George Wahlen Passes Away, Iwo Jima Corpsman, Utah's Last Surviving WWII Medal of Honor Winner

I never met Mr. Wahlen, but I do have a signed copy of his book, which I consider recommended reading for any WWII historian.
Read about the book here: http://www.americanlegacymedia.com/TQH/TQHIntro_black.html

Reluctant WW II hero was a champion of veterans causes
By Matthew D. LaPlante
The Salt Lake Tribune
Updated: 06/06/2009 03:57:35 PM MDT

(Paul Fraugton / Tribune file photo)

Every now and again, when her husband was feeling strong enough, Melba Wahlen and her children would take him for a drive.
He could have gone anywhere in the Weber Valley, but George Wahlen always wanted to go to the same place.
"Let's go watch the construction of the nursing home," he would say. "Let's see how they're coming along."
Utah's last surviving Medal of Honor winner, a zealous advocate for veterans' rights who helped lobby for cemeteries, hospitals -- and, most recently, a veterans nursing home in Ogden -- died Friday morning after a long battle with cancer. Doctors said Wahlen passed comfortably at the Salt Lake City Veterans Affairs Medical Center which, much to Whalen's humble chagrin, was named in his honor in 2004.
He'd never liked the spotlight, but in his waning years, he understood his place in it.

A hero is born
It all began on Feb. 19, 1945. U.S. military leaders, prepping for an invasion of Japan, had set their sights on a little-known island 600 miles south of Tokyo, known as Iwo Jima.
Wahlen, a 20-year-old Navy corpsman who had never seen combat, rushed with his platoon from a beach-landing craft -- right into machine gun and artillery fire.
Seemingly unconcerned for his own well-being, according to those he treated, Wahlen set immediately to work tending to the wounded. But the Ogden native quickly learned he could not save everyone.
"We turned over one Marine and he had been shot between the eyes and was bleeding all over," Wahlen told The Salt Lake Tribune in 2004. "That was quite a shock."

Wahlen would spend the next two weeks trying to keep his comrades alive, often dashing through machine gun fire to reach the wounded.

Trying to reach several injured Marines about a week into the fighting, he came upon a Japanese grenade bunker that was holding U.S. forces at bay. He called to a Marine to throw him a grenade, then crawled to the bunker to kill those inside. Wahlen, hit by grenade fragments, bandaged his own right eye and helped a badly wounded Marine off the deadly hill.
Several days later, Wahlen was trying to pull a wounded Marine from the lines when a shell landed nearby, hitting him in the shoulder and the back. Wounded once again, he could have been evacuated. He chose to stay.

"When you've been with these guys, they're like family," he said. "You don't want to let them down."

The next day Wahlen was headed to an artillery crater to attend to five wounded Marines when a shell landed in their position. A piece of shrapnel struck Wahlen near his right ankle, breaking his leg. "I bandaged myself up, took a shot of morphine and crawled over and started helping a Marine that had both his legs blown off," he recalled.

After putting tourniquets on the Marine, Wahlen was too badly injured to continue. The medic was put on a stretcher and evacuated.

Seven months later he received the Medal of Honor from President Harry S. Truman while recovering in a Marine hospital in Camp Pendleton, Calif.

In and out of the spotlight

Friends and family said Wahlen never wanted his life to be defined by the blue-and-white-ribboned medal he'd received "for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life."
In fact, Melba Wahlen said she didn't know that her husband had won the U.S. military's highest honor for heroism until a peculiar letter arrived, several years after they were married.
"It was an invitation for an event with the president at The White House," she laughed. "I had no idea what it was for."

As word of Wahlen's heroism drew attention in Utah after the war, his wife recalled, the quiet man longed for anonymity.

He found it back in uniform, enlisting in the Army and serving in Korea and Vietnam before finally retiring to take a job assisting veterans at Weber State University.

In the post-Vietnam era, when many Americans wanted to forget about their nation's wars, Wahlen found some of the obscurity he'd been seeking. But he also found a lack of attention to the needs of those who had answered their country's call.

As veterans groups sought state funding to improve the Utah Veterans Memorial Cemetery at Camp Williams, they leaned on Whalen's fame.

Melba Wahlen said her husband reluctantly obliged -- and "found that he was very good at it. He would do anything for veterans."

When the cause was right, Department of Veterans affairs Director Terry Schow said, Wahlen would make an appearance, give a short speech or go shake a few hands on Capitol Hill -- all in the name of loosening purse strings for fellow veterans.

But Wahlen never did grow used to the spotlight. In brief remarks at a 2004 ceremony in which the Salt Lake City hospital was named for him, Wahlen said nothing about his fateful fortnight on Iwo Jima.

"I just represent the veterans, that's what this is all about," he said.

"The way George always rationalized in his mind, he was a symbol for all of the other veterans," said Gary Toyn, who wrote about Wahlen's war experiences in the biography Quiet Hero . "He got all the attention, and he never liked that, but he understood that he had a role to play. At one point he realized, 'You know, I can really do some good with this.' And that's how he continued to serve."

A legacy continues
Just hours after his father's death, Brock Wahlen stood before television cameras in a hastily arranged press conference in the medical center lobby. Patients passed by, some shuffling with walkers and others gliding through in wheelchairs, en route to medical appointments.
Brock Wahlen made a vow: "He always fought for the veterans and their rights. We're going to continue that legacy as a family."

Schow had asked George Wahlen to speak at the November opening of the Veterans Nursing Home in Ogden. And Wahlen was looking forward to doing so.

But when Schow visited, last week, it was clear that his friend would not make it.

"But his thoughts were still on what he could do to help," said Schow. "We gave him a progress report and he asked about sponsoring a room there."

Schow choked back tears at the loss of a man he called his hero. "He won't be there to speak at the dedication," he said. "But he will be there. By God, he'll be there."
mlaplante@sltrib.com

"Our state has lost our humble hero."
Gov. Jon Huntsman, Jr.
"His service to this country and Utah will not soon be forgotten."
Sen. Orrin Hatch
"His real contribution came from a lifetime of dedication to those in the military and his fellow veterans."
Sen. Bob Bennett
"Though he could have easily acted like the celebrity he was, George never thought of himself as anything more than a humble friend to those he met."
Rep. Rob Bishop
"He said, 'So many other people have done so much.' But we all know the truth."
Department of Veterans Affairs Director Terry Schow
"He was a hero in his own right, but he viewed all veterans as heroes."
VA Hospital Chief of Staff Ronald Gebhart
"Our hearts are broken... he was part of our famliy."
VA Spokeswoman Jill Atwood

Photos of a Special Event: Two WWII Medal of Honor Winners

My friend Michael Joyce sent me a great post today. Here it is:

Rob,

"I had the Honor of attending the Chief Petty Officers Association of the Capital District, and the USS Slater DE 766 event here in Albany, New York. Congratulations to Chief Aviation Ordinanceman John William Finn 100 Years Young and welcome Fellow Medal of Honor Recipient Francis S. Currey. I have attached photos of this Historic event. It made me feel proud that day to be in their presence! Your Friend - Michael Joyce http://mickspics.smugmug.com/Military

Welcome Aboard to John William Finn
Francis Currey & John William Finn Cut his Birthday Cake

Chief Aviation Ordinanceman 1944 – John William Finn John William Finn 2009
Sergeant Francis S. Currey Dec. 1944 Francis S. Currey 2009 http://www.combatleadership.com/Heroes_Results.asp?MedalID=757
http://www.usshancockcv19.com/finn_tribute.htm

Remembering a Great Man: Ed Freeman

Ed Freeman... A True Hero'

(sent to me by my friend Jay Buckley, Vietnam Veteran)

You're an 18 or 19 year old kid. You're critically wounded, and dying in the jungle in the Ia Drang Valley, 11-14-1965. LZ Xray, Vietnam Your infantry unit is outnumbered 8 - 1, and the enemy fire is so intense, from 100 or 200 yards away, that your own Infantry Commander has ordered the MediVac helicopters to stop coming in. You're lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns, and you know you're not getting out. Your family is 1/2 way around the world, 12,000 miles away, and you'll never see them again. As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day. Then, over the machine gun noise, you faintly hear that sound of a helicopter, and you look up to see an un-armed Huey, but it doesn't seem real, because no Medi-Vac markings are on it. Ed Freeman is coming for you. He's not Medi-Vac, so it's not his job, but he's flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire, after the Medi-Vacs were ordered not to come. He's coming anyway. And he drops it in, and sits there in the machine gun fire, as they load 2 or 3 of you on board. Then he flies you up and out through the gunfire, to the Doctors and Nurses. And, he kept coming back...... 13 more times..... and took about 30 of you and your buddies out, who would never have gotten out. Medal of Honor Recipient Ed Freeman died last Wednesday at the age of 80, in Boise , ID .....May God rest his soul..... (Oh yeah, Paul Newman died that day too. I guess you knew that -- He got a lot more press than Ed Freeman.)

Here is Ed's biography:

"ED W. FREEMANCaptain, U.S. Army Company A, 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile)
By the time the Korean War broke out, Ed Freeman was a master sergeant in the Army Engineers, but he fought in Korea as an infantryman. He took part in the bloody battle of Pork Chop Hill and was given a battlefield commission, which had the added advantage of making him eligible to fly, a dream of his since childhood. But flight school turned him down because of his height: At six foot four, he was “too tall” (a nickname that followed him throughout his military career). In 1955, however, the height limit was raised, and Freeman was able to enroll. He began flying fixed-wing aircraft, then switched to helicopters. By 1965, when he was sent to Vietnam, he had thousands of hours’ flying time in choppers. He was assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile), second in command of a sixteen-helicopter unit responsible for carrying infantrymen into battle. On November 14, 1965, Freeman’s helicopters carried a battalion into the Ia Drang Valley for what became the first major confrontation between large forces of the American and North Vietnamese armies. Back at base, Freeman and the other pilots received word that the GIs they had dropped off were taking heavy casualties and running low on supplies. In fact, the fighting was so fierce that medevac helicopters refused to pick up the wounded. When the commander of the helicopter unit asked for volunteers to fly into the battle zone, Freeman alone stepped forward. He was joined by his commander, and the two of them began several hours of flights into the contested area. Because their small emergency-landing zone was just one hundred yards away from the heaviest fighting, their unarmed and lightly armored helicopters took several hits. In all, Freeman carried out fourteen separate rescue missions, bringing in water and ammunition to the besieged soldiers and taking back dozens of wounded, some of whom wouldn’t have survived if they hadn’t been evacuated. Freeman left Vietnam in 1966 and retired from the Army the following year. He flew helicopters another twenty years for the Department of the Interior, herding wild horses, fighting fires, and performing animal censuses. Then he retired altogether. In the aftermath of the Ia Drang battle, his commanding officer, wanting to recognize Freeman’s valor, proposed him for the Medal of Honor. But the two-year statute of limitations on these kinds of recommendations had passed, and no action was taken. Congress did away with that statute in 1995, and Freeman was finally awarded the medal by President George W. Bush on July 16, 2001. Freeman was back at the White House a few months later for the premiere of We Were Soldiers, a 2002 feature film that depicted his role in the Ia Drang battle. As he was filing out of the small White House theater, the president approached him, saluted, and shook his hand. “Good job, Too Tall,” he said.

Give Pappy Boyington His Statue

University of Washington students recently protested against having a statue of UW graduate Gregory 'Pappy' Boyington erected on the campus in Seattle, claiming he was a "poor example" to current UW students. The statue was narrowly rejected by the university administration, and this was seen as a huge victory by the progressive minds on the campus and across the nation.

What did Boyington do that made him a bad example? He shot down 28 enemy planes. A statue honoring Boyington, according to the protesters, would glorify killing.

In their scamper to be politically correct, they overlooked the fact that had Pappy Boyington and other WWII airmen not shot down the enemy, UW might be a Japanese institution. Would the Japanese have treated the people of Seattle better than they treated the conquered people in China and Southeast Asia? Would Seattle have been treated as well as Nanking, China?

Is our communal memory of WWII so short that we now refuse to honor those who turned the tide of war and kept the world free because they had to kill the enemy to do so?

Boyington was born in Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, to humble beginnings. He worked hard and had an ROTC scholarship to put himself through college at the University of Washigton in Seattle. When war broke out, Pappy had already been a Marine aviator for years. That's how he got his nickname. At age 30, he was considered an ancient by his fresh-faced young pilots.

For three months, in 1943 and 1944, he led the Marine Fighting Squadron #214, the so-called 'Black Sheep Squadron'. The Black Sheep were thus named because many of them were misfits and rejects from other squadrons, but most were also excellent fighter pilots. The Black Sheep Squadron flew out of the Solomon Islands, and was credited with downing 97 Japanese aircraft during Boyington's tenure. Boyington himself is credited with 28 enemy aircraft shot down, making him one of the war's top aces.

In January 1944 Boyington was shot down and captured by the Japanese and spent the rest of the war as a prisoner. He was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously, because the Marine Corps thought he was dead.

But he wasn't. Despite miserable prison conditions that included beatings and torture, Boyington rose like the Phoenix from the proverbial ashes at the end of the war, alive and well.

Boyington's autobiography, titled Baa Baa Black Sheep, was a bestseller in 1958. In the 1970s a television series by the same name ran for two seasons on the NBC network, with actor Robert Conrad in the role of Boyington, the tough, hard-drinking but dedicated mentor to a squadron up of misfits and rejects.



Actor Robert Conrad as Gregory 'Pappy' Boyington, during filming of the hit TV series.


He became a well-known American after his book came out, and the TV series in the 70's introduced millions to the valor of the Marine Corps aviators in the Pacific theater in World War Two.

Boyington died on Jan. 11, 1988, and is buried in Arlington National Cemetery. In summing up his own life, he wrote at the end of his memoir, "If this story were to have a moral, then I would say, 'Just name a hero and I'll prove he's a bum.'" Boyington knew he was not a perfect person, and like most World War Two veterans, he tended to play down his war service to his country.

It's up to those who remember to keep his memory alive and make sure he gets the respect and recognition he so rightly deserves.

Pappy, until you get your statue, I guess people will just have to pay a visit to this stone memorial in Arlington National Cemetery. I remain hopeful that one day it will be politically correct to honor you at your alma mater.