Once in a while someone remembers and talks about the not often recalled Battle of Peleliu, and this article is an excellent memorial.  I’m compelled to share it to honor my Grandfather and the Marines he led; to remind us that the horror of war is never to be glorified, and that the honor of men such as these is always to be a guiding principle to never give up.

BATTLE OF PELELIU — REVISITING A MEAT-GRINDER OF THE PACIFIC WAR

My maternal Grandfather, Raymond C. Dettrick MSGT USMC was a veteran of the Battle of Peleliu.  He was a Platoon Sargent leading the first wave of Amtracs (the newly formed 3rd Amtracs of the 1st MARDIV; his amtrac tank is likely one of the many pictured in this article).  I grew up keenly aware of the abject horror of this battle and the unwordly courage of the Marines who were there.  Being close to my Grandfather, I was his regular companion in trips to the PX, commissary, etc. on Camp Pendleton.  And no matter where we went the respect he was given was readily apparent.

Born on his family’s homestead in York County, Nebraska, Raymond grew up with an alcoholic step-father after his Mom remarried; his father was killed when a chain snapped as he was discing a field with mules. Out of many dramatic stories of his childhood, I remember most him telling me about fighting his step-dad in order to get a pair of shoes for the winter; being dragged by a team of horses as he climbed down onto the tree to get the reins after losing them during a race in town; being sternly reminded to shoot doves only in the head as any other shot would ruin too much meat. It was the depression after all.

He left home at 17 with $70 he had saved and went to work for the CCC as a gandydancer, working with a crew through Wyoming, as well as a tree feller. He was on leave in Salt Lake City when he decided to enlist. He chose the Corps as he thought he’d get sea sick aboard ship in the Navy . . . .

Later, on his way to Pearl Harbor, his ship put into dry dock at Oakland for unscheduled repairs. The atmosphere of immanent war motivated him to use the shore leave to find a wife before he might not have another chance. He met my Grandmother at a bar. She and her family had endured the Dust Bowl and were immigrants from Oklahoma; the fragility of life and it’s transient joys was something she and he shared. They married within a week, but even that moment was truncated. Now, the Japs had invaded Pearl and he had to leave.

He was stationed at Camp Pendleton, and soon was assigned to the new 3rd Assault Amphibian Battalion since it first formed at Camp Del Mar. Years later in Oceanside my Mom and Father, whose Father was also a career Marine, would go to highschool together and eventually marry.

Here is one especially vibrant story he told me. He was wounded on Peleliu, for which he received a Purple Heart. After his unit had fought through the gunfire from Bloody Nose Ridge to establish their position, in the following days they lost support from the support ships and rations were gone.  He, rather famously to many who knew him, would not let anyone go outside their wire/perimeter due to snipers.  But the occasional chicken that wandered through the ‘dead man’s land’ in front of them became tempting enough that he left the (relative) safety of his fox hole to capture it and bring it back.  He took a sniper’s bullet to his arm, but mission accomplished.  It was quickly rendered to appropriate pieces to boil with their mess kit.  It took almost a day to get him back to support units.

He went on to serve in Korea, and that’s a whole other war. They asked him to go to Vietnam, but years of living onboard ship and the mandatory iodine tabs had taken its toll on his heart.

May we never forget.

Semper Fi.