In the United States, we observe several holidays to pay tribute to members of the armed forces. Armed Forces Day is celebrated on the third Saturday of May and recognizes members of all the US armed forces. Veterans Day occurs each year on November 11 to honor all US veterans. Finally, Memorial Day is observed on the last Monday of May to remember those who died in service to our country.
This Memorial Day, I’d like to pay tribute to a relative of mine who died during World War II. His name was William Henry Usher, and he was the brother of my paternal grandmother. He was born in 1920 and grew up in Portsmouth, RI. There, according to my grandmother’s memories, he enjoyed happy times with many friends.
Grandma remembered that her brother decided to join the Marines because he was attracted by the opportunity to wear the handsome dress uniform that branch of service is known for. Unfortunately, she also noted he died before ever having a chance to wear that uniform, as he spent his entire time of service in combat. She often shook her head at that remembrance, sounding somewhat exasperated at her younger brother. I imagine she wished he had chosen a less risky way to serve his country rather than letting his vanity (or perhaps machismo? or a desire for adventure? or a sense of duty? or all of the above?) lead his actions. His obituary notes that “prior to his enlistment, he was employed at the Newport Naval Torpedo Station,” and I would guess she wished he had stayed in that job as a way of helping the war effort rather than enlisting.
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| Corporal William Henry Usher, USMC (Personal collection/Karen P. Peirce) |
There are plenty of family stories about this great-uncle I never had the opportunity to meet. For instance, I know his father, my great-grandfather who I grew up calling Grampy, had hoped the two of them would go into the construction business together after the war ended. When my great-uncle Bill died in the war, so too died my great-grandfather’s dream of leaving the legacy of a family business.
I also know from my grandmother’s remembrances that she felt quite close to her brother. She always spoke of him with a smile in her voice, even though there was still a tear in her eye so many years after his death. By the time I was growing up, over 30 years had elapsed since he had died, but her feelings about him were still palpable, even until she passed away in 2019, almost 74 years after his death.
My dad was a little shy of four years old when his uncle Bill died. He has only vague memories of him but is definite in referring to him as Uncle Bill. Interestingly, in my grandmother’s conversations about her brother, she called him William instead. I don’t know which name he preferred, but letters he sent to my grandmother and others during the war are signed Bill.
When he deployed, he was involved in a relationship with a woman named Betty. Sadly, that love interest ended, so my great-uncle experienced heartache not long before his death. Story has it that Betty grew tired of waiting for him to come back from the war and broke things off to date his best friend instead. I wonder if certain experiences are fated to occur in families, as decades later, my high school boyfriend cheated on me with my supposed best friend. I’m thankful that wasn’t one of the last experiences of my life as it was for my great-uncle.
Sometime after receiving that “Dear John” news, my great-uncle was killed in hand-to-hand combat on the island of Okinawa in Japan. Somewhere in our family files is a letter one of his Marine Corps friends sent that described what happened. Suffice it to say, it was a violent death.
According to his obituary, my great-uncle had been serving in active duty for two years when he died. In that time, he was deployed to (not necessarily in this order) Samoa; the Solomon Islands, including Bougainville Island; the Saint Mathias Islands, including Emirau Island; Guam; New Zealand; New Caledonia; the Marshall Islands; and the New Hebrides. On Bougainville Island, his obituary noted, he “lived in a foxhole for 14 days after establishing beach communications in less than half an hour,” and he also “volunteered to . . . [be] assigned to the Headquarters and Service, Second Raider Regiment, instead of remaining with his outfit in which he was slated for promotion to sergeant.” This meant he “participated in the seizure of Emirau with the 4th Marine Regiment, and was later sent to Guam with the First Marine Division.”
That his death occurred on April 6, 1945, only five months before the end of WWII, makes it that much more poignant. If only he could have stayed safe a little while longer, my grandmother could have had more time to spend with her brother, my father could have known his uncle better, my great-uncle could have met his other nephew and his nieces, and the entire family could have generated more stories together with him. I know, this wishful thinking assumes he would have lived a long life, but given the odds, it’s more than likely. One of his sisters, my grandmother, lived to the age of 103 and the other, my great-aunt Dottie, is still going strong at almost 91.
So, this Memorial Day, I’m paying tribute to William Henry Usher, a young Marine who died in service to his country, a family member who was dearly loved, and a sad representation of so much potential lost to the violence of war.