Jerell Crow - Coast Guard at Iwo Jima

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We learned recently of the passing one of our sweet Iwo Jima veterans: Mr. Jerell Crow. Mr. Crow was a Coast Guardsman during WWII, but the U.S. coast was the last place he was to be stationed. Taking part in the invasion of Iwo Jima, Mr. Crow landed some of the first waves of Marines onto the island and continued until all troops had been taken off the ship. Even 70+ years later, Iwo was a subject too difficult to talk about. "[I] have never wanted to go back. The first day there was all that I needed to remember it." And anyone who has read anything about the Battle for Iwo Jima understands why.

Before even Iwo Jima, Mr. Crow had already had his share of experiences. A newspaper clipping he sent us from shortly after the war says, "While serving on Guadalcanal, [Jerrell] Crow was operating a small boat carried on a destroyer. The boat making for shore, was attacked by the enemy and destroyed. Crow and the marines swam to the island, where they were out of contact with U.S. forces for 47 days. Only six of the men were alive when they were picked up after U.S. reinforcements came to the island. For wounds sustained and for his bravery, he received the Purple Heart, and the Silver Star."

Following Iwo Jima, came the landings at Okinawa and regrouping in the Philippines to prepare for the invasion of Japan. Thankfully this invasion never came, and after four long years, the war came to an end. Mr. Crow was one of the brave and silent men to serve our country when she needed him most, and for that he will never be forgotten.

"They were good Marines, the finest."

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"What sticks with me now is not so much the pain and terror and sorrow of the war, though I remember that well enough. What really sticks with me is the honor I had of defending my country, and serving in the company of these men. They were good Marines, the finest, every one of them. You can't say anything better about a man." 

R. V. Burgin, 5th Marines, 1st Division, survived over a month of brutal combat during battle of Peleliu Island in 1944. It was supposed to be a "quickie" in and out. But it wasn't. The battle lasted from September 15 to November 27, with nearly 20,000 casualties. Today, you can go to this haunting island and see what is left from that terrible battle in the remains of military equipment, blown out pillboxes, and sometimes even unburied bodies. It is a tragic picture of the reality of war. But is was an island where boys became men and leaders. 

Frederick Kroese: Dutch Resistance Fighter

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In 1940, it would have been a very hard time to be living in Europe, especially if you lived in one of the many little countries that were being invaded by the Nazis. The Netherlands was one of those. At first, it wasn't so bad. The Netherlanders could live with them, but when the Germans went to fight in Russia, they needed more men and more weapons. So, they started taking men out of the factories and sending them to fight the Russians. But of course they had to have someone to fill the places of all the men who were being sent to the front, so the Germans started taking the men and boys from the countries that were under the Nazi thumb.

In mid 1943, Frederick Kroese, got a message telling him to get a few belongings and report so that he could be moved to Germany to work in the factories. As a 19 year old young man, he wasn't going to be bossed around by some government that wasn't even his own, telling him that he had to drop everything he was doing and go to work to help the very people who had invaded his country. So he just said, "I won't do that!"

There were then only two options left to him: he could either wait for the Nazi police to come get him, or he could go into hiding. Well, he wasn't going to wait around for the police, so he found a place to hide himself! And then, since he wasn't going to just wait in hiding, he decided to join the Resistance. 

When I first met Mr. Kroese, he described to me in great detail the perils of joining the Resistance. It was a very real and dangerous thing to undertake. He knew that at any time he could be shot, put in prison, or tortured for information and addresses, but it gave him a way to "really do something against the Germans..." In a lovely Dutch accent, he told me, "You took part in an organization which did things you shouldn't do to survive it. In common clothes - you don't have a uniform, but we were the enemy of the Germans." He wore a band on his arm that said he was in food distribution so that the Germans wouldn't bother him or take away his bicycle. If you remember from Corrie Ten Boom's stories, bicycles were very important to the success of their plans. 

One day, however, as he was coming out of the woods, he found a German stealing his bike. He really needed his wheels to get where he was going, so he tried to talk him out of it  -but without success. He finally asked if the German would at least give him a ride into town on the back of it (oh the gall!), but he wouldn't take up his offer... And he lost the bike. Just another day in the life of Frederikus Wilhelmus Kroese.

During the war American planes would drop supplies to the Dutch resistance, especially weapons, explosive equipment, and booklets on how to use them most effectively. This booklet is explaining how to blow up a bridge. Mr. Kroese obtained it from one of the cylinders that were dropped.

When American or English pilots were downed, he was there to help them. "I was in the group that saved flying people who were shot down..." The pilots would call in to the Dutch Resistance saying, "Save us, save us, we're crashing!" and Mr. Kroese would organize the farmers to go to the location where they were falling, destroy the evidence, bury the parachutes, etc... Then find them a place where they could stay, forge false identification papers and ration cards, and finally get them new clothing! Isn't that just too rich...part of the Dutch Resistance, forging papers, and saving downed English and American pilots!!!

Mr. Kroese's false identification papers.

Although it was no doubt thrilling to their impetuous spirits, these Tommies and Johnnies were practically still boys, and didn't seem to grasp the danger of the situation or the tremendous sacrifice that these Dutch people were embracing, risking their lives, and giving them a large portion of their own scarce supply of food. "They would stay there for a few weeks, or as long as needed and they would stay in the house where I was aided. We gave them food, and some night I came upstairs after they had dinner, and I came and I saw that the soup was in the washing table," -(that was in the year that food was especially difficult to come by)- "So I said, 'Are you mad? If you don't like it, tell it to us, and we can have it, but don't spoil it!'"  

At other times, the Americans struggled to grasp the precariousness of their situation. "Sometime in the following months, there came a German car stopping just before our house... but what did he (the American flyer)? He moved to the window, pushed the curtains away, and I said; 'Are you mad?!'" 'No, but I've never seen my enemy. I want to see my enemy.' As they are young boys, they don't realize, and they don't know. They didn't know that we had few food, and he didn't realize that he, ya, was in danger of bringing us in danger by showing himself at the window. It was remarkable." 

Finally, after 5 longs years of being under Nazi oppression, after 3 years of working every moment against his country's oppressors, rescuing Allied pilots, burying parachutes, hiding radios, stealing bicycles, blowing up bridges, forging papers, scraping together food, organizing the farmers, - and every moment living in the realization that they could die any time, the Netherlands were finally liberated.

"It was happiness to be liberated." 

In all the times that I've come in contact with people from the Netherlands, I've found them to be some of the nicest people in the world. So kind, and with such a full history of their own, and between our two countries, dating all the way back to 1608 when they welcomed our Pilgrim Fathers into their land, and gave us a place where we could live in peace and worship God in freedom for over ten years, until our forefathers sailed to America. Mr Kroese is certainly no exception! Thank you, dear sir, for your gallantry and your kindness to our boys who got in a tough spot in the air over there.

"You can't tell a man's bravery by just looking at him"

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"You cannot look at someone and decide if they are brave or not. You can only find out if someone is brave by looking backwards, seeing how they have responded."

This is something Lt. Lynden Benshoof often thought about when he was aboard his LST in WWII. He told us he was concerned and worried about his own actions. Would he be brave? Or would he be like his Captain, who after fierce fighting during the Africa and Italy Campaigns, finally couldn't handle any more. One day, Mr. Benshoof had found the Captain of the ship, curled up like a child, grasping tightly to a radio and pretending to be talk into it. Benshoof suggested he go to his cabin for rest. The Captain did, locking himself in and not coming out again.

But if Africa, Sicily, and Salerno were tough, it wasn't the end. On June 6, 1944, Lt. Benshoof's LST took part in the D-Day Operations landing troops onto Omaha Beach. It was horrible work. "We saw all the guys stacked like cardboard on the beach and we could see all the trouble happening... There was so many bodies in the water they couldn't dodge them all." His LST would make 57 trips between England and France carrying causalities and prisoners. "One thing I learned is you can't tell a man's bravery by just looking at him." Only by looking backwards. Looking back on his life, Lt. Benshoof's greatest fear, the fear of failure to do his duty, never became a reality. He served his country well and proudly. But it is a good lesson for all of us to consider: how will *we* respond, when the trouble in our lives becomes too difficult to bear. Quit, like the poor Captain? Or persevere a little longer. Only the future will tell us how we responded to the present crisis. So let's take the example of Lt. Benshoof, and fight a little harder and stick in there a little longer. 

A Korean War Veteran's Story

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A few months ago, at a Victory Japan Remembrance day event, we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Creswell (right), a combat veteran of the Korean War. He was in tears as he thanked Mr. Slief (left), for his service in WWII. "I'm wearing my uncle's hat," he said. "He was on a bombing mission and never came back. They found this hat in his locker. I wear it to all events like this. I'll never forget him. Really, you guys are my heroes. I just missed the war. I went in in 1950 and all my trainers and were WWII veterans. They called me "kid" like I was their younger brother and they taught me how to fight. If it hadn't been for you guys, I would have been killed." Pointing to his ear he said, "See this ear? In Korea, a Chinese soldier came at me with his bayonet and was going to stab me. I ducked and he sliced my cheek and cut that piece off my ear. I had to have 222 stitches on my face. My girlfriend called me scarface. If the WWII guys hadn't taught me how to fight, I wouldn't have made it. I owe everything to you all. You're my heroes. Thank you."

Growing up Mr. Creswell sold newspapers on the streets of Burbank, California (just down the road from his good friend Debbie Reynolds). "You guys were out there making the headlines and I was selling them." When we asked what his biggest headline was, he told us, "the Invasion of France. I was in school and the paper man came and told me to come sell papers. He gave me these huge stacks. All afternoon I sold them [for a nickle] a penny profit for me, making $30 the end of the day." 

Paratroopers are a Special Lot

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Sainte Mere Eglise, Normandy, this past June for the D-Day anniversary events. 

Paratroopers are a special lot. They are known for an unusual delight in death defying antics and absurd feats. Mr. Dan McBride is no exception. Just surviving jump school (the first time he jumped his chute didn't open and he pulled the emergency as he reached tree level. A little stunned, he assumed that was normal), his first combat jump was into Normandy, on June 6, 1944. 

“I was loaded down with eight grenades, two antitank mines, ammunition, a full field pack, four blocks of TNT, an entrenching tool, a bayonet and a carbine. I weighed 300 to 400 pounds. We had to have someone help us climb into the plane. The formation began to break apart as pilots tried to avoid the AA fire. They were banking and diving and turning. Well, on one particularly steep banking turn, being closest to the open door waiting to get the signal to jump, I fell out the door."

Tangling himself in the parachute lines, he landed on his head, which knocked him out for a good while. The adventures that followed were numerous; and told in his dry-wit style, become quite hilarious. Not too long after D-Day, on a night patrol, a soldier came up and spoke to him. It was a German."I pulled up my rifle, and he pulled up his. We both shot, and we both hit — but I hit more." Wounded in his arm, it would be the first of 3 purple hearts he would receive in 1944. The next one would be in Holland after he was blown off a dyke by mortar shells, crushing his ankle. "The medic stuck a needle through my boot. I had to walk out of there, and I could hear the bones grinding." His third Purple Heart came in Bastogne when he was hit in the knees from tank shrapnel. He would take part in four of the major battles in Europe: Normandy, Holland, Bastogne, and Southern Germany. Today, at 91 Mr. McBride is still one tough hombre with plenty of chutzpah. "I live in New Mexico close to the border. One time I was in the parking lot of Walmart and this guy came up to me with a pocket knife and said, 'give me your money'. I pulled out my [handgun] and told him, 'you can either leave now, or in a body bag. I don't care which.' Boy did that guy go running... (he laughs) yup, that was about two months ago."

Happy 100th Birthday X2!

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Well, this picture is not the best, but it's the story that counts. A week or two ago, at a monthly veterans luncheon we got to celebrate 200 years of birthdays between TWO wonderful veterans: Mr. Santiago Diaz and Mr. Emmett Tiner. For an hour after the lunch we listened to some pretty fabulous stories from their life. After losing a son to malnutrition, Mr. Diaz (pictured) parents emigrated to the US from Mexico when he as 4 months old, hoping to get a new start on life. He was 28 years old, married, and with a 6-month old son when he enlisted in the army in 1943. His wish was to help and protect the country that had given his family a new life. He served in the Pacific at Guadalcanal as a medic attached to the Malaria prevention team. Malaria was a worse killer than combat during the war, and took many many lives. Mr. Diaz dealt with many cases, preforming his duty well and saving countless lives. In 1945, just before the end of he war, one of his proudest moments came: he received his US citizenship.

The other birthday boy, Mr. Tiner, (not in the photo but a very handsome fella) related one story from the Marshall Islands Campaign. After the tremendous capture of Gai Island (which happened to be the first Japanese controlled island we captured during the war, and a whole story in of itself) his parents were listening to the radio one evening, with no idea where their son was. "Kate Smith had a nation-wide radio broadcast once a week. And while my parents at home on the farm had no idea where they were listening and they listened to Kate Smith, and she said, "The selected soldier of the week Lt. Emmett Tiner who put the flag on the first Japanese territory of the war."" What a proud moment for them and all of America! Happy 100th birthday to Mr. Diaz and Mr. Tiner. We wish you many more years of happiness!

Dachau Liberator

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When we first met Mr. Birney "Chick" Havey at an airshow last fall, we asked him where the "Chick" came from in his name. "In the army, everyone got a nickname," he said, "they were all 'Bud' or 'Tom" or something like that, so I went by "Chick."' We talked with Mr. Havey for a while; he showed us his "artifacts" collected during the war. A German dagger, German medals (including an iron cross), German patches, and numerous other fascinating objects. Later in the day a lady came up to us and said, "Did you know Birney Havey was one of the first men into the gates of Dachau?" Goodness! This had not even been brought up. We went back to Mr. Havey and he willingly obliged our questions, even pulling out some photos he had taken. 

Arriving in Europe just in time for the Battle of the Bulge, Mr. Havey had seen plenty of fighting and death by the time he reached  Dachau; but despite the natural hardness that come with combat, the sight he saw that day, April 25, 1945, was enough to turn the strongest man's stomach sick. His anti-tank unit came in through the back, discovering around 300 train car-loads of dead and rotting bodies. He said of all those prisoners, they only found one alive. From there they went into the camp, and the horror did not abate much. He saw "people living inside post office-like slots, three or four in each hole. They were alive, but some were dying in there, others were too weak to get out." Rounding up several of the SS still in the camp, they lined them up and shot them. Mr. Havey only stayed in the area a day and a half before his unit moved forward, but that day left permanent mark in his mind, and no doubt brought renewed meaning to the reason he was fighting. 

Combat Medic and Paratrooper

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Leon Jedziniak was a replacement medic for A Company, 501st PIR, 101st Airborne Division. On December 18, 1944, he arrived in Bastogne, Belgium and dug in. The requirements for being a medic were not strict and you didn't have to know much. "There’s only one thing you need to remember," he was told, "Never put the tourniquet around the neck." His first day of action, after going to retrieve a wounded man and nearly getting killed himself, the priest who had accompanied him offered to put him in for the Silver Star. The next day the priest was captured by the Germans and didn't see him again for 31 years. No Silver Star, but he would receive multiple Bronze Stars for his courageous actions, as well as a purple heart. The role of the combat medic in WWII was vital. So many veterans have told us that for them, the true heroes were the medics. Without their bravery and total disregarded of self, many many lives would have been unnecessarily lost. It is always a great honor to meet one of these brave men who served their country and fellow soldiers so well.

Two Purple Hearts

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In honor of Purple Heart Day, we wanted to recognize two gentlemen whose Purple Heart’s were received at a very great cost. 

Mr. Vince Losada (below photo) was a bombardier on a B-17 Flying Fortress called the “Big Drip Jr.”. He was returning from his 25th mission over Germany when his flight was attacked by “intense and very accurate” flack. One burst of flack hit Losada, severing his right arm above the elbow and cutting up his back. A tourniquet was applied and morphine pumped into him, but it didn’t look good.

Mr. Vincent Losada, Purple Heart recipient. 

The “Big Drip Jr.’s” pilot later wrote, “The underside of the plane from the cockpit to the tail was covered with Vince’s blood from this wound. The flight surgeon told us that another fifteen minutes would have been fatal.” They considered flying to Russia, but decided to pull through to England. Boyd Smith, the waist gunner, wrote the next day, “I think he will pull through. He has a lot of grit and Thank God for letting us get him back.... Sure a rough mission for us today.” 

Mr. Frank Pontisso, Purple Heart recipient. 

Mr. Frank Pontisso, Purple Heart recipient. 

Mr. Frank Pontisso served in the 5th Marine Division and was in the first wave to storm the beaches of Iwo Jima. On the 12th day of battle, he heard a marine call out “hit the deck.” Pontisso and two other Marines were struck by a mortar blast, but survived, despite being seriously injured. The last he remembers was receiving a shot of brandy from a corpsman after diving into his foxhole. Pontisso’s right arm was packed in ice, transported to a hospital ship, then Guam. A month later, gangrene set in, and his arm had to be amputated. 

Mr. Losada and Mr. Pontisso both lost their right arms in 1945. Their only reward for this: a Purple Heart and certificate from the government. But that doesn’t matter. “The guys that deserve a Purple Heart are the ones that are buried there, you know.” said Mr. Pontisso

"To D-Day and Back"

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When I met Mr. Robert Bearden for the first time at the Reagan International Airport in the D.C. airport last September, I found out that he had been a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne, a POW, and Head Yell Leader at The University of Texas. All these things were enough to leave me in awe, but little did I know about the truly amazing life he has led. 

Mr. Bearden joined the paratroops in 1942 after serving in the Texas National Guard since 1940. Becoming a paratrooper was not simply a routine decision for Bob Bearden; it was a proof of manhood.  He was not as big as the other guys and as a result he felt he needed to prove himself. The paratroops had a reputation for being the toughest of the tough. People stood in awe of them. That was a very desirable image for a guy whose stature had not been what he would have hoped; and there was no sneezing at the extra $50 a month for jumping out of an airplane. 

In 1943, the life of a paratrooper was far from ordinary. People say fact is stranger than fiction, and in Mr. Bearden’s case, I am inclined to agree. One day, he and a buddy came across a baboon tied with a chain in the middle of someone’s junkyard. It was customary for the units to have a mascot. One 507th unit had a jumping German Shepherd and another had a goat. If their company, Company H of the 507th, had a big baboon as their mascot, that would surpass everyone else’s. So they got the idea to bag it and take it back to barracks. After a valiant attempt to commandeer the furious monkey, they were forced to leave it, but not without a great number of scratches and cuts.

Mr. Bearden certainly did not live a dull life during his training and got into a good deal of mischief, but his war had hardly begun by June of 1944. On the evening of June 5th, after rigorous training in the U.S. and in England, Sergeant Robert Bearden was put on a plane and sent across the English Channel to be dropped over Normandy with the rest of the 82nd Airborne. Like so many of the Airborne units dropped over Normandy, he was separated from the rest of his men. After a more than intense few days on the ground in France, which included the battle for Fresville, an ear injury resulting in his first Purple Heart, and a recommendation for a DSC (Distinguished Service Cross) for saving a Lieutenant’s life, Sergeant Bearden was captured by the Germans and his experience as a POW began. 

Mr. Bearden, after multiple transfers, ended up in Stalag IIIC in Keustrin, Germany. In June of 1944, he weighed in at 163 pounds; just 90 days later he was officially registered with the Red Cross as a POW and was weighed in at a grand total of 98 pounds. 

Finally on January 31 1945, (a date which Mr. Bearden has never forgotten) he was liberated by the Russians. This was an ordeal in and of itself. The Russians had a signifiant hatred for the Germans, and as a result, he had to witness a great deal of brutality from his own liberators. Initially Sergeant Bearden’s plan was to travel and fight with the Russians, cross the Oder River, and then go through Berlin to ultimately end up with the American Forces. After seeing the way the Russians fought and the amount of Vodka they consumed, resulting in “freak” accidents that kept killing liberated GIs, he finally decided a Plan B was necessary or else he would end up in one of the “accidents” himself.  So on February 2, 1945, Plan B took affect. About 20 ex-POWS traveled along the Russian supply lines and hopefully, if they traveled far enough and long enough east, they would arrive back home. For Bob Bearden, that meant TEXAS! 

For a GI who has lost more than a third of his body weight and survived the brutality of the Germans as a POW to walk across Europe is no easy task. His journey took him through Germany, Russia, Turkey, Greece, Egypt, and Italy where he finally met up with the U.S. Army in Naples. Along the way, he had traveled by boxcar, horseback, buggy, farm wagon, bicycle, and many other forms of transport, but mainly he traveled, as he put it, by “the good old ‘Ankle Express.’” Having witnessed the travesties of war which had mostly been inflicted by the Russians, enough was enough, and the strain was too much. Several of the other GIs had had too much and lost it. Their breakdowns were really wearing on him and the others. He decided if it kept on like that, he would crack, too. He didn’t want to add to their strain, so he set out alone. In Poland he came across an abandoned department store where he not only found some sorely needed fur coats, but 60 pairs of silk stockings. These he stuffed down his newly acquired fur coats and used them as trading all the way home. “They were better than any coin of the realm.” 

He made it to Naples by way of Athens and Greece on a British ship, and from there took the U.S.S. West Point (a Coast Guard ship) arriving in Boston in April, 1945. When Sergeant Robert Bearden finally reached Texas, he was only 22 years old.  

Back in Texas, Mr. Bearden went on to be Head Yell Leader at The University of Texas. Amazingly enough, when we visited Mr. Bearden earlier this year, it occurred to us that his years at UT crossed over with our grandmother’s. He pulled out his year books, and low and behold, there she was! His response was, “I must have known her!”

Now 70 years after his service, Mr. Bearden has lived a full life. After giving his early years fighting to protect our country and seeing the very ugly face of war, he spent two very difficult years coming to terms with all he had seen, and ultimately found peace in Christ in the 1960s. Filled with compassion for others who struggled with heavy burdens, Mr. Bearden founded Christian Farms Treehouse, a work study program for men, expanded in 1978 to include women, who had made tragic mistakes but who could be given hope and new life through the help and guidance of people who truly cared about them and more importantly about their souls. Every time we have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Bearden, hardly a word comes out of his mouth that is not full of gratitude and thankfulness to the Lord. 

Everything I have written has only given a slight glimpse into the life of Mr. Bearden and his service during the war. I have highlighted just a few events. But it is always wonderful when we can read the account from the man himself! And if you want to read his full story in his own words, I highly recommend his book To D-Day and Back from his website: www.boblbearden.com. It is really worth reading! 

For Mr. Bearden, his life can be put down to that of a giving one. In World War Two, he offered his life and service to his country: he performed his duties well. Then, he gave his life to the Lord, a willing sacrifice for whatever would be required. Following this, he devoted his life to giving and caring for those who had no hope, and he gave them a hope greater than any other: hope in the Lord.