Introduction

My name is George Peto. I am a World War II veteran. I have been a Marine for over seven decades, what fellow Marines would refer to as one of “The Old Breed.” That means I am one of those ancient guys that joined the Marine Corps as a regular (not a reserve) before the outbreak of World War II.1 I guess that there are not many of us left today. I read one estimate that stated World War II veterans are dying at the rate of almost 500 a day. Wow.

According to statistics, of the 670,000 Marines that served in the war, there are probably only 22,000 still alive today. Of them, only about a thousand are Old Breed, like me—about a sixth of one percent. Nearly all the guys who served and fought with me are now deceased. So I guess that makes me a part of a very small group indeed.

Sometimes I look back at my time in the Corps and just shake my head in wonder. I served through 32 months of war in the Pacific, and I was never even wounded. Heavens knows, I came pretty damn close to it dozens of times, but somehow I survived, although I did get pounded a few times, and dog sick a few more. According to the numbers, by rights, I should have actually died many times: maybe at Cape Gloucester by a sniper; certainly at Peleliu a dozen times, from all the intensive incoming fire we took; or Okinawa in the many advances that we made across the island. Yet still, somehow I made it through the war.

You know, I find it strangely ironic that thousands of my fellow veterans were wounded in the war, came back and were decorated for valor, many (although not nearly enough) were fawned over by the VA (back when the VA was doing its job right), discharged with pomp and circumstance, and as rightfully considered heroes, have been recognized and honored for decades. Me, I served throughout the entire war, fought in four major Pacific campaigns, saw, experienced, and endured horrible things no human being should ever have to go through, and in the end, I was unceremoniously sent back to Great Lakes Naval Training Center, processed out, given a quick handshake, and told thanks a lot. I was given some battle ribbons and years later, because of the malaria I contracted during the war, eligibility for VA benefits.

Nothing else.

Well, not for several years. Slowly over time though, I have been lucky enough to receive many honors. A couple decades ago I began to tell schoolchildren in Central Ohio about my experiences, giving them an awareness of what my generation did to ensure the rights and freedoms that we enjoy. I feel good about that.

In the many decades since the war, I have had been fortunate to continue living an interesting life. I had a long career managing my own store, and was happily married for 65 years. I’ve been told that I can still be obstinate at times.

Maybe that is what has allowed me to stay on. Even now at the ripe old age of 93, I am lucky enough to continue to have an active life. I live with both of my children in my own house, work a modest garden, grow some flowers, occasionally go hunting—I still hand-load my own ammunition—and once in a while, I operate my log splitter for firewood.

In the last couple decades, as I talked to kids in school and fellow Marines, I was encouraged by several to record some of the things I lived through. I had written a couple of articles, but nothing substantial. Then in 2015, I met Pete Margaritis, an experienced writer and researcher, and after a couple of interesting conversations, he finally convinced me that perhaps such an endeavor might be interesting for some people to read.

So, I guess this work is the result of that. You know, recalling many of these events, I again wonder on how I lived through them. And that includes things that happened to me before and after the war. After going through this book I can imagine that someone will read this and think, “Damn. All of that couldn’t have happened to him.”

But it did. Every damn bit of it. The details that follow have been recalled to the best of my ability. These are some of the things that really happened to me.

Sergeant George Peto S/N 317040
United States Marine Corps

 

1 The term, now one of “toughened endearment” in the Corps, first referred to those regular career Marines who had fought in World War I, and who served as the initial cadre for the 1st Marine Division when it initially was formed in February 1941. The term later was broadened to refer to any regular Marine who fought in the division and whose service began prior to the outbreak of World War II.