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Just passing along some info that was passed to me and since a lot of members have this memorabilia i was thinking you might like to know how it all came about. Hope you enjoy this article.
SEMPER FI MARINES!
It Came Down to One Marine
by Vin Suprynowicz
On Nov. 15, 2003, an 85-year-old retired Marine Corps Colonel died of
congestive heart failure at his home in La Quinta, Calif., southeast of
Palm Springs.
He was a combat veteran of World War II. Reason enough to honor him.
But this Marine was a little different. This Marine was Mitchell Paige.
On Guadalcanal the Marines struggled to complete an airfield. Yamamoto
knew what that meant. No effort would be spared to dislodge these
upstart Yanks from a position that could endanger his ships. Before
long, relentless Japanese counterattacks had driven supporting U.S.
Navy from inshore waters.
The Marines were on their own.
As Platoon Sgt. Mitchell Paige and his 33 riflemen set about carefully
emplacing their four water-cooled 30-caliber Brownings, manning their
section of the thin khaki line which was expected to defend Henderson
Field against the assault of the night of Oct. 25, 1942, it's unlikely
anyone thought they were about to provide the definitive answer to that
most desperate of questions: How many able-bodied U.S. Marines does it
take to hold a hill against 2,000 desperate and motivated attackers?
But by the time the night was over, "The 29th (Japanese) Infantry
Regiment has lost 553 killed or missing and 479 wounded among its 2,554
men,"
historian Lippman reports. "The 16th (Japanese) Regiment's losses are
uncounted, but the 164th's burial parties handled 975 Japanese bodies....
The American estimate of 2,200 Japanese dead is probably too low."
You've already figured out where the Japanese focused their
attack,haven't you? Among the 90 American dead and seriously wounded
that night were all the men in Mitchell Paige's platoon. Every one. As
the night of endless attacks wore on, Paige moved up and down his line,
pulling his dead and wounded comrades back into their foxholes and
firing a few bursts from each of the four Brownings in turn, convincing
the Japanese forces down the hill that the positions were still manned.
The citation for Paige's Medal of Honor picks up the tale:
When the enemy broke through the line directly in front of his
position, P/Sgt. Paige, commanding a machinegun section with fearless
determination, continued to direct the fire of his gunners until all
his men were either killed or wounded. Alone, against the deadly hail
of Japanese shells, he fought with his gun and when it was destroyed,
took over another, moving from gun to gun, never ceasing his withering
fire."
In the end, Sgt. Paige picked up the last of the 40-pound, belt-fed
Brownings -- the same design which John Moses Browning famously fired
for a continuous 25 minutes until it ran out of ammunition, glowing
cherry red, at its first U. S. Army trial -- and did something for
which the weapon was never designed. Sgt. Paige walked down the hill
toward the place where he could hear the last Japanese survivors
rallying to move around his flank, the belt-fed gun cradled under his
arm, firing as he went.
And the weapon did not fail.
Coming up at dawn, battalion executive officer Major Odell M. Conoley
was first to discover the answer to our question: How many able-bodied
Marines does it take to hold a hill against two regiments of motivated,
combat-hardened infantrymen who have never known defeat?
On a hill where the bodies were piled like cordwood, Mitchell Paige
alone sat upright behind his 30-caliber Browning, waiting to see what
the dawn would bring.
One hill: one Marine.
But "In the early morning light, the enemy could be seen a few yards
off, and vapor from the barrels of their machine guns was clearly visible,"
reports historian Lippman. "It was decided to try to rush the position."
For the task, Major Conoley gathered together "three enlisted
communication personnel, several riflemen, a few company runners who
were at the point, together with a cook and a few messmen who had
brought food to the position the evening before."
Joined by Paige, this ad hoc force of 17 Marines counterattacked at
5:40 a.m , discovering that "the extremely short range allowed the
optimum use of grenades." They cleared the ridge.
And that's where the unstoppable wave of Japanese conquest finally
crested, broke, and began to recede. On an unnamed jungle ridge on an
insignificant island no one had ever heard of, called Guadalcanal.
But who remembers, today, how close-run a thing it was -- the ridge
held by a single Marine, in the autumn of 1942?
When the Hasbro Toy Co. called some years back, asking permission to
put the retired colonel's face on some kid's doll, Mitchell Paige
thought they must be joking.
But they weren't. That's his mug, on the little Marine they call "G.I.
Joe."
And now you know.
- - - -
SEMPER FI MARINES!
It Came Down to One Marine
by Vin Suprynowicz
On Nov. 15, 2003, an 85-year-old retired Marine Corps Colonel died of
congestive heart failure at his home in La Quinta, Calif., southeast of
Palm Springs.
He was a combat veteran of World War II. Reason enough to honor him.
But this Marine was a little different. This Marine was Mitchell Paige.
On Guadalcanal the Marines struggled to complete an airfield. Yamamoto
knew what that meant. No effort would be spared to dislodge these
upstart Yanks from a position that could endanger his ships. Before
long, relentless Japanese counterattacks had driven supporting U.S.
Navy from inshore waters.
The Marines were on their own.
As Platoon Sgt. Mitchell Paige and his 33 riflemen set about carefully
emplacing their four water-cooled 30-caliber Brownings, manning their
section of the thin khaki line which was expected to defend Henderson
Field against the assault of the night of Oct. 25, 1942, it's unlikely
anyone thought they were about to provide the definitive answer to that
most desperate of questions: How many able-bodied U.S. Marines does it
take to hold a hill against 2,000 desperate and motivated attackers?
But by the time the night was over, "The 29th (Japanese) Infantry
Regiment has lost 553 killed or missing and 479 wounded among its 2,554
men,"
historian Lippman reports. "The 16th (Japanese) Regiment's losses are
uncounted, but the 164th's burial parties handled 975 Japanese bodies....
The American estimate of 2,200 Japanese dead is probably too low."
You've already figured out where the Japanese focused their
attack,haven't you? Among the 90 American dead and seriously wounded
that night were all the men in Mitchell Paige's platoon. Every one. As
the night of endless attacks wore on, Paige moved up and down his line,
pulling his dead and wounded comrades back into their foxholes and
firing a few bursts from each of the four Brownings in turn, convincing
the Japanese forces down the hill that the positions were still manned.
The citation for Paige's Medal of Honor picks up the tale:
When the enemy broke through the line directly in front of his
position, P/Sgt. Paige, commanding a machinegun section with fearless
determination, continued to direct the fire of his gunners until all
his men were either killed or wounded. Alone, against the deadly hail
of Japanese shells, he fought with his gun and when it was destroyed,
took over another, moving from gun to gun, never ceasing his withering
fire."
In the end, Sgt. Paige picked up the last of the 40-pound, belt-fed
Brownings -- the same design which John Moses Browning famously fired
for a continuous 25 minutes until it ran out of ammunition, glowing
cherry red, at its first U. S. Army trial -- and did something for
which the weapon was never designed. Sgt. Paige walked down the hill
toward the place where he could hear the last Japanese survivors
rallying to move around his flank, the belt-fed gun cradled under his
arm, firing as he went.
And the weapon did not fail.
Coming up at dawn, battalion executive officer Major Odell M. Conoley
was first to discover the answer to our question: How many able-bodied
Marines does it take to hold a hill against two regiments of motivated,
combat-hardened infantrymen who have never known defeat?
On a hill where the bodies were piled like cordwood, Mitchell Paige
alone sat upright behind his 30-caliber Browning, waiting to see what
the dawn would bring.
One hill: one Marine.
But "In the early morning light, the enemy could be seen a few yards
off, and vapor from the barrels of their machine guns was clearly visible,"
reports historian Lippman. "It was decided to try to rush the position."
For the task, Major Conoley gathered together "three enlisted
communication personnel, several riflemen, a few company runners who
were at the point, together with a cook and a few messmen who had
brought food to the position the evening before."
Joined by Paige, this ad hoc force of 17 Marines counterattacked at
5:40 a.m , discovering that "the extremely short range allowed the
optimum use of grenades." They cleared the ridge.
And that's where the unstoppable wave of Japanese conquest finally
crested, broke, and began to recede. On an unnamed jungle ridge on an
insignificant island no one had ever heard of, called Guadalcanal.
But who remembers, today, how close-run a thing it was -- the ridge
held by a single Marine, in the autumn of 1942?
When the Hasbro Toy Co. called some years back, asking permission to
put the retired colonel's face on some kid's doll, Mitchell Paige
thought they must be joking.
But they weren't. That's his mug, on the little Marine they call "G.I.
Joe."
And now you know.
- - - -
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