thedrifter
06-08-07, 07:58 AM
Local Life
A Patriotic Pair
More than 60 years out, local Marine Corps veterans still hold fresh memories of their days on Iwo Jima.
Patty Kruszewski
Henrico Citizen
Friday, June 08, 2007
There's little that stands out about the pair of white-haired gentlemen joining the Wednesday morning breakfast crowd at Boychik's Deli – unless the casual onlooker happens to glance at Thomas "Cotton" Billingsley's lapel pin, or notices that Charlie Cooper's left arm lies idle as he eats.
On closer inspection, an observant passer-by might note that the lapel pin is a miniature of the Iwo Jima memorial, or overhear Billingsley mention Saipan or Tinian. But when Cooper rolls up his left sleeve to display the trajectory of the bullet that hit him, there's no longer any doubt. The scarred, twisted arm is a daily reminder of his close brush with death as a 24-year-old in faraway Japan, and of the bullet that ripped through his chest so perilously close to his heart that the doctors couldn't believe it missed.
"Hell, my heart was up here!" exclaims Cooper, motioning to his throat with a rueful grin. Ever since, it's taken a lot to faze him; even a recent cancer scare was met with almost a shrug.
"He's been on borrowed time since he left Iwo Jima anyway!" says Billingsley with a laugh.
Flies, Filth, and Enemy Fire
While Billingsley wasn't wounded on Iwo Jima, he has vivid memories of the place just the same. Rocky and almost devoid of vegetation, the extinct volcano (the name means "Sulfur Island" in Japanese) was nevertheless coveted as a landing and refueling site for bombers. Beneath the surface of soft, black volcanic ash were cinders so hot that the men used them to heat their cans of C-rations.
Worse than the bleak terrain, however, were the crowded, filthy living conditions.
"Here's this island six miles long and two miles wide," Billingsley recalls with a shake of his head. "Twenty-two thousand Japs and 72 thousand Americans. There wasn't a bathroom on the whole island. Where the hell did 100,000 people relieve themselves?"
"Things were kinda crude," agrees Cooper, who removed his boots after 24 days on the island to discover his feet had grown to his socks. "My wife is always saying, 'Wash your hands, wash your hands!' But [there] I didn't wash my hands for 90 days!" he notes with a chuckle.
"When we went back aboard ship [after the battle]," says Billingsley, "all we could think of was to get a decent bath in a helmet. Everyone was just waiting for night, and the chance to sleep with both eyes closed, not one eye open."
Conditions were no better, recalls Billingsley, when he was in Saipan. "There'd be a well, and six to eight feet away a latrine," he says. "The flies – honest to God, they were so bad – that if you were eating something you had to shove it under your shirt." A wave of the hand did nothing to disperse the flies, he adds, demonstrating his removal technique with a grimace and a cupped hand. They swarmed into a thick mat on a GI's face and had to be literally scraped off.
The flies became such a problem around latrines that soldiers had to clear the area with smoke grenades prior to use – a ritual that led to a memorable incident when one careless GI inadvertently substituted a percussion grenade.
"He raised the top, pulled the pin, dropped it in and stepped back," recalls Billingsley with a grin as he mimics the muffled "whoosh" that followed. "Everything went right up the air and onto him!"
"You Soon Learned What Fear Is"
Of course, enduring the filthy conditions was easy compared to enduring the loss of good friends. One of every three Marines on Iwo Jima was a casualty.
Part of the early wave of Marines to arrive on the island in February, 1945, Cooper says, "If you landed in the second or third wave you were a lucky S.O.B.! . . . [But] you soon learned what fear is. Real fear." Of his three best friends, Cooper lost two on Iwo Jima.
A man in Billingsley's unit was on the beach in those early days and recognized his kid brother, who'd been a Marine just six months. At one point after the fighting intensified, the man got on a field phone to ask for news of his brother.
Even 62 years later, Billingsley's voice betrays his emotion as he described the way his buddy dropped the phone and cried as he heard the answer. "My poor mother," said the Marine through his sobs. "My poor mother!"
On Saipan, Billingsley says, his close friend Bill Castle was initially fearless as he encouraged his mates crossing a sugar cane field under fire. "C'mon!" Castle would urge them as he alternately dropped to the ground and jumped up to run.
Ellie
A Patriotic Pair
More than 60 years out, local Marine Corps veterans still hold fresh memories of their days on Iwo Jima.
Patty Kruszewski
Henrico Citizen
Friday, June 08, 2007
There's little that stands out about the pair of white-haired gentlemen joining the Wednesday morning breakfast crowd at Boychik's Deli – unless the casual onlooker happens to glance at Thomas "Cotton" Billingsley's lapel pin, or notices that Charlie Cooper's left arm lies idle as he eats.
On closer inspection, an observant passer-by might note that the lapel pin is a miniature of the Iwo Jima memorial, or overhear Billingsley mention Saipan or Tinian. But when Cooper rolls up his left sleeve to display the trajectory of the bullet that hit him, there's no longer any doubt. The scarred, twisted arm is a daily reminder of his close brush with death as a 24-year-old in faraway Japan, and of the bullet that ripped through his chest so perilously close to his heart that the doctors couldn't believe it missed.
"Hell, my heart was up here!" exclaims Cooper, motioning to his throat with a rueful grin. Ever since, it's taken a lot to faze him; even a recent cancer scare was met with almost a shrug.
"He's been on borrowed time since he left Iwo Jima anyway!" says Billingsley with a laugh.
Flies, Filth, and Enemy Fire
While Billingsley wasn't wounded on Iwo Jima, he has vivid memories of the place just the same. Rocky and almost devoid of vegetation, the extinct volcano (the name means "Sulfur Island" in Japanese) was nevertheless coveted as a landing and refueling site for bombers. Beneath the surface of soft, black volcanic ash were cinders so hot that the men used them to heat their cans of C-rations.
Worse than the bleak terrain, however, were the crowded, filthy living conditions.
"Here's this island six miles long and two miles wide," Billingsley recalls with a shake of his head. "Twenty-two thousand Japs and 72 thousand Americans. There wasn't a bathroom on the whole island. Where the hell did 100,000 people relieve themselves?"
"Things were kinda crude," agrees Cooper, who removed his boots after 24 days on the island to discover his feet had grown to his socks. "My wife is always saying, 'Wash your hands, wash your hands!' But [there] I didn't wash my hands for 90 days!" he notes with a chuckle.
"When we went back aboard ship [after the battle]," says Billingsley, "all we could think of was to get a decent bath in a helmet. Everyone was just waiting for night, and the chance to sleep with both eyes closed, not one eye open."
Conditions were no better, recalls Billingsley, when he was in Saipan. "There'd be a well, and six to eight feet away a latrine," he says. "The flies – honest to God, they were so bad – that if you were eating something you had to shove it under your shirt." A wave of the hand did nothing to disperse the flies, he adds, demonstrating his removal technique with a grimace and a cupped hand. They swarmed into a thick mat on a GI's face and had to be literally scraped off.
The flies became such a problem around latrines that soldiers had to clear the area with smoke grenades prior to use – a ritual that led to a memorable incident when one careless GI inadvertently substituted a percussion grenade.
"He raised the top, pulled the pin, dropped it in and stepped back," recalls Billingsley with a grin as he mimics the muffled "whoosh" that followed. "Everything went right up the air and onto him!"
"You Soon Learned What Fear Is"
Of course, enduring the filthy conditions was easy compared to enduring the loss of good friends. One of every three Marines on Iwo Jima was a casualty.
Part of the early wave of Marines to arrive on the island in February, 1945, Cooper says, "If you landed in the second or third wave you were a lucky S.O.B.! . . . [But] you soon learned what fear is. Real fear." Of his three best friends, Cooper lost two on Iwo Jima.
A man in Billingsley's unit was on the beach in those early days and recognized his kid brother, who'd been a Marine just six months. At one point after the fighting intensified, the man got on a field phone to ask for news of his brother.
Even 62 years later, Billingsley's voice betrays his emotion as he described the way his buddy dropped the phone and cried as he heard the answer. "My poor mother," said the Marine through his sobs. "My poor mother!"
On Saipan, Billingsley says, his close friend Bill Castle was initially fearless as he encouraged his mates crossing a sugar cane field under fire. "C'mon!" Castle would urge them as he alternately dropped to the ground and jumped up to run.
Ellie