Born: September 2, 1920
Died: July 5, 1944
Campaigns Served: Namur, Saipan (killed)
Highest Rank Attained: First Lieutenant
Decorations: Bronze Star (Saipan), Purple Heart
Philip Emerson Wood, Junior, was born in September, 1920. His father, Phil Senior, was a professional actor making a name for himself on Broadway; he married Anna Margretta Rapp shortly after his return from serving in France in the first World War. He had driven trucks in French supply convoys for some time before the official American entry into the conflict and had been recalled to infantry officer training in 1918; Margretta had worked as a hospitial technician caring for wounded soldiers. After their experiences, neither had any desire for their children to serve with the armed forces, and Phil and his younger sister Gretchen were raised to appreciate literature and the arts over the waving flags of patriotism.
Phil Wood Jr, circa 1923.
In later years, Phil would recall his childhood and family life in Hastings-on-Hudson, NY, as an idyllic one. His father found steady work through the tough years of the Depression, even branching out into the new world of film. The Woods were an extremely close-knit family; though Gretchen would remember that her elder brother "really knew how to push my buttons and make me frantic" and cousin Frances commented on his certain air of gentlemanly arrogance, the belief was that Phil Junior was certainly going places and would amount to something in the end.
The Wood family, 1938. Phil Sr. and Phil Jr. in back, cousin Kitsy, mother Margretta, and sister Gretchen in front.
I keep thinking of the past - always with longing – Minturn Avenue – Rex the First and his game on the aqueduct after dinner - Gretchen’s white dress with wide, red embroidery - Shredded Wheat in the morning - sawing wood in the cellar - Mother and Daddy sitting on the patio outside my window talking in low tones, all night, it seemed - Gretchen looking for fairies under the Queen Anne’s Lace – Kim throwing spears of dried goldenrod taken from the lot across the street – selling the Literary Digest – the day the girl next door embarrassed me terribly by saying that I kissed her in the library, which I never did do! Tennis with Mike – playing, it seems amazing now, with Mother, and inwardly seething because she beat me. I used to be a Hell of a poor loser. Daddy laughing as he shook the old silver cocktail shaker with the battered spout that you had to hold your thumb over. Grandaddy standing by the radio that stood on the tall white bookcase and telling funny stories Watching Daddy shave in the bathroom when it was painted light blue and arguing about how to spell “promise.” The little love seat that we were all so proud of, and Mother appropriated – her one selfish trick – of establishing as her own the most comfortable chair in our living room. Remember the deck chair that rocked somehow?
The memories pour out – of Carlo, the dog that never slept, but always smelled – Aunt Is laughing about Sistie and Buzzie’s latest antics – the faint musty smell of warm brown shingles in the sun. Aunt Buck’s “grove” down by Broadway of half a dozen trees – Nana buying choke cherries by the cup, and Mother secretly but eagerly filling cup after cup perched precariously up on the roof. All this and volumes more of Minturn alone – before I was eleven - Christmases that were always happy and light-hearted and together, and all red balls and silver garlands… laurel over the fireplace, and presents rewarded by a kiss, however inadequate my blue box of powder bought at Jakobsen’s Drug Store might be - and now we are separated by distance, and more than distance.
And there is so little time to do so much remembering in… for I want to be sure I know what lies in back of me and what it means before I go on.
- Letter dated December 30, 1943
Phil Jr. graduated from high school ahead of schedule, and attended Swarthmore college, where he majored in English. Despite the warnings of war in Europe, all was well with the Wood clan. Young Phil was accepted to the Phi Delta Theta fraternity, earning high marks in his senior year, and was seriously seeing a young lady he had met on the train to freshman orientation - affectionately called "Rusty." The elder Phil was well received in his first film role - the Marx Brothers classic "Room Service" - and had been cast as Simon Stimson in the film version of the play "Our Town."
On March 4, 1940, the Woods received the terrible news that Phil Senior had suffered a fatal heart attack while finishing production on "Our Town" in Hollywood. His son, only 19 years old, now faced the responsibility of being the man of the family. Margretta left the house in Hastings, moving to a new apartment nearer to Swarthmore. Freshman Gretchen and senior Phil became day students to save the cost of room and board. The close-knit family was terribly shaken by the suddenness of their loss; even as a Marine officer, Phil would refer to his father as "daddy" and once wrote home:
Today is March the fourth, and my thoughts are with you, Mother. So much has happened since – to all three of us – but somehow that relationship which he founded has not changed, but only grown in strength – your love for him – and from it our feeling of family, of unity and love.
If he were living – I’ve said that a thousand times – he’d be in this with me, and we’d be so proud of each other.
- Letter dated March 3, 1944
As the younger Woods continued their education - Gretchen at Swarthmore, Phil at Yale Law - the world was exploding into conflict. Despite Franklin Roosevelt's increasingly obvious support for the Allied cause, the United States still harbored a strong and vocal isolationist vote, and remained on a peacetime footing. Phil Wood had even declared at one point his intention to become a conscientious objector; a view that was by no means uncommon among the college educated American public, least of all at the Quaker-run Swarthmore. All he wanted was to pass his bar exam, marry Rusty, and start a family.
All this changed on December 7, 1941.
Gretchen and Margretta received an uncommonly terse letter bearing the date of the Pearl Harbor attack. They heard nothing more from Phil for weeks.
During that time, the peaceful young man was weighing his options. Rightly figuring that there would be no way for him to sit out the coming war, either politically or socially, he evidently figured that the best way to help would be to join up - following in the footsteps of his father and uncle. Perhaps he was influenced in his decision by relative Edmund Billings, a Lieutenant Commander in the regular Navy, aboard the USS Quincy; maybe it was the reputation of the service, but in early 1942, Philip Wood enlisted at the New Haven recruiting center, and reported for duty as an officer candidate at MCB Quantico.
Under the gentle tutelage of First Sergeant Henry Marshall, Phil Wood passed the rigorous coursework required to create the Corps' Leaders Of Men on short notice, and along with the rest of Company K of the Ninth Candidate's Class, graduated with a commission as a Second Lieutenant on September 26, 1942.
After completing additional training, six of the young lieutenants of Company K were assigned to the First Separate Battalion (Reinforced), which was then forming at New River, North Carolina. Most of the enlisted men had just completed their boot training - some had even had their training cut short - but were supplemented by several Parris Island instructors, and even a veteran Marine or two, though none had seen combat. At the age of 22, Phil Wood was only slightly older than many of his men, and even younger than a handful, and felt that he would need to make a strong first impression.
Every time I think of Phil Wood, this is the picture that comes to mind. A fresh-faced long drink of water in "New" officer greens and "WHITE” gloves squares himself in the hatch, shoes barely inboard the threshhold, raises his arm over his head and passes his hand along the door sill, brings his hand down to eye level, stares, and then says loudly "DUST!" He steps back and is gone leaving half of us laughing hysterically and the other half dumbfounded. Of course we all thought any chance of liberty was nil. But when Liberty Call sounded and some brave soul checked the liberty list, he found we were all on it. We all agreed we weren't too sure about our Lieutenant being "Battle Hardened" but we were damn sure we had a good one!
- George Smith, Able Company machine gunner
Training at New River focused on forming a cohesive unit out of the Marines who found themselves thrust together by fate. However, there were occasional highlights to the monotony. As a lawyer-in-training, Phil Wood was assigned to defend a sergeant who had been accused of some vast crime by a Colonel. Seemingly against all odds, the defense was victorious. The Colonel chewed out his staff after his defeat by "that God-damned sea lawyer;" the remainder of the battalion dubbed the young lieutenant "the Legal Eagle." Often shortened to just "Eagle," this nickname would stick with Phil for the rest of his life. The case, along with his backhanded suggestion that his platoon help themselves to heating oil from the officer's hut, cemented his popularity with his enlisted men.
In early 1943, the battalion was transferred to Camp Pendleton, California, there to meet with two other battalions and commence training on the regimental scale. It seems that Phil had a change of heart while on the voyage - from a personal obligation, the war became a much more all-encompassing event, and he began to feel a part of something momentous.
Really, for the first time I have realized what it means to be an American – I don’t think that I ever knew patriotism as an emotion, outside the stir in your heart at a passing flag, or the whir of drums. But if you want to make a man a patriot, send him across the country, and send him across as a Marine Officer, and in command of his troops, and you will have a zealot.
- letter dated March, 1943
Field problems, advanced training, endless hikes in the California hills, continual firing on the mortar and machine gun ranges, adding and integrating new Marines from training at Camp Elliott, a promotion to First Lieutenant, and all the major and minor headaches of leading a group of forty headstrong young Marines culminated in a ceremony on September 26, 1943, dedicating the brand-new 24th Marine Regiment. When added to the 14th (Artillery), 20th (Engineers), 23rd, and "johnny-come-lately" 25th Marines, Phil Wood and his comrades became part of the Fourth Marine Division.
In the fall of 1943, surely knowing that he would face mortal peril in combat within the year, Phil wrote a heartfelt letter to Rusty, asking her to come to California to marry him. Though she took some convincing, she eventually agreed, and the two set a date. Rusty arrived on time, but Phil was nowhere to be found; he had drawn Officer of the Day and was confined to base with no means of communication. Instead of waiting, Rusty was suddenly striken with "cold feet," and her father - who had been against the marriage all along - convinced her to return home. This rejection struck Phil Wood with the force of a sledgehammer; when combined with his sister suffering a serious attack of peritonitis it put the young Marine in a bleak mood.
This new attitude might have contributed to an uncharacteristic outburst. During training with rubber assault boats, one of Phil's NCOs abandoned his post, swam in, and told Captain Schechter he could take no more. Phil blew his top. This incident of lost temper was so explosive and unexpected that it stuck in the minds of veterans more than sixty years later. "I think Phil would have taken that coward that night if he coud have gotten to him," recalled George Smith.
By the end of 1943, Phil Wood was in a state of mind he called "equal parts of nervous apprehension and the most poignant nostalgia." He was feeling the first stirrings of fear that he might fail when the chips were down; having never experienced serious failure before, the loss of Rusty weighed heavily on his mind. He found solace in reading, writing to his family, and singing with an ad-hoc acapella group with friends Fred Stott, Harry Reynolds, and Ted Johnson.
On January 13, the Fourth Marine Division put to sea for their first combat. It would be the first time that any American combat troops had embarked on U.S. soil and debarked in an assault. During the long voyage, the "Agony Quartette" entertained themselves and others by singing, sometimes accompanied by Field Music Harold Fritz on the accordion. Phil gained a reputation for holding forth on a variety of topics, "from God to women's underwear" and for sleeping late - the officers abandoned their stuffy quarters for space in the landing craft, and Stott remembered "As we descended each morning, we would see the late-sleeping Eagle all curled up and sound asleep. And Harry inevitably said, 'Isn’t the Eagle marvelous in the role he portrays?' – which he certainly was!"
One month after departing from California, Phil Wood and his company were blooded veterans. Two of his men had been killed, several others wounded, and his good friend Ted Johnson had bled to death and been buried at sea. Phil himself had been scratched across the palm by a bullet, had several close calls, and recommended two of his NCOs for the Navy Cross. He and several of his men had nearly drowned while taking what should have been a relaxing swim. Like many other Marines, he carried home some souvenirs - a Japanese flag from the first man he killed, and a striped kimono that would become his trademark bathrobe. It was a life-changing experience, and it took him some time to be able to tell his mother and sister about what he had done.
Back home, each missive from Phil was read aloud several times, and brought to each family gathering.
The company was stationed at the newly created Camp Maui in the Hawaiian Islands to recover from their first battle and train up for the second. Replacements were received and trained, and the less seriously wounded were returned to the company. The regiment was reorganized; weapons companies and platoons were disbanded, and Phil Wood (who narrowly avoided being snatched up by the regimental Quartermaster section) took his mortar section to the company Headquarters. Assisted by Sergeant Arthur Ervin, who had come to his attention during the battle of Namur, Phil kept his mortar section squared away.
Ervin was an implacable veteran from a tiny town in Oklahoma who had been at Pearl Harbor on December 7 1941, in Samoa with the 22nd Marines, and in the invasion of Pavuvu with the Third Raider Battalion. He had survived bouts of appendicitis, malaria, dengue, and filariasis, which prompted his transfer from the Raiders to a unit in a drier climate. He was about as different from the cultured college-boy-turned-Marine as possible, yet the two of them immediately formed a strong bond. Phil seemed to get results out of the "strong individualist" Ervin that were impossible for the other officers of Able Company, while at the same time benefitting from the younger NCO's experience and attitude. Together, they prepared the mortar section for the next battle.
Phil Wood fell in love with the island of Maui, repeatedly telling his mother and sister that they must visit. While the sense of another impending fight may have amplified his impressions, he and his company were anxious to get back to fighting; some to "show proficiency in their profession" and others to get the unpleasant work over with as soon as possible. Phil even allowed himself to begin planning for after the war - though he didn't see how it could end for another few years, he still dreamed of finishing his law degree and raising a family.
On June 15, Phil Wood sent home the last letter his family would ever receive. Scarcely a paragraph long, it mentioned vaguely the discomfort of being aboard ship, missing home, and his hope to be home and "see it all again" by next summer.
After landing on Saipan, Able Company was in almost constant contact with the Japanese. They lost heavily on June 17; then on June 22 the machine gunners were isolated and cut to pieces. By the end of the month, many friends had been lost and the company was running low on officers. Still, the battle raged on.
In early July, the Marines were preparing to roll up to the northern coast of the island. Able Company was told to realign itself along a prescribed jump-off line, and be ready to attack by 1300 hours. The mortars were laying a barrage on the ground in front of the company when the Marines saw wounded women and children emerging from caves in a ravine before them. Phil Wood and Sergeant Ervin appealed to Captain Schechter for permission to take a twelve man patrol forward and get the Chammoros out of danger. Schechter allowed the patrol, and soon the civilians were being treated by company corpsmen. It was discovered that several more civilians - apparently the male relatives of those rescued - were still in the caves, being covered by Japanese soldiers who would not allow them to surrender.
After a quick conference with his patrol, Phil Wood again requested permission to rescue the civilians. Again, the Marines left the safety of their lines - but this time, the Japanese were waiting. Phil Wood, at the head of the column, was thirty yards from the caves when a Japanese machine gun shot him through the stomach, mortally wounding him. He managed to gasp out "Say hello to my mother and aunt for me" before succumbing. Sergeant Ervin, immediately behind him, raced forward to help, followed by a corpsman. Both were cut down; Ervin was killed. The remainder of the patrol, pinned down by heavy fire, tried to rescue the wounded Lieutenant, but each man who tried was riddled with bullets. Finally, a rescue patrol hastily organized by Lt. Harry Reynolds managed to extricate the battered survivors. Every one of the dozen Marines who had tried to save the civilians had been hit. Five - Phil Wood, Arthur Ervin, Arnold Richardson, Lawrence Knight, and Davis Kruse - had died in the firefight. A sixth, Frank Hester, would die of his wounds before the day was out.
Wood's name at the American Memorial Park Court of Honor, Saipan.
Phil Wood was buried in the Fourth Marine Division Cemetery on Saipan.
He was recommended for the Silver Star for his selfless bravery; somewhere along the line this award was reduced to a Bronze Star.
CITATION:
For heroic service while attached to the Twenty-Fourth Marines, Fourth Marine Division, in action against enemy Japanese forces at Saipan, Marianas Islands, on 5 July, 1944. Volunteering to lead a patrol forward of our front lines to a cave believed to be holding Japanese soldiers and civilians, First Lieutenant Wood boldly advanced and, upon reaching the vicinity of the cave, learned that friendly natices were being held prisoner by a group of enemy soldiers. Fully aware of the danger involved in attempting a rescue, he unhesitatingly pressed forward, but was mortally wounded while performing his perilous mission. First Lieutenant Wood's exceptional fortitude, his vailant fighting spirit, and cool courage in the face of extreme danger were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.
After the war, Philip Wood was reburied in the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific.
Obituary published in the New York Times, July 25, 1944.