And here's to you, Joe DiMaggio

Joe DiMaggio

         Lately I've been researching the Korean War, in particular the Breakout from the Chosin Reservoir, for a book John Caruso and I are writing about John's brother, Marine Sergeant Mathew Caruso.
   In an online version of "Combat!" magazine, I found an article by Korean War veteran Stanley Modrak in which he described receiving the last rites from Father Griffin, the chaplain whose Life Mathew saved at the cost of his own.
   I found a listing for Modrak in California, and reached his wife, who said he was in the hospital but that he would be happy to speak with me. A few hours later, while his wife was visiting, he called me back.

During our conversation, he mentioned that he wrote a book about his experiences in Korea. The book is called "Hostage of the Mind: A Korean War Marine's Saga of War's Trauma and the Battle That Followed Him Home."

   "As each November nears and northern California's blue skies and wind-blown clouds flee, surrendering to a glowering, gray overcast," Modrak's description of the battle at Sudong-ni begins, "I recall a bleak fall of 1950 in North Korea. Disquiet memories intrude; discordant bugles blaring, echoing from hill to hill high above; sudden shock and fear as fingers of death clutch; a shadowy figure hovering."

   Sudong-ni means "town by the river," Modrak said from his hospital bed when we spoke on the phone. He is recovering from heart problems at the age of 85.

   His battalion's commander, Colonel Homer Litzenberg, he wrote in his memoir,once said "The only Marines I want in my outfit are Purple Heart Marines."

   "As the crisp, darkening night air found the 7th Marines breaking out sleeping bags and preparing to sleep," his book continued, strains of 'Goodnight Irene' filtered through our bivouac area" via Armed Forces Radio Tokyo. "Meanwhile, unknown to the slumbering Marines, the Red Chinese 124th Infantry Division of General Sung's 42nd Field Army poised its 186th and 187th Regiments to hit Marine hill positions in a classic military double envelopment."

   "A double envelopment is usually pretty damn deadly," Modrak said on the phone. To make matters worse, he added, General Sung told his Red Chinese troops, "Kill these Marines as you would kill snakes in your homes." Despite decades of post traumatic stress, Modrak noted in his book with a sense of Marine pride that those snakes delivered a powerful bite.

   At 11:30 p.m., Modrak wrote, he was awakened by cries of "Here they come!"

   "We scrambled from our sleeping bags arming ourselves with M1 carbines and .45s. ... A blare of discordant bugles echoed eerily from hill to hill above. Soon shadowy forms rose from the murky darkness in the river bed to our left. As we let go with a fusillade of weaponry the forms faded into the deepening gloom. ... I marveled at the guts of our battalion officers as they stood tall in the valley's center, directing their Marines' defenses even though parachute flares exploding overhead bathed the tiny valley in a ghostly yellowish aura.

   "As mountain rivulets unleashed by a spring thaw form, multiply and then rush downhill following paths of least resistance, so too came the Red Chinese. Breaking past and veering around strong points, relentless bands of quilt-garbed Chinese infantry cascaded into, through and around Leatherneck hill positions intent on swarming into the valley floor battalion command posts."

   As the battle raged, a noncommissioned officer shouted "One of you, come with me!"

   "Marine discipline kicked in," he wrote, and he ran with the officer for 50 or 60 yards "that seemed like a hundred." as tracers lit up the night and the sound of gunfire was all around. "Miraculously" making it through the gauntlet of fire, Modrak "dove into the shadows behind a low stone wall."

   When the burst of three machine gun bullets struck, "slamming into my side and forearm," he wrote, "sound, feeling, disbelief all jumbled together in a disjointed sensation as I realized I was hit."

He tried to shout "Corpsman" but "only a murmur emerged. Marines nearby took up the call as I slumped  to the rocky earth. With consciousness rapidly fading, Colonel Litzenberg's words, 'Only Marines ... my outfit ... Purple Heart,' were my last thoughts.

   "Reviving sometime later in the still smothering darkness, I sensed a shadowy form hovering over me. Was it an enemy, a fellow Marine, or ...? Quiet, firmly enunciated words broke the chill night air: 'In nomine, Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus, Sancti, amen.' I then realized that the form must be our regimental chaplain, Father 'Connie' Griffin, pronouncing the Last Rites of the Catholic Church. Growing up through twelve years of Catholic schooling I knew full well their dire implications. 'Am I dying, Father?' I murmured. Passing out once again, I never heard any response. Awakening the next morning to daylight in a medical tent with other litter-bound wounded, it sure felt reassuring to be still among the living."
   "Waking to daylight," Modrak wrote, "I found myself ... in the 1st Marine Division Hospital in Hungnam, North Korea. ... For some days I was only conscious and alert intermittently.
   "Sometime in December, our hospital room had an unexpected and unusual pair of visitors. One afternoon two tall figures clad in heavy parkas and fur caps appeared. The famous baseball icon and New York Yankee superstar, Joe DiMaggio, known as the 'Yankee Clipper,' was at my bedside. Wow! Right in the middle of a “Hot War”; I couldn't believe my eyes. As a rabid baseball fan and admirer of DiMaggio, his appearance was a Korean War memory I'd never forget.

   "Joe was accompanied by 'Lefty' O'Doul, a baseball star in his own right and DiMaggio's friend and mentor going back to their San Francisco ball-playing days. Right here in North Korea and not too far from action, Joe and 'Lefty' were braving the bone-chilling North Korea winter to visit and cheer up American hospitalized military. This unselfish act greatly enhanced my admiration for Joe. I also knew that in the pantheon of Yankee greats only the 'Babe' ranked higher.

   "Asking how I felt, Joe handed me an authentic American League baseball autographed with his distinctive signature. Turning the ball over it read: 'To Stanley, best wishes – Joe DiMaggio.'

   "Overwhelmed, all I could do was murmur 'Gee. Thanks Joe.' After DiMaggio and O'Doul left, still not ambulatory, I gave the ball to our room corpsman to mail home for me to Pittsburgh. Big mistake! When I returned home some months later I learned that my wonderful trophy never arrived: What a disappointment! It probably was either stolen or lost in the wartime mail. As rabid baseball fans would understand, the loss bothered me for years after Korea. Having this uplifting experience in the midst of war and then the loss, I'm sure you can understand my feelings.

* * *

  

   "Forward to a sultry L.A. summer in 1991, now a 39-year civilian after Korea and Honorable Discharge. The loss of the DiMaggio baseball still caused regrets over the years as the “Clipper” would be in the news from time to time. His marriage to Marilyn Monroe was prominent, then his devotion to her memory as he placed flowers on her gravesite every year on their anniversary. The much-valued baseball and its loss seemed to be another layer of depression added to the other somber and regretful Korean War memories.

   "My wife , Roulti, knew the story of the “lost trophy.” I had referred to it over the years and she realized how much it troubled me. Near my birthday in July of 1991 I checked the mail, finding a few letters, a bill and a small, square box. Curious, I turned it over to find that it bore the return address of the Oakland Athletics Baseball Club. Wondering what it could be, I eagerly opened the intriguing package. It held an authentic American League baseball. Turning the ball over, autographed words read: 'To Stanley, a replacement – Best Wishes, Joe DiMaggio.” Wow! After 41 years – what a birthday present! Happily showing the prized ball to my wife, she smiled with a “knowing” grin, admitting that it was her doing.

  "A week earlier I had mentioned to her that DiMaggio was to be honored at an A's game celebrating his 56-game hitting streak in 1941 -- a record still intact. Remembering the “lost ball” story and unknown to me , she had phoned the Oakland A's offices and spoke to General Manager Sandy Alderson. As it turned out Alderson was also a former Marine so that coincidence along with my wife's feminine persuasion struck a responsive chord with Alderson – and DiMaggio.

   "The treasured memento represents a happy closure to a long-ago disappointment and now bears an honored niche in our home. We have a time-honored saying in the Corps: Once a Marine, always a Marine. It certainly rang true with Sandy Alderson – Semper Fi Sandy!"

- - -

Hostage of the Mind ... at Amazon

The best $15.69 I ever spent

   Lately I've been thinking about Eric Segal's opening line in "Love Story": "What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died?" I mean, what's the point of reading the book if you know she's going to die? On the other hand, everybody knows 15 minutes can save you 15 percent on car insurance, but who knew Pinocchio was a lousy motivational speaker? I mention this because I've been working on the story of Mathew Caruso, a young Marine sergeant who died saving the life of his chaplain in the Korean War. Everybody knows that, or at least they will before they open the book.
   My research has taken me in many directions. Just the other night on YouTube I watched "Retreat, Hell!" in its entirety. It's a movie about the Chosin Reservoir campaign, made while the war was still in progress, like many of those great and patriotic World War II flicks that were made in 1943 and '44, some of them even in '42.
   "Retreat, Hell!" touched many of the bases I've learned about in my research. It stars a young Russ Tamblyn as a 17 year old whose father gave him permission to enlist but had a heck of a time persuading his mother. He was a character much like Mathew, from a family with deep roots in the Marines. Tamblyn's character had a brother who was killed on Iwo Jima and another brother who was already in Korea. After freezing from fright in his first battle, he doesn't feel as if he's earned the right to visit his brother, who is in a nearby unit. Then he performs heroically in his second battle, and asks permission to visit his brother. Permission granted. He goes to the nearby headquarters and asks a gruff sergeant where his brother is. The sergeant says "Who wants to know?" Then he says the brother is around the corner. Tamblyn goes around the corner and there's a row of body bags.
   The movie also has a scene where the young Marines jubilantly spread the word that they're going to be home by Christmas. And it has the trumpet blowing human wave attacks and the dead bodies of the Communist Chinese piling up on the hillsides just like in the firsthand accounts of the breakout from the Chosin Reservoir, perhaps the most epic battle in Marine Corps history.
   The Russ Tamblyn character -- he's best known for his role in "West Side Story" -- reminded me very much of Mathew Caruso. But the movie missed one base which has been pertinent to my research: There was no scene with a chaplain.
   In studying many accounts of the Chosin breakout, I've learned that there were three Navy chaplains attached to the 7th Regiment, 1st Marine Division. At least there were three at the beginning of the campaign, at Inchon and Wonsan and Sudong-ni, where Mathew's 7th Regiment was the first Marine unit to do battle with the Communist Chinese who had entered the war. Those three chaplains were Father Cornelius "Connie" Griffin, the Catholic chaplain with whom Mathew worked as his clerk and, in combat, his bodyguard; John H. Craven, a Southern Baptist who was the regimental chaplain; and Kester M. Hearn, a Methodist minister. All three of them had been in World War II, although Griffin was not a chaplain then.
   By the time the Marines were breaking out of the Chinese entrapment, at places like Hagaru-ri and Koto-ri, there were only two chaplains with the regiment. And despite numerous accounts including an exhaustive U.S. Navy Chaplain Corps history and a history of the 7th Regiment that I was able to find online, there is no mention of what happened to the third, Kester Hearn.
   And then Mister Google informed me that one Kester M. Hearn had written a book.
   With all the newspaper interviews with Father Griffin and an extensive Chaplain Corps oral history of John Craven, I thought wow, I've hit the trifecta!
   But was Hearn's book in Google Books? No.
   Was it in Amazon's vast "marketplace" of used books? No.
   Was it listed at Alibris?
   Yowza Yowza, there was one copy listed! And it was only $11.70, plus $3.99 shipping. And that was it, except for five copies at various libraries in Texas.
   So for $15.69 I ordered virtually the only copy of this book available anywhere on earth.
   And then the book arrived.
   It was a book of poetry. Children's poetry. Religious poetry. Cat poetry. Limericks. I daresay I was disappointed, and placed it on the back seat of my car.
   A day later, I opened it up again. Maybe I overlooked something. And there it was, on Page 33, a section titled "War -- Absurd! Absurd!"
   Kester M. Hearn -- the M. was for Maurice, which was my father's name; coincidence? I don't think so -- was born in 1908, which would have made him 42 years old in 1950 during the Chosin campaign. He received his Bachelor of Divinity degree in 1943 from Southern Methodist University. He served as a Navy chaplain in World War II and as a Navy chaplain with the Marines in the Korean War, after which he spent 32 years as a minister of the United Methodist Church before retiring in Fort Worth, Texas. He published his book of poems in 1993, and passed away in 1996.
   There are four poems in the "War" section of the book. The first one I read was the second in the series. It's titled "The Home-Coming." It isn't for the faint of heart.

The Home-Coming

Ed's orders read, "You will report
   for active duty on August four."
He kissed his wife, his daughter, son
   and held them tightly one by one.
When time ran out he waved "Goodbye"
   as long and far as he could see.
His family's future was rosy, bright
   big things they'd planned after the fight.
With pack on back he boarded ship
   and sailed on his far distant trip

He disembarked on day sixteen
   in a foreign land he'd never seen.
He never had hunted or owned a gun
   now over his shoulder an M-1 slung.
He saddled up for the front line
   ignorant of all the hell he'd find.
Ed's hopes were high that Autumn day
   the War, he thought, would go his way
And very soon he would return
   to his family, his first concern.

Short hours before sunset that day
   on bloody soil the soldier lay
A shrapnel slug had zeroed in
   and blew away his face and brain.
From empty skull I hid my face
   savage, brutal, mankind's disgrace.
The patriots who ordered him to fight,
   ten thousand miles from this sight,
Dined in the Congressional Dining Hall
   on gourmet food before their Ball.

By dog-tag Ed was identified
   and by two pictures at his side
A picture of his precious Three
   the other, where he longed to be.
He returned home in a sealed casket
   with his headless body neatly in it.
Ed was met by broken hearts and streams
   of tears and shattered dreams.
A Chaplain prayed, then taps was heard
   "He gave his life??" Absurd! Absurd!

   The poem, as are some others in the book, is followed by a comment: "This poem comes from another gruesome personal experience of mine while I was serving as chaplain of the First Battalion of the 7th Regiment of the First Division of the U.S. Marines in the Korean War, 1950-52. I came upon this Marine (Ed) soon after he had been killed. All but a little of the back of his skull had been blown away. That sight still hurts me to this day. As chaplain it was my job to write to the next of kin. A sad job. I began this poem November 17, 1985; completed it April 15, 1988. No, he did not give his life. He wanted to live as much as anyone. It was violently taken from him."

Thank you, Chaplain Hearn.