thedrifter
09-02-07, 06:51 AM
Marines tell archivist their own stories of war
By Matt Ehlers, Staff Writer
Raleigh - For these kinds of heavy stories, it seems a rather sterile place. But really, a hotel room works as well as any.
So they sit in the corner, lit by window light, and start talking.
They tell of being 17 years old, of leaving mom and dad. Of traveling by train to Camp Pendleton in San Diego and shooting rifles. Of the frisky sorts of things that boys do, the kind that get them sent to the doctor for a "down-there" checkup.
And they talk of things more serious.
Of having Japanese soldiers jump into their foxholes. Of dead bodies and of killing.
When the 5th Marine Division gathers in Raleigh for its 58th reunion, the men do reunion things. They attend a reception. They take in a ball game. They remember and hug and speak reverently of old friends.
But on the fifth floor of the North Raleigh Hilton, a few do something else. They sit in that chair in the corner of Mike Miller's room, and within the aim of a video camera, they tell their stories.
Miller is head of Marine Corps archives and special collections at the Marine Corps University in Quantico, Va. There are more than six million documents in the archives, including draft cards, photographs and news clippings donated by Marines and their families. There are also several thousand recorded oral histories.
These are the sounds and pictures that make those documents come to life.
More than 170 Marines attend the Raleigh reunion, making it fertile ground for an archivist. So Miller camps out in the hotel for a few days to collect the Marines' firsthand accounts. The 5th Division Marines invaded Iwo Jima during World War II and defended Khe Sanh during Vietnam. Most of the soldiers at the reunion are in their 80s, having served in Japan.
"These are the heroes of the Marine Corps," Miller says. "Marines today look at Iwo Jima as an icon."
When Miller attends a reunion, he tries to capture three or four histories per day. The stories can last an hour or more, and can be tough on the listener.
"It's always emotional. I carry every one of these with me."
Mostly the good times
Some of the men make arrangements in advance, knowing that Miller will be there with his camera. He finds other volunteers in the lobby. It's not difficult to find men who like to reminisce.
Philip Wade's journey to the chair takes some effort. Wade, 83, walks with a cane, slowly.
At the appointed hour, he first walks down to his room to fetch a briefcase of old photographs and documents. Then he boards the elevator and makes his way to Miller's room.
Wade, who lives in Springfield, Ill., begins by saying that he mostly remembers the good times about his military service. Then he laughs, a hearty and fervent chuckle that proves he's serious.
And true to his word, his story is a funny, matter-of-fact affair.
Prompted by Miller, he starts the story on Nov. 26, 1943, the day he was sworn into the Marines. He speaks of basic training at Camp Pendleton, of running on the beach in circles, carrying a heavy rifle above his head. It was the only time, Wade says, where he thought his body would give out. It didn't.
Wade served as a wireman, stringing communication cables during battle. He was on the island of Iwo Jima for 24 days and never saw a live Japanese soldier.
But "you could hear them talking, moving around out there," he said. "And I saw a lot of dead ones. And I smelled a lot of dead ones."
In this battle, it was not unusual for the enemy to go largely unseen. Many of the Japanese soldiers were stationed inside an intricate network of caves dug into the island.
On March 14, 1945, Wade's story turns.
"I'd just had my can of beans, about 1 o'clock in the afternoon," he says, "and there was a puff of smoke and my leg went numb."
By 7 p.m. he was on the operating table, with doctors working to save his leg from a mortar round. The next thing he remembers is waking up in the morning and rolling his head away from the cot to toss those beans.
Here, just before pushing up his pant leg to show the wound that attached him to that cane, he laughs again at the memory.
Nights in foxholes
Ralph Simoneau was 18 when he joined the Marines. He's 82 today.
A mortar man from Milwaukee, Simoneau joined the service in 1943 and still carries his Marine ID card in his wallet.
When Miller asks him about his reasons for becoming a Marine, Simoneau mentions that he and a buddy had seen a movie about Marines just before he became one.
"In a teenage mind, there was a glamour," he says, "there was an excitement to it."
Simoneau met that excitement head on when he was part of the first wave of Marines to land on the island, in what he remembers as two minutes ahead of schedule. On the very first day, several men with him were wounded and one was killed by mortar rounds.
Instead of being in their foxholes, he says, they were "shooting the breeze."
So on the third or fourth night, he and another Marine were in their foxhole. "You never leave your foxhole at night," he says. "Because if you get up, someone is going to kill you."
That someone could be a Marine, because the moment there's movement, there is shooting.
That night, the movement came. And the shooting followed.
In the chaos, a Japanese soldier fell into the foxhole, and his partner took a bayonet in the shoulder.
"When morning came, there were five dead Japanese around the foxhole," Simoneau says. "I don't know who killed who."
He does not brag about this.
Simoneau, who speaks to high school students about his experiences, says he always tells them that war is not focused on killing.
"Maybe other guys will say I'm nuts, but from my perspective, the battle was not about killing," he says. "The object was going from point A to point B. And the enemy -- or your adversary -- does not want you to get to point B."
Staff Writer Matt Ehlers can be reached at 829-4889 or matt.ehlers@newsobserver.com.
Ellie
By Matt Ehlers, Staff Writer
Raleigh - For these kinds of heavy stories, it seems a rather sterile place. But really, a hotel room works as well as any.
So they sit in the corner, lit by window light, and start talking.
They tell of being 17 years old, of leaving mom and dad. Of traveling by train to Camp Pendleton in San Diego and shooting rifles. Of the frisky sorts of things that boys do, the kind that get them sent to the doctor for a "down-there" checkup.
And they talk of things more serious.
Of having Japanese soldiers jump into their foxholes. Of dead bodies and of killing.
When the 5th Marine Division gathers in Raleigh for its 58th reunion, the men do reunion things. They attend a reception. They take in a ball game. They remember and hug and speak reverently of old friends.
But on the fifth floor of the North Raleigh Hilton, a few do something else. They sit in that chair in the corner of Mike Miller's room, and within the aim of a video camera, they tell their stories.
Miller is head of Marine Corps archives and special collections at the Marine Corps University in Quantico, Va. There are more than six million documents in the archives, including draft cards, photographs and news clippings donated by Marines and their families. There are also several thousand recorded oral histories.
These are the sounds and pictures that make those documents come to life.
More than 170 Marines attend the Raleigh reunion, making it fertile ground for an archivist. So Miller camps out in the hotel for a few days to collect the Marines' firsthand accounts. The 5th Division Marines invaded Iwo Jima during World War II and defended Khe Sanh during Vietnam. Most of the soldiers at the reunion are in their 80s, having served in Japan.
"These are the heroes of the Marine Corps," Miller says. "Marines today look at Iwo Jima as an icon."
When Miller attends a reunion, he tries to capture three or four histories per day. The stories can last an hour or more, and can be tough on the listener.
"It's always emotional. I carry every one of these with me."
Mostly the good times
Some of the men make arrangements in advance, knowing that Miller will be there with his camera. He finds other volunteers in the lobby. It's not difficult to find men who like to reminisce.
Philip Wade's journey to the chair takes some effort. Wade, 83, walks with a cane, slowly.
At the appointed hour, he first walks down to his room to fetch a briefcase of old photographs and documents. Then he boards the elevator and makes his way to Miller's room.
Wade, who lives in Springfield, Ill., begins by saying that he mostly remembers the good times about his military service. Then he laughs, a hearty and fervent chuckle that proves he's serious.
And true to his word, his story is a funny, matter-of-fact affair.
Prompted by Miller, he starts the story on Nov. 26, 1943, the day he was sworn into the Marines. He speaks of basic training at Camp Pendleton, of running on the beach in circles, carrying a heavy rifle above his head. It was the only time, Wade says, where he thought his body would give out. It didn't.
Wade served as a wireman, stringing communication cables during battle. He was on the island of Iwo Jima for 24 days and never saw a live Japanese soldier.
But "you could hear them talking, moving around out there," he said. "And I saw a lot of dead ones. And I smelled a lot of dead ones."
In this battle, it was not unusual for the enemy to go largely unseen. Many of the Japanese soldiers were stationed inside an intricate network of caves dug into the island.
On March 14, 1945, Wade's story turns.
"I'd just had my can of beans, about 1 o'clock in the afternoon," he says, "and there was a puff of smoke and my leg went numb."
By 7 p.m. he was on the operating table, with doctors working to save his leg from a mortar round. The next thing he remembers is waking up in the morning and rolling his head away from the cot to toss those beans.
Here, just before pushing up his pant leg to show the wound that attached him to that cane, he laughs again at the memory.
Nights in foxholes
Ralph Simoneau was 18 when he joined the Marines. He's 82 today.
A mortar man from Milwaukee, Simoneau joined the service in 1943 and still carries his Marine ID card in his wallet.
When Miller asks him about his reasons for becoming a Marine, Simoneau mentions that he and a buddy had seen a movie about Marines just before he became one.
"In a teenage mind, there was a glamour," he says, "there was an excitement to it."
Simoneau met that excitement head on when he was part of the first wave of Marines to land on the island, in what he remembers as two minutes ahead of schedule. On the very first day, several men with him were wounded and one was killed by mortar rounds.
Instead of being in their foxholes, he says, they were "shooting the breeze."
So on the third or fourth night, he and another Marine were in their foxhole. "You never leave your foxhole at night," he says. "Because if you get up, someone is going to kill you."
That someone could be a Marine, because the moment there's movement, there is shooting.
That night, the movement came. And the shooting followed.
In the chaos, a Japanese soldier fell into the foxhole, and his partner took a bayonet in the shoulder.
"When morning came, there were five dead Japanese around the foxhole," Simoneau says. "I don't know who killed who."
He does not brag about this.
Simoneau, who speaks to high school students about his experiences, says he always tells them that war is not focused on killing.
"Maybe other guys will say I'm nuts, but from my perspective, the battle was not about killing," he says. "The object was going from point A to point B. And the enemy -- or your adversary -- does not want you to get to point B."
Staff Writer Matt Ehlers can be reached at 829-4889 or matt.ehlers@newsobserver.com.
Ellie