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.

‘Once cleared, we went on to the beach. We were under heavy fire all the way. We were hit twice, set afire, and we lost one man. My tank was out of action by then–so many of the tanks were shot up and incapacitated–and I was trying to get things back together on the beach, and this is when I ran into the infantry.

‘There was a whole conglomeration of troops just in one place–a dead target for the Japanese artillery and mortars–and although I had nothing to do with these infantrymen, other than to help them, they had to be gotten off of that beach or they would all be killed. They seemed to be paralyzed with fear. They wouldn’t move, so I screamed at them. I used all kinds of profanity. I had a Tommy gun slung on my arm and a Jap shovel over my shoulder and mud and blood all over me. I must have been a horrible sight to behold. These young Marines, when I started screaming at them, they started to move….But, really, to think, after all of these years that I would be remembered for this incident makes my whole life worthwhile.’

Parker went on to describe Orange Beach 3 in detail: ‘We had every conceivable kind of fire coming in. We had mortars coming in; we had anti-tank fire coming in; we had artillery coming in; we had machine guns, and it was about the worst place you could be. There were bodies and parts of bodies all around, and these infantry troops, those who had never seen combat or had never experienced such a barrage of fire, were just mesmerized, that’s all, and I don’t blame them. Insofar as being identified as a major in Bill Ross’ book, I had my gold leaves on my collar where they belong. That’s how he knew I was a major. I never turned my leaves under. When I was CO of B/1/7 on Guadalcanal, my two bars were right out in the open. As to time frame, you are only looking at a few minutes. Maybe five. After I had run the people off of the beach, I went on with what I was doing, and then a tremendous mortar barrage came right down where they had just left.’

Regarding my recollection that he had been the only person on his feet on that beach, Colonel Parker responded: ‘Well, that may or may not be entirely correct, but as far as I know, most everybody was hugging that sand. And the only reason I was on the beach was the fact my tank was shot out from under me. Otherwise, I would have been knocking out pillboxes or whatever we were supposed to do. The only reason I was walking was because my tank was burning and I had to leave it. But let me add that it has been a great pleasure, after all of these years, to meet a 16-year-old Marine as of September 15, 1944, and to be remembered, more than 48 years later, for doing a proper job.’

When I first met Colonel Parker in October 1992, I was shocked to learn that he had received no official recognition for his actions on September 15, 1944. As I told Bill Ross a few years back, what the major had accomplished on that beach was something that would be with me all of my days. It was my first time in combat, and I had been witness to the actions of a Marine Corps officer who had more guts than I ever saw exhibited again afterward. For a man to have done what he did, I think a Navy Cross would have been appropriate. While Colonel Parker is very modest and not inclined to take credit for personal bravery, I do have the satisfaction of this very brave Marine officer’s having written on the inside cover of my copy of Peleliu: Tragic Triumph the following: ‘To Charles H. Owen, the 16 year old private who was afraid the crazy sonofabitch might shoot me. Page 157. The unknown major, Arthur M. Parker, Jr.’

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Middleton Parker–a descendent of Arthur Middleton, who, as a member of Congress, signed the Declaration of Independence on August 2, 1776–lost his last battle, a long, lingering fight against lung cancer, on October 27, 1995.

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This article was written by Marine Corps veteran Charles H. Owen and originally appeared in the September 1998 issue of World War II magazine. For more great articles subscribe to World War II magazine today!

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