Alexander Vandegrift Quotes

Ernest King was something else again. Although I had met him in prewar years, neither I nor many people ever knew him. His prewar reputation- juniors liked to say he shaved with a blowtorch- raised him to almost demigod status in the eyes of some of his subordinates. Probably because the Marine Corps boasted its unique brand of toughness I wasn't much concerned about his reputation. Upon paying my first call to him as Commandant I did think we should understand each other, so before taking my leave I said, "Admiral, I want to tell you what I have always told seniors when reporting for duty. If one of your decisions is in my opinion going to affect the Marine Corps adversely, I shall feel it my duty to explain our position on the subject, no matter how disagreeable this may be. If you disagree, I expect to keep right on explaining until such time as you make a final decision. If I do not agree with that, I will try to work with it anyway. I say this, sir, because if you want a rubber stamp you can go to the nearest Kresge store and buy one for twenty-five cents." King stared at me a moment, then abruptly nodded his head- a characteristic gesture. In the event, I worked more closely with his deputy chief, Admiral Horne, his chief of staff, Admiral Edwards, and his planner, Admiral Savvy Cooke. [On a few matters] I was forced to go to him and I generally won my point.

On February 4 an invitation to the White House interrupted this schedule. My family and I were ushered into President Roosevelt's office. I had known the President, who with his charm made us feel completely at ease. With my wife and son looking on he read a citation and placed the Medal of Honor around my neck.

I could not have felt more strongly about this subject. One day an aide, Buddy Masters, came to me. "General," he said, "I'm worried about your eyesight which is getting worse. You read all day here in the office and then you take a couple of hundred Purple Heart certificates home, sign them at night and read some more. I have found a way to ease this." "How?" "The other day over at the Navy I saw a new machine bought for the Secretary. It writes his signature automatically, and it only costs a few hundred dollars." "Save the money," I told him. "If those boys can get wounded, I can find time to sign my name on their Purple Hearts."

This book is dedicated to my wife, Kathryn, without whose insistence, encouragement and patience this tribute to Marines would not have been written.

In spring, when Virginia smells sweeter than any place I have since visited in the world, we went blackberrying to bring back loaded pails which Henrietta, my mother's cook of long years, baked into fragrant and delicious pies. Summers we swam in the Rivanna River, a muddy little stream about two miles from town; sometimes we fished it from an old flat-bottomed boat and occasionally pulled out a perch or catfish.

We knew that America needed a shot in the national arm. Since December 7, 1941, our national heritage had yielded to a prideless humiliation. Half of our fleet still sat on the bottom of Pearl Harbor. The Philippines were gone, Guam and Wake had fallen, the Japanese were approaching Australia. What Admiral King saw, and what he jammed down the throats of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was that just possibly the mighty Japanese had overextended. He saw that just possibly a strike by us could halt their eastward parade. The only weapon he held, the only weapon America held, was a woefully understrength fleet and one woefully ill-equipped and partially trained Marine division.

I was in two minds about leaving because that is only human if you have served something you love for forty years. In those years I saw my Corps expand for service in World War I. I saw it wither away during the doldrums after. I saw it grow to nearly half a million men during World War II. I had since fought its demise.
I was proud to command some of the finest troops the world has ever seen. My men came from every walk of life, almost every race and creed. Welded together, organized into splendid regiments, divisions and corps, filled with the esprit traditional to the Marines, these young men who fought in Pacific campaigns from Guadalcanal to Okinawa left a rich heritage for their Corps and for their country. A grateful nation should never forget what they did. To the names of Valley Forge, Lexington, Concord, Gettysburg, Shiloh, San Juan Hill, Belleau Wood, St.-Mihiel and the Argonne they added Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Tarawa, Saipan, Tinian, Guam, Peleliu, Iwo Jima and Okinawa.
These proud names spelled sublime sacrifice. To those who fought so splendidly, to those who fell and to the scarred survivors, I can only speak the immortal words of John: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

The Virginia town of Charlottesville is a good place to remember. I was born there on March 13, 1887, and lived there until 1909 when I left for a new home, the Marine Corps. Forty years later I returned, then moved to Florida, my present home. Charlottesville is still a good place to remember.
To me Charlottesville will always be a little town sitting quiet at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the home of some 8,000 people, dirt streets lighted by gas lamps, a yellow glow that on a winter evening peeped comfortably through the drawn drapery of the red-brick houses on East High Street- my route when I was hurrying to explain to my parents why I was late for supper.

The Marine Corps, then, believes that it has earned this right—to have its future decided by the legislative body which created it—nothing more. Sentiment is not a valid consideration in determining questions of national security. We have pride in ourselves and in our past, but we do not rest our case on any presumed ground of gratitude owing us from the Nation. The bended knee is not a tradition of our Corps. If the Marine as a fighting man has not made a case for himself after 170 years of service, he must go. But I think you will agree with me that he has earned the right to depart with dignity and honor, not by subjugation to the status of uselessness and servility planned for him by the War Department.