Upon reading Ross' book, I found my recollections of D-day as I had told them. After the author had provided a little information about my background in the Marine Corps, he quoted me as follows: "I was in an amtrac in one of the first waves. When we hit the beach, I went over the side. It was a long jump…like falling into hell. The beach was being hit by heavy small-arms fire and mortars and artillery. There were bodies and parts of bodies all around. I was terrified.

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"We had always been told to get off the beach. It was the most dangerous place to be. But many troops were still there and not moving. Out of nowhere came a major I never saw before or again. He ignored all the torrent of enemy fire, and was busy kicking and screaming at us. All I could think of was to get off the beach before that crazy SOB shot me.

"Years later, while serving as a senior drill instructor at boot camp in San Diego, I had a fellow DI who babied and talked his recruits through training. I was told this was psychology. All those years, I had thought what that major on Peleliu was using was psychology. But whatever it was, he saved our lives."

Peleliu: Tragic Triumph was published in 1991. It brought back lots of memories of Peleliu, mostly bad, since so many great Marines died there. Among other things, however, it made me wonder what had become of that major, the most heroic Marine I had ever encountered. I often wondered whether the major had survived that terrific barrage on Orange Beach 3, as he was still walking along that beach when I last saw him, kicking and yelling at other Marines. Had he survived Peleliu? Had he survived World War II? Those questions had crossed my mind many times since September 15, 1944, but I had no way in the world to identify him, other than to remember that he was the bravest of the brave.

Of course, at the same time I was reading Bill Ross' book on Peleliu, it was also being read by other Marines across the country and around the world. All my life, I have heard the expression that we live in a small world. Well, it is an expression that is certainly true of Marines. More so, probably, of those who served in World War II and particularly of those who were in the 1st Marine Division during that war. Another member of the 1st Marine Division Association–a well-organized and close-knit group–living in Charleston, S.C., read Peleliu: Tragic Triumph and concluded that the major to whom I had referred was his dear friend of many years, also a resident of Charleston–Lt. Col. Arthur M. Parker, Jr., U.S. Marine Corps (ret.). Those two Charlestonians met and discussed the Ross book. Colonel Parker was the major I remembered.

One thing led to another after that–first, a letter to me, then a telephone call and, finally, arrangements for a meeting in person with the man who had saved my life on September 15, 1944. The meeting took place in LaFayette, Ga., more than 48 years after the assault on Peleliu.

While, naturally, the major's physical appearance had changed considerably, he still had that same booming voice, and I picked up on it immediately. It is hard for me to describe the meeting, except to say that it was probably the most emotional event of my life. After hearing what my newfound friend had to say about D-day at Peleliu, I can now recount his story of that day. Shortly after our first meeting, Colonel Parker remembered the events as follows: "I was real glad to see the LST [landing ship, tank] doors open, to get out in the air in the ocean, about 4,000 yards from the beach, at the line of departure. The 3rd Armored Amphibian Battalion, 75 amphibian tanks abreast, moved into position for the assault on Peleliu Island. Heavy bombardment was underway from ships, planes and whatever to clear the beach, including some LCI [landing craft, infantry] rocket ships, which were pouring rockets on the beach. When they pulled out, we went straight in.

"About 500 yards from the beach, my command tank became incapacitated, running onto a coral head–stopped dead in the water, shells flying all around–and Lieutenant Bristol, the CO of D Company and the finest officer I had, pulled out of the line against my direct orders that no one would come to the help of another if any tank became incapacitated on the way in. Yet Lieutenant Bristol couldn't stand to see my command tank stopped. He pulled up alongside, came out of his turret and I came out of mine. We connected the tow cable from my tank to his tank, and he had just cleared us when a shell separated the cable by three feet in front of my tank.

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