BATTLE NARRATIVE
A Dozen Men Were Riddled. Saipan: 5 July 1944
The holiday mood on Radar Hill evaporated early on D-plus-20. After a day spent watching sister units overrun the high ground of Saipan’s central ridgeline, BLT 1-24 received movement orders returning them to the fighting front. Gear was packed, weapons hoisted onto shoulders, and last longing looks were cast at foxhole homes. Another early morning hike commenced, sapping strength before the attack even began. “These occasional days of rest we received had their obvious advantages,” noted 1Lt. Frederic A. Stott, “but there was the accompanying disadvantage of the never-ceasing movement of the Fourth Marine Division.”[1]
Captain Irving Schechter was a fortunate skipper: his Able Company officer’s roster was still largely intact after three weeks of fighting. “Buck’s” right-hand man was his exec, the seemingly unstoppable 1Lt. Harry D. Reynolds, Jr. A bullet through the shoulder on D-plus-7 barely slowed “Big Harry” down; it meant a Gold Star to wear on the Purple Heart he’d earned on Namur earlier in the year.
At the venerable age of thirty, 2Lt. Paul J. Rossi of Bayonne, New Jersey, was the oldest officer in the company. He also happened to be the least experienced – before taking command of First Platoon, he served as a battalion quartermaster and mess officer.
The Second Platoon had 1Lt. Roy I. Wood, Jr., an aristocratic South Carolinian, in charge. Like Reynolds, Roy Wood had already been wounded in action twice; he was limping slightly from a shrapnel wound inflicted on D-plus-7.
The Third Platoon was in somewhat rougher shape, having lost its entire command structure – 1Lt. David E. Smith, Platoon Sgt. John Yaniga, and guide Sgt. Warren J. Buchanan – in the first week of the battle.[3]
Supporting the rifle companies were the machine gunners, led by 1Lt. Joseph Stevens, and the 60mm mortar section commanded by 1Lt. Philip E. Wood, Jr.
Phil Wood did not fit the profile of a typical Marine officer; indeed, he had never dreamed of a military career, or expected to wear the uniform at all. His parents’ experiences in the Great War left them staunch pacifists, and they encouraged artistic pursuits over athletics. Young Phil Wood entered Swarthmore College in 1936 at the age of sixteen, participated in the school’s peace missions, and happily studied English and history. His father’s sudden death in 1940 forced an adjustment in his aspirations, and he entered Yale Law School to become a better breadwinner for his mother and sister.
Phil initially viewed the war as a personal inconvenience; after Pearl Harbor, he complained that “the delay in my education can do none of us any good” and professed that he would never volunteer.[4] A convincing presentation about the Marine Corps changed his mind, however, and he applied for Officer Candidate School in February 1942. The training proved tougher than Phil expected: he needed medical waivers for his low weight and narrow chest, studied military subjects late into the night, and broke his nose in judo training. Instead of sailing through his classes like he did at Swarthmore, he squeaked through OCS to earn a commission and was appointed leader of the Able Company weapons platoon in late 1942.
Philip Wood from Yale student to "Second Looie" to combat veteran – 1941 to 1944.
Over the course of training at Camp Pendleton, Phil discovered a talent for leadership. He never developed an appreciation for the spit-and-polish of military life (referring more than once to the “stupid inflexibility” of the military mind), but quickly won the friendship of fellow officers, the respect of enlisted men, and the nickname “Eagle.”[5] The sudden end of a long relationship – very nearly at the altar – seemed to sharpen his focus on military matters. Wood especially liked his mortar section, “a damned good bunch of boys, known in the company for the ‘gung-ho’ spirit.”[6] The affection went both ways. “It was no hero-worship due to athletic prowess, etc. such as sometimes occurs in the men-officer relationship,” noted 1Lt. Frederic A. Stott, one of Wood’s closest friends. “It was much deeper – the natural response of a group of intelligent men to a leader in whom they believed, and to whom they were devoted as much as he was to them.”[7] Captain Schechter agreed: “I had been Phil’s Company Commander for over a year and a half, and during that time had never seen an officer that was better liked by both men and officers. Phil was a natural leader whose men would follow [him] anywhere.”[8]
“Phil was my best friend,” said Roy Wood. “He was too brave for his own good.”[10]
Wood’s second-in-command was his polar opposite. Oklahoma-born Sergeant Arthur B. Ervin, age twenty-two, was “a tough, hard-bitten little guy” and fully committed to a career in the Corps. A pre-war Marine, he had served at Pearl Harbor and in the Russell Islands as a Raider – and had plenty of stories about the Mare Island naval prison, too. Ervin was also one of Able Company’s most highly decorated men, with a Navy Cross and Purple Heart earned on Roi-Namur. Rumors were circulating that he was up for another decoration following a successful patrol on 20 June 1944. If Wood was known for warmth, Ervin was known for his chilly demeanor; he was said to “piss ice water” and when he smiled, it almost seemed to hurt. However, he was devoted to his mother, older brothers, and young wife Odena – and, oddly enough, to his platoon leader. “Ervin was pretty much an individualist, not given to affection, and on first impression, not a top-notch NCO,” remarked Fred Stott. “But the mutual admiration and respect which grew between the two was obvious, and they were a strongly attached pair who worked together as well as any and better than most.”[11]
Wood and Ervin had three squads of mortarmen under their command; the entire section was attached to the company headquarters as Buck Schechter’s personal artillery. Their instructions for the day were straightforward – fire a barrage just before the assault kicked off, then be ready to shoot or move as the advance developed. The mortars fired from behind the lines, meaning someone had to go up front to spot targets and direct their fire. Wood made a point of doing this job himself. Any number of his enlisted men could spot targets – his young runner, PFC William J. Imm, Jr., was showing a great deal of talent in this complicated task – but it was a dangerous job, and Wood preferred to take the risk himself. He loved the mortar as a weapon; calculating its plunging fire appealed to his intellectual side and he knew how effective its 60mm bombs could be, softening up an objective for the boys in the rifle platoons.
Firing a mortar was an intricate process. The spotter would identify the target, and call back the range, bearing, type of ammunition, and number of rounds he wanted to expend; the call was repeated by each of the three squad leaders, and then confirmed by each of the gunners as they dialed in their M4 sights to align the tube on target. The assistant gathered the requested rounds and broke off the powder increments on their base to match the desired range; ammo carriers stood by to fetch more rounds, or simply got out of the way. Finally, the assistant hung the round in the barrel; on the command to fire, he released the bomb down the tube and ducked away from the muzzle blast.
Phil Wood posted himself with Roy Wood’s platoon – the two were not related but, due to the Corps’ affinity for alphabetizing, had served together since OCS – and looked over the objective. The slope to cross was largely free of trees, but a handful of buildings, caves, and ravines were plainly visible. Any one of these areas could hold a Japanese squad or machine gun; even a lone sniper could hold up an advance if he was troublesome enough. It was the mortarman’s job to try and knock out these potential trouble spots before the riflemen got too close. As Phil called corrections and instructions to his platoon, the distinctive whang of Able Company’s three 60mm mortars added to the din of artillery and rockets screaming overhead.
Suddenly, Phil Wood saw several small figures hurry out of a ravine 150 yards from the Marine lines. This was no banzai attack, he realized with horror – these were civilians, mostly women and children, bandaged and bleeding, obviously in need of help.
Wood had a very short time to make a very big decision. King Hour was imminent, and if Able Company didn’t step off on schedule, they risked losing the cover of the bombardment – or worse, losing contact with their flank units. Neither Colonel Hart nor General Schmidt would accept the appearance of non-combatants as an excuse to delay the attack. Furthermore, whatever lurked in the caves must be awful indeed if the civilians preferred to take their chances in the open. It did not take a genius to deduce that Japanese soldiers were in the area.
Wood’s humanitarian side won over. He ordered a cease-fire and laid out a plan to his boss, Buck Schechter. “As always, Phil and Sgt. Ervin asked if they could take a patrol forward and help the natives back of our lines,” Schechter later wrote. Volunteers quickly gathered – seven Marines, including Wood and Ervin, plus a Navy corpsman – and made their way gingerly over the crest of a hill, waving the civilians in. A regimental photographer, SSgt. Maurice Garber, tagged along to capture the moment. “[Phil] soon returned with many wounded women and children,” continued Schechter.[12]
At 1225, the group of civilians arrived at Lessing’s command post. As corpsmen bandaged shrapnel wounds and lacerated feet, battalion intelligence personnel fired off a few rapid questions. “There are more than a thousand Jap soldiers and marines ahead,” they learned. “Many without rifles. No big guns. Also a lot of civilians gathered.” This was fantastic news; a disorganized and poorly armed enemy force was easy pickings. There was even a chance to repeat the “fish in a barrel” job performed by Baker Company on 3 July. The civilians were soon on their way back to regimental headquarters, and the clock ticked down towards King Hour.
Then a radio crackled to life. “All available corpsmen and 6 litters to ‘A’ Co. Machine gun opened up on them.”[13]
“Hot stuff in a ravine."
When the civilians first approached the patrol, an English speaker among them made an impassioned appeal to the tall, thin American who appeared to be in charge. There were more friendly civilians in the caves, he said. They wanted to surrender, but the Japanese guarded the exits and threatened death to any who tried to leave.
Phil Wood faced a second critical choice. The Marine assault was to begin in a matter of minutes. When the rifle platoons reached the caves, they would run into the Japanese defenders and possibly suffer casualties. The outcome would not be in doubt – the Marines had overwhelming fire- and manpower advantages – but a fight around the caves would involve flamethrowers and demolition charges, ensuring a burning, crushing, suffocating end for the Japanese soldiers. It also amounted to a death sentence for any civilians trapped inside, and this raised a moral question: attempt a risky rescue, or withdraw to safety and condemn noncombatants to die? It will never be known how the decision was made, but immediately after delivering the first group of captives to friendly lines, the volunteer patrol headed back towards the caves with Phil Wood in the lead.
“Phil, always first in combat, first in leadership, was also first to die,” wrote Captain Schechter.
Thirty yards from the caves, a Japanese machine gunner opened fire on the lanky lieutenant leading the patrol.[14] His bullet hit Phil Wood just above the right hip and exited through his stomach, inflicting an excruciating and fatal wound. The gunner tightened his grip on his weapon, patiently waiting for more targets. Leaving a wounded man as bait was a favorite tactic; few Marines could stay put when a comrade was suffering in the open.
Sergeant Arthur Ervin, famously emotionless and frosty under pressure, snapped at the sight of his friend and leader screaming and helpless in the open. “Don’t worry, Phil!” he shouted. “I’m coming for you!”[15] As the rest of the patrol scrambled to provide covering fire, Ervin “ran like a lost calf after its mother” to the stricken lieutenant. The machine gun fired again; Ervin died without another word, a bullet through his head. The patrol’s corpsman, HA1c Harry A. Schreiber, took a shot through the shoulder and wisely lay still. Technical Sergeant Richardson attempted to engage the sniper, but a burst of gunfire ripped his chest apart. The rest of the patrol was cut to ribbons in a matter of minutes.
Marine photographers Maurice Garber and H. Neil Gillespie covered the medical response to the patrol.
The identification of PFC Lawrence F. Pantlin in Garber's caption establishes the date and event.
From his position on the line of departure, PFC Tommy Lynchard heard the sudden flurry of gunfire in the ravine. “Lynch” was immediately on the alert: his close friend PFC Lawrence E. Knight, “a real good man,” was one of the volunteers on the patrol. The Japanese guns hammered away, quickly overwhelming the sound of American weapons. Lynch had his BAR locked and loaded long before the order came to saddle up and head to the firefight.
Roy Wood’s Second Platoon raced to the scene of the ambush and beheld a horrifying sight. Seven of the eight-man patrol were lying on ground wounded, dying, or dead. Ervin and PFC Davis V. Kruse, a BARman from Waterloo, Iowa, were already past help; both were shot through the head. PFC Frank R. Hester was writhing with a bullet in his back; despite a corpsman’s swift attention, “Roscoe” died of his wounds. Lynch saw his buddy Knight motionless on the ground, breathing but unresponsive. “He wasn’t quite dead, but you could tell he was going to die,” Lynchard recalled. “He was lying there making a blubbering sound, and that was it.”[16] Phil Wood was also still alive, but just barely; he managed to mumble “Tell my mother and sister,” before lapsing into unconsciousness and death.[17]
Battalion headquarters issued a terse order to “keep moving,” but Second Platoon, fired up by the sight of their mangled friends, did not need any invitation.[18] As his squad assaulted forward into a tangle of trees and undergrowth, Tommy Lynchard found himself face to face with a Japanese soldier. He ripped off a full 20-round magazine; the Japanese soldier jumped behind a rock and tossed a grenade at the Americans. Lynch hit the deck facing away from the blast; shrapnel whirred overhead, and he caught a glimpse of his adversary running towards a nearby shack. Furious and full of adrenaline, Lynchard gave chase. As he rounded the corner of the shack, Lynch spotted a pair of legs in hobnailed boots sticking out from under the building. He didn’t know if it was the grenadier, and he didn’t care; a blast from his BAR killed the cowering soldier and Lynch moved on. A few yards away, he surprised and killed a machine gunner who appeared to be waiting for something. Lynchard looked along the man’s line of fire and saw the ambush site. He wondered briefly if he’d just shot the man responsible for the deaths of his friends.
As he loaded a third magazine into his BAR, Lynchard finally paused to think about where he was – thirty yards ahead of his company, with only his assistant for backup, possibly surrounded by Japanese. He was “all shook up” from his adventure, low on ammo, and “feeling like I was going to get shot in the back.” Then his blood ran cold. On a rocky hill before him, he saw Japanese soldiers gathering in the open. To the Mississippi sharecropper’s son, they looked as numerous “as flies on a dead mule.” Lynch and his buddy ducked back into the trees and hurried back to their company.[19]
Able Company pushes through the ambush. Note cave just above the number 784 – this is likely the patrol's original objective.
Photographer unknown, but likely SSgt. Maurice Garber.
Buck Schechter was stunned by the disaster that befell his company – a dozen men killed or wounded including his acting First Sergeant, a Navy Cross hero, and his good friend Phil Wood.[20] He aimed every weapon in his company at the Japanese in the open, and at his command they vented all their pain and frustration in a blistering volley. “When we fired, they began to tumble down that rock,” Lynchard recalled. “We was shooting at the ones on top, and about 15 fell all the way to the bottom. It was something to see.”[21] The surviving Japanese broke and ran. The ambush was over. Ambulances and extra corpsmen arrived from regimental headquarters. Photographers Garber and SSgt. H. Neil Gillespie flitted about taking pictures. Able and Baker Companies made their way down the ridge.
Twelve minutes after the first call for stretchers, the attack was “progressing satisfactorily.”[22]
“I was blood from head to foot."
The destruction of the patrol, while catastrophic to Able Company, barely slowed the pace of the advance. In three hours, the 24th Marines reached their objective – phase line O-8(A) – with only “moderate resistance” in their way.[23] Lieutenant Stott proudly noted that “we established a clear lead in the ‘race’ for Marpi Point. By nightfall we had a gap of a quarter of a mile between ourselves and the Army units to our left rear.”[24]
As always, “moderate” was a relative term, and for many in the ranks of BLT 1-24 the fighting seemed anything but easy. Corporal Robert L. Williams of Able Company had a close call while pitching grenades into a shack. “Somebody didn’t like what we were doing, so they started shooting at us,” he said. The bullets shattered on impact, and Williams realized the Japanese were using dum-dum or explosive rounds. (While technically banned by international law, dum-dums were unofficially used by both sides on Saipan. PFC Robert D. Price admitted to making his own rounds with a rat-tail file, and he was not the only one.[25]) The two Marines hit the deck just as a bullet hit between them. Williams caught some metal in his right hand, while PFC Douglas B. Footit was hit in the left hand.
A corpsman sent Footit back for treatment, then bandaged Williams up. “Okay,” said the sailor, “you have to go back to the aid station.”
“What for?” asked Williams. “I’m not going back, I’m staying here.”
“You have to go back. If you don’t, you won’t get your Purple Heart.”
“I’ll tell you where you can shove that Purple Heart!”
“Aw hell, it wouldn’t fit. Stay here if you want.”
Bob Williams stayed.[26]
While Able Company took most of the casualties on D-plus-20, Baker Company did not get off scot free and suffered a handful of wounded, including Captain Milton G. Cokin. One squad had a particularly terrifying experience with Japanese defenders throwing land mines like massive grenades. PFC Donald Rothweiler was nearly killed by one of these missiles, and described the harrowing tale from his hospital bed.
After being knocked down by the land mine I got up and tried to walk but my leg would not hold me up. Falling to the ground, I started to crawl and then felt something hit my helmet. More blood started to run down the side of my face and by that time I was blood from head to foot. I felt the side of my head and discovered a gash about two inches in length where a bullet had gone through the helmet grazing the side of my head. It wasn't very bad and don't believe the injury will be permanent, however the doctors haven't told me yet. Am still a little nervous but will get over that.[27]
Rothweiler was fortunate to survive. PFC Clifford J. Cowell, a Baker Company BARman from Grand Rapids, Michigan, was also riddled by shrapnel and shot in the head. He died of his wounds two days later.
That night, BLT 1-24 intercepted and annihilated a Japanese force from several hundred yards away. This was a far cry from the effective infiltration earlier in the battle, and Stott gave credit to the ready availability of flares. “Fear and dislike of the dark is natural, but at any critical moment we possessed the requisite illumination to turn night into day,” he said. “It must have been a deterrent and harmful to Jap morale on the attack, when any concentrated movement brought a deluge of brilliant light and a storm of bullets. It certainly was heartening to us.”[28] Quick-firing 37mm cannon helped keep the Japanese at bay, but a group of four enemy soldiers managed to find the battalion CP before being gunned down just before midnight.[29]
At the 4th Marine Division Cemetery, Lieutenant Wood, TSgt. Richardson, PFC Hester, PFC Knight, and PFC Kruse were being readied for burial. Graves Registration personnel puzzled over the body of a five-foot-seven Marine with black hair, hazel eyes, and a bullet hole in his head. He wore no dog tags and had no other means of identification – no letters, personal belongings – and his clothes were unmarked.[30] With nothing to go on, the burial team simply interred him as an unknown.
To this day, the remains of Sergeant Arthur B. Ervin have not been formally identified.[31]
At left, Graves Registration personnel check the identities of dead men at the 4th Marine Division Cemetery.
At right, the graves of Lt. Wood and PFC Hester on Saipan.
“The ruse succeeded."
In the context of the campaign for Saipan, Able Company’s ill-fated patrol is an obscure piece of history. Indeed, outside of the battalion’s own war diary, it warranted no mention whatsoever in official reports of the day’s action and may not have even registered on neighboring units. It was one of countless small-unit actions which had little impact on the overall course of the battle. However, like any one of those small-unit actions, it was a major event to those directly involved, and the story can be reconstructed from their letters, writings, and memories.
The general consensus at the time seemed to be that the patrol had fallen into a trap. “Using civilian men, women, and children as decoys, the Jap soldiers managed to entice a volunteer patrol forward into the open to collect additional civilian prisoners,” wrote Fred Stott. “A dozen men were riddled as the ruse succeeded.”[32] Some blamed enemy treachery. “An English-speaking prisoner said he could lead us to a lot of civilians who wanted to surrender,” said Corporal Pennock Bowen. “They were ambushed and only one man returned alive.”[33] The battalion war diary concurred: “English-speaking prisoners possibly led ‘A’ Co into a trap by claiming there were civilians in a cave forward who wanted to surrender.”[34]
Irving Schechter and Roy Wood disagreed. Schechter believed that Phil Wood and his volunteers fully understood the dangers of approaching the caves and elected to follow through anyway, as the language of a Silver Star Medal recommendation makes clear:
First Lieutenant Wood volunteered to lead a patrol forward of the front lines to a cave that apparently held enemy civilians and soldiers. Upon reaching the vicinity of the cave a native came forward and informed him that the cave held friendly natives who wished to surrender, but were prevented from doing so by enemy soldiers. Upon being informed of this and with complete disregard of his personal safety, First Lieutenant Wood went forward and was killed in the attempt to rescue the natives.[35]
Wood was ultimately awarded a posthumous Bronze Star, but the language in the citation remained largely unchanged. Technical Sergeant Richardson also received the Bronze Star for participating in this “dangerous and humane mission.”[36]
In speaking with Phil Wood’s uncle at Camp Maui in August 1944, Roy Wood explained that “When Phil was killed, he was leading a detail of eight men into a cave to flush out some Japs. There were civilians in there, so they were withholding their fire to let them come out. It was a dangerous job because the Marines knew that the Jap soldiers used civilians as hostages and fired from behind them.”[37] It should be noted that in both of these cases, Schechter and Roy Wood were speaking of a close friend, and with an ulterior motive (securing a decoration and providing comfort to a family member). It is possible that both men embellished somewhat.
The truth of the matter is likely somewhere in between. It is nigh impossible that a group of combat veterans would be so naïve as to approach a strange cave unprepared for a fight, no matter how convincing a “Judas goat” among the civilians may have been. On the other hand, the patrol clearly did not anticipate the severity of the Japanese response – nor did they expect to come under fire so far from the cave itself, or from the rear. (According to Roy Wood, the shot that killed Phil Wood came from behind and by surprise.)
Whether victims of a ruse or selfless sacrifice, the patrol accomplished its mission – and then some.
After killing or scattering the Japanese at the ambush site, the Marines cautiously approached the ravine. Tensions were high and fingers rested on triggers, but no combatants stayed behind to fight on. Instead, they found a crowd of civilians – just as the English-speaking captive reported. Tommy Lynchard estimated that no less than sixty people, mainly women and children, many of them wounded, were escorted out of the ravine to safety.[38] They were likely a mix of native Chamorros and transplanted Japanese, possibly residents of nearby mountain villages like Atchugau or Asumitok, or strangers from father south fleeing from the American advance. Their identities and stories are not known; doubtless many Marines saw little more than an anonymous gaggle of starved, dirty strangers not worth the lives of six Americans. Others, however, viewed this little liberation as a tangible reason for fighting and risking everything – for being on Saipan at all.
[1] Frederic A. Stott, “Saipan Under Fire” (Andover: Frederic Stott, 1945), 16.
[2] “Action Report: First Battalion, 24th Marines Record of Events, 15 June – 9 July 1944″ (24 August 1944). Hereafter BLT 1-24 Report.
[3] All three Marines were wounded and ultimately survived. It is not known who assumed command of Third Platoon; Reynolds may have taken charge, or possibly a senior NCO from the company.
[4] Philip E. Wood, Jr., letter to Margretta Wood, February 1942. Author’s collection.
[5] This was short for “Legal Eagle,” inspired by Wood’s defense of an NCO during a court martial trial.
[6] Philip E. Wood, letter to Gretchen and Margaretta Wood, May 6, 1944.
[7] Frederic A. Stott, letter to Margaretta Wood, October 7, 1944.
[8] Irving Schechter, letter to Margretta Wood, August 10, 1944.
[9] Weight loss was a hallmark of a long campaign; Robert Tierney estimated he lost 30 pounds in 25 days of combat on Saipan.
[10] James Hazen Hardy, letter to Margretta Wood, August 10, 1944. Hardy – Phil Wood’s uncle – spoke with Roy Wood after BLT 1-24 returned to Maui.
[11] Frederic A. Stott, letter to Margaretta Wood, October 7, 1944.
[12] Irving Schechter, letter to Margretta Wood, August 10, 1944.
[13] BLT 1-24 Report.
[14] In different accounts of this event, the patrol was fired upon by either a machine gunner or a “sniper.” While this conjures an image of a sharpshooter with a scoped rifle, Marines commonly referred to lone Japanese marksmen on harassment missions as “snipers” regardless of armament, and it is believed that the terms are used interchangeably by eyewitnesses.
[15] Frederic A. Stott, letter to Margaretta Wood, October 7, 1944.
[16] Tommy Lynchard, interview with the author, 24 July 2015.
[17] As told to James Hazen Hardy by Roy Wood. Irving Schechter wrote that Phil’s last words were “Say hello to my mother and Aunt for me,” but this may be in error as Phil was extremely close to his mother and sister (the “Dear Girls”).
[18] BLT 1-24 Report.
[19] Lynchard interview.
[20] Philip Wood was the first Able Company officer killed in action during the war.
[21] Lynchard interview..
[22] BLT 1-24 Report.
[23] “Report of RCT-24,” 28 August 1944, in Operations Report, 4th Marine Division, Saipan, Annex I (San Diego: Headquarters, 4th Marine Division, 3 October 1944). Hereafter RCT 24 Final Report.
[24] Stott, 16.
[25] “For night defense in a foxhole, I used to take a clip of .45 caliber and make a cross one direction, and a criss-cross the opposite way. So when I fired that weapon, immediately upon hitting a body it’ll break open and enlarge itself. In close combat it’s a hell of a good weapon, excuse my vernacular.” Robert D. Price, oral history interview conducted by Thomas Swope, Robert D. Price Collection (AFC/2001/001/49660), Veterans History Project, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[26] Robert L. Williams, “In My Own Words,” interview conducted by Veteran Voices of Pittsburgh, March 12, 2014.
[27] Donald Rothweiler, letter reprinted in “Wounded After 21 Days Of Fighting,” The Palmyra Spectator (Palmyra, MO) 9 August 1944.
[28] Stott, 16.
[29] BLT 1-24 Report.
[30] When a Marine was killed in action, any personal possessions were usually removed by his battalion’s staff and turned over to the adjutant for safekeeping until they could be mailed to the next of kin.
[31] A preponderance of evidence suggests that Arthur Ervin’s remains are currently classified as “Unknown X-64, 4th Marine Division Cemetery, Saipan,” and were buried in Manila after the war. Multiple case files have been submitted by the author and others to the relevant authorities at the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency, with no action taken on the agency’s part.
[32] Stott, 16.
[33] Pennock Bowen, letter reprinted in “Haverford Man Writes Home Of Action Against Japanese Forces At Saipan,” Our Town (Narbeth, PA), 27 July 1944.
[34] BLT 1-24 Report.
[35] Philip Emerson Wood, Jr., Official Military Personnel File (OMPF), Records of the Office of the Quartermaster General, Washington National Records Center, Suitland, MD.
[36] Arnold Ross Richardson, Official Military Personnel File (OMPF), Records of the Office of the Quartermaster General, Washington National Records Center, Suitland, MD.
[37] James Hazen Hardy, letter to Margretta Wood, August 10, 1944.
[38] Lynchard interview.
Battalion Daily Report
Casualties, Evacuations, Joinings & Transfers
KIA/DOW
WIA & EVAC*
SICK
JOINED
TRANSFERRED
STRENGTH
Out of an original landing strength of 888 officers and men.
* Does not include minor wounds not requiring evacuation from the line.
| Name | Company | Rank | Role | Change | Cause | Disposition |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Andree, Eugene Martin | Baker | PFC | Rifleman | Returned To Duty | From hospital | To Baker Company |
| Bartels Ronald Paul | Able | PFC | Mortarman | Sick | Unknown | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Burch, G. David | Able | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, face & neck | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Cable, Raymond Schede | Baker | Corporal | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Unknown (serious) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Cokin, Milton George | Baker | Captain | Company Commander | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Conway, Robert Leo | Able | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left hand & legs | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Cowell, Clifford Jay | Baker | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action (Fatal) | Multiple shrapnel wounds, land mine | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Ervin, Arthur "B." | Able | Sergeant | Mortar Section NCO | Killed In Action | Gunshot, head | Removed for burial |
| Fields, James Clay | Able | Private | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Footit, Douglas Bernard | Able | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Bullet fragments, hand | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Fritze, Leonard Otto | Baker | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Gilboy, John Arthur | Baker | Private | Rifleman | Returned To Duty | From hospital | To Baker Company |
| Hamilton, Elmer Dee | Headquarters | HA1c | Corpsman | Returned To Duty | From hospital | To HQ Company |
| Hester, Frank Roscoe | Able | PFC | Rifleman | Killed In Action | Gunshot, back | Removed for burial |
| Knight, Lawrence Elmer | Able | PFC | BARman | Killed In Action | Gunshot, head | Removed for burial |
| Kruse, Davis Vernon | Able | PFC | BARman | Killed In Action | Gunshot, head | Removed for burial |
| Lyon, Marion Errold | Headquarters | Corporal | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right shoulder | Evacuated to USS Relief |
| Marsh, Byron Huntington | Able | Corporal | Squad Leader | Sick | Unknown | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| McBride, Parker Samuel | Able | Platoon Sergeant | 2nd Platoon NCO | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Pantlin, Lawrence Felix | Able | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, face | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Priest, Jerald James | Headquarters | Corporal | Switchboard Operator | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Rayley, John Glasgow Jr. | Able | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot, left leg | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Richardson, Arnold Ross | Able | Technical Sergeant | Acting 1st Sergeant | Killed In Action | Gunshot, chest | Removed for burial |
| Rothweiler, Donald Maurice | Baker | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Multiple shrapnel wounds, land mine | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Schreiber, Harry Allison | Headquarters | HA1c | Corpsman | Wounded In Action | Gunshot & compound fracture, left elbow | Evacuated to airport |
| Staeyert, Peteus John | Able | PFC | BARman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (slight) | Not evacuated |
| Stanek, Arnold Francis | Baker | PFC | Rifleman | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, arm | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Tellier, Maurice Arthur | Headquarters | PhM3c | Corpsman | Wounded In Action | Unknown (serious) | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Tomasko, Andrew | Baker | PFC | Fire Team Leader | Wounded In Action | Compound fracture, left arm | Evacuated, destination unknown |
| Williams, Robert Leyshon | Able | Corporal | Demolitions | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, right hand | Not evacuated |
| Wood, Philip Emerson Jr. | Able | First Lieutenant | Leader, Mortar Section | Killed In Action | Gunshot, abdomen | Removed for burial |
| Worthington, Maynard Stuart | Able | Sergeant | Squad Leader | Wounded In Action | Shrapnel, left buttock | Evacuated, destination unknown |
Pingback: Letters from Lorraine Richardson | First Battalion, 24th Marines
Pingback: Eyewitness To Saipan – First Battalion, 24th Marines
Pingback: Graphic Images – First Battalion, 24th Marines
Pingback: Lost On Patrol: PFC Frank Roscoe Hester – First Battalion, 24th Marines
Pingback: Lost On Patrol: PFC Davis Vernon Kruse – First Battalion, 24th Marines
Pingback: Lost On Patrol: Sgt. Arthur B. Ervin – First Battalion, 24th Marines