Now that I know about the Smyth family's belief about the photo, I'll be glad to say, if anyone asks, "I thought it was mine—but do you know about George Smyth?" George was evidently a marine of great courage, was engaged in battle longer than I was, and certainly deserves all the recognition he received. His family should continue that claim. I regret that this has caused discomfort.

As for me, there is another memory that is the most gratifying of my Iwo Jima experiences. About thirty-five years after the war, although I had never mentioned Iwo in three churches I had served as pastor, I joined the staff of a Seattle church and, at the first coffee hour, met two members who were connected to the battle. They called over a third. Al had been a navigator on three Tokyo-run damaged bombers that would have crash-landed somewhere in the ocean but landed on Iwo. The third time, with engines aflame, they crash-landed, quickly jumped out carrying a wounded gunner with them, and watched the plane slowly move to the end of the runway and burst into flames. When Al was told that I had been a marine in the first assault wave, his first words were startling but have stayed with me: "Thanks for helping save my life." That's picture enough for me.

More Chili, Please

I truly enjoy your magazine cover-to-cover, but what prompted me to write was the Pinup series you just started. To a "leg man" like me who doesn't care how a girl looks if she's got great legs, Ava Gardner got it right when she called it "leg art." I'm a Korean War veteran, and in Seoul about mid-1949 I saw an article about WWII pinups including Gardner, Gable, and Hayworth. They were all familiar, but the one the article really raved about was one Chili Williams, who I never heard of before or since. Maybe you'll come up with a photo of her for the mag. I can dream, can't I?

Bill Shipp
Mobile, Ala.

Dear Mr. Shipp,

Man's Best Friend at Anzio

A lighter side of combat on the Anzio beachhead: It was a cold moonlit night and I was on my post in the shadows, sitting on a bale of hay, when out of the dark I was knocked over. My rifle and helmet went flying, and when I got myself together I found a dog licking my face. I guess he needed a friend, and I had some C-rations crackers so we both had a snack. When my relief came, the dog and I went to my foxhole.

I gave him the name Ed, and things went pretty well until Sgt. Robert Roe came over and told me to get rid of the dog, because if he found Ed in his foxhole again, he would shoot it. Suddenly, all hell broke loose and we all dived into my foxhole. After it was over, Sergeant Roe left but not for long. I wondered what he wanted now from me and my poor dog. He showed me a .50-caliber bullet that would have gone through his belly if he'd been in his bed. After that, he said the dog could stay. I even saw him petting Ed at times, so things went OK.

I was sent back to the hospital in Naples, and when I returned I asked Sgt. Oliver C. Owens about Ed. He said Ed jumped out of his jeep and a tank ran over him. What an end!

Stuart F. Kelly
Glen Burnie, Md.

No Shortage of Uranium for Nazi Scientists

Joseph Stahl (Mail, September 2007) was sorely lacking in background information in his contention that the only reason Germany did not have an atomic bomb in World War II was logistical.

Germany had not only imported a great deal of uranium ore from Norway and Belgium, it had processed much of it into fissionable material. A lack of uranium was not the problem.

The primary reason Germany did not develop an A-bomb was a lack of interest on Hitler's part. Most of the scientists were Jewish, and he had already authorized huge expenditures on the V-weapons. He could not successfully do both.

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