Courage Has No Color

by Tanya Lee Stone

  Taken at Fort Bragg in 1946 or 1947, two of the original 555th test platoon are shown here — Hubert Bridges and Jack Tillis (second and third from left).

  On April 12, 1945, Franklin Delano Roosevelt died and Vice President Harry S. Truman — who had held that position for only eighty-two days — was sworn in as president. After the war, Truman had to tackle many domestic problems, one of which was that the equal rights of African Americans needed to be upheld. His record as a senator showed that he had supported antilynching bills and antidiscrimination investigations and had spoken out in favor of equal opportunities for African Americans. In his memoirs, Truman reflected, “I was raised amidst some violently prejudiced Southerners myself,” yet he believed that “the vast majority of good southerners understand that the blind prejudices of past generations cannot continue in a free republic.”

  Truman, who came from Missouri, also knew that anything he did for the African-American population could help his chances of getting their vote in the next election. Perhaps most important, Truman began to realize that equality could never be achieved while segregation remained a reality. He also recognized that it was time for the American people to “practice what they preached, since the world was watching.”

  What the world saw often wasn’t pretty. Unlike the favorable experience the Triple Nickles had in the victory parade, black soldiers returning home from combat — including some of the 555th — were often not given a hero’s welcome. JJ Corbett had a stopover at a train station on his way home. Strong and tall, in his spotless paratrooper uniform, he strode toward a café but was stopped from entering through the front door. He and his buddy got back on the train. A soldier from the 92nd Infantry, James Tillman, looked back on his own unit’s homecoming: “We landed in Norfolk, Virginia. We were all Buffalo Soldiers, and they didn’t want us to go through the town. They said it would cause too much traffic, but I knew it was because we were black, and that hurt. We waited there on the docks for two hours with no facilities, and finally our officers said we could walk the five miles to the camp. . . . We were the first troops home, but no one clapped or cheered. The whole town was white and had we been white, they would have mobbed us, they would have been so happy.”

  “We served together but had to be scattered and drift home in little units because of segregation,” Ashley Bryan remembers. He drew this pen-and-ink sketch of a good friend in his company, completely dismayed by the news they had just received.

  Far worse, some particularly violent attacks on black World War II veterans in 1946 made it clear that it was time to take action. Truman addressed the NAACP directly, saying, “I had no idea it was as terrible as that. We’ve got to do something.” On December 6 of that year, Truman created the President’s Committee on Civil Rights. He said, “When we fail to live together in peace, the failure touches not us, as Americans alone, but the cause of democracy itself in the whole world.”

  The wheels did not turn as quickly as promised, but the committee worked hard and by January 1948, Truman decided it was time to take it upon himself to end segregation in the military by executive order. On July 26, 1948, he signed Executive Order 9981. Of course, the Triple Nickles had already pioneered that front, having been integrated into the 82nd Airborne a full seven months earlier.

  “It is hereby declared,” the order read, “to be the policy of the president that there shall be equality of treatment and opportunity for all persons in the armed services without regard to race, color, religion or national origin. This policy shall be put into effect as rapidly as possible and having due regard to the time required to effectuate any necessary changes without impairing efficiency or morale.”

  Truman’s intention to ensure equality between blacks and whites was real, but his personal beliefs about integration were not as clear. He wrote to a southern friend who questioned his stance on civil rights, “I am not asking for social equality because no such thing exists, but I am asking for equality of opportunity for all human beings, and as long as I stay here, I am going to continue that fight.”

  This fuzziness would have its consequences. Neither the word integration nor the word segregation was included in his executive order. This left the document open to interpretation — and, therefore, resistance. It took a while longer, but by January 16, 1950, when the Army’s integration plan was finally approved, each branch of the armed services had begun to integrate. Within three years, the Army announced that 95 percent of African-American soldiers were serving in integrated units.

  Irving Dickerson didn’t join the all-black paratroop unit (then designated the 505th) until 1949, but he had served during World War II in another all-black unit that was sent to Italy and used for security work, before finally being given the chance to fight on the front lines. Dickerson had this to say about integration: “It proves what we were — American soldiers. Not black soldiers but American soldiers.”

  World War II was truly a turning point in American race relations. Historian Charles E. Silberman said this was the time in which “the seeds of the protest movements of the 1950s and 1960s were sown.” White Americans found it difficult to ignore the fact that they had been fighting Hitler while perpetrating atrocities and inequalities on their own black citizens — especially when those black citizens had done their part to unite in the fight against the same foe. “[African Americans] made a significant contribution to the war effort at home and abroad,” historian Stephen Ambrose has written. “It started to make Americans ashamed of their attitudes.”

  Add this shame to the fact that black Americans were no longer willing to stomach discrimination without protest. They were determined to fight for better status in American society. One soldier said that when he came home after the war, “I carried myself in a different way after I came back, and people could tell.” Integration of the military, Biggs said, also made it possible for “the civilian population . . . to see that their white sons would be led by a black soldier. . . . So these white soldiers would go home and say, ‘Mom, Dad, my squad leader is a black soldier. He’s my friend; I respect and admire him.’ That is our success. That’s where the civil-rights attitude comes from, and that’s where we as black servicemen helped remove a cancer that was part of American society . . . born in segregation and discrimination.”

  Another Triple Nickles member, Joe Murchison, joined the 555th not long before it became part of the 82nd. He witnessed the effect integration had, too: “The individual soldiers . . . started interacting with each other and going home on pass together and meeting each other’s families, and that led to acceptance.” This was the whole key to a change in race relations. Once black and white people began having real experiences together, instead of just imagining them, it took some of the fear out of the situation.

  One major event that had a positive impact on life for returning veterans was the passing of the GI Bill of Rights, which helped soldiers pay for education as well as housing. These rights belonged to every veteran regardless of race and effectively increased the educational opportunities available to blacks. Triple Nickles member Samuel Robinson studied business at Roosevelt College on the GI Bill and went to law school after that. Soldier Alex Pitcher said, “Before World War II, there wasn’t too much interest in any of us. . . . Most of us didn’t have the chance to become doctors or lawyers. . . . So our eyes were opened all across this country. . . . We became aware of the racial problem, and we became aware of what to do about it.”

  Ashley Bryan, now an award-winning author and illustrator of children’s books, returned from his service as a stevedore in the Army during World War II to finish the college degree in art he had started at Cooper Union before being drafted. “Like most veterans, I was so spun around,” he said. “I wanted to understand why we select war, even though we know the tragedies and destruction that come with it.” The GI Bill allowed Bryan to go on to study philosophy at Columbia University and art in Germany and France on a Fulbright Scholarship.

  Th
e NAACP quickly became involved anytime a college tried to deny a black veteran his or her rights under the GI Bill. Alex Pitcher was one veteran the NAACP went to bat for. He said, “We realized that black people never could really accomplish their dreams unless they had education.” After he became a lawyer, Pitcher fought antidiscrimination battles for others.

  Long after the war, some old military injustices were put right. Although not a single African-American soldier from World War II had ever been given a Medal of Honor — the highest military decoration for heroism — President Bill Clinton awarded seven of these medals to World War II veterans in 1997 (only one recipient was still living). And remember the 761st all-black battalion, which fought valiantly in the Battle of the Bulge but was denied its Distinguished Unit Citation? In 1978, President Jimmy Carter finally signed that citation for them, and they were given their due. Yet eight years earlier, the movie Patton was released, with no mention of the 761st at all, even though Patton, who was against integration, had agreed to take them, saying, “I would never have asked for you if you weren’t good. . . . I don’t care what color you are, so long as you go up there and kill those Kraut [German] sonsabitches. . . . Your race is looking forward to your success. Don’t let them down.” Although this episode of history is well documented, only one black man — Patton’s orderly — is portrayed in an entire movie dedicated to this general’s life.

  Actor George C. Scott, playing General Patton in the movie about Patton’s life. African-American actor James Edwards played Patton’s orderly, George Meeks. Edwards had gained fame twenty years earlier for landing a mainstream role in Home of the Brave and was known for speaking out against Hollywood stereotypes.

  The 1998 film Saving Private Ryan, as well as the 2001 miniseries Band of Brothers, also failed to give credit to black soldiers. Famous black director Spike Lee did something about that in 2008, with his movie Miracle at St. Anna, which focuses on four soldiers from the 92nd Infantry Division. Although it is a fictional story, Lee’s motivation was to add black soldiers to their rightful place in history. “In World War II movies,” Lee said, “rarely do you see black men in the picture at all, never mind being heroic.” In a classic scene, one of the film’s main characters speaks directly to why the role of the black soldier is so important to acknowledge: “They said we couldn’t fight. Had us float balloons, work as quartermasters, cook and clean, but the 92nd proved we can fight. This is our country, too. We helped build it from the ground up.”

  An image from Spike Lee’s Miracle at St. Anna, a movie in which Lee highlighted the heroics of black soldiers in World War II

  As for the legacy of the Triple Nickles, it lives on strong today. The three surviving members of the original test platoon — Walter Morris, Roger Walden, and Clarence Beavers — are still educating people about their experiences. “We didn’t win any wars, but we did contribute,” Morris has said. “What we proved was that the color of a man had nothing to do with his ability.”

  In 2004, sixty years after Morris earned his wings, his grandson, Michael Fowles, became a paratrooper, too. Morris had the honor of bestowing his own silver wings on his grandson. He was also the guest speaker at the ceremony, which took place at Fort Benning.

  “When he pinned on my wings,” Fowles remarked, “he said he was proud of me and this was one of the best days of his life. Then he said he’d kill me if I lost his wings. I said I would protect them with my life.” Morris was so overcome with emotion that he broke military protocol and hugged his grandson right then and there.

  Walter Morris stands with his grandson, Michael Fowles, after Fowles earned his paratrooper wings.

  Morris said his grandson was momentarily embarrassed, but he got over it quickly. “I always looked up to him,” Fowles said, “not only for what he did in the military, but for what he did as a man for his family and the community. He sacrifices a lot of time for other people.”

  Morris ended his term of service in January 1946, after the 555th had returned to Fort Bragg. Married, and with a young daughter, he decided to retire from the military. He and his family moved first to Seattle, where his father taught him the trade of bricklaying, and later to New York City, where his mother was. There he became one of the first African Americans in the bricklayers’ union and managed construction projects, often for the city of New York. He now lives in Florida, where he was an early organizer of the African American Cultural Society in Palm Coast.

  Clarence Beavers worked for the Veterans Administration until 1959 and then went to Germany for a job with the Department of Defense. He retired in 1979 and now lives in New York State. Roger Walden remained in the Army and was promoted to major in 1955 and to lieutenant colonel in 1962. He retired from the military four years later and now lives in Michigan. Many of the other 555th members who stayed in the Army went on to earn promotions and to fight valiantly in the Korean War, and later in the Vietnam War. Several, including Roger Walden, received the Silver Star for their service.

  Clarence Beavers, April 2008

  Bradley Biggs enjoyed a long and distinguished career in the Army. After the war ended, Biggs took part in operations for the 82nd Airborne. He then went on to serve in Korea. Biggs retired in 1961 and spent much of his later career working in different areas of education, including serving as dean of faculty at Middlesex Community College. Biggs also focused on furthering his own education, earning two master’s degrees from Wesleyan University.

  Decades after General James Gavin took the 555th under his wing, in 2010, Gavin’s grandson had a chance to reflect on his actions. Staff Sergeant Joseph Gavin said, “I’m proud my grandfather recognized the talents of these soldiers and helped integrate them into the 82nd Airborne. They paved the way for all soldiers who followed them.”

  Sam Day, a paratrooper in the 11th Airborne who fought in the Korean War, agreed: “They opened the door for young black paratroopers.” A veteran of the Vietnam War, Robert Sample, echoed this sentiment: “I’m not concerned about whether they went to combat. . . . If I didn’t know about the Triple Nickles, I would never have thought about going to jump school.” William Smith also served in Vietnam, in the Army’s Airborne Division, and credits his success to these pioneers: “Just as the Tuskegee Airmen opened the way for black pilots,” he said, “the Triple Nickles opened the way for blacks to become paratroopers.”

  The trail the 555th pioneered was not just about paratroopers or smokejumpers. It was about the way people considered race. “When you look out at the Army of today,” Morris said, “it’s such a pleasure because it’s such a difference. You see white, black, red, yellow all doing their job.” Triple Nickle Joe Murchison says that his experience in the 82nd Airborne changed how he thought about race. “I don’t answer to African-American. I’m All-American.” After retiring from the Army in 1960, Murchison became a businessman.

  Murchison was one of the founders of the 555th Parachute Infantry Association in 1979 and invited General Gavin to give the first keynote speech. The association honors the Triple Nickles by maintaining the battalion’s history and enabling members to keep in touch with one another. The association even has a jump team. Murchison’s dignity and delight shines through whenever he talks about the Triple Nickles. “When the 555th was folded into the 505th and changed the name, it was an end of an era for the men who were involved,” he said. He serves as the association’s president, and membership is open to any paratrooper, regardless of race. There are chapters all over the country. Sam Day ran a chapter in Philadelphia and was proud of its diversity. “Anybody can join the Triple Nickles now as long as they’re Airborne,” he said. “White, black, green — anybody.”

  Joe Murchison, president of the 555th Parachute Infantry Association, speaking at a ceremony in recognition of the Triple Nickles at the Pentagon, Washington, D.C., March 25, 2010

  In July 2000, the fifty-fifth anniversary of Operation Firefly was celebrated. By 2009, museums at Fort Benning and Fort Bragg included Triple Nickl
es exhibits. In February 2003, the Triple Nickles were honored with a granite monument placed at the entrance of the Airborne & Special Operations Museum in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Engraved with the names of the first twenty-three members, the monument proudly calls attention to the historical significance of this outstanding unit. The curator, Mary Dennings, said, “We think it’s important that soldiers know their history. They need to know where they came from so they can be inspired to be the best soldiers they can be.” Carstell Stewart would have agreed. With a set jaw and a look of determination, he talked about making sure this history is not forgotten. He said, “The man with no history, the race with no history, has no future.”

  General David Petraeus and Walter Morris pose with a statue modeled after Morris following the unveiling on September 7, 2006, at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. It honors all the members of the first and only all-black World War II parachute battalion.

  On March 26, 2010, the U.S. Forest Service honored the 555th for its heroic service to the agency. The day before, the Army had paid tribute to the 555th in a ceremony at the Pentagon. Morris, Beavers, and Walden attended both events. Everywhere these remaining heroes go, the theme of “opening the door” is repeated. Michele Jones, a paratrooper and retired command sergeant major, said, “These three gentlemen . . . kicked open the door; they took the door off the hinges. . . . [They] profoundly changed the course of history.”