Geoffrey
“What the devil do they have that thing flying for?”
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On 23 February 1945, a patrol from E/2/28th Marines scaled Mount Suribachi and raised the first two American flags to fly over Iwo Jima. The photographs by Louis Lowery and Joe Rosenthal, and the color film shot by Bill Genaust, are among the most iconic of World War II, if not the American twentieth century. Veterans of the battle – those who made it to D-plus-4, that is – recall where they were at that moment with the same clarity as later generations would recall the Kennedy assassination or the September 11 attacks. For some, the sight was instantly memorable; for others, the sound of cheering and ship’s horns are the dominant recollection. And for others it was a brief interruption in an otherwise awful day, meriting slight acknowledgement, indifference, or even fatalistic derision. It was all a matter of perspective and where one happened to be on the battlefield.
First Battalion was about as far away from Suribachi as it was possible for an American unit to be on 23 February 1945. They were the far right flank of the entire Marine line, with the sea and the Boat Basin to one side and the inhospitable crags and caves of the Quarry in front. Suribachi was a quarter mile behind them; it may as well have been on another island altogether. The only time it warranted attention was when Japanese gunners hit them from the rear, and there was nothing they could do about that. A few of them noticed a decrease in this harassment on the morning of D+4, but that was the only indication that anything had changed.
There was an interesting range of reactions to the flag raising. PFC Charles A. Kubicek (B/1/24) remembered his gunnery sergeant yelling “Lookee yonder flies Old Glory!” and the sudden burst of energy that followed. “Everybody got real excited. Now that we got the high ground, we can get moving.” Platoon Sergeant Samuel P. McNeal (C/1/24) had a similar reaction, calling “Look! Suribachi is ours!” Platoon Sergeant Mike Mervosh (C/1/24) pulled out his binoculars for a closer look; he wanted to be sure the flag was actually American. “I was looking for several seconds and bing, bing, bing one round caught the side of my cartridge belt. My exhilaration wasn’t at seeing the flag; my exhilaration was that these sons of bitches are poor shots.”
Marines who were closer to the beach, or who happened to be off the front lines, recalled more of the celebrations. Able Company had just been pulled into reserve, so Corporal Alva R. Perry, Jr. could hear how “the whole island cheered, the boats all tooted their horns, and we were ready to fight some more.” Corporal Edward Curylo was lying paralyzed on a stretcher with shrapnel in his body, waiting his turn to be taken to a hospital ship. As corpsmen lifted him onto a boat, he heard “hooraying and all that kind of baloney…. What the hell’s wrong with these guys, they crazy? I managed to lift my head… they’re dancing around and things, and I looked up to Suribachi and I saw the flag.”
Many more expressed disbelief and surprise – not that the objective had been taken, but that they were expected to care about it. 1Lt. John M. Fox, busily running his 81mm mortar platoon, was unimpressed because “there was still so much unfinished word to do.” One of his men, PFC William T. Quinn, heard the cacophony but “I didn’t know what was going on and nobody was telling me anything.” When he did hear the news, he couldn’t see the flag anyway from his position – and, practically, decided to use the distracting noise to test fire his rifle. Private Domenick Tutalo was burning out caves with his flamethrower, and said “we heard about it, but I couldn’t see it.” He remained focused on the deadly task at hand.
The day of the flag raising was one of First Battalion’s worst in terms of casualties. Twelve men lost their lives in action, or died of wounds suffered earlier in the battle. Among them was Platoon Sergeant McNeal, who died while attacking a Japanese bunker not long after he shouted the news of the flag. He would receive his second Silver Start Medal for this feat. As Perry celebrated the flag, he was also shocked at the death of his good friend Corporal John M. Corcoran. They were just settling into their reserve positions when a dud American shell skipped along the ground and slammed into “Bubbleface” Corcoran’s stomach. He died in the few moments it took to reach the aid station. An additional 38 Marines were wounded and evacuated during the course of the day.
The battle was far from over. First Battalion would not leave the island until 17 March 1945. Thus, one can understand the reaction of PFC Arthur T. LaPorte, a Charlie Company ammo carrier experiencing his first battle. As the day’s fighting drew to a close, LaPorte was “volunteered” to go back to the beach with a buddy and collect supplies. The two men moved cautiously along the shattered ground, dotted with wrecked vehicles and burned-out emplacements. They caught sight of the flag fluttering atop Suribachi. LaPorte glared at it.
“What the devil do they have that thing flying for?” he growled. “We haven’t even taken this piece of shit.”
It’s easy to imagine that LaPorte’s candid observation was shared by many Marines on Iwo Jima.
I drive by one of the flag raising monuments every day, while I’m driving home to Quantico MCB. I always think of my Uncle and how he died only days before that. What an eye opening story of what Marines were thinking when it was raised. It really brings that iconic moment into focus now. I always thought everyone stopped fighting when the flags went up