“Hero” is perhaps a word that is used a bit too often these days. David Martin, CBS News’ national security correspondent, spoke last year with Hershel Williams, the last Medal of Honor recipient of the Second World War. Williams, 98, died Wednesday. We believe you will agree that Williams is a true American hero. [This story originally aired May 30, 2021]
Hershel Williams, also known as “Woody”, is truly one-of-a kind. He is the last recipient of the Medal of Honor from World War II at the age of 97. He is distinguished by the way he has lived his life over the years.
Martin told him that he felt he owed more to Martin than if he could give.
He was raised on a West Virginia farm during the Great Depression. He said, “There were eleven born to my family.” “Five of us were not able to live to adulthood, but five.”
He tried to enlist in Marines after Pearl Harbor but was turned down because he was too short. He became a Marine after the Marines began taking terrible casualties fighting the Japanese in the Pacific.
Martin asked Martin, “What was your first experience with combat?”
He replied, “Exceedingly frightening.”
A huge invasion fleet assembled off Iwo Jima, Japanese-held Island in February 1945. Williams stated that 22,000 Japanese were on the island. He also said that there was a tunnel that had been dug in a volcano for miles.
The Japanese held on to their fire until the Marines landed and then made the beach into a slaughterhouse. “The beach was just filled with everything you can imagine — trucks and tanks just destroyed.”
More than 6 000 Marines would perish. Williams stated, “Just stacked the them up, yeah. Like cord wood.”
Marines finally reached the summit of Mount Suribachi to raise the flag for the most celebrated American event in American history.
Martin asked Martin, “Did the flag go up?”
Williams replied, “No, I didn’t.” Williams said, “I believe I had my head in the sand.”
Although the flag was raised, the fight for Iwo Jima wasn’t over. We ran from shell crater after shell crater until we found one. Finally, we reached this long line, reinforced concrete pillboxes.
Japanese machine guns were hidden in the pillboxes and cut down the Marines advancing, until Williams’ commander said to him, “Do you think that you could do anything with the flamethrower?”
Martin asked, “What were you supposed do with the flamethrower?” Martin asked.
“Put flame into the pillbox. So that everyone in that pillbox would be destroyed.”
Williams crawled towards the first pillbox, Japanese bullets ricocheting from his flamethrower. He was surrounded by four riflemen.
Williams stated that he noticed blue smoke coming out of the top top of the pillbox when he looked up at it. So, I crawled up and got up on top. There was a pipe about the same size and shape as my flamethrower, so I put it down and let it go. This was my first pillbox.
Williams was credited with removing seven pillboxes within four hours.
It was February 1945. Williams was still on Guam at the time, killing his time, when he received a summons saying “You’re going to see the general.” I replied, “What for?”
“Can’t be bad news!” Martin said.
“That’s exactly what I thought!” Williams laughed. Williams laughed. He said, “You’re being sent back to Washington.” I had never heard of Medal of Honor. I had no idea such a thing existed.”
A quiet boy from West Virginia, Dell saw President Truman present the Medal of Honor to him at the White House. “I had never imagined that I would be able to meet a President of the United States. And now, I am shaking hands with him. Talk about a scary moment! “I was a complete wreck!
He was able to get over his nerves but not the responsibility that came with the medal. This was especially true when he discovered that Corporal Warren Bornholz had been killed and Private First Class Charles Fischer had been killed. These were two riflemen who had served as cover fire during the four hours of flamed hell.
“Once that realization was made, my entire concept of the medal was changed. I told them, “This medal doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to them.” It is their honor that I wear it. To make it possible, they gave their lives.
Williams was young and learned the importance of that sacrifice for his family. He delivered Western Union telegrams to mothers informing them that their sons were killed in action before he joined Marines. He recalled that “when I handed her the envelope she just collapsed,” “As an 18 year old boy, I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t do any of it. I quit. I was lost.
Martin stated, “You’ve done an excellent job of making up for it.”
It left a lasting impression in my mind. He said that it made me see how much it cost to be free and who I am.
For 33 years, he worked for the Department of Veterans Affairs. He created a monument to honor them and established the Woody Williams Foundation, which supports Gold Star families. He said, “We’re all fifty states.”
“Is it a lot of travel?”
“We strive to attend every dedication”
This 90-year-old would have been on the road for more than 200 days per year before COVID.
Martin asked Martin, “Why are you driving like that?” Everyone would understand you if your age was such that they begged for you to explain.
Williams responded, “This is my way to make sure that our Gold Star family are not forgotten.”
Charles Coolidge, who was the last Medal of Honor recipient from World War II passed away in April.
Martin stated, “Now you are the last man standing.”
“Yeah.”
“Does this add to the sense of responsibility?”
“Yes, it does. It does.
“Does it ever occur to you that you are so lucky to have been given such a long life?”
He replied, “Maybe I’m making someone else’s life better, more meaningful.”
“Woody Williams” has lived a meaningful life, but he says it differently: “I’m absolutely the most blessed person you could ever see,” he said.
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Mary Walsh produced the story. Joseph Frandino is the editor.
