BROTHERS in VALOR

Before his death in 1906, noted essayist and poet luminary Paul Laurence Dunbar penned “The Colored Soldiers,” a literary paean commemorating the gallant exploits of men who risked all for a nation that seemed to be in the throes of historical forgetfulness. In his poetry, Dunbar captured the heroic sacrifice made by African-American GIs. These heroes rushed to the nation’s colors to protect and defend a fledgling democracy that repeatedly teetered throughout history. For Dunbar, this dirge of poetic magic reflected his own military service, as well as the personal and political struggle for citizenship.

Born in Dayton, Ohio, in 1872, Dunbar was the son of former slaves and a direct descendant to the cause of freedom. He grew up in a household where his father, Joshua Dunbar, told him endless stories of how he had escaped from the bonds of slavery in Kentucky and had promptly headed north, where he joined the famed Massachusetts 55th Regiment during the Civil War. Afterward, Joshua moved to Dayton, Ohio, where he not only taught himself to read and write, but also elevated his family to middle-class status in the city.¹ Remaining forever alert to the important contributions that blacks made militarily toward safeguarding the nation, Dunbar spent his adult life illuminating his father’s accomplishments, and the bravery of his father’s comrades in the face of fierce foreign and domestic enemy fire.

In “The Colored Soldiers,” Dunbar aptly captures the selfless bravery that blacks acted upon during moments of war where they would, knowingly or not, live to enjoy the medals and adulation commemorating their deeds during the fiercest battles of the Civil War:

Ah, they rallied to the standard
To uphold it by their might;
None were stronger in the labors,
None were braver in the fight.

From the blazing breach of Wagner
To the plains of Olustee,
They were foremost in the fight
Of the battles of the free.

And their deeds shall find a record
In the registry of Fame;
For their blood has cleansed completely
Every blot of Slavery’s shame.

So all honor and all glory
To those noble sons of Ham—
The gallant colored soldiers
Who fought for Uncle Sam!²

Thirty years later, W. E. B. Du Bois, preeminent scholar-activist-intellectual of the twentieth century, punctuated Dunbar’s assessment of black grace under fire during the Civil War. In 1935, Du Bois published his tour de force, Black Reconstruction in America, in which he commented on black Americans who took up arms in defense of freedom and democracy during the Civil War. Du Bois rendered a stinging indictment of the nation’s insistence upon questioning the fitness and valor of African Americans on the battlefield, and questions as to whether or not they should even be acknowledged as first-class citizens. At the outset of the Civil War, the venerable historian stated that among Northern military officials, pundits, and abolitionists, “nothing else made Negro citizenship possible in the United States. Nothing else made Negro citizenship conceivable but the record of the Negro soldier as a fighter.” This would be a titanic mountain for African Americans to scale. In order to be recognized as citizens, black men had to first confront the dominant ideology that excluded them from the very definition of “men.” But Du Bois also offered a nuanced portrait of black Americans: “The Negro is a man, a soldier, a hero,” he emphasized.³

Du Bois’s invocation serves as the basis for the eighty-nine African-American servicemen who appear in Brothers in Valor. Writers have celebrated the courageous actions of African Americans on the battlefield as a living testament to their strength of character and devotion to US military might. From Fort Wagner to Los Animas Canyon; from Tayabacao to the Argonne Forest; and from Sommocolonia to Chipo-ri and Phu Cuong, they have underscored the sacrifices that black GIs have made to their country, even though the nation often expressed deeply ambivalent, if not hostile, attitudes about their suitability as fighting soldiers. Where these heroes came from, their entry into the armed forces, their outlook regarding American democracy, the historical public memory of who they were, and the degree to which their brave actions have become enmeshed in the national identity and consciousness are just as important as the heroic deeds they performed in the heat of battle.⁴

Yet, a fuller understanding of the heroic actions performed by African-American servicemen will remain in a social and political vacuum unless we historicize the concept of honor and how the meaning of the word has changed for blacks since the Civil War. “Honor” and its evolving meaning in the United States have influenced the policies that the country adopted to reward acts of valor performed by black soldiers, sailors, and marines, and how the selection process mirrored American attitudes toward race relations. In many ways, the creation and evolution of the nation’s highest award for gallantry was as arduous as the enduring dilemma of race in American society itself. In the heady days of the American Revolutionary War, the Continental Congress formalized the meritorious process by ordering special medals be struck for generals George Washington, Horatio Gates, and Daniel Morgan, for their distinguished action during the conflict. However, the formal medal-bestowing process languished until 1847, when Congress passed legislation that expanded the United States Army during the Mexican-American War. Attached to the legislation was a rider that authorized the issuing of a Certificate of Merit to privates who distinguished themselves in peacetime and in war. But by the beginning of the 1860s, the Certificate of Merit had faded from public view and would later be reintroduced in 1876 following the Battle of the Little Bighorn.

In the opening stages of the Civil War, members of Congress held a series of discussions about ways in which Official Washington could recognize acts of bravery performed by soldiers, sailors, and marines during the fighting. Following the lead of Iowa senator James W. Grimes, the Senate Naval Committee introduced a bill that would present a token of appreciation to petty officers, seamen, landsmen, and marines who distinguished themselves during the hostilities. Passed by both Houses of Congress and approved by President Abraham Lincoln on December of 1861, the Medal of Honor was created for the navy.

Around the same time, Senator Henry Wilson of Massachusetts introduced a resolution that created a similar award for the army. Signed into law on July 12, 1862, the measure called for the Medal of Honor to be awarded “to such noncommissioned officers and privates as shall most distinguish themselves by their gallantry in action and other soldier-like qualities during the present insurrection.” Within months, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton began to bestow medals upon soldiers and sailors who performed acts of bravery during the battles of 1863. However, here is the rub: The awards were largely reserved for officers and enlisted men serving in the regular armed forces, thus excluding the deeds of US citizens who performed acts of valor as volunteers.⁵

Over the past century and a half since the Medal of Honor’s creation, only 3,500 servicemen and -women have been recognized with this distinction. Of that population, 89 of these heroes are African-American, 59 are Hispanic-American, 33 are Asian-American, and 32 are Native American. As will be seen in the pages of this book, the Civil War and the destruction of slavery gave new meaning to honor—and citizenship—as a fierce struggle ensued over the historical memory and the ideas for which the war had been fought.

As Dunbar and Du Bois effectively remind us, blacks may have had the same ethic of honor, but their perspective was undermined and diverged widely from their white counterparts. With this in mind, Brothers in Valor illustrates the complicated relationship of race and valor throughout history.⁶

Du Bois’s evolving ideas about honor and race may be aptly applied to the life history of Medal of Honor recipients like Milton Olive III. Similar to MOH recipients who previously served in the American military, Olive answered the nation’s call to duty, but would not be present for the acknowledgment of his deeds. Born in Chicago, Illinois, in 1946, he moved to Lexington, Mississippi, to live with his grandparents after his mother died in childbirth. He grew up in a proud and strongly race-conscious family. His great-uncle, Ben Olive, was an architect and laid the foundation for the Holmes County Bank and the Asia Church, two of the first establishments founded by blacks in the region after Reconstruction. His father, Milton Olive Jr., became an influential figure in Chicago’s educational and business community during the 1950s. A precocious youth, Milton Olive attended Saints Junior College after graduating from high school, with the sincere hope of developing his skills as a budding singer and still photographer. His father recalled, “My son, my only child, bore a heavy cross because he always aspired to do something more with his life.”

In 1964, Olive enlisted in the army and went to Fort Knox, Kentucky, for basic training before going on to attend paratroop school at Fort Benning. Upon graduation, Olive was assigned to a company in the famed 503rd Infantry Regiment, one of the most elite airborne units in the military. Olive and elements of the 503rd were deployed as a part of the 173rd Airborne Brigade to Vietnam, and engaged in several combat operations in the jungles of Phu Cuong, an area heavily infested with Vietcong. One day, the Chicago native and members of his platoon found themselves pinned down by continuous enemy fire, but were able to rally against Vietcong units, forcing them to flee their positions. But as Olive and other platoon members advanced throughout the jungle, a grenade was tossed in their direction. Without thinking of his well-being, concerned only about his fellow soldiers, Olive picked up the grenade and fell on it, absorbing the full blast of its discharge with his body.⁷ His heroism and selfless act that fateful day not only earned him the gratitude of the rescued soldiers, but the respect and admiration of a grateful nation, as well.

On April 21, 1966, President Lyndon B. Johnson appeared on the White House steps to bestow the country’s highest medal for bravery upon Chicago’s fallen native son, stating,

Not long afterward, the image of the martyred soldier and his place among the pantheon of heroes became enshrined in the nation’s historical memory. In 1966, Olive’s parents gave an interview that was published in Chicago’s Daily Defender and other newspapers, and televised by the National Broadcasting Company. In 1979, the City of Chicago dedicated a park along Michigan Avenue in his name. In addition, Olive’s act of bravery was consecrated when Olive–Harvey Junior College was named after him. Such gestures are hardly isolated to the Windy City. During the last fifty years, a steady number of monuments and historical markers have been erected at public schools and on military installations throughout the country, immortalizing the bravery of young servicemen, the latest constructed at Fort Benning, Georgia, home of the US Army’s Infantry and Airborne Training Schools.

It’s hardly surprising that the bravery of men like Milton Olive—along with the politics of historical memory surrounding their valor—corresponded with the torturous path the country took toward recognizing blacks as citizens, with all the rights accorded by the Constitution. The military has long been seen as an evocative barometer of the values and mores of the American landscape, but has also been at the forefront of change in society.⁹ This book is a history of the heroic deeds that black Medal of Honor recipients performed on the fields of battle during American wars, from Fort Wagner to Vietnam, and how the nation has struggled to commemorate them through presidential decree and public memory. Definitions of honor in battle were historically defined and reshaped through the policies underpinning the awarding of the Congressional Medal of Honor and other forms of memory, such as presidential politics, military policy, monument building, and commercial usage of their achievement. Special emphasis will be placed on the role played by the voices and recollections of the soldiers, along with their families and friends as custodians of memory, long after the fallen veterans departed the fields of fire.

Despite their involvement in American wars, the incessant battles between black attempts to create a shared sense of bravery on the battlefield and public historical debates over the very meaning of honor would continue into the waning years of the twentieth century. The tenor and tenacity of the black American campaign to define honor ultimately convinced Congress and Presidents George Herbert Walker Bush and William Jefferson Clinton to recast the meaning of valor and citizenship for a changing American society.

Yet even as new policies are being devised for preparing a new generation of Americans for what they will face on twenty-first-century battlefields, the army—and American society—is also deeply engaged in evaluating how to determine who should receive the nation’s highest decoration for bravery. The time-tested attributes of personal sacrifice, selfless love for family, and loyalty to one’s country continue to hold weight in the minds of the nation’s policymakers, citizens, and GIs who stand in the ranks of its military. Notions of valor will serve as a crucible through which these values will be measured.

As Gen. Colin Powell, the nation’s first black chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stated on the last day that he donned the nation’s uniform: “In the years that I had worn it, I had benefited beyond my wildest hopes from all that is good in this country, and I had overcome its lingering faults. I had found something to do with my life that was honorable and useful, that I could do well, and that I loved doing.”¹⁰

For General Powell and other long-distance runners in the struggle for equality, the quest for honor has and will continue to play an indelible role in the national portrait.

Introduction

Entering the Pantheon of Heroes