Navy Memorial Commemorates the 70th Anniversary of the Battle of the Coral Sea.

The United States Navy Memorial Foundation, Naval District Washington and the Australian Embassy welcome you to commemorate the 70th Anniversary of the Battle of the Coral Sea.

WHEN: Tuesday 1 May 12 – Ceremony to begin at 11:00a

WHERE: The United States Navy Memorial Plaza, Washington, DC

WHAT:  Service and Parade to Commemorate the 70th Anniversary of the Battle of the Coral Sea

WHY: The Battle of the Coral Sea took place between 3 and 10 May 1942 and was a major air and naval engagement of World War II and the first Naval Battle where the ships of the opposing sides never encountered each other. The outcome of the battle, a strategic victory for the Allies, shaped the subsequent Battle of Midway and ultimately the larger strategic campaign that would unfold over the next three years, leading to the defeat of Imperial Japan in 1945. Moreover, it created a bond between the Navies of the United States and Australia that has influenced the relationship between the two countries ever since.

The General Public is welcome to attend the outdoor ceremony on the Navy Memorial Plaza.

Ten Commandments for Advance Base Personnel (1945)

The following series of comic panels focus on an unfortunate soul named “Mac,” a well-meaning sailor who breaks each of the ten "Health Commandments" while serving at an advanced base in the Pacific during World War II. Mac’s wanton behavior and frequent snafus incurs the wrath of disease, and subsequently his shipmates. Originally published in pamphlet form in April 1945 by the Visual Education Department, Fleet Service Schools, San Diego, CA, these series of comic panels were used as a training tool to educate Navy and Marine Corps personnel on proper hygiene.


Commandment I
Thou shalt not drink water from any source other than that designated, else you become a victim to a fate more potent and virulent than Japanese lead. Thou shalt use thy water sparingly and wisely or your days and your brother’s may be numbered.


Commandment II
Thou shalt not use any spots except chosen ones for the deposition of your excreta. Thou shalt use only these chosen areas from the moment you come ashore, even though it entails walking farther than appears necessary at the moment. The grounds of the camp shall be scared and if used promiscuously as a nocturnal head it shall surely result in the implantation of potentially a veritably savage army of germs which will despoil the health of the entire camp. If the chosen area is a “straddle” trench, thou shalt, after depositing thy waste, completely cover same with the dirt provided at the trench’s end. Thou shalt not urinate on thy brother’s tent or street else he regard you as a dog which you have thereby imitated and treat you accordingly.


Commandment III
Thou shalt take without grumbling the medicine issued for malaria or placed in water for purification. For verily, if you do not take these precautions, ye shall descend into the depths of disease and despair as negligent brethren have proven to you.



Commandment IV
Thou shalt faithfully and carefully wash thy mess gear in the cans provided, even though the smoke and heat be thick and heavy about the fire, for surely, if you desist and become negligent in this habit, your bowels will become as liquid and your guts as knots in a wet rope.


Commandment V
Thou shalt maintain only friendly and discreet attitudes towards natives, else they transmit to you a brand of such heat and violence, your days of virility and youth will be quickly passed.


Commandment VI
Thou shalt eat only the rations provided or inspected and found fit. A delicious vegetable unplucked in a rich native field may harbor an enemy more treacherous than a Japanese war lord.


Commandment VII
Thou shalt judiciously use thy mosquito netting each and every night, if indicated; treating it as a trusty armor against a vole disease. Thou shalt carefully tuck it in around your entire cot; keep it carefully mended and preserved else your days of chills and fever shall surpass your days of good health.


Commandment VIII
Thou shalt make thyself skilled in the art of administering first aid. Your reward will be in the smile of an uninjured comrade you have saved.



Commandment IX
Thou shalt keep thy personal habits clean, for surely cleanliness is next to Godliness: filth is a brother of disease and death. Thou shalt not use thy neighbor’s toilet articles for verify the interchange shall result in odious sentiment and other discomfort.


Commandment X
Thou shalt report promptly for medical attention all minor and trivial injuries and ailments as well as the major ones.

Echoes of Navy Medicine’s Past: World War II, European Theater

Echoes of Navy Medicine’s Past
Part VI: World War II, European Theater
By Jan Herman and Mr. Grog

“To keep as many men at as many guns for as many days as possible.” This was the Navy Medical Department’s fighting motto during World War II. If the ultimate purpose of military medicine during this conflict was the same as in previous wars—to conserve the strength and efficiency of the fighting forces—Navy medical personnel worked diligently to accomplish that goal.

The ability and means to support the war effort was certainly not in evidence the day Japanese aircraft attacked Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941 and plunged the United States into World War II. In that year, the Navy had only 18 continental hospitals, 3 overseas hospitals, 2 mobile hospitals, and 2 hospital ships in commission. Approximately 13,500 physicians, dentists, nurses, hospital corps officers, and corpsmen—pharmacist’s mates as they were then called—manned these facilities.

In contrast, by 1945, the ranks had swollen to about 169,000 personnel, a staggering growth of 1,252 percent! They were assigned to 56 hospitals in the continental United States, 12 fleet hospitals, 16 base hospitals, 14 convalescent hospitals, 15 hospital ships, 5 special augmented hospitals, and many dispensaries.

The staggering commitment to winning the war would require all these resources. What transpired between 1941 and 1945 was a cataclysmic event made worse by the nature of the weapons used by the combatants. Although World War I had seen the widespread use of machine guns, submarines, airplanes, and tanks, World War II saw these weapons reach unimagined perfection as killing machines. In every theater of war, small arms, land- and sea-based artillery, torpedoes, and armor-piercing and anti-personnel bombs took a terrible toll in human life. In America’s first major encounter at Pearl Harbor, the victims of the Japanese attack could testify to what modern warfare really meant. Strafing aircraft, exploding ordnance, and burning ships caused penetrating injuries, simple and compound fractures, traumatic amputations, blast injuries, and horrible burns to name just a few.

Even though the story of Navy medicine in World War II is primarily a story of the Pacific war, the Navy not only played a key role in the liberation of North Africa, Italy, and France but also in fighting the U-boat menace in the North Atlantic and escorting convoys to Britain and Russia. Japan may have forced the United States into World War II, but American strategy for winning it focused on defeating Hitler first. Only when Nazism was on the run could the war planners in Washington take full aim at the Japanese.

The Americans who stormed Hitler’s “Fortress Europe” on 6 June 1944 were predominantly troops of the U.S. Army. But D-Day was not solely an Army show. It was Navy ships and personnel that brought the soldiers and their equipment from England, and Navy battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and rocket-firing amphibious assault vessels that pounded German fortifications and cleared the way into the beaches.

Navy personnel were also represented on the Normandy shore. They were not there in large numbers, but their unique skills were essential for the invasion to succeed. These were the men of the 2nd, 6th, and 7th Naval Beach Battalions, units whose mission it was to bridge the gap between sea and land and perform many other functions on the invasion beaches.

These highly trained sailors of the beach battalions had many functions to perform, not the least of which was to treat and evacuate casualties. The care givers—the physicians and hospital corpsmen—had to contend with every wound modern warfare could produce with anti-ship and personnel mines, high velocity small arms, and artillery fire inflicting penetrating wounds of the head, face, neck, and extremities, and fractures, burns and blast injuries.

As the first American troops went ashore at Omaha and Utah Beaches, Navy medicine was represented by these sailors who were dressed as soldiers and indistinguishable from their Army counterparts. Nevertheless, they performed bravely and efficiently, rendering first aid to American personnel, whether they were soldiers or sailors. Physicians provided rudimentary care where possible. Armed with litters, hospital corpsmen administered first aid—a battle dressing, a tourniquet, a morphine injection, a casualty tag—and then moved the wounded down to the water’s edge so they could be evacuated aboard the now empty landing craft heading back out to the transports. When that was not feasible, they sought shelter and set up aid stations above the high tide line.

The Navy was also responsible for returning the casualties from Normandy. Once evacuated from the American sectors of Utah and Omaha Beaches aboard smaller returning landing craft, the wounded were transferred to specially equipped LCTs (landing craft, tank) and LSTs (landing ship, tank) staffed by physicians and hospital corpsmen. Each LST had special brackets to accommodate 147 litters arranged in tiers 3 high on their tank decks. Here they would receive emergency treatment once the tanks and troops went ashore. Two Navy physicians, one Army surgeon, two Army operating room technicians, and 40 Navy hospital corpsmen staffed these versatile ships. They were equipped for providing first aid, stabilization, and an occasional surgery.

Once safely back in England, Navy medical personnel, including nurses, triaged patients, conducted emergency surgery, and stabilized the injured until they could be evacuated to other hospitals in Britain or back to the United States for more definitive treatment.

One of the hospitals designated to care for the casualties of the D-Day invasion was Navy Base Hospital Number 12. The facility occupied the thousand-bed Royal Victoria Hospital at Netley, adjacent to the major Channel port of Southampton and had a staff of Navy medical personnel. U.S. Navy physicians, nurses, and hospital corpsmen operated on patients night and day for the better part of a week. Their dedication and skill guaranteed that 97 percent of the wounded would live—a remarkable statistic.

Seventeen days after the initial landings at Normandy, the casualty evacuation system was working so smoothly that the naval beach battalions returned to England. Although their mission was completed, the cost had been heavy for these brave physicians and hospital corpsmen. Two physicians and 20 corpsmen of the 6th were killed in action. The 7th lost a physician and 10 corpsmen. At Utah Beach, where the invaders met lighter resistance, the 2nd Beach Battalion lost one physician and seven hospital corpsmen. Every bit as much as the soldiers and sailors who wielded the weapons of war, these Navy medical personnel helped insure the success of what Dwight Eisenhower called the “Great Crusade.” The long awaited turning point in the liberation of Europe had finally come.

Although Navy medical personnel were also present during the capture of Cherbourg and landings on the French Mediterranean coast, for the most part Navy medicine’s contributions to the liberation of Europe were over. The real focus of the Navy’s attention was the war against Japan.

Despite deteriorating relations with the Soviet Union and the beginning of the Cold War, dwindling military budgets translated into drastic reductions in resources and manpower for all the services. The Navy Medical Department shrank accordingly. Hospitals were decommissioned, hospital ships went into mothballs, and reserve physicians, dentists, nurses, and hospital corpsmen returned to civilian life. Who could have anticipated what would occur a mere five years later when the Cold War suddenly turned hot in Korea, a country few people could even find on a map.

Echoes of Navy Medicine's Past: World War II, Pacific Theater

Echoes of Navy Medicine’s Past
Part V: World War II, Pacific Theater
By Jan Herman and Mr. Grog


December 7, 1941 still represents the U.S. Navy’s greatest disaster. In just over two hours much of the Pacific Fleet had been destroyed or seriously damaged. Even before the last Japanese aircraft had disappeared over the horizon, what the raiders had accomplished by their surprise attack was catastrophic. The pride of the fleet—seven battleships that once projected U.S. might and prestige—either lay on the bottom or were too crippled to be of any immediate use. Bombs, torpedoes, and machine guns had taken a terrible toll, with the Navy alone losing 2,008 men.

The wounded and severely burned survivors of the attack required immediate treatment, and Navy medical personnel were on the scene to provide that care. Navy medicine was represented at Pearl Harbor by a naval hospital, a partially assembled base hospital, and USS Solace (AH-5), the Navy’s newest hospital ship. Heroic efforts to save lives by the men and women who manned these facilities began minutes after the first Japanese bomb fell and never waned until the last casualty was tended to.

Physicians, nurses, and hospital corpsmen on duty at Naval Hospital Pearl Harbor performed emergency surgery, treated burns, and comforted the dying. The same scene played out aboard USS Solace, which lay at anchor just beyond “Battleship Row.” Oil-soaked sailors plucked from the harbor were taken to the hospital ship for treatment.

If the ferocity of the Japanese onslaught that followed Pearl Harbor left American forces reeling, isolated, and with scant hope of reinforcement, as an institution Navy medicine was equally stretched. Possessing only limited resources and with a presence only in Hawaii, the Philippines, Guam, a few small installations, and aboard the few vessels of the Asiatic Fleet, Navy medical personnel were hard pressed to treat patients as the Japanese rolled through the Pacific conquering everything before them. On 8 December 1941, World War II came to the Philippines when Japanese bombers hit Clark and Nichols Fields.

Two days later enemy bombers returned, this time destroying the Cavite Navy Yard and killing and maiming scores of Americans and Filipinos. Personnel at the nearby Cañacao Naval Hospital worked frantically to treat the wounded.

Japanese soldiers who landed on Philippine beaches in late December 1941 overwhelmed the ill-equipped and outnumbered Americans and Filipinos. By the time Japanese forces entered Manila on 1 January after GEN Douglas MacArthur declared it an open city, its battered defenders had already withdrew to the Bataan Peninsula to make their last stand.

As food and medicine ran out, disease took its toll among Bataan’s defenders. The lack of quinine for the treatment of malaria was critical, and without it many men came down with the disease. Nearly everyone suffered debilitating weakness from dysentery. Overwhelmed, Bataan’s 75,000 defenders finally surrendered in April 1942.

But out in Manila Bay, the island fortress of Corregidor still remained defiant despite a lack of food and ammunition. After a month of heavy bombardment and finally landings by Japanese forces, Corregidor surrendered on May 6th. American power in the Far East had been extinguished. Yet despite the new reality, the hundreds of medical professionals captured in the Pacific were still “Doc” or “Nurse” to their fellow POWs. Without hospitals or supplies, they continued to practice their healing art, often under unimaginable circumstances.

Some 10,000 surrendered at Corregidor after thousands of captured Americans and Filipinos had already died on the infamous Bataan Death March. Those who survived Japanese brutality and neglect now faced Japanese prison camps. For the approximately 17,000 Americans and 12,000 Filipino scouts who surrendered in the Philippines, the real ordeal had barely begun. Torture, forced labor, starvation and death became the norm in Japanese POW camps throughout the Far East.

Even though physicians and corpsmen did the best they could to provide health care in these camps, they had virtually no drugs or instruments. Malaria and dengue fever were endemic. Sanitation was non-existent and almost everybody had dysentery. Many came down with deficiency diseases like scurvy, optic neuritis, and beriberi. By the summer of 1942 the Japanese held over 50,000 prisoners, 20,000 of whom were Americans.

Eleven of these were Navy nurses from the Cañacao Naval Hospital. They spent the war in internment camps at Santo Tomás in Manila and then at Los Baños in the Philippine countryside, where they were finally liberated in February 1945. Many of their male colleagues never made it home, either succumbing to disease, starvation, brutal treatment by their captives, or dying by “friendly fire” when the so-called hell ships in which they were being transported to Japan were sunk by American submarines or aircraft.

Despite the fate of these unfortunate POWs, the war against Japan was in full swing by the summer of 1942. Reconquering territory held by the enemy was the priority and it meant fighting island by island, each one a stepping stone to Tokyo. Organizing the Navy Medical Department to care for the thousands of Navy and Marine Corps casualties generated by opposed amphibious landings, make them well, and then return them to duty was the major priority. It was in the Pacific war that Navy medicine faced its greatest challenge dealing with the aftermath of intense, bloody warfare fought far from fixed hospitals. This put enormous pressure on medical personnel closest to the front and forced new approaches to primary care and evacuation.

The most dramatic and demanding duty a Navy hospital corpsman could have was with Marine Corps units in the field. Because the Marine Corps has always relied upon the Navy for medical support, corpsmen accompanied the leathernecks and suffered the brunt of combat themselves. Many of them went unarmed, reserving their carrying strength for medical supplies.

Navy corpsmen were the first critical link in the evacuation chain. From the time a Marine was hit on an invasion beach at Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Saipan, Iwo Jima, and a host of other Pacific islands, the corpsman braved enemy fire to render aid. He applied a battle dressing, administered morphine, and tagged the casualty. If he were lucky, the corpsman might commandeer a litter team to move the casualty out of harm’s way and on to a battalion aid station or a collecting and clearing company for further treatment. This care would mean stabilizing the patient with plasma, serum albumin, and, later in the war, whole blood. In some cases, the casualty was then moved to the beach for evacuation. In others, the casualty was taken to a divisional hospital, where doctors performed further stabilization, including emergency surgery if needed.

Navy hospital ships, employed mainly as ambulances, provided first aid and some surgical care for the casualties’ needs while ferrying them to base hospitals in the Pacific or back to the United States for definitive care. As the war continued, air evacuation helped carry the load. Trained Navy nurses and corpsmen staffed the evacuation aircraft.

Enabling the Navy and Marine Corps to defeat the enemy also meant recognizing that disease more often than enemy action threatened this goal. During the battle for Guadalcanal in the Solomons, malaria caused more casualties than Japanese bullets. Shortly after the landings, the number of patients hospitalized with malaria exceeded all other diseases. Some units suffered over a 100 percent casualty rate with personnel being hospitalized more than once. Only when malaria and other tropical diseases were brought to heel could the Pacific war be won.

Navy medical personnel moved quickly to reduce the impact of malaria and other tropical diseases. Personnel trained in preventive medicine oiled malaria breeding areas and sprayed DDT. Physicians and corpsmen dispensed quinine and atabrine as malaria suppressants.

The Pacific war was massive in scale, fought over vast stretches of ocean. Fleets engaged one another often many miles distant from one another. Carrier-based aircraft were the surrogates that sought out the enemy and delivered the ordnance. U.S. Navy task forces consisting of carriers, battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and destroyer escorts required their own medical support and each of these vessels had among their crews corpsmen, physicians, and, aboard the larger vessels, dentists as well. By October 1945 the fleet numbered over 7,000 vessels from landing craft and auxiliaries to the Essex class carriers and Iowa class battleships. The hundreds of vessels smaller than destroyers had their corpsmen to be sure, but the larger vessels rated physicians, corpsmen, dentists, fully equipped sick bays, battle dressing stations, and usually an operating room. The standard medical complement for a 7,250-ton escort carrier was one medical officer, a flight surgeon for the embarked air group, a dentist, and about 13 corpsmen. A much larger 27,100-ton Essex class carrier like USS Franklin (CV-13) boasted four physicians augmented by a flight surgeon, 3 dentists, and 31 corpsmen. During routine operations, physicians and corpsmen serving aboard vessels in the South Pacific encountered and treated heat and humidity related maladies exacerbated by confinement without air conditioning—heat exhaustion and stroke, fungus infections, heat rash, and breathing disorders.

The encounters between Japanese and American fleets were most often brutal affairs with many casualties generated in both brief and sustained actions. Torpedoes, bombs, and armor-piercing shells produced horrendous wounds. When the Japanese launched their kamikaze terror campaign, medical personnel were often overwhelmed. A single suicide plane plunging through the flight deck of an aircraft carrier and igniting fueled and armed aircraft produced hundreds of burn victims within seconds. As the fighting drew ever closer to the Japanese home islands in early 1945, thousands of sailors were killed and wounded by these human-guided missiles.

Navy medical personnel also served aboard submarines that prowled the Pacific destroying thousands of tons of Japanese shipping. Among its crew, each submarine carried one highly trained corpsman or pharmacist’s mate, as they were then called. (Physicians were not assigned to submarines.) Indeed, one of the most dramatic stories to come out of World War II recounted an emergency appendectomy performed by a 23-year-old corpsman as his submarine, USS Seadragon, cruised submerged in enemy waters. The corpsman, Wheeler B. Lipes, successfully removed the badly infected appendix and saved his patient. This heroic story not only highlighted the skill and resourcefulness of Navy corpsmen, but also buoyed the nation’s spirits early in the war when news from the Pacific was anything but encouraging.

When World War II finally ended with the Japanese surrender aboard USS Missouri (BB-63) on 2 September 1945, the U.S. Navy had become the largest maritime force the world had ever known. And the Medical Department which supported that Navy would itself never again have as many personnel, or staff as many hospitals, dispensaries, and hospital ships as it did on that day.

What followed victory was rapid demobilization as soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines in the Pacific theater headed home. Helping get them there were aircraft carriers, battleships, LSTs, and Navy hospital ships—all of which became troop transports in what was called “Operation Magic Carpet.”

Remembering PhM1c John H.Willis: A Story of the Medal of Honor and One Wife's Loss

Mrs. Winfrey Willis, widow of John Harlan Willis, receives her husband's posthumous Medal of Honor from Secretary of Navy James Forrestal at a ceremony on 3 December 1945. Photo from BUMED Library and Archives.

For many in the Navy Medical Department, John Harlan Willis is just a name. For those men and women in the Navy Hospital Corps he is a fellow “doc” whose face can be seen on Medal of Honor walls at all Navy hospitals and clinics. He is the World War II hospital corpsman who saved the lives of wounded Marines before losing his own on the ash-sand Tartarus that
was Iwo Jima. Certainly, a life can never be replaced. And in the military a lost life can only be honored. For his remarkable gallantry on 28 February 1945, John Harlan Willis was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.

On 3 December 1945, at the Secretary of the Navy’s office in Washington, DC, the Willis family
was presented this Medal of Honor. Official Navy photographs of the ceremony show Secretary of the Navy James Forrestal presenting the Medal to John Willis’s young wife (Winfrey) and her 7-month old son (John Jr.). They are flanked by a visibly grieving woman (Winfrey’s aunt Mrs. H.A. Morel) and an elderly man (Willis’s grandfather Austin Harlan). It is a heartfelt scene that reveals the incredible weight that the Medal of Honor carries. As a symbol, the Medal ofHonor represents heroism and valor, but, also, in this particular case, the death and lost potential of a
23-year-old man. It is meaning and memory in the form of brass alloy and a blue ribbon of cotton. One does not wear or hold the Medal as much as they carry the profound burden it can symbolize.

In 1965, Mrs. Winfrey Willis agreed to loan the Medal of Honor and some of her husband’s personal effects, including his dog tags and uniform, to the Tennessee State Library for display at the Women’s Building at the state fairgrounds. In October of that year, tragedy
struck when a fire ravaged the fairgrounds destroying the PhM1c John H. Willis exhibit, including his Medal of Honor. It was a second loss for the Willis family, but one Mrs. Willis sought aimlessly to fix. She was given a replica Medal of Honor by the State of Tennessee Library.

Replacing Honor
CDR Christopher Reddin, a Nurse Corps officer stationed at the Navy Hospital Corps School Great Lakes, IL, knows the plight of Mrs. Willis like few people outside her family. In 2009, while trying to validate the authenticity of Hospital Corps School artifacts attributed to John
Willis, he learned of an 88-year old woman with emphysema living in Tennessee whose sole mission was to preserve her deceased husband’s legacy. CDR Reddin got her telephone number through the USS John H. Willis reunion group2, called and left a message. “A month later, while driving to the DMV, Mrs. Willis called me on my cell,” remembered Reddin. “She was difficult to understand because of the emphysema, but was very sharp. Her niece (Anita Childs) was also on the phone and able to fill in the gaps. They said they had been trying to get through local politicians for years to a get a replacement Medal of Honor after finding out the medal given to her by the State of Tennessee was not authentic.”

CDR Reddin marveled at Mrs. Willis’s spirit. “Her loss never diminished her ardent support of
the sailors and Marines, past and present. She appeared at over 40 [USS John] Willis reunions and served as the ship’s mother for over 30 years.”

CDR Reddin and his colleagues at Corps School, HMC Stephen Cavin, HMC Augustus Delarosa,
and HM2 Nathan Charboneau developed an effective strategy on how to proceed. Step 1: Authenticate Mrs. Willis and the story of the Medal. Step 2: Once her identity and story are authenticated, get the replacement Medal of Honor.

Mrs. Willis sent the team copies of her birth and wedding certificates, and a cornucopia of photographs, letters, and newspaper clippings relating to the Willis medal. These documents were then copied and sent to the State of Tennessee archivist Mrs. Darla Brock and the Assistant State Archivist Dr. Wayne Moore, who verified the story and supplied additional
documents about the fairground fire that destroyed the Willis medal. As Reddin relates, “They combed their archives for a month and found the article from The Columbia Herald that authenticated the loss. Then they actually put me in touch with Mrs. Barbara Wilson, Branch
Head, Navy Awards and Special Projects.”

Reddin and his team then drafted a letter on behalf of Mrs. Willis requesting an official replacement Medal of Honor. Mrs. Willis sent in the request and, in less than a years of quiet desperation—she was awarded an engraved replacement Medal of Honor and Medal of
Honor Flag.

Medal of Honor Ceremony, Redux
Distinguished honors are not simply given to recipients. They are awarded in the highest ceremonial fashion. On 17 October 2009, Mrs. Willis and her son John Willis Jr. were presented with the Medal and Flag at a ceremony in Ph1Mc Willis’s hometown of Columbia, TN, presided over by RADM Michael H. Mittelman, MSC, USN. Other distinguished guests on hand included representatives from the Navy Medical Department including CDR Reddin, LT Christopher
Barnes, HM1 Charles Schaefer, and HM2 Scott Gallagher; also present were Columbia Mayor Bill Gentner and staff, Chaplain Bob Adair, American Legion Post 19, and Post-19 Women’s Auxiliary.

In the ceremony, RADM Mittelman presented the Medal of Honor Flag to a tearyeyed Mrs.Willis and her son John Willis Jr. HM1 Schaefer presented the Medal of Honor to Mrs. Willis. Anyone in attendance could tell you that even after all these years the pain of her husband’s loss runs deep through the Willis family as it does through the peaceful town of
Columbia. And it is a burden that can never truly be lifted.

In his opening remarks, RADM Mittelman captured the moment best when he quoted President Lincoln’s letter to Mrs. Lydia Bixby, a widowed mother who lost two sons in the Civil War. “I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic he died to save. I pray that our heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.”

Article by Mr. Grog. Originally published in the November-December 2009 edition of The Grog Ration.

Pharmacist's Mate First Class John Harlan Willis

John Harlan Willis was born on 10 June 1921 in Columbia, TN. At the time of action, he was a Pharmacist’s Mate First Class, USN. His citation reads, “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as Platoon Corpsman serving with the Third Battalion, 27th Marines, fifth Marine Division, during operations against enemy Japanese forces on Iwo Jima, Volcano Islands, 28 February 1945. Constantly imperiled by artillery and mortar fire from strong and mutually supporting pillboxes and caves studding Hill 362 in the enemy’s cross-island defenses, Willis resolutely administered first aid to the many Marines wounded during the furious close-in fighting until he himself was struck by shrapnel and was ordered back to the battle aid station. Without waiting for official medical release, he quickly returned to his company and, during a savage hand-to-hand enemy counterattack, daringly advanced to the extreme front lines under mortar and sniper fire to aid a Marine lying wounded in a shell hole. Completely unmindful of his own danger as the Japanese intensified their attack, promptly returning the first hostile grenade which landed in the shell hole while he was working and hurling back seven more in quick succession before the ninth one exploded
in his hand and instantly killed him. By his great personal valor in saving others at the sacrifice of his own life, he inspired his companions, although terrifically outnumbered, to launch a fiercely determined attack and repulse the enemy force. His exceptional fortitude and courage in performance of duty reflect the highest credit upon Willis and the United States naval service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.”

Willis is buried in Rose Hill Cemetery, Columbia, TN.

The USS Willis (DE-1027) was named in his honor.

Pharmacist's Mate Third Class Jack Williams, USNR

Jack Williams was born on 18 October 1924 in Harrison, AR. At the time of action he was a Pharmacist’s Mate Third Class. His citation reads, “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving with the Third Battalion, 28th Marines, Fifth Marine Division, during occupation of Iwo Jima, Volcano Islands, 3 March 1945. Gallantly going forward on the front lines under intense enemy small-arms fire to assist a
Marine wounded in a fierce grenade battle, Williams dragged the man to a shallow depression and was knelling, using his own body as a screen from the sustained fire as he administered first aid, when struck in the abdomen and groin three times by hostile rifle fire. Momentarily stunned, he quickly recovered and completed his ministration before applying battle dressings to his own multiple wounds. Unmindful of his own urgent need for medical attention, he remained in the perilous fireswept area to care for another Marine casualty. Heroically completing his task despite pain and profuse bleeding, he then endeavored to make his way to the rear in search of adequate aid for himself when struck down by a Japanese sniper bullet which caused his collapse. Succumbing later as a result of his self-sacrificing service to others, Williams, by his courageous determination, unwavering fortitude and valiant performance of duty, served as an inspiring example of heroism, in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States naval service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.”

Williams is buried in Springfield National Cemetery, Springfield, MO.

The USS Jack Williams (FFG-24) was named in his honor.

Pharmacist's Mate Second Class George Edward Wahlen

George Edward Wahlen was born on 8 August 1924 in Ogden, UT. At the time of action he was a Pharmacist’s Mate Second Class, USN. His citation reads, “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving with the 2d Battalion, 26th Marines, 5th Marine Division, during action against enemy Japanese forces on Iwo Jima in the Volcano group on 3 March 1945. Painfully wounded in the bitter action on 26 February, Wahlen remained on the battlefield, advancing well forward of the frontlines to aid a wounded marine and carrying him back to safety despite a terrific concentration of fire. Tireless in his ministrations, he consistently disregarded all danger to attend his fighting comrades as they fell under the devastating rain of shrapnel and bullets, and rendered prompt assistance to various elements of his combat group as required. When an adjacent platoon suffered heavy casualties, he defied the continuous pounding of heavy mortars and deadly fire of enemy rifles to care for the wounded, working rapidly in an area swept by constant fire and treating 14 casualties before returning to his own platoon. Wounded again on 2 March, he gallantly refused evacuation, moving out with his company the following day in a furious assault across 600 yards of open terrain and repeatedly rendering medical aid while exposed to the blasting fury of powerful Japanese guns. Stout-hearted and indomitable, he persevered in his determined efforts as his unit waged fierce battle and, unable to walk after sustaining a third agonizing wound, resolutely crawled 50 yards to administer first aid to still another fallen fighter. By his dauntless fortitude and valor, Wahlen served as a constant inspiration and contributed vitally to the high morale of his company during critical phases of this strategically important engagement. His heroic spirit of self-sacrifice in the face of overwhelming enemy fire upheld the highest traditions of the United States naval service.”

George Wahlen’s heroics are captured in Gary Toyn’s book The Quiet Hero: The Untold Medal of Honor Story of George E. Wahlen at the Battle for Iwo Jima (2005).

Wahlen died on 5 June 2009.

Hospital Apprentice First Class Robert Eugene Bush

Robert Eugene Bush was born on 4 October 1926 in Tacoma, WA. At the time of action he was a Hospital Apprentice First Class, USN. His citation reads, “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while serving as Medical Corpsman with a rifle company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines, 5th Marine Division, in action against enemy Japanese forces on Okinawa Jima, Ryukyu Islands, 2 May 1945. Fearlessly braving the fury of artillery, mortar, and machinegun fire from strongly entrenched hostile positions, Bush constantly and unhesitatingly moved from one casualty to another to attend the wounded falling under the enemy’s murderous barrages. As the attack passed over a ridge top, Bush was advancing to administer blood plasma to a marine officer lying wounded on the
skyline when the Japanese launched a savage counterattack. In this perilously exposed position, he resolutely maintained the flow of life giving plasma. With the bottle held high in one hand, Bush drew his pistol with the other and fired into the enemy’s ranks until his ammunition was expended. Quickly seizing a discarded carbine, he trained his fire on the Japanese charging pointblank over the hill, accounting for six of the enemy despite his own serious wounds and the
loss of one eye suffered during his desperate battle in defense of the helpless man. With the hostile forces finally routed, he calmly disregarded his own critical condition to complete his mission, valiantly refusing medical treatment for him self until his officer patient had been evacuated, and collapsing only after attempting to walk to the battle aid station. His daring sacrifice in service of others reflect great credit upon Bush and enhance the finest traditions of the United States naval service.”

After the war, Robert Bush returned to school and became a successful businessman and President of the Medal of Honor Society.

The Naval Hospital at 29 Palms, CA, and the Health Care Clinic in Camp Courtney, Okinawa, Japan were named in his honor. In the town of South Bend, WA, there is a statue which depicts Robert Bush’s heroics on Okinawa.

Mr. Bush died on 8 November 2005.