John Basilone was a proud Marine whose military life, both during and in-between wars, is fraught with mystery and contradiction. His story, as told by a former Marine who had been to the harsh places that Basilone had been, albeit sometime afterward, is one of a simple small town boy joining the military, going to war and doing something courageous for his country.
Basilone started out in the Army, needing purpose and discipline in his life where it was seriously lacking, and at first he found it. However the shine wore off and as he grew morose with his Army life, he knew he wanted to get out and so he did. Back at home though, the same feelings that sent him into the Army to begin with flew around him again and again he turned to the service to make him whole, this time the Marines. Basilone was more than happy with his Marine lifestyle and did well with it. He was a Marine’s Marine. A man’s man, and a woman’s man, as it’s told. He ended up in Guadalacanal where he acted out heroic feats (some false and some true, though it’s hard to tell which) and received the Congressional Medal of Honor. The country, starting with his hometown of Raritan, New Jersey, and with a little military prodding, exploded into Basilone fever. Everyone wanted to see him, shake his hand, and hear him speak. The government decided to use this hero as best as they could, in a time when America needed them the most – Basilone went on a tour selling war bonds.
Not being a confident speaker, Basilone had trouble from the get go and poked and prodded, through many bottles of liquor, gambling and women, to have his superiors send him back into combat. He made a promise to his boys and he wasn’t going to break it. Close to two years later he got his wish. He was sent to Camp Pendleton with a new rank and a new platoon to break in. During his stay he fell in love with Sergeant Lena Riggi, who was solely unimpressed with his fame, and they were married shortly before Basilone shipped out on what would be his last mission.
‘Gunny’ John Basilone, or the earlier ‘Manila’ John, was sent to Iwo Jima to destroy the three airfields there and secure the island as a landing site for American bombers. Basilone’s actions, again with contradicting accounts, including the actual cause of his death (the most widely accepted being a mortar shell, officially GSW), would award him posthumously the Navy Cross. John Basilone was buried on Iwo Jima, then was exhumed (as many servicemen were buried where they died and later exhumed to be shipped to wherever home was) and was given a ceremonial burial at Arlington Cemetery fit for the hero his family and America believed he was.
I’ve thought a lot about what I would do after reading this book. Unless you watch ‘The Pacific’, an HBO show in which Basilone is a character or you’re a Marine or a military buff (so basically 90% of the population), you’ve never heard of this man. There were other heroes that toured with Basilone that I hadn’t heard of either. There are so many men and women that have demonstrated heroism while serving their country, and their names aren’t commonplace. Their loved ones remember them. But as in Basilone’s case, after sixty or more years there won’t be much family left that remembers.
My father served in the Army for twenty years, he has lived in numerous places and he was in Desert Storm. I remember him calling me when I was in grade school, the teacher took me aside, showed me where he was on our globe and then I spoke with him. Obviously I was too young to fully grasp the significance of the situation. The phone call was rife with static and his voice seemed far away at times, like he was underwater, and overly loud at others. I don’t remember much of what he said other than ‘Daddy is safe’ and ‘I love you’. An imperfect memory, but an important one all the same; I need to ask him about his time there, to remember it as well as I can.
In the city I used to live in, by the library, there is a small courtyard with a flag and the plaques of a few select vets. Every Veteran’s Day a wreath is placed next to the flag along with miniature flags stuck into the ground at the base of the plaques. Some people leave flowers, others steal the flags, but I wonder who those people are, who remembers them. So I’ve decided that I’m going to do some research on those names, see who they were and what they did. To make sure they are remembered in some way.
