The Marines of World War I were an awesome lot. That's not to say that today's Marines, or those in between, aren't--just that today I stumbled on the most interesting piece written by Colonel Wise and it reminded me that, "The Marines of World War I were an awesome lot."
Colonel Wise served in the Corps 27 years. He saw much, did more and earned ever bit of praise. To read just some of his accomplishments, check out his awards which have been posted here. After 18 months of service in France, Wise was finally back in the States. He was given 30 days leave to do with as he wished; more if he needed. When done, he was given his choice of duty assignment.
You can read his memoir "A Marine Tells it to You" and if you do, pay attention to page 298-299. Chapter XXV is appropriately titled, "Trying a Breathing Space," and here's what he's saying about coming home.
"I went up to Philadelphia [from DC]. I was getting more restless and more nervous every day. We [he and his wife] tried New York to see if that would help. New York was as bad as Philadelphia.
Restlessly I returned to Philadelphia.
Then it dawned on me that it didn't matter where I was. The trouble wasn't with Philadelphia. It wasn't with New York. It was with me.
After those eighteen months in France, inaction had become unbearable. The whole ghastly show was milling around in my mind. I couldn't get away from it.
Here I was in peaceful America, with every comfort and attention. I couldn't express a wish that some one was not eager to meet.
Yet always that panorama of the hell of the last eighteen months kept unrolling before my eyes.
Training camps. The roads up to the front. The trenches. Rusty barbed wire. The desolation of No Man's Land. Shell bursts. Fox holes, with men stretched in them. Gray lines of Germans advancing to the attack. The steady roar of a barrage. Bursts of fire from machine guns hidden in the woods. Heat. Dust. Cold. Rain. Mud. Forcing myself to go over dangerous ground. Suppressing all emotions. Looking at men I had trained for months and grown to know as you know your own family--looking at them walking back, wounded; crawling back, wounded; stretched dead on the ground.
I began waking up at night, shuddering, from dreams of the rain and the cold and the mud. In nightmares, the rats in the trenches kept jumping on me. Champillion, Les Mares Farm, the Bois de Belleau, St. Mihiel, the Argonne--I was living them all over again all the time.
Just getting away, I knew now, wouldn't do any good. I had to have a job with a lot of work attached to it. I couldn't see any in America. But I did know where there was one."
Wise went back to Haiti. He self-medicated against (what we call today) PTSD by throwing himself into work in Haiti. Many think this affliction was new only from Vietnam forward. No, as long as men (and women) have been in wars, the scars on the body and in the mind have been there. Shell shock, combat fatigue, PTSD... in the end, same affliction, different name. Another reason why these men (and women today) are definitely CORE OF THE CORPS.
Wise was "tombstone" promoted to Brigadier General after retirement for having been cited for valor.
