ocean to try to avoid radar, rising over some designated ridge or mountain range and then powering full throttle toward the tree-tops (hopefully slightly above), skip-bombs detonating behind us (hopefully), all guns explosively strafing the enemy's position (hopefully)..... Pilots and crews left the briefing room and wandered toward the bombers, pilots in the lead, gunners following. I felt a little excitement tickling my veins as I remembered the description of what we could expect. And as my eyes touched a few of the pilots leading us into battle, I thought, Boy this could get really thrilling. I hope those old men don't have heart attacks today. .... Then I considered what somebody had mentioned about Major Anderson and my mind sputtered, Jesus, they shouldn't send him up there at his age! It just isn't right! ... Ah, the maturity of the nineteen-year-old. Sam Carlson (Radio-gunner)

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.........Just as we were leaving the target, a loud, hammering sound came from underneath the aircraft. Then, the PBJ entered a steep climb as if we were entering a loop! We rose from 100 feet to 1000 feet in what seemed like a few seconds. Both Deke and I pushed our yokes forward with all the muscle we could muster..............I rolled the elevator trim wheel forward but nothing happened. The small trim cable came loose in my hand. It had been severed. I glanced back to the nav compartment and saw a gaping hole in the starboard bulkhead near all the large cables going aft that control the rudders and elevators. I also noticed a pink liquid on the floor of the compartment ... On the way back to Green, having about an hour to think about them, we reviewed the emergency procedures..........About ten minutes out , we called the tower at Green and declared our emergency. They gave us a straight-in approach and we pumped the landing gear and nose wheel down. It was necessary for me to slow the airplane down to just above stalling speed so that Mel could crank the flaps down. We breathed a sigh of relief when we saw that the main gear tires were OK............I yanked the emergency air brake lever. Both wheels locked, and the coral runway tore off a lot of rubber from the bottoms of the tires. During the de-briefing, the Major chewed my butt for leaving the formation. I explained I had nothing to do with it. The good Lord did it! Colonel Anderson told me to go take a shower and we would talk later. Bless him. Tom Evans (Pilot)

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We had good pilots in VMB-423, but had only one that could taxi in via radar at night.....from the end of the runway to the planes' parking revetment. I figure he had to do it by radar because he couldn't see out of the cockpit. When he got in the pilot's seat, you could barely see him from the side of the plane, much less from the front. One rainy night while our ground crew was waiting for Norm and his crew to return from a mission, we discussed as to which one would guide him in to park. I told them to let me have the lights, that I would do it and with precision that the major would be proud of. The plane arrived on schedule, the jeep and the driver were at the end of the runway ready to escort the plane to the revetment. When they reached the proper place for the plane to enter the revetment, I held up both lights and signaled for a left turn, which the major did quite nicely, on to the back of the revetment, while I handled the signals, where he did the l80-degree turn and parked perfectly. Of course, I was proud of the accomplishment. The plane's crew disembarked, and as the major was signing the flight sheet and making notations on what part of the plane might need some special attention...he said, "You must have been a baton twirler before joining this outfit." Let every bit of the air out of my tires, for I knew what he meant! I had both of those lights up in the air, going around in circles, side to side, up and down...you name it. I'm sure the other pilots here tonight can relate to this also. Well, Norm being the man with the fuzzy balls at the time (meaning, he was the head honcho) that he had the prerogative to park anywhere and anyway that he wanted to. Norm...you may be a bit short in stature, but you did then and still do...stand 10 feet tall with your troops. Chuck Gardner (Mechanic)

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My recollection is that we had no fighters based at our field at Edenton....... But for some reason a few of the pilots had started taking off in echelon formation. ........ One day I was assigned to be Col Anderson's wingman. When he started rolling I suddenly decided to take off at the same time. Why, I do not know. Just attribute it to inexperience and being about 22-23 years old. (That sounds like the same thing). We were airborne shortly before Col. Anderson. As he lifted off I distinctly recall his glancing over his left shoulder and seeing us. We flew the assigned flight and returned to base. Then the typical leadership quality emerged. Col. Anderson spoke to me when I was alone. He said it was okay to take off at the same time, but to let him know in the future so he wouldn't drift into me. Of course he was right. Many executive officers would have chewed me out...

Another thing: Col. Anderson had a real feel for the abilities and expertise of those in his command. As you recall there was an NCO club and an officers' club. He appointed me as our bartender. I felt sure it was not because of any skills or abilities I might have as a bartender, but because he knew I would be sober at the end of the evening! Bill Hopper (Pilot)

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.......If my memory is correct, on a medium altitude bombing mission, there would be about 24 planes in formation of threes all following Col. Anderson. When his bombardier opened the bomb-bay doors, we all followed suit and let our bombs go when he released his in the lead plane. Col. Anderson could put the entire squadron in a steep bank to avoid the flak that was sure to follow, immediately after the bombs were dropped. ...his flying was so SMOOTH..... You didn't even realize you were in a steep bank.........My recollection of General Anderson was that he was not too tall, perhaps 5'8" in stature, but a real man who got things done by showing others how to do it. I have nothing but fond memories of General Anderson and I shall never forget what a fantastic pilot, and leader, he was - - - and more than likely still is. Johnny Johnston (Pilot)

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We were on a medium altitude bombing mission to an airfield near Rabaul. Over the target ... In the radio operator's position, I felt a mild jolt, as if something had exploded nearby. Then, within seconds, a harder jolt, and I heard hundreds of metal fragments flying and spraying against the inside of the cabin. I turned and looked behind me and saw a big hole in the fuselage, just behind the crawl space, and some cables torn loose and hanging. It didn't look to me as if we could stay up. Lt. Friedman asked me to assess the damage. I told him what I saw, and I was pretty scared, but he sounded calm. Then he asked me how Huie (turret gunner) and Phillips (tail gunner) were. I looked up at Huie -- he was bleeding pretty heavily from his face, and was pretty close to panic, but he took himself out of the turret and walked over to me, and he seemed at least physically OK. Not so, Willie Phillips. I went back into the tail, and pulled on his motionless legs, and saw that he was dead. The impact of losing Willie, seeing Huie bleeding, seeing how close the hole was to me and wondering how it had missed me, plus the veering and erratic flight pattern of the wounded plane -- well, I think I was in some kind of shock. Every minute of the flight it seemed that we couldn't possibly stay up. I still don't know how we did. When we landed, Col. Anderson was the first to greet me. Medics took charge of Huie, and removed Phillips' remains, but Col. Anderson saw my state of mind.... Somehow he knew I needed something, and that this was an appropriate time for it... he put his arm on my shoulder, and said something comforting ... I can't at this time recall his exact words, but they were very reassuring. I immediately felt a sense of relief, as if I was safe again. He ordered me a vial of brandy, and I slept for I don't know how many hours.... I bet I have relived that hour before we landed a hundred times. I always get scared. And then, I see Col. Anderson's wise, direct, profoundly insightful eyes -- with that glint of humanity and gentleness -- and I hear his comforting voice ... Bob Kritz (Radio-gunner)

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One evening, our Commanding Officer stopped in to see how everything was going. During our conversation, he asked me what my opinion was of our former Engineering Officer, Warrant Officer James Hoover....... I looked up at him and said: "Sir, it is not proper for an officer to ask an enlisted man his opinion of another officer, or for an enlisted man to voice his opinion" After that, he put his hand on my shoulder, laughed, then said: "You're right", and left. General, I never forgot that evening. There have been three men that have left a lasting impression on my life. One was my father, second was you General Anderson, and the third was the late Lieutenant Laverne Lallathin. I must mention him, as throughout the time I knew him, I was only a PFC, and then a Corporal, he treated me as an equal with respect and told me that he was no better than me. These three men stood out throughout my life. Elvin Krumsee (Mechanic)

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......General Norman Anderson had a remarkable career in the U S MARINE CORPS and I am so proud to have served under him, and he was one my heros. He looked out for all of us and had to make many decisions that affected our lives. He was an excellent pilot and when he led an attack it was with great precision and attention to detail--he got the job done and he expected no less from those under him . ... Being a Marine is one of the things that I am most proud of and I have many fond memories of those years.

Ray Martin (Pilot)

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This letter is from then Lt. Ken Meyer, whose plane was shot down during a low level bombing mission in October, 1944. There were seven Marines aboard, the regular crew of 6 plus a photographer. Ken Meyer managed to ditch the plane offshore but the crew found themselves floating withing range of enemy guns for almost 12 hours before being picked up by a Navy PT Boat. Ken's letter begins with evidence that it was not luck that saved him and his crew, but a higher power. He then continues ".....Along with these fortunate experiences we also had a Good Shepherd who stayed on station to handle the communications problems between the rescue plane and the PT boat which didn't have comparable radios. I now look upon General Anderson as in the Bible, the parable of the lost sheep, where the good shepherd left his ninety and nine - and went in search for the lost sheep. He must have been low on fuel circling above the storm and not leaving until we were aboard the PT boat. I don't know General Anderson's faith but l'm sure he thanked GOD that night after we were rescued. ......This letter is written to honor General Anderson. This is heart-felt, I only wish my crew could be here to pay him homage." Kenneth Meyer (Pilot)

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Major General Anderson has always been a gentleman and a scholar in the best sense in my estimation. I experienced the effects of that trait on the flight line at Green Island....As we returned from a day bombing mission, my copilot was flying and took the plane in for landing..... he flew it into the ground and it must have bounced fifty feet in the air. At that point, I took over and landed it. As we came up to the line with a tire almost flat, Colonel Anderson came by in his jeep and said, "What the hell happened to you, Milone?" I was relieved that he didn't stick around for an answer ..... the plane was damaged beyond repair. ..... The General never said another word to me about that incident, which I appreciated to no end. He didn't waste time, nor did he embarrass his men. I loved the man!

Charles Milone (Pilot)

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A Happening on Green....One afternoon I was returning from the flight line after cleaning my gun and checking its head space when I saw a jeep heading in my direction. Being a young opportunist I stuck out my hand to thumb a ride. The jeep stopped. The driver, Colonel Anderson, told me to get in. Seeing it was the boss, I damn near died since I was attired in my usual gun cleaning garb, skivvy shorts and boon dockers (not quite the uniform of the day.) The Colonel looked at me in disdain but took me up to our billeting area anyhow. There he dislodged me in my petrified state. I knew he was p-----. So, after I got out of the jeep, I had many a sleepless night wondering if I was going to be called before a firing squad or face some other kind of horrendous punishment. Neither happened. For this I have been always most grateful.

George Phillips (Tail gunner)

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.......The incident I am going to relate happened while we were at Green Island. .... Major Andy received an emergency call from Australia that his presence was immediately requested. It was just at this time that we received our first replacement pilots and planes, and Major Andy decided he would take one of the new models and he wanted a first pilot ...... to go along as Copilot.....One of the replacement pilots was chosen. It was a really stormy night and they had about six or seven hours of flying before they got to Sydney, with one fuel stop on the way. When they returned we asked the acting co-pilot about the trip. He said the one surprising thing... was, as they were climbing out of Green Island in the heavy rain ... passing through about 500 feet, ...Major Andy came on the intercom and asked him where the air speed indicator in that model was! That was just one of the many times when his experience came through. Major Andy went another step higher in our eyes after that disclosure. There is no question that as an Officer, as a Marine and as a Man we in VMB-423 lucked out when we got Major Andy....... a gentleman that it was an Honor to have known and been associated with. Paul B. Robison (Pilot)

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I always admired Major General Anderson ("the Colonel").....,We always considered him "one of us." His character was impeccable. He was very kind and humble as well, and the reunion at Quantico confirmed this when he immediately recognized me and shook my hand while I was at the registration desk. Incidentally, this was my first reunion and, therefore, the first time we had met in 54 years.... I am very proud to have served under him as my Commanding officer and thank him for being a "super" model Marine for all of us. Semper Fi Lloyd W. Rogers (Tail gunner)

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Norman J. Anderson ..... helped shape my life, when shaping it needed .... General Anderson stood straight and tall, with a crew cut, uniforms fitting beautifully and immaculate. The very "ideal" that most of us saw in Marines before we joined this great Corps. ... My job in VMB-423 ... never let me have access to this figure that loomed so high above us. Perhaps this was "good", since not being called before him meant that I was doing my job.... General Anderson did come to my rescue many years later (1997 or 1998) when, as a final effort to get my "Commendation Letter" with Ribbon entered into my service record, I finally wrote to General Anderson asking him for his assistance... he wrote a letter on my behalf to the Commandant of the Marine Corps, requesting that this award be acknowledged and included in my record...I salute General Anderson for his lifetime commitment to his God, his family, and his men. Robert Vernon (Metalsmith)

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On a trip to Manus from Green Island, as Lt. Col Anderson's co-pilot, I was asked to make some PX acquisitions..... While the Col. was at his meeting, I bought the supplies; candy, cigarettes, 100 cases of Coke, and 100 cases of beer.... There was plenty of room for the load, and the weight and balance checked out O.K., albeit only a little less than the recommended maximum. Now, no one ever called Col Andy "Captain Caution", but.... we would be flying about 400 miles over water to Green and in the dark. The Col. said to me, "I suggest you get some of that weight out, just in case we should lose an engine on the way back to Green". Well, we off-loaded the Coke, and left it in the Operations lobby (if we'd left the beer there, we would have to post an armed guard with it.)... someone had to make a trip the next day to pick up the most expensive Coca- Cola drunk in SoPac in WWII. ...Another tale... is of one my most embarrassing moments. As a very recent replacement pilot in VMB-423 and recently assigned as Col. Andy's co-pilot we were en route to Bougainville on a MAB mission. When we reached our cruising altitude, Col. Andy turned the flight over to me. We were tooling along at about 13,000 feet when a cloud appeared right on our flight path. We were leading a flight of 9 PBJ's and we had flown through clouds in formation before, so I just held the heading that took us right into a cloud that was much denser and much thicker than I had guessed it to be. When we came out on the other side we looked more like an Air Force than a Marine flight. Nine PBJs all headed in the same direction, but all over the sky! Andy knew I had learned from my mistake and never reprimanded me, but I took a good ribbing from my fellow pilots at the post-mission debriefing for not making a short detour around that cloud. Al Ueckert (Pilot)

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A commander hates to lose one of the members of his organization due to an accident in training. One prepares them to fight the ultimate battle in combat and if the gods choose to take their lives such is his will. However one is never prepared to see members of their unit lose their lives training to fight. Heavy are the burdens of a Commanding Officer. Such was the case of Lt. Laverne A. Lallathin who with his crew on April 22, 1944 crashed into a mountain on the island of Espiritu Santo while on a night training mission. All 7 men on board were lost.... Proudly sitting on the flight line of the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola is PBJ-1, 35087 the aircraft serial number they were flying that unfortunate night. The museum chose to obtain and restore a similar aircraft, proudly dedicating that aircraft and serial number to honor all those who have made the supreme sacrifice. Ned Wernick (Turret gunner)

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To: General Norman Anderson

Unlike a well-known comedian who don't get no respect, you do - - - - and you got it the old-fashioned way - - - - you earned it - - - - and you continue to earn it. ....Familial duties prevent me from being present today but I wish I were present. ....Semper Fi, Paul White, Octogenarian (and Tail gunner)

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I am very lucky having seen a lot of Norm during the early days of the squadron - Cherry Point, Edenton and El Centro - There couldn't be a nicer guy! Humorous, thoughtful and strong code of ethics -I think back on those days with happy memories, especially knowing Norm..... Have a round on me!

Anne Winston (Widow of the late Lt. Col. John Winston, former C.O. of VMB-423)

VMB-423's Reunions

In case you wondered

Several of our members kept a record of the when and where of past reunions. The first to answer our query was Vito Imbasciani. His records show:

No. City/State Date Host

1 Phila. PA 1969 Ernest Hughes

2 Arlington, VA July 7-9 1972 John Carres

3 Niagara Falls, NY July 11-13 1975 Anthony LaBarbera & Lee Bender

4 Milwaukee, WI. July 7-9 1978 Anthony Wojnar & Walter Hillmer

5 Hollywood, FL July 10-12 1981 Vito Volpe

6 Hershey, Pa. July 8-10 1983 Robert Nicolodi

7 Phila. Pa. Oct. 3-6 1985 Dunn brothers

8 Pensacola, FL Oct. 1-3 1987 Ned Wernick&P. Smith

9 Charleston, SC Sep. 13-16 1990 Mike Bowler

10 Milwaukee, WI Sep. 10-14 1992 Anthony Wojnar & Walter Hillmer

11 Jacksonville, FL Oct. 6-9 1994 Ernest Hughes & Rudy Inman

12 Pensacola, FL Oct. 17-19 1996 Ned&Sue Wernick

13 Quantico, Va Oct. 8-11 1998 Ned&Sue Wernick

14 Myrtle Beach, SC Oct. 11-14 2000 Ned&Sue Wernick

15 Branson, MO Oct. 11 - 14 2001 Bill Woolman

16 Pensacola, FL Oct 16 - 20 2002 Ned & Sue Wernick

And, lest we forget We owe 3 cheers, and a lot more, to the folks who have hosted our reunions.

Hip, Hip, Hooray!

Hip, Hip, Hooray!

Hip, Hip, Hooray!

*We close this book with

A few facts - a little history - and some references.

Losses Among PBJ Squadrons:

The Marines lost 45 PBJs and 173 officers and men, as follows:

Squadron A/C Lost A/C Lost Officers Men

(Operational) (Combat)

VMB-413 2 5 13 19

VMB-423 7 3 12 23

VMB-433 1 2 4 6

VMB-443 2 2 6 9

VMB-611 2 6 11 23

VMB-612 4 7 14 25

VMB-613 1 1 2 6

*History of Marine Corps Aviation in World War II by Robert Sherrod

Presidio Press, San Rafael, California

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The Marine Corps had fifteen PBJ squadrons on the drawing board, but only seven made it into combat. The eighth, VMB-614, made it as far as Midway Island but the war was over by then.

VMB-413: ("The Flying Nightmares") always a month ahead of us, flew combat missions from Stirling Island in the Treasury Group, beginning in mid-March, 1944. In May, the flight crews were sent to the New Hebrides for a rest period and were relieved at Stirling by VMB-423. In June VMB-413 moved to Munda, on New Georgia, to begin their second tour of operations. In October, 1944, 413 arrived on Emirau and joined 433 and 443 as a part of MAG 61.

VMB-423: ("Seahorse Marines") was based mainly on Green Island but flew initially from Stirling (1^st combat mission flown in May, 1944) and later transferred to Emirau, joining MAG61 after having been part of MAG 14 and later MAG 31 while on Green Island. Squadron arrived in the Philippines just as the war ended.

VMB-433: Arrived on Green Island in July, 1944 and flew combat missions with VMB-423 through August, when it transferred to MAG 61 on Emirau, from which base it continued flying its assigned combat misssions.

VMB-443: Flight crews began arriving on Emirau in July, 1944, becoming a part of MAG 61. The squadron began flying combat missions in August. Squadron arrived in the Philippines in August, 1945, just as the war ended.

VMB-611: Joined MAG-61 at Emirau and flew its first combat missions from that base in November 1944. Their PBJs had been equipped at Ewa with under-wing HVAR (rocket) launchers and LORAN equipment. In March, VMB-611 transferred from MAG-61 to MAG 32 MAGZAM (Marine Air Group Zamboanga). Awarded Navy Unit Citation.

VMB-612: ("Cram's Rams") Flew from Ewa to Eniwetok in the Marshalls, and thence to Saipan, arriving in October, 1944 and entering combat in November. In April, 1945, the squadron moved on to Iwo Jima, where some of its missions included targets on the Japanese mainland. This was the first and only PBJ squadron to employ the Tiny Tim rocket (described as "a 500-lb bomb with a motor"). Awarded Navy Unit Citation.

VMB-613: Moved from Cherry Point to Boca Chica for training, then back to Cherry Point, then on to Newport, Arkansas and Miramar, California. Air and ground echelons finally joined up on Kwajalein, by then in U.S. hands, on 23 December, 1944. From "Kwaj," they attacked Japanese strongholds on Ponape in the Carolines as well as ocean shipping. Later, this squadron was selected to test the 75- mm cannon fitted to the PBJ-1 H.

VMB-614: Flight echelon departed Alameda 25Jul45 and arrived Ewa 1Aug45. Ground and flight echelons arrived Midway Island in late August 1945.

More stories:

The "saga" of the Zoella Lykes, a freighter transporting the ground echelon and part of the flight echelon of VMB-611 across the Pacific? That ship's "rogue skipper" meandered around the Pacific Ocean for five months before the men were reunited with their squadron.

...a tail gunner survived a PBJ crash that killed three crew members spent 42 days in the jungles of Mindanao fighting his way back to the American lines.

... a blunder during the joining of two PBJ squadrons into one formation caused two PBJs to collide, killing all but one of the crewmen aboard the two PBJs. .

... A PBJ was shot down by an F4U.

... A PBJ attacked a Navy PT boat.

... the tenacity and zeal of the popular C.O. of VMB-611, Lt. Col. George Sarles, who was killed in a low-level bombing and strafing run on Mindanao.

Good reading:

The stories described above, and other good WWII history, are available in several books about Marine Corps aviation. Some are readily available in bookstores, others have to be hunted down in used book stores or on the world wide web.

Leatherneck Bombers by Alan C. Carey Schiffer Publishing Ltd. 4880 Lower Valley Rd. Atglen, PA 19310. 2002

(108 pages, soft cover) Available at bookstores, from Amazon.com, or from the publisher.

Marine Mitchells by Jerry Scutts Phalanx Publishing Co. Ltd 1993

(This 48-page soft-cover book is out of print but occasionally available at used bookstores. The Internet is a good source).

The two books listed above are devoted exclusively to the PBJ squadrons. They outline the main events in the history of each squadron and are also filled with personal stories of heroism, grief, humor and luck (both kinds).

Other books of interest are:

History of Marine Corps Aviation in World War II by Robert Sherrod

Combat Forces Press 1952. This 494-page hard cover book is out of print but can be found in used bookstores. The Internet is a good source. (The book's rising price hints that it is becoming a collector's item) This book delivers the most complete coverage of its subject, and its subject is much broader than the others. The other three, while shorter, concentrate on either Rabaul (Sakaida) or the PBJ squadrons (Carey and Scutts).

The Siege of Rabaul by Henry Sakaida - Phalanx Publishing Co. Ltd. 1996

(This 48-page soft-cover book is available from Amazon.com and other book stores)

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From the Halls of Montezuma

To the Shores of Tripoli;
We will fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
of United States Marine.

Our flag's unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in ev'ry clime and place
Where we could take a gun;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes;
You will find us always on the job--
The United States Marines.

Here's health to you and to our Corps
Which we are proud to serve
In many a strife we've fought for life
And never lost our nerve;
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.