Before that, I recall getting on a stretcher, at the aid station, and some marine comes by and attaches a manila tag to my blouse. On the tag he scribbles COMBAT FATIGUE. I don’t like the sound of that, so I flip the tag over, and sure enough another marine comes by and writes PSYCHONEUROSES ANXIETY. I like that better. It sounds more clinical.
I’m married in 1946. Her name is Joyce Sellers. She has beautiful auburn hair. We have three beautiful children, Skip Mace and two lovely girls, Deborah Marie and Jody Eliza. My family is my life.
So, what’s next? It’s just life. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about the war.
It’s the Jean Morgan School of Commercial Art, under the GI Bill. It’s a job at Republic Aviation for eight years. It’s—
Off Okinawa. Aboard the USS Bowie. Going home.
Before we can depart Okinawa’s anchorage, the cry goes up: Man battle stations! Kamikaze planes loop and dive; the night is lit up by tracers and antiaircraft fire. There’s the real threat of dying aboard this ship, after having survived everything the Nips threw at me on Peleliu and Okinawa. It’s enough to send me into a tailspin.
Over there’s Major Paul Douglas, standing on the ship’s deck, doing his best Francis Scott Key, under the bombs bursting in air. He’s trying to gather a platoon of walking wounded to go back to Okinawa.
“See that guy?” I tell an old black army private who’s been evacuated for tuberculosis. “Don’t you go near that sonuvabitch!”
It’s twenty-seven years of working for the Long Island Parks and Recreation Administration, eighteen of which I manage the Jones Beach Theater in New York, where Guy Lombardo is a staple attraction. Life is good.
I think about the war.
Going to the very first 1st Marine Division reunion in 1947, at the Hotel Astor in Manhattan, I don’t recognize a single marine without his helmet and filthy dungarees. A waste.
Billy Leyden and Jim McEnery start a New York chapter of the 1st Marine Division, and they fight over who’s going to be the president of the club. I’m the secretary. You put a drink in Sterling Mace’s hand, and I’m going to drink it. That’s all there is to it—and I don’t have to remind you what Groucho Marx said about being a member of a club.
I see those faces every day.
But what does it all mean? Surely you can’t sum up a man’s entire life in the few sentences of a book, no matter how large the book is. The life is in the margins.
Or maybe you can.
Mrs. Levy asked me if it was worth it.
Now, I don’t concern myself with politics much, nor do I spend my time examining the socioeconomic picture of the world at large.
The fact is, the United States has been in other wars since World War II, though none of them has had the global impact of the war in which I fought.
Mrs. Levy, was it worth it?
That’s a difficult question to answer.
Or maybe it isn’t.
If Mrs. Levy were alive today, smoothing her floral tablecloth, I might, at eighty-eight, lounging in my kitchen, alongside my African gray parrot, have a better answer for her—but only in hindsight, mind you. It’s been sixty-five years since our last meeting, and the majority of those years she never witnessed for herself.
“Mrs. Levy,” I would say, “it really was worth it.”
“Was it, Sterling?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I’d smile. “The simple answer is, if you were alive for me to tell you … What we did over there? There never has been another World War.”
*
A little girl died in South Ozone Park one day …
Appendix A
A ROLL OF HONOR
Veterans with K/3/5 who gave their lives by the end of Okinawa
PELELIU
James P. Alley
Gilbert Amdur
John F. Barrett
William B. Bauerschmidt
Thomas R. Baxter
Donald W. Beamer
David W. Beard
Arthur W. Cook
Raymond L. Grawet
Andrew A. Haldane
James P. Hogg
Alfred D. Jones
Edward M. Jones
Seymour Levy
Charles R. McClary
Joseph R. Mercer
William S. Middlebrook
Alden J. Moore
Clarence R. Morgan
Robert B. Oswalt
Ralph H. Porrett
Tony J. Putorti
Walter C. Reynolds
Lyman D. Rice
Thomas P. Rigney
Henry J. Ryzner
Lewis L. Schafer
Walter B. Stay
John W. J. Steele
John E. Teskevich
Lyle Van Norman
Charles S. Williams
OKINAWA
Leonard Ahner
Stanley W. Arthur
Roy W. Bowman
Wilburn L. Beasley
Will G. Bird
Kenneth N. Boaz
Joseph S. Cook
Robert C. Doran
Harold Downs
Alexander E. Doyle
Josh O. Haney
Gordon E. Hanke
Raymond Hargadon
James W. Hargroder
John P. Heeb
Frederick Hudson
Samuel Y. Knight
Joseph E. Lambert
James W. Mercer
Garner W. Mott
Howard B. Nease
George D. Pick
Aubrey J. Rogers
Gordon L. Sessions
Archie P. Steele
Cecil C. Stout
Philip J. Stupfel
Lewis E. Verga
Marion B. Vermeer
Marion A. Westbrook
Jay W. Whitacker
Donald Wilkening
Marshall B. Williams
Richard L. Williams
John Wishnewski Jr.
Robert G. Woods
The above survived neither death, injury, nor illness and were not present by the end of the battles. The honor is all yours. Mine is the honor to have served with you.
Sterling G. Mace, the only son of Harry and Harriet: aged three, c. 1927. (Courtesy of the author)
Football in Queens! Aged sixteen, c. 1940. I really think I was able to hack the physical exertions of combat in the Pacific because I was so athletic growing up. I certainly loved football … but baseball? Baseball was king. (Courtesy of the author)
Here I am (top row, second from the right), on the Richmond Hill Dodgers. This local team won the 1938 Jr. championship. That’s my good pal, Tommy Colonna (bottom row, third from the right). Note the mismatched uniforms. (Courtesy of the author)
The John Adams H.S. varsity baseball team. Right in front of me, sitting, was our Japanese batboy, Tommy O. When I think about the Japanese I’ve killed it makes me glad that Tommy O was born an American. (Courtesy of the author)
Two shitbirds from Yemassee! New recruits hamming it up for the camera, Tommy Colonna and I joined the marines together. Tommy liked basic training. I didn’t. While I got Peleliu and Okinawa, Tommy got to play baseball during the war. (Courtesy of Tommy Colonna)
Wearing my pith helmet at Hadnot Point, New River, Camp Lejeune. This is after I threw my arm out, playing baseball in Casual Company. The opposing pitcher that day was Dan Bankhead, who wound up with the Brooklyn Dodgers. (Courtesy of the author)
On my way to California (far left). This photo was snapped in the train’s dining car, by a Marine Corps photographer. (Courtesy of Leatherneck Magazine)
Wearing my “Mortuary Blues.” I didn’t own these blues. They were cut straight down the back, and you’d slip them on, just like the suits you bury people in. (Courtesy of the author. Photo restored by Alan Bot)
PFC. Seymour Levy, service number 540792, the only child of Jacob and Nettie Levy of Brooklyn, New York. A real tough Marine, through and through: a rifleman. (Courtesy of the author)
PFC. William Leyden.
(Courtesy of Marie and Brian Leyden)
I’ve carried this memento in my wallet every day, since crossing the equator on my way to the war. The ceremonial crossing was pretty racy, to say the least, filled with “bowing before King Neptune” and a special “haircut.” But that’s a story for another time … (Courtesy of the author and Skip Mace)
Pavuvu May–August 1944—work parties and more work parties! Behind the workers you can see our tents, the rows of coconut trees, the company streets, and even a speaker affixed to a tree. (Courtesy of U.S.M.C.)
Heading into Peleliu! Marines in our amtracs try to get a look at where they’re headed … and what’s coming to them. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Get off the beach! Fast! Forget what you’ve seen in the movies, you don’t stay on the beach, and you don’t crawl on your bellies. These marines have the idea, while a few more are sighting in. (Courtesy of National Archives)
The Marine Corps rifleman: Going into the mangrove, off the beach on Peleliu September 15, 1944. This man is unique in his class and phylum: not susceptible to rot or decay, even in death. “Without my rifle I am useless.” (Courtesy of U.S.M.C./www.ww2gyrene.com/Mark Flowers)
PFC. Lawrence Daniel Mahan Jr., service number: 536009, L/3/5. He lived the real Pacific war, with a bullet to the chest as soon as he exited his amtrac. Larry was a very good friend of mine. I hope everyone remembers guys like Larry and what he gave, never asking anything in return. (Courtesy of Dorothy McCarthy and Family)
Marine riflemen preparing to move through the jungle after our trip across the airfield. The expression of wariness on their faces is telling of our journey on Peleliu. (Courtesy of U.S.M.C./www.ww2gyrene.com/Mark Flowers)
A marine with a BAR, just like the one I carried, somewhere in the many ridges of Peleliu. Note the swamps in the background. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Cpl. Richard Van Trump. I don’t imagine he’ll ever lose the scars he acquired in the hellhole of Ngesebus. (Courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Van Trump)
PFC. Donald Schwantz. (Courtesy of Paula Schwantz)
Marines of 3/5 on our way back across the causeway from Ngesebus. The looks on our faces and our body language doesn’t tell half the story of the way we felt inside. (Courtesy of U.S.M.C.)
Peleliu, October 1, 1944, 3/5 Marines moving back into the lines. I’ll never forget that day. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Lt. William B. Bauerschmidt, a Silver Star recipient on New Gloucester, was a fine leader who also posed as just one of the guys. (Courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Rosendale)
The watch I took off of one of the Japanese night fighters I killed. I sent it to my mother, and she had a new band put on it. When I told her where I got it, she really didn’t feel like wearing it again. (Courtesy of the author and Skip Mace)
A view of Peleliu’s 1st Marine Division cemetery, which happens to have a marine kneeling in front of a grave you might know. It turns out, however, that the kneeling marine was an actor. You can find dozens of photos with the same marine kneeling in front of crosses. Still, it’s the thought that counts. (Courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Rosendale)
A close up of me after Peleliu, from the now famous photo of K/3/5. I’m alive and ready to get the hell off the island. (Courtesy of the author)
The photo that tells the rest of the story: The remains of the 3rd platoon, after Peleliu. (Top row, left to right:) Steve Collings, Marsdon, unknown, Frank Minkewitz, Toby Paulson, “Hurricane” Hensen, “Zombie,” and Jack Baugh. (Middle row, left to right:) Roy Kelly, PA Wilson, Jimmy Moore, “Preacher” Wills, and Bishop. (Bottom row, left to right:) RD “Blowtorch” Wilson, unknown, Orley Uhls, Gene Holland, Jim McEnery, George Chulis, and Sterling Mace. (Courtesy of the author)
The burning of an Okinawan village, in northern Okinawa. Twenty years later the whole world would see similar burnings in another Asian war. (Courtesy of National Archives)
The two little Okinawan girls. (Courtesy of the author)
Moving into southern Okinawa and preparing to attack. Marines are on break, taking in our new surroundings. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Okinawa, May 1, 1945, it seems we riflemen were always attacking across open ground like this, against the Shuri line. The whole ground was zeroed in by the Japanese on the high ground. We really took a beating once we cleared the rise. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Marines look on and prepare to attack, on Okinawa, hoping their time isn’t next. Radiomen, like the one pictured, would convey information regarding our progress, calling in smoke or spotting for artillery. (Courtesy of National Archives)
If you make it across the open ground, like these marines on Okinawa, you take cover pretty quickly and await the next command. Sometimes it seemed like it was all for nothing. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Okinawa, May 2, 1945, we were carrying out Sgt. Heeb. Behind us you can see the draw and the embankment we fought up against for days. The marine (second from the right, at the rear of the poncho) has been identified as Cpl. Sterling Mace from South Ozone Park, Queens, New York. (Courtesy of Infantry Journal Press, 1949)
PFC. Robert “Wimpy” Whitby. (Courtesy of Mrs. Robert L. Whitby)
On patrol, sniffing out the Japanese, on Okinawa. (Courtesy of U.S.M.C.)
Fighting like World War I with the mud and artillery on Okinawa. When the weather changed, it was always wet and miserable. These marines are exactly the way we looked: terrible! (Courtesy of National Archives)
A marine takes ten on a Japanese dud on Okinawa. Notice the wear on his boondockers. Notice the size of that shell! One in every three or four shells was a dud. It was one like this that nearly took my life. (Courtesy of National Archives)
Back home for good, at George McNevin’s wedding. George had been wounded on Peleliu and sent back home. That’s me on the left, George in the center, and his brother Arthur on the right. My pal George passed away in 2003. (Courtesy of the author)
Sterling Mace, USMC, 1943. (Courtesy of the author)
Whatever happened to PFC. Freddy “Junior” Hudson? (Courtesy of Marlynn Allen)
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
STERLING MACE enlisted in the United States Marine Corps in 1942 and was stationed at Parris Island, Camp Lejeune, the Brooklyn Naval Yard, and then finally Pavuvu, before experiencing the toughest fighting the Pacific war had to offer, as a rifleman in K/3/5, at Peleliu and later on at Okinawa. He was a consultant on E. B. Sledge’s book With the Old Breed. He lives in St. Pete Beach, Florida.
NICK ALLEN is the son of a combat rifleman who served in Vietnam and has been interviewing combat veterans for most of his life. He lives in Bellaire, Texas.
BATTLEGROUND PACIFIC: A MARINE RIFLEMAN’S COMBAT ODYSSEY IN K/3/5. Copyright © 2012 by Sterling Mace and Nick Allen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Book design by Phil Mazzone
Maps by Paul J. Pugliese
Cover design by Rob Grom
Cover photograph © The Granger Collection, NYC—All rights reserved
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Mace, Sterling.
Battleground Pacific : a Marine rifleman’s combat odyssey in K/3/5 / Sterling Mace and Nick Allen.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 978-1-250-00505-2 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-25000977-7 (e-book)
1. Mace, Sterling. 2. World War, 1939–1945—Personal narratives, American. 3. World War, 1939–1945—Campaigns—Pacific Area. 4. United States. Marine Corps. Marines, Regiment 5th. Battalion, 3rd. Company K. 5. United States. Marine Corps—Biography. 6. Marines—United States— Biography. I. Allen, Nick, 1973– II. Title.
D767.9.M33 2012
940.54‘5973092—dc23
[B]
2012004382
e-ISBN 9781250009777
First Edition: Ma
y 2012
Battleground Pacific Page 33