The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861-1948 0415716314, 9780415716314

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
Foreword
Preface
Acknowledgments
1.
The Native Guards
Butler’s Colored Brigade
No Ordinary Man
Banks’s Annoyance
Francis, Prominent New Orleanian
Pinchback, Lieutenant Governor
Cailloux, The Blackest Man
Attitude or Trickery
2.
House Resolution 675
Not Sanctioned
1st and 2nd Kansas
The Political Hits and Misses of H.R. 675
Chaplains and Surgeons
Butler’s Influence
Below the Mason-Dixon Line
3.
Limited Success, 1864–65
Abolitionist Pressure
One Hundred and Eleven
4.
The West Point Years 1870–1889
West Point’s Ordeal
New Colored Cadets
Henry O. Flipper: He was Seventh, but the First
Weakened Spirits
Whittaker’s War
New Faces
John Hanks Alexander, Second Black USMA Graduate
Mr. Young
Seagoing Services
Conclusion
5.
The West and the Spanish-American War Years
Alexander Achieves
Mr. Young, Continued
National Guard Officers
Chaplains
Separate but Equal
6.
A Campaign for Bars and a Brief Side Show
Central Committee of Negro College Men
Fort Des Moines Decided
Excitement and Enthusiasm
Three Black Line Officers
Dilemma
7.
Fort Des Moines
Training
92nd and 93rd Divisions
Other Commissioning Sources
8.
Into the Fray, Success or Failure
Aviation and Newfound Equality
Patriotism; on the Field of Battle
Report Card
9.
Full Share
Red Summer
Studies and Reports
Limitations and Other Forms of Exile
Not Giving up on Their Full Share
10.
Attack and Counterattack: The Interwar Years
Our Natural Strength
Black Press
Brain Trusters
Brigadier General
11.
The Gate Opens
Citizens’ Military Training Camps
Reserve Officer Training Corps
Civilian Conservation Corps
Civil Aeronautics Authority
National Guard and Reserve
Enlisted Corps
West Point
12.
West Point and Annapolis Revisited
Oscar De Priest’s Impact
Déjà Vu
More Déjà Vu
The Black, Long Gray Line Begins
Black Press Impact
Fifth-Generation Free Washingtonian
Revised Thinking
No Big Deal
13.
The United States Army
Initial Mobilization
Ghost of World War I
Expensively Educated
European Theater
Pacific Theater
Italy
14.
The Army Air Corps
Black Press Campaigning for the Cockpit
Tuskegee Training
Deployment
On Trial
477th Bombardment Group
Five Vignettes
Elliotte Williams
Elmer Jones
Daniel “Chappie” James
Charles Bussey
Harry B. Sheppard
Unique Wings
15.
The United States Navy, Marine Corps and Coast Guard
We Should Commission a Few
Golden Thirteen
Samuel L. Gravely
Ensigns
Coast Guard
16.
Women Go to War
Nurses
They Wanted to be WAACS
6888th
Martha Putney
Ruth A. Lucas
They Freed a Man to Fight
17.
Epilogue: War’s End to EO 9981
More Studies and Reports
Postscript
A New Dilemma
Conclusion
Appendix I: Black Commissioned Offi cers 1861–1865
Appendix II: Blacks Nominated to the USMA 1870–1887
Appendix III: Black Commissioned Officers During World War I
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

Black members of the military served in every war, confl ict and military engagement between 1861 and 1948. Beyond serving only as enlisted soldiers and non-commissioned officers, many also served as commissioned officers in positions of leadership and authority. This book offers the fi rst complete and conclusive work to specifically examine the history of black commissioned officers. Krewasky A. Salter I is a retired United States Army Colonel who commanded a Patriot Missile Battalion and served as a senior staff officer in the Pentagon. He holds a bachelors from the University of Florida, a masters from the Air War College and a masters and doctorate from Florida State University. Krewasky taught at West Point, the United States Army Command and General Staff College and Howard University. At time of publication he is President and CEO of 4K Enterprises, LLC, (www.4K-Enterprises.com).

Routledge Studies in African American History

1 The Economic Civil Rights Movement African Americans and the Struggle for Economic Power Edited by Michael Ezra 2 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Krewasky A. Salter I

An AUSA Book

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The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Krewasky A. Salter I

3 c

I π

Routledge Taylor Si Francis Group

NEW YORK

LONDON LONDON

First published 2014 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2014 Krewasky A. Salter I The right of Krewasky A. Salter I to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Salter, Krewasky A., 1962– The story of Black military officers, 1861–1948 / Krewasky A. Salter I. — 1st edition. pages cm. — (Routledge studies in African American history ; 2) 1. United States—Armed Forces—African American officers— History—19th century. 2. United States—Armed Forces—African American officers—History—20th century. 3. African American soldiers—History—19th century. 4. African American soldiers— History—20th century. 5. United States—History, Military—Juvenile literature. I. Title. E185.63.S26 2014 355.00896'073—dc23 [B] 2013028323 ISBN13: 978-0-415-71631-4 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-1-315-87996-3 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by IBT Global.

Contents

List of Figures List of Tables Foreword Preface Acknowledgments

ix xi xiii xv xix

1

The Native Guards

1

2

House Resolution 675

15

3

Limited Success, 1864–65

22

4

The West Point Years 1870–1889

26

5

The West and the Spanish-American War Years

46

6

A Campaign for Bars and a Brief Side Show

56

7

Fort Des Moines

68

8

Into the Fray, Success or Failure

75

9

Full Share

82

10 Attack and Counterattack: The Interwar Years

92

11 The Gate Opens

102

12 West Point and Annapolis Revisited

108

13 The United States Army

121

viii Contents 14 The Army Air Corps

144

15 The United States Navy, Marine Corps and Coast Guard

164

16 Women Go to War

175

17 Epilogue: War’s End to EO 9981

192

Appendix I: Black Commissioned Offi cers 1861–1865 Appendix II: Blacks Nominated to the USMA 1870–1887 Appendix III: Black Commissioned Officers During World War I Notes Bibliography Index

199 203 205 223 265 275

Figures

1.1 4.1 4.2 5.1 6.1 12.1 12.2 12.3 12.4 13.1 13.2 14.1

14.2 15.1 16.1 16.2 16.3

16.4

(Top) Admiral Farragut’s bombardment of Port Hudson. (Bottom) 27 May 1863 Native Guard Assault at Port Hudson. Cadet Henry O. Flipper. Cadet John Hanks Alexander. Charles Young’s House in Wilberforce on Columbia Pike. Colonel Charles Young, circa 1919. Cadet Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. Cadet H. Minton Francis. Cadet Mark E. Rivers. Cadet Ernest J. Davis, Jr. First Lieutenant Joseph Hairston, circa World War II. Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Fearing, circa 1965. Charles A. “Chief” Anderson, Far Left, on the Visit of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt before the Famous Flight with him and the First Lady. Lieutenant Willa Beatrice Brown as a World War II C.A.P. Officer. Rear Admiral Samuel Gravely, circa 1971. World War I Nurses. World War II Nurses in Burma. a–c. Irma Cayton to Mr. Truman Gibson, Jr., 17 May 1942; Truman K. Gibson, Jr., to Mrs. Irma Cayton, 22 May 1942; and Mr. Truman K. Gibson, Jr., to Lt. Colonel T. F. Keefe, Asst. Adjutant General, 3 June 1942. Colonel Ruth A. Lucas, circa 1968.

13 33 41 52 65 110 116 118 119 136 142

146 147 171 177 178

181 189

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Tables

10.1 11.1 11.2

World War Intelligence Tests Percentages and Classes Negro National Guard Officers, September 1940 Negro Reserve Officers Eligible for Active Duty, 30 June 1940

95 106 106

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Foreword

Dr. Krewasky A. Salter, as a retired senior military officer and trained historian, writes with unique authority and perspective about an important and sometimes controversial subject—the black military experience. The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 not only makes a significant contribution to American military history; it also makes an important contribution to American social and political history. Black military service was inexorably connected to participation in public life and the long, ongoing struggle for equality. Long before the Civil War in the 1860s removed the blight of slavery from our Nation and long before the struggle for civil rights secured key victories in the 1960s, blacks fought for their Nation in every war, knowing that the great American experiment in democracy and freedom based in our belief in unalienable rights—especially that all men are created equal—was still a work in progress. Salter focuses on a specific segment of the black military experience during a very racially sensitive period in our American history. In doing so, he shows the conventional wisdom that black military service, especially in wartime, inspired linear progress toward equality is far from accurate. The U.S. military reflected inequalities in American society while also playing a vital role in dispelling the myths and eroding the racism that underpinned those inequalities. While some readers may be familiar with the bold outlines of this history, Salter brings the black military experience to life through the lives of Soldiers who endured hardships while serving their Nation honorably. As blacks earned commissions in the Navy, Coast Guard and Marine Corps, Salter describes their service and their leadership as well as their tribulations. Salter’s perspective as a historian is evident as he connects the black military experience to broader social and political developments such as the end of slavery, Reconstruction through separate but equal, and the early stages of the Civil Rights movement. If there is a pattern that emerges from the stories in this book, it is one of rising expectations followed by disappointment and retrenchment of racial prejudice. The many heroes in this story remained determined, despite hardship and insult, to serve their Nation and secure equality. Despite the many disappointments across two centuries, the story is positive as the American military

xiv Foreword transformed slowly into an institution where blacks could fully belong and enjoy equal treatment. The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 has important implications for our military and our society today. While there has been tremendous progress toward equality across the past one hundred fi fty years, we must not be satisfied or complacent, especially in our military. That is because the stakes are high in combat and the strength of our military forces, and indeed our Nation, is our cohesion and teamwork. Nothing is more destructive to teams than racism or any form of prejudice. Our Army’s and Marine Corps’ squads, platoons and companies take on the quality of a family as they fight together, endure hardships together, mourn together and celebrate victories together. The same holds true for our Airmen, Sailors and Coast Guardsmen. Our military forces are teams in which men and women are willing to give everything, including their lives, for one another. Military men and women are bound together by a common sense of duty, loyalty to our Constitution, trust in each other, and respect for each other and for their fellow man. So, in addition to contributing to our broad historical understanding of the black experience in our military, Salter reminds us that we must preserve and expand the commitment to equality inherited from those who have gone before us. While expanding the commitment to equality, our military must both meet the expectations of and set the example for those in whose name we fight. On training grounds and battlegrounds, Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines and Coast Guardsmen from diverse backgrounds are introduced to and internalize our values—loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor, integrity and personal courage. As our servicemen and women share hardships and confront dangers, prejudices and myths wash away. A strength of our society is that many military men and women carry their experience and commitment to equality with them when they leave service. In a democracy, the military must stay connected to the people in whose name it fights. As our military force gets smaller, it is even more important that we attract the best into service at all levels regardless of race or ethnicity. It is for these reasons that today’s all-volunteer force must remain representative of our society, especially as such a small percentage of today’s youth serve. The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 reminds us that when equal opportunity is extended, the very best come from all walks of American life. H. R. McMaster, PhD Major General, U.S. Army Fort Benning, Georgia April 2013

Preface

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 tells the complete story of black men and women who served as commissioned officers in the United States armed forces when “separate but equal” was law in America. The discourse addresses sensitive portions of America’s history because of the period covered and speaks to all aspects of our great American past whether positive, negative, joyful or painful. The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 offers a detailed look into the service of black commissioned military officers. The year 1861 signifies the start of the American Civil War and 1948 is the year President Harry S. Truman signed Executive Order 9981 providing for equal opportunity in the armed forces regardless “of race, color, religion, or national origin.” In every war between 1861 and 1948, blacks served not only as enlisted Soldiers and noncommissioned officers but thousands served as commissioned officers in leadership positions. Roughly 111 served during the Civil War, three black West Point graduates served with the Buffalo Soldiers on the Western frontier, and nearly 1,400 served during World War I. More than 900 served as Tuskegee Airmen (pilots) during World War II. Roughly 658 women earned commissions in the Women’s Army Corps and Army Nurse Corps, and four women earned commissions in the Navy Nurse Corps and two as Navy WAVES. Scores of other men served in the Army and a select few in the Navy and Coast Guard. The fi rst black Marine Corps officer was commissioned on 10 November 1945. This book is the story of those black American men and women who by merit, gain, and hard work became commissioned military officers. I am aware that readers will view the same conclusions and come away with completely diverse views. Some will feel my assessments too forgiving; others will feel the same assessment too harsh, while others will grasp my intent, which has been to tell a balanced historical account. In a few cases, both sides of a story have been conveyed without presenting a defi nitive conclusion because one did not seem appropriate from my viewpoint. In those cases it is my hope that some readers or scholars will be prompted to conduct further research and add to this understudied area of American history by producing an article, study or book. Readers should also

xvi

Preface

understand that no matter what they conclude, The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 is told mainly through the lens of those black men and women who experienced discrimination and inequality of opportunity, overtly and covertly, simply because of the hue of their skin. The overarching premise of The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 is that opportunity, equality and fairness were indeed denied to many simply because they were black. The secondary premise is that while self-help among black Americans has been a significant source of progress throughout history, progress was not always attained in a vacuum. While the main obstacle standing in the way of progress for black Americans during this period was racial discrimination by white Americans, one of the main support mechanisms helping to eliminate barriers thus enabling blacks to achieve during that same period was provided by segments of white America. Both sides of this coin are evident in The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948. Therefore, an intended lesson hopefully conveyed is that prejudicial generalizations of any kind directed at a group of people because they are different is misplaced energy while inclusivity is more times than not a force multiplier and enabler. It will be evident that racism and prejudices were prevalent in America throughout the era in which this book covers. However, I believe in the end most will fi nd that this story is one of American victory. For every painful story of struggle, injustice and withheld opportunities, there are at least two stories of Americans pulling together to ensure opportunity and equality. Barriers that stood in the way of black military officer progress during the Civil War through World War I and into the interwar years gradually begin to disappear during World War II and shortly thereafter. The result has been an increasingly diverse military, which remains the superpower of the world. The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 might help disentangle the current dilemma of the declining percentage of black officers, and indeed enlisted men and women, in the military; and the low numbers of blacks in special operations and other technical military arenas. Hopefully a story or two of strength and determination among the black men and women within this book will inspire a young black man or woman to strive for excellence in one of our services. Perhaps a story or two of changed perceptions or fair-mindedness by a white man or woman within this book will touch someone, regardless of race, creed or color, who has yet to embrace the concept that equality, fairness and opportunity make for a stronger America. In order for any democratic nation’s military to effectively support and defend its constitution, it must reflect as much as possible at all levels the populace it is charged to defend. Perhaps there are answers hidden between the covers of The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 to help address this current military dilemma of the declining percentage of black officers and cause some in various other arenas to continue their quest for diversity and inclusivity. For America to continue to strengthen

Preface xvii itself as a nation militarily and civilly, equality, fairness and opportunity for all are necessary in every aspect of the American landscape. Without it, civil and revolutionary stress fractures begin to form, which will only weaken the foundation of the landscape. It is my hope that the strength of all men and women between the pages of The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 will invigorate positive debate in many professional circles—public and private—in corporate America and small businesses, and among military, government and civilian readers. It is my hope The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 will rouse a zeal for hard work, determination and achievement among some young Americans. It is my hope The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 will spark those in a position to impact progress to have a sense of fair-mindedness and a quest for greater diversity in all arenas within America, because, as America’s fi rst black general officer, Brigadier General Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., wrote to his wife in a letter on 22 September 1945, “Discrimination makes us all poorer.”1 Krewasky A. Salter I June 2013

“Air Force,” “Airmen,” “Army,” “Coast Guard,” “Coast Guardsmen,” “Marine,” “Marine Corps,” “Nation,” “Navy,” “Sailor,” and “Soldier,” have been capitalized throughout intentionally. The term “black(s)” as opposed to “African American(s)” has been used throughout, and “Negro,” “Colored” and other terms relative to black Americans have been used only when they are relative to the nineteenth century and early twentieth century text and are generally within quotations.

Acknowledgments

I must thank several people who played key roles in the development of The Story of Black Military Offi cers, 1861–1948. Dr. Joe M. Richardson, Professor Emeritus at Florida State University; Mr. Jerry Torrance, Strategic Planner at the Center of Military History; and Dr. Conrad Crane, Chief of Historical Services at the United States Army Heritage and Education Center. Each agreed to read very early drafts of the manuscript to offer insight on my analyses and conclusions. Their many comments, notes and conversations helped to make this a better discourse. Mr. Robert J. Dalessandro, Chief of Military History at the Center of Military History, and Mr. Michael E. Lynch, Research Historian at the United States Army Heritage and Education Center, offered key insights to specific sections of the manuscript, which has enhanced those sections. I owe many thanks to the four-person team at Routledge, Taylor and Francis who worked with me to see that The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 came to fruition. I thank Professor Graham Hodges of Colgate University and the “Studies in African American History and Culture” Series Editor for recognizing the importance of the topic, and Max Novick, Commissioning Editor, Jennifer E. Morrow, Senior Editorial Assistant, and Eleanor Chan, Page Composition and Copy Editor for guiding me through the publication process. I owe many great thanks to Major General H. R. McMaster, Commander at the United States Army Maneuver Center of Excellence, for writing the Foreword. His willingness to take time out of his busy schedule while helping lead the military training of the next generation of Americans evidences his commitment to the continued success of the American military and the United States of America. I owe Dr. Roger Cirillo, Book Program Director at the Association of the United States Army (AUSA), for his interest in the subject and his agreement to accept The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 as an “AUSA Book” post-Routledge, Taylor and Francis publication offer although “AUSA Books” are generally associated with three specific publishers other than Routledge. He and Max Novick’s collaboration to develop this onetime agreement are immensely appreciated. Last but not least, I owe mountains of thanks to my editor, Yalonda Lofton.

xx

Acknowledgments

She not only read the complete manuscript with great detail and offered superlative editorial comments; her many inquires also helped me put my military, historical, political and social historical knowledge that I took for granted into context for readers of this book with little background on the subject matter. Taking into account the varying viewpoints from all of the above readers and many of my students, classmates and colleagues over the years, I attempted to ensure fairness and historical balance in my conclusions. No single reader or reviewer of the manuscript focused on the same point. In a few cases, comments countered each other. As a result, I believe I have accomplished my goal to be true to the research and history as I saw it through the lens of those black men and women military officers and those who aspired to become officers between 1861 and 1948. Not everyone will agree with my conclusions. As one sage mentor once told me as I sat with him debating two of my conclusions: “You will be challenged and attacked from both sides of the argument, on the same conclusions no doubt. As long as your research is sound, and I believe it is, make your conclusions and stand by them.” To him I owe an enormous thank-you because, with that statement, I went forward with greater zeal to complete the manuscript and achieve my main goal, which was to address most, if not all, of the various key sources that offered content to the topic and to provide a balanced voice to the early black military officers, to tell their stories of commissions earned by merit, gain and hard work. Any and every shortfall between the covers of this discourse are mine alone. I dedicate this book to the source of my strength—my family. It is my hope that my children will live and grow in a world that will continue to positively evolve in the arena of diversity, opportunity and equality.

1

The Native Guards

Within weeks after Ft. Sumter fell to Confederate General Pierre Gustave T. Beauregard, the call for troops went out to both North and South. Men everywhere were eager to fight for the cause in which they believed, including many free black males of Louisiana, who numbered approximately 8,279 at the start of the war.1 On 21 April 1861 they took the initiative by posting a bulletin in the New Orleans Picayune: THE COLORED POPULATION READY FOR THE FRAY— Tomorrow evening the most respectable portion of the colored population of the city will hold a meeting . . . for the purpose of organizing companies among themselves, and offer their services to the [Southern] Governor. . . . When the Northerners read the set of resolutions adopted by the committee and published in our paper today, they will not think this the best of the joke. 2 Within a week “the Governor [had] accepted the offer . . . and the free black population immediately began forming a regiment, as their fathers did in 1814 and ‘15.”3 In May 1861 Thomas Overton Moore, governor of Louisiana and commander in chief of the militia, began organizing the Home Guards, Louisiana Militia from this population. With the endorsement of State Adjutant and Inspector General Maurice Grivot, Governor Moore decided to commission captains and lieutenants from able-bodied members within the free “Black” population. Grivot later wrote that Governor Moore is “relying implicitly upon the loyalty of the free colored to protect their homes, property, and Southern rights from the pollution of a ruthless invader.”4 During the spring and summer of 1861 Moore and Grivot successfully raised a regiment numbering approximately 440 men. All of the men, including line officers, were of African descent. The fi rst officers of the regiment, officially named “Native Guards (colored), 1st Division of the militia of Louisiana,” were commissioned on 2 May “to serve for the term of the war.” Neither Governor Moore nor the inductees had the slightest idea that “the term of the war” would exceed twelve months. As it turned

2

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

out, this “term of the war” call-up for Confederate troops was one of the advantages the South had over the North at the start of the war. By contrast, when President Abraham Lincoln called for Union troops, he only issued a ninety-day call-up, most of which began to expire shortly after the Confederate victory at the First Battle of Bull Run fought on 21 July 1861, approximately thirty miles west and slightly south of Washington, DC. Due to the combination of their success at Bull Run and because they were not thinking of going home, as their Union counterparts were, the Confederate troops had a psychological advantage. The recruiting orders suggest that the Native Guards were not recruited as a combat unit for the front. They were merely to be used in defense of the city. 5 There is, in fact, no evidence that any of these officers participated in any battles while with the Confederate forces. Since little activity existed in the Western Theater between May 1861 and May 1862, it is unlikely that the Native Guards led their troops into battle for the Confederate cause. In reality, the Native Guards could not have been effective defenders of the city even if they numbered 4,400. The Confederate government of New Orleans refused to issue them muskets because Confederate officials distrusted them. On several occasions, to include the Native Guards’ offer to guard Union prisoners in the fall of 1861, their services were declined. Historian John W. Blassingame wrote: “The free Negroes had traditionally . . . received some personal reward . . . for their services”; so, as a result, the men “felt that they would improve their civil and political status by serving the Confederacy.”6 Therefore, the Confederate government perhaps also believed that these men were motivated by personal gain rather than by loyalty. One must also consider the fact that, among other antebellum American events, Nat Turner’s August 1831 Southhampton, Virginia, insurrection, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s 1851 and 1852 serialized national publication of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and John Brown’s October 1859 Harpers Ferry Raid were fresh and vivid attacks on the Southern way of life and on the minds of most Southerners. To perhaps all Southerners any black person, slave or free, supported these types of rebellious actions and was therefore a threat, a perception that was not the case even among the most noted black abolitionist. Case in point, Frederick Douglass, the bestknown black abolitionist of the time, actually declined Brown’s off er to accompany him on the raid. Douglass saw the raid as a suicide mission. Most importantly, however, Douglass felt that it was the quickest way to “array the whole country against us,”7 “us” being a reference to the moral high ground abolitionists believed they possessed in their belief that slavery was a moral wrong. The free men of the Native Guards were neither in rebellion of the South nor were they of the abolitionist mindset. In their minds they were Louisiana native sons. The fears of white Louisianans relative to black officers of the Native Guards were largely perceived at the beginning of the war.

The Native Guards

3

The success of Union Naval Commander David G. Farragut in the Gulf of Mexico, which eventually led to the quick capture of New Orleans on 1 May 1862, was the only significant war activity in southeastern Louisiana, and even that was accomplished with limited resistance. When Governor Moore sent his scant ground forces south along the Mississippi River in late April to spoil Farragut’s advance, some officers of the Native Guards offered their services again. Their offer was never seriously entertained, so they declined to leave New Orleans. 8 Governor Moore’s refusal to use the Native Guards evidences the Confederate distrust of free blacks. With most of his forces still near Shiloh, Tennessee, a distance of more than 400 miles, where they had suffered a tactical defeat on 6–7 April, losing 1,723 dead, 8,012 wounded and 959 missing, Governor Moore obviously could have used additional combat troops in and around New Orleans. Whether motivated by fear, stubbornness, prejudice, pride or all four, Governor Moore’s unwillingness to use an available force, likely, cost him his city. When New Orleans fell to Union forces, the officers of the Native Guards seized this opportunity to join what they considered to be a better cause for them—they offered their allegiance to the Union. By then the future of blacks, enslaved or free, was no longer a highly questionable cause of the war. Just “seven miles from New Orleans [Federal troops] received a number of refugees, some of them in chains and some of them bleeding from wounds.” Union commanders new to the region began to “demand that the President should abolish slavery.”9 The officers of the Native Guards, many of whom were well read, likely followed much of this rhetoric. Furthermore, within months, two signifi cant documents (page 5, this chapter, Militia Act of 1862 and Preliminary Emancipation Proclamation) solidifi ed the slavery point and put, by association of hue, the future of all black people in America front and center. Since officers of the Native Guards can certainly be considered enigmas of their time, it cannot be concluded with certainty that every single offi cer changed his allegiance based on moralistic reasons. Some, perhaps, did change their allegiance for personal gain. However, it is clear that Confederate misuse of their services, because of the distrust associated with the hue of their skin, was the common thread causing their shift in loyalty during the spring and summer of 1862.

BUTLER’S COLORED BRIGADE Shortly after Union forces captured New Orleans, Major General Benjamin F. Butler was appointed commander, Headquarters, Department of the Gulf. Butler was a Massachusetts native and politically appointed general who had already made a name for himself at Fort Monroe, Virginia, when he termed runaway slaves who entered his lines as “contraband.”

4

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

Shortly after arriving in the Gulf, Butler made a thorough assessment of the situation and wrote a six-page report to Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, on 25 May 1862, in which he mentioned the local newspapers’ frequent accounts of “the free-negro corps of this city organized for the defense of the South.” He also wrote that “the officers . . . called upon” him regarding “the question of the continuance of their organization and to learn what disposition they would be required to make of their arms.” For several reasons, Butler did not request immediate acceptance of the Native Guards into the Army. He believed that blacks had “a great horror of fi rearms”10 and he was also keenly aware of President Abraham Lincoln’s reluctance to enlist Soldiers of African descent.11 Butler cautiously informed Stanton that “I have satisfied myself, . . . that no military necessity exists to change the policy of the Government in this respect. . . .” However, Butler was never vigorously opposed to enlisting black troops and using the black officers. It was not surprising when several months later a need for manpower prompted him to place the Native Guards into service under his command.12 In August 1862 the Union Navy planned to establish another Southern foothold in Mobile, Alabama. The Department of the Gulf realized that the Confederates would not let another Southern port city fall as easily as New Orleans. If needed, General Butler’s Gulf Department could support the Navy from inland. Butler used this opportunity to impress upon the secretary of war the advantages of using the “Colored Brigade” of New Orleans. On 14 August he wrote, “I need reinforcements very much; without them I cannot cooperate with the Navy against Mobile.” He also alluded to Southern threats to attack and regain control of New Orleans. Butler, who had remained in close contact with some of the Native Guards offi cers, assured Stanton that “if it becomes at all imminent I shall call on Africa to intervene and I do not think I shall call in vain.”13 Eight days later Major General Butler published General Order #63,14 which reiterated all orders, endorsements, and amendments of the governor, inspector general, and adjutant general of Louisiana, regarding the enlistment of the Native Guards. All volunteers, according to Butler, would be organized, equipped, paid, rationed, and armed in the same manner as other United States troops. The order, “subject to the approval of the President of the United States,” required all members of the Native Guards to report for muster “into the service of the United States.”15 On 1 September, Butler reported to the secretary of war that he had “succeeded wonderfully” in his recruiting drive and that he would have a regiment of one thousand men within the next two weeks. Butler’s predictions were soon realized. Within five months of his arrival, the fi rst elements of the Native Guards,16 which ultimately numbered as many as seventy-five black commissioned offi cers throughout the war—one major, twenty-seven captains and the rest lieutenants17—became the

The Native Guards

5

fi rst black unit, larger than a company, to officially bear arms under the Union fl ag (see endnote 2, Chapter 3). To accomplish his recruiting mission General Butler tactfully took advantage of his allies among the Radical Republicans as he decided on how to bring the Native Guards into the service of the United States without creating great pandemonium in Washington. While Conservative Republicans cautioned President Lincoln to wait for a Union military victory before issuing an emancipation proclamation throughout much of 1862, Radical Republicans, who had long been urging Lincoln to enlist black troops and make slavery an issue, passed the Militia Act on 17 July. The Militia Act of 1862, specifically Sections 12 and 15, authorized the president “to receive into the service of the United States, . . . persons of African descent.”18 Thus, it was this act that allowed General Butler to begin recruiting the Native Guards without chaos. The pyrrhic Union victory at Antietam on 17 September, just three weeks after Butler’s report to the secretary of war, reinforced Butler’s decision in hindsight. The Battle of Antietam became the catalyst for President Lincoln to announce the Preliminary Emancipation Proclamation 22 September 1862. Still, the bulk of black Soldiers were not officially mustered into service until 1863.

NO ORDINARY MAN The history of black officers of the Native Guards poses several interesting questions. Who were these men? Why did they initially volunteer for the Confederate cause? What led to their decisions to join the Union? And what led to the Union’s subsequent dismissal of these officers? The black officers of the Native Guards were freedmen who were mainly descendants of Creole Negroes of French and Spanish origin. They were well educated, many spoke several languages, and many were fi nancially well off. At an average age of thirty, some “had served as officers in the Mexican Army.” One New York reporter wrote: “[They] were well posted up in history and literature, . . . I found on [several] occasions that I was conversing with men of no ordinary knowledge and mental capacity.”19 Their fathers and grandfathers had been freed in 1803—and some earlier—by the FrenchLouisiana Treaty that led to the acquisition of the Louisiana Territory. They could point with pride to the War of 1812, specifically the 1814–15 New Orleans Campaign, when two Negro Units, La Costa’s Colored Corps and D’Aquins’ Free Men of Color, fought for the country. Each unit had a few officers of African descent. 20 In part because of their fathers’ and grandfathers’ service, Louisiana “was the only state that admitted men of African ancestry to its militia.”21 One explanation as to the reason black men supported the Confederacy was that the officers of the Native Guards were fi rst and foremost New

6

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

Orleans natives, Louisianans, and Southerners. When the war broke out they, like many Southerners, sought to maintain their status within society. In 1861 the war was not generally publicized as a war to free the slaves and the Native Guards prepared to fight in defense of a local cause22 and perhaps to show their loyalty to Louisiana. Indeed, some of them owned slaves; therefore, emancipation alone may not have been cause enough for them to not offer their service to their state militia. Barring the various suppressive antebellum “regulations” and “certificates” which controlled the movements and actions of free blacks, 23 many of them were still able to benefit from the Southern way of life. Absent the right to vote, New Orleans free blacks had the most liberal of all antebellum “regulations” and “certificates.” Since many of the black officers were slaveholders, all “free,” and not of the abolitionist mind-set at the start of the war, the disbelief of their genuine loyalty to the city of New Orleans was a blow to their patriotism. Thus, it took them less than a year to realize that they had joined a cause that not only undervalued them but had the potential to slowly, but eventually, put them in full bondage. It was a devastating blow to the Native Guards’ pride and loyalty to recognize that “their countrymen” did not trust them to bear arms. It must have been even more devastating for these free gentlemen, who, in spite of their achieved educational and economic standing, were already considered second-class citizens, to then be placed on an equally distrustful ground with slaves. So, as time elapsed and it became more apparent that the war was as much about emancipation and equality for all as it was about preserving the Union, the attitudes and allegiance of many Native Guards shifted from being narrowly focused on their local community to being broadly focused on the Nation. Many came to realize that the free black community benefitted if the entire race was emancipated. While it may not have been clear where many Native Guards officers stood with regard to loyalty during the spring and summer of 1862, when they abruptly sought to join the Union, clearer evidence of their changing support for the Union came in the form of the publication of their newly established French-language newspaper L’Union. In December 1862, “L’Union saw no possibility for saving the Union with slavery in tact.” On 10 December it stated: “The institution of slavery in model societies is one of the most formidable obstacles which hinders the development of nations.”24 Furthermore, in the fall of 1862 after the Preliminary Emancipation Proclamation was issued, the pass policy on blacks was tightened, which put many more free blacks in jeopardy of being “arrested as vagrants” and a step closer to enslavement. 25 In fact, the new pass policy was more stringent on free blacks than the antebellum black codes. This was in part because Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation did not include New Orleans. A second and perhaps more valid explanation—in light of the restrictive antebellum regulations and certifi cates placed upon free blacks—as

The Native Guards

7

to the reason black men initially joined the Confederacy was coercion. One ex-officer of the Native Guards stated that “[We] had been ordered out and could not refuse.” A white resident of New Orleans said that free Negroes “should be the fi rst to offer their life’s blood,” and according to ex-Captain Charles W. Gibbons “refusal [to join] meant that a committee would call upon the objectors and possibly seize their property.” In response to General Butler’s inquiry the officers collectively stated “that [we] dare not . . . refuse” the offer for fear “of confi scation or bodily harm.”26 Butler may have been the greatest supporter of black officers in the Union Army. Once he received official approval from General in Chief Henry W. Halleck and officially established the unit as part of the Union Army, he tolerated no negative criticism on the basis of race. 27 At one point he wrote to M. Fanconnet, the acting consul of France, warning Fanconnet of the prejudice his countrymen were showing towards the unit. He reminded Fanconnet that “author, Alexander Dumas,” whom he believed “is treated with the utmost respect in Paris,” is “of the same hue and blood” as the Native Guards. In his 15 December 1862 farewell speech, General Butler told the Native Guards, “By your practical philanthropy you have won the confidence of the ‘oppressed race’ and the slave. Hailing you as deliverers they are ready to aid you as willing servants. . . .”28 Before General Butler left the Department of the Gulf under a dark cloud—partly because of his brother Andrew Butler’s war profiteering as a buyer and seller of sugar and cotton and partly because he was alienating French and British representatives—he had successfully used the Native Guards in his expedition in the La Fourche Bayou District, considered the most profitable area in Louisiana. 29 Whether the officers of the Native Guards served the Confederacy out of loyalty, self-gain or coercion, or whether they changed their allegiance out of broken pride or to support a greater nobler cause—all have merit—the signifi cance for this discourse is that they earned offi cer commissions in both the Confederate and Union armies and, for the most part, served honorably. In each service they gave their best until circumstances forced otherwise. Through the end of 1862 and Butler’s farewell, however, the officers of the Native Guards had yet to face their greatest challenge.

BANKS’S ANNOYANCE Butler’s high expectations of raising “Negro regiments” led by “Negro officers” at the company level was gradually abandoned by his replacement, Major General Nathaniel P. Banks. 30 Banks, like Butler, a Massachusetts native and politically appointed general, was sent to the Department of the Gulf after Confederate General Thomas “Stonewall”

8

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

Jackson defeated Banks soundly in three separate 1862 battles in Virginia. Those defeats and Banks’s performance established him as one of the less than competent Union commanders. As the war progressed, “less competent [Union] commanders tended to become sidetracked away from the major theaters of operations.”31 So Banks’s assignment to command the Department of the Gulf was not exactly a promotion. By the time Banks took command, a total of three regiments of black Soldiers, augmented with an artillery battery, had been mustered into the U.S. service. The total force of 3,251 men would have required roughly 166 company-grade officers, about one-third captains and the rest lieutenants. Almost half of the company-grade offi cers up to that point were of African descent. 32 General Banks, however, was determined to change that. In a report to Brigadier General Lorenzo Thomas, adjutant general of the Army, he wrote, “The three regiments . . . have [N]egro company officers, who I am replacing . . . by white ones. . . . The appointment of Colored officers is detrimental to the service.” Banks planned a gradual, but complete, replacement of the black offi cers. His rationale for replacing the offi cers was that their presence was “a source of constant embarrassment and annoyance,” which “demoralized both the white troops and the Negroes.”33 Although he initially planned to place white officers into slots made available by black resignations, he soon concluded that this would take too long. Black offi cers were so committed “to the war of liberation there were few [resignation] vacancies.”34 Nonetheless, within four months of Banks taking command, many of the black officers of the “Colored Brigades” were eff ectively mustered out of the Army or resigned. One regiment, however, adamantly stood its ground. “The 1st Louisiana Native Guards . . . with black captains and lieutenants . . . were unwilling to buckle under Banks’s pressure.”35 The exact events leading to the discharges and resignations of the officers of the 2nd and 3rd Regiments may never be fully known. It is certain though that chicanery on the part of General Banks contributed to the resignations within the 3rd Regiment. By May 1863 the former Native Guards officers had formed the Association of Ex-officers. Their corresponding secretary was Joseph G. Parker, Ex-2nd Lieutenant, 3rd Regiment, Native Guards. On 30 May, in a three-page letter to Secretary of War Stanton, Parker explained that he and fellow officers of his regiment had been tricked by General Banks and some of his staff officers into resigning their commissions. They were called to Baton Rouge to meet with General Banks on 12 February, where Banks proposed that they resign. Once this was accomplished, Banks issued Order #50 honorably discharging the “Colored officers.” All of this was done in the utmost secrecy. Parker also wrote, when they arrived in Baton Rouge they “found men already appointed in [their] places without [their] colonel being officially informed that [they] had resigned.” This made it obvious to the officers that Banks had planned

The Native Guards

9

to remove them before they agreed to it.36 General Banks and Lieutenant Colonel Richard B. Irwin, Banks’s assistant adjutant general in the Department of the Gulf, disputed Parker’s claim. In a rebuttal to Parker’s letter, Lieutenant Colonel Irwin declared “the statements contained in this communication are so generally inaccurate that I can only remark upon the most prominent points presented.” The greatest problem, Irwin claimed, was the attitudes of the black officers. He acknowledged their status as free and educated stock, apparently meaning many of them had convictions of their own and considered themselves equal to their white counterparts. As a result, whites considered them arrogant, self-assertive and uncompromising in many ways, which led to “much ill-feeling among the officers and men of some of the white regiments.” Moreover, Irwin contended, when General Banks summoned the officers to Baton Rouge, he actually urged them to be patient and asked them not to resign their commissions in haste. But the officers’ pride and anger resulted in their general resignation one day later.37 For the officers of the 2nd Regiment the results were essentially the same. Although the commander of the 2nd Regiment, Colonel Nathan W. Daniels, stood up for his black officers, his protest and rank were no match for Major General Banks and his assistant adjutant general. When Colonel Daniels was told that General Banks ordered a board be convened “to examine into the capacity, propriety of conduct and efficiency” of some of his black officers, he responded: “I do [believe] the Policy of our country is to give this race an opportunity to manifest their Patriotism, Ability and intelligence by aiding in crushing the Rebellion. . . .” Daniels felt that “to paralyze [the race’s] power by overthrowing its officers” was inconsistent with the policy. 38 Nonetheless, at least five of the officers whom Colonel Daniels had previously mentioned for bravery in battle—albeit in a less than successful raid on Pascagoula, Mississippi, on 9 April 1863—were targets of the board. A recent Center of Military History book states: Four of these [five officers] would be gone from the regiment in the next sixteen months, although it is not certain that General Banks’ desire to remove black officers was manifested in each case. [The highest-ranking black officer of the Native Guard, Major Francis E.] Dumas and [1st Lieutenant Joseph] Jones would resign by July, almost certainly the result of official pressure; [1st Lieutenant Theodule] Martin and [Capt. Joseph] Villeverde would receive discharges in August 1864, one ostensibly for medical reasons, the other perhaps because of muddled property accounts. Only [1st Lieutenant Charles] Sauvenet would manage to hold on until the end of the war.39 Regardless of the circumstances surrounding their resignations, by the end of the summer of 1863 the black officers of the 3rd Regiment had

10

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

all resigned. Those of the 2nd Regiment, with few exceptions, were found incompetent by an examination board and had either resigned under pressure or were eventually discharged from service. As vacancies occurred, white officers gradually replaced the offi cers of the 1st Regiment, who refused to relinquish their commissions by either resigning under pressure, chicanery or submitting to what they felt were unfair examination boards. Since the 1st Regiment played a role in the failed attack on Port Hudson on 27 May 1863, Banks was successful in creating vacancies by “dishonorably dismiss[ing from] service for cowardice, breach of arrest, and absence without leave” several of the black officers. Second Lieutenants Louis A. Thibaut and Hippolyte St. Louis were placed under arrest, as was Captain Alcide Lewis.40 Their arrest charges ultimately led to their relief from duty and discharge from service. In August 1863 General Banks wrote to President Lincoln defending his decision to remove the officers: They were demoralized from various causes and engaged in controversy with white troops to such an extent that the White Offi cers of these Regiments, as well as the Colored men who were in Commission believed that it was impracticable for them to continue in service. This difficulty was caused in great degree by the character of the Officers in Command. They were unsuited for the duty and have been most of the time, and some are still in arrest upon charges of a discreditable character.41 A synopsis of the black officers who served in the Native Guards contradicts Banks’s demeaning statements. The free blacks in New Orleans led all of the Nation’s free blacks in education and wealth (15 million in 1860), as well as in many other areas. Some had been educated in Paris and many were bilingual. First Lieutenant Joseph Howard spoke three languages, while Major Francis Dumas spoke four.42 There were inventors, authors and even slaveholders among them. When Butler recruited them he tried hard to limit himself to the “artisans, property owners, mechanics, and military veterans . . . ignor[ing] freed slaves.”43 Thus, as far as the officers were concerned they were as much a part of the “American Dream” as the next man. In fact, many of them were “of the best blood of Louisiana, the off spring of sundry white politicians, as well as numerous prominent and wealthy free blacks from New Orleans.” Three of the many officers of the Native Guards included Major Francis Dumas and Captains Pickney B. S. Pinchback and André Cailloux.44 The remainder of this chapter will use the service of Dumas, Pinchback and Cailloux as vignettes to illustrate the service of just three black Native Guards officers.

The Native Guards

11

FRANCIS, PROMINENT NEW ORLEANIAN Francis E. Dumas, who declined an offer of a colonelcy, was the only black officer of the Native Guards to be promoted to the rank of major. Prior to the Civil War, Major Dumas was among the wealthiest and most prominent individuals in New Orleans. “He [spoke] three languages besides his own, reckoning French and English as his own. . . .” He owned a considerable number of slaves, from whom he raised a company, and had accumulated other vast holdings. Major Dumas’s property was estimated at a quarter of a million dollars in 1860. Dumas, described as “a gentlemen of fi ne tact and ability,” was commissioned a major by General Butler in 1862 because “he [Major Dumas] had more capability as Major, than I [Major General Butler] had as Major General, I am quite sure.” General Butler, who thought highly of himself, considered this a great compliment. In April 1863 Dumas’s regiment, the 2nd Louisiana Native Guards, conducted a reconnaissance and raid into Pascagoula, Mississippi. As commander of two companies Major Dumas and three of his subordinate officers were commended by their commander, Colonel Nathan W. Daniels, for being “cool and determined throughout the action.”45

PINCHBACK, LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR Pickney B. S. Pinchback was the son of a white Mississippi planter and a slave mother. Pinchback, educated in Ohio and manumitted by his father, William Pinchback, made his initial wealth as a cabin boy, steward and gambler aboard steamboats on the Missouri, Ohio and Red Rivers. In May 1862 Pinchback headed south to New Orleans, where he enlisted in the First Louisiana Infantry, a white regiment, as a private. He was discharged when it was discovered that he had African blood. Because of the favorable attention Pinchback had attracted while in the white regiment, Butler authorized him to recruit black men in the Crescent City of New Orleans. On 12 October 1862, after raising a company, he received a commission in the 2nd Louisiana Native Guards. Captain Pinchback’s military career was fairly short, but signifi cant because he was one of the few blacks to be commissioned and mustered in as a captain. Pinchback was present on 12 February 1863 when General Banks requested the resignations of black officers. Banks told them that “white men alone [were] fit to command . . . [and he was] entirely satisfied that the appointment of colored officers [was] detrimental to the service.” Pinchback refused to resign under such pressure and was among the few to survive the unfair examination board. After serving several months among his white “peers” and being passed over twice for promotions, Pinchback submitted the following letter of resignation:

12

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 FORT PIKE, Louisiana, September 10,1863. General: In the organization of the regiment I am attached to (Twentieth Corps d’ Afrique) I fi nd nearly all the officers inimical to me, and I can foresee nothing but dissatisfaction and discontent, which will make my position very disagreeable indeed. I would therefore, respectfully tender my resignation, as I am confident by so doing I best serve the interest of the regiment. I have the honor to be, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant. P. B. S. Pinchback, Captain Second Louisiana National Guards46

Several weeks after his discharge, Pinchback applied for and received permission to raise a cavalry company in New Orleans. After almost two months of recruiting, during which he spent more than $1,000 of his own money, Captain Pinchback filled his company. Lieutenant Colonel J. S. Bangs, Jr., temporarily recommissioned Pinchback and forwarded his endorsements to Major General Banks. After two days of inquiry, Banks identified Pinchback and disapproved the application on the grounds of race.47 Pinchback achieved greater fame after the war as lieutenant governor and eventually acting governor of Louisiana for forty-three days during the winter of 1873.

CAILLOUX, THE BLACKEST MAN Captain André Cailloux was a member of the most honored and famed regiment of the Native Guards, the 1st Louisiana Regiment. Twenty-six-yearold Cailloux was “well educated, polished in manner, a splendid horseman, a good boxer, bold, athletic, and daring.” The 1st Louisiana Native Guards was the initial regiment mustered by Governor Moore that subsequently offered its allegiance to Major General Butler. In reference to the officers of the 1st Louisiana “it was said that not one of them was worth less than twenty-five thousand dollars.” In addition, “one of the most efficient officers was Captain André Cailloux, a man whose identity with his race could not be mistaken; for he prided himself on being the blackest48 man in the Crescent City.” Captain Cailloux “fell at the head of his company,” on 27 May 1863 while gallantly leading it on the enemy’s works” at Port Hudson. According to the New York Times, he “died the death of a hero, leading on his men in the thickest of the fight.” Captain Cailloux was last “seen with his left arm dangling by his side—for a ball had broken it above the elbow—while his right hand held his unsheathed sword gleaming in the rays of the sun.” André Cailloux is believed to be the fi rst black company commander to fight and die in Civil War combat while leading his men.

The Native Guards

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Figure 1.1 (Top) Admiral Farragut’s Bombardment of Port Hudson. (Bottom) 27 May 1863 Native Guard Assault at Port Hudson (Library of Congress, LCUSZ62–133081)49

Perishing along with Captain Cailloux was his trusted lieutenant, John Crowder. “A reasonably well-educated young man,” Lieutenant Crowder, who concealed his age to receive his commission, was at sixteen perhaps “the youngest officer in the Union Army.”50 Cailloux and Crowder advanced along the west side of Port Hudson’s Telegraph Road near the rifle pits where a Confederate force lay in wait. It was there that they made their ultimate sacrifice.

ATTITUDE OR TRICKERY Major Dumas and Captains Pinchback and Cailloux were only three of roughly seventy-five officers of African descent to serve in the Native Guards. Although only 4 percent of the total, these three men in many respects reflected the caliber of many of the Native Guards officers that the arriving Northern white officers and Soldiers encountered. Since most white Americans, including General Banks, were not accustomed to blacks of such ability and personal accomplishment, history reveals

14

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

both the accusations of incompatible attitude and official trickery played parts in the resignations and dismissals of black officers. There is no doubt that the officers of the Native Guards were proud men who were determined to stand up for what they believed to be their right to serve the Nation and be treated fairly under Union policy. Civil War or not, however, 1863 was still squarely in the midst of a war that had gradually turned more and more racially sensitive. To expect the average white Soldier, even if from the most liberal of Northern states, as was General Banks, to put a black man, no matter how refi ned, on equal footing with himself was perhaps asking too much. One white Union Soldier likely spoke for many when he said he could not stomach the black officers who “like dogs in full dress, [are] ready to dance in the menagerie—would you like to obey such a fool?”51

2

House Resolution 675

The struggle for blacks to become and remain commissioned officers was by no means isolated to New Orleans. Reverend Garland H. White, a Methodist minister and the former servant of Robert Toombs, the Georgia politician who aspired to be the Confederate president, was an example. Then residing in London, West Canada, Reverend White wrote Secretary Stanton in May 1862 to offer his services. His parishioners, many of them former slaves who had escaped to Canada, requested he lead them into service as Soldiers. When Stanton failed to respond, White went to Indiana, where he joined and helped raise the 28th Regiment, U.S. Colored Troops. White, an intelligent man, educated in theology at the London Mission, was subsequently (1863) appointed chaplain of the regiment. Chaplain White later requested to be sent to Georgia to help liberate those who had been enslaved with him.1

NOT SANCTIONED Philadelphia blacks could not duplicate the success of the Native Guards and Chaplain White. Led by Alfred M. Green, author and editor of Formation of Colored Regiments (1862), and someone identified only as Hamilcar, “a [Philadelphia] Negro of more than ordinary ability,” the city raised at least two regiments during the spring and summer of 1861. Philadelphia blacks, as did their counterparts in Louisiana, had fathers and grandfathers who had fought for their state in earlier wars; in this case the Battles of Brandywine and Red Bank during the American Revolution. Hamilcar noted that “the state of Louisiana . . . has had colored regiments in the home guard service” and warned that if the North did not do the same it would suffer the consequences. Hamilcar, who was probably one of the officers of the unit, called upon the state to enroll the “30,000 colored inhabitants of . . . Philadelphia” whose “patriotic efforts in preparing to sustain and defend the soil and interest of their native state” was high. 2 Green, who was also probably an officer in the unit, made it clear that he stood ready to fight for the government against the South, but that he would not raise arms against free Southern blacks or slaves. He reasoned

16

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

that he would not be a party to “decoy” his Southern “brethren.” He added “hundreds of the noble sons of the old Keystone State are coming into the . . . regiment” and are ready. Green also acknowledged that “[w]hether government sanctions it or not, God will.”3 The government never sanctioned the regiment and the officers never received full commissions. Many of the Soldiers attracted by this effort likely ended up in the 54th and 55th Massachusetts, which were comprised largely of men from other Northern states. Pennsylvania had one of the highest crossover percentages.4

1ST AND 2ND KANSAS One other state had commissioned officers of African descent as early as 1862. Not surprisingly it was Kansas, the state in which a brutal civil war sometimes called “Bleeding Kansas” had been waging since 1855. The initial stomping ground of John Brown, Kansas, which had vacillated between free and slave until 29 January 1861, raised a regiment of “Colored troops” with one company led by black officers. The 1st and 2nd Kansas Infantry Regiments were organized by Captain James M. Williams in the fall of 1862 on the heels of President Lincoln’s 22 September Preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. Steps to organize the regiment had actually begun on 6 August before Lincoln’s proclamation. One company of the regiment was “officered by Black men,” one captain and two lieutenants. The Kansas officers were “intelligent free negroes; some having good businesses at home.” During an inspection by visiting Field Colonel N. P. Chipman, the regiment “exhibited a proficiency in the manual and the company evolutions truly surprising.” Colonel Chipman called them “the best company.”5 In October General Jim Lane, who had recruited black Soldiers as early as the summer of 1861,6 ordered James Williams, now a colonel, to consolidate the regiments into the 1st Kansas. By the end of the month the 1st Kansas Regiment had seen action in two skirmishes, including one in Missouri that left at least eight men mortally wounded—the first black combat casualties of the war.7 It was not until 13 January 1863, however, that the 1st Kansas was officially mustered into the service of the United States, at which time they became the 79th Infantry (new).8 Apparently the black officers of the 1st Kansas fared better than the Native Guards because there is no evidence to suggest that they were mustered out of service. Perhaps their small lot contributed to their survival. There were only three or four of them compared to at least seventy-five in Louisiana.

THE POLITICAL HITS AND MISSES OF H.R. 675 The most progressive year of the Civil War for black fighting Soldiers was 1863. In that year many more attempts were made to commission men

House Resolution 675

17

of African descent. The continued call for black officers came primarily from two Radical Republicans, Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania and Massachusetts Governor John A. Andrew. On 12 January 1863, Stevens introduced House Resolution (H.R.) 675 proposing the enlistment of additional Soldiers. His bill called for the recruitment of 150,000 Soldiers “of Color or of free African descent” as well as commissioned company officers who “may be either white or colored.” After nearly two weeks of ardent debate, mainly centered on the opposition to appoint “white or colored officers,” Stevens issued a substitution to the bill. The “ironmonger,” who hated the “slavocracy,” offered a substitution that changed only the number of Soldiers to be enlisted, and the amount of pay, rations, and equipment authorized to black Soldiers. Stevens still pressed to have “black persons appointed and commissioned by the President.”9 Stevens’ bill ignited a first-of-its-kind debate when Congress discussed the issue of black officers commanding white men. Although Louisiana and Kansas had already inducted black officers into service, it was generally understood that they would never be brought into the field to serve with or among white Soldiers. It was during this debate that the policy denying black officers the authority to serve over white men originated. This unofficial, unwritten policy lasted until after World War II when President Harry S. Truman issued Executive Order 9981 calling for “equality of treatment and opportunity for all persons in the armed services without regard to race, color. . . .”10 On 2 February, the Stevens amended bill passed eighty-three to fiftyfour in the House. The bill prohibited “any officer of African descent . . . to exercise military or naval authority over white officers, Soldiers, or men . . . of the United States.” This bill failed in the Senate eleven days later because the Senate Military Committee believed that the intent explicit in H.R. 675 had been “sufficiently granted” on 17 July 1862 by Sections 12 and 15 of the Militia Act.11 Governor John A. Andrew of Massachusetts had been keeping abreast of the debates in Washington concerning the recruitment of black troops. As soon as he learned of the passage of H.R. 675 in the House of Representatives he dispatched a telegram to Secretary Stanton requesting permission to commission black officers and to appoint assistant surgeons and chaplains of African descent. He assured Stanton that the requested “power would not be used except possibly for few cases of plainly competent persons.” Four days later he also telegraphed Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner asking him to press the issue. In his telegram to Sumner, Governor Andrew reiterated his request to Secretary Stanton but went one step further by specifically asking for authority to commission a “few second lieutenants” of African descent.12 On 13 February, the day that H.R. 675 failed in the Senate, Stanton informed Andrew that the issue of commissioning black officers remained unsettled. Stanton believed that President Lincoln should handle each case separately. It was the language used when the Senate defeated H.R. 675 that caused the uncertainty. The Senate reported that Sections 12 and 15 of the Militia Act of 1862 “sufficiently granted” the same statuses

18 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 requested by H.R. 675. If this was the case there was no legal reason why blacks could not be commissioned as officers. While the Militia Act made no mention of commissioning men of African descent, it clearly stated that “persons of African descent” may be received in any area “for which they may be found competent.”13 The question, therefore, remains: Why were “competent” men of African descent denied commissions? Based upon the rationale for the failure of H.R. 675 and the further adamant refusal to grant limited commissions, it is possible to conclude that skin color was the single driving factor that blocked the path to commissions for many. Since congressional debate had accomplished little towards resolving the question of black officers, and Stanton’s belief that each case should be handled separately, attempts to commission them continued. While the attempts by Stevens, Andrew and Sumner to commission blacks met with great opposition outside of Washington and never materialized until much later, one early exception met with favorable results. On 23 March 1863 Reverend William Jackson was believed to be “the fi rst black chaplain ever to receive an official commission from the U.S. Government.”14 Jackson served as chaplain for the 55th Massachusetts. Jackson, one of the vice presidents of the Colored Citizen Organization of New Bedford, Massachusetts, had been active in the abolitionist effort to recruit black Soldiers from the start of the war.15 William F. Adair of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, also used the failed H.R. 675 language to request permission to commission black men. Secretary of War Stanton seemingly approved Adair’s request in a written telegram stating, “If a regiment of colored men can be raised . . . I will authorize . . . their own officers.”16 Yet Stanton later verbally told Andrew “not to commission any colored men as officers.”17 Andrew’s determined efforts did ultimately lead to the appointment of America’s first black field-grade officer during the Civil War. Andrew appointed his wealthy friend George L. Stearns to help fund and raise the famed 54th Massachusetts. Stearns, an ardent, uncompromising abolitionist, hired black recruiters. Recruiters ranged from the well-known black abolitionist Frederick Douglass to lesser knowns such as Martin R. Delany. Delany, a graduate of the Harvard Medical School, an ethnologist and a writer of short stories and articles, was eventually appointed a major.18 Even though Congress and Stanton had not specifically forbidden the commissioning of men of African descent, commissioning of black line officers was rare.

CHAPLAINS AND SURGEONS The military continued to accept black chaplains and medical officers. Still, very few colored regiments had a chaplain or surgeon of African descent. There were at least thirteen chaplains and eight surgeons commissioned

House Resolution 675

19

during the war to help service 161 Negro Regiments.19 Most chaplains and surgeons, such as surgeon William P. Powell, had been active community leaders. Powell, president of the Colored Citizen Organization in New Bedford, Massachusetts, had been an early advocate of black Soldier participation in the war. 20 A factor favoring the recruitment of chaplains was that “many officers thought a Negro would be more willing to mingle with the men and minister to their needs than would whites.”21 An obvious reason for recruiting black surgeons was the military’s inability to secure a satisfactory number of qualified physicians. Not only was there a lack of qualified surgeons; there was an even greater shortage of physically fit applicants who could withstand “both the strain of army life and its professional demands.”22 White surgeons who chose to serve rarely volunteered to serve with the United States Colored Troops (USCT) and “[b]lack units offered few attractions for physicians already in the volunteer service.”23 On 4 April 1863 Dr. Alexander T. Augusta, a graduate of Trinity Medical College in Toronto, Canada, who had practiced there with a largely white clientele, became the fi rst known black man to be commissioned a surgeon of the USCT. Major Augusta was subjected to many indignities during his military career. In May 1863, while boarding a train in Baltimore at the President Street Station, a young lad “encouraged by a few adults, approached Augusta, swore at him, and then tore off the epaulettes from his uniform.” Sometime later, his equal and standard major’s pay of $169 per month was withheld. The Baltimore paymaster sought to pay Major Augusta the unequal pay of $7—plus $3 for clothing—per month that was then offered to black USCTs until Congress authorized equal pay in June 1864. 24 White privates and corporals received $13 per month during the same period prompting black Soldiers to refuse to take their pay until it equaled that of their white counterparts. The ultimate insult occurred in late February 1864 when seven white medical officers were assigned to Camp Stanton, Maryland. To their “surprise and disappointment . . . the Senior Surgeon of the command was a Negro.” In a blunt letter to President Lincoln they demanded that their “most unplasant [sic] relationship . . . be terminated.” Major Augusta was subsequently removed but continued to serve on detachment duty until after the Appomattox Courthouse surrender. 25 While the country accepted blacks as chaplains and medical officers, it was still reluctant to have blacks leading men into battle. In fact, as late as World War II blacks still found it easier to obtain commissions as chaplains and medical service officers than in combat-related fields.

BUTLER’S INFLUENCE On 9 June 1863 the War Department attempted to clear up the H.R. 675 ambiguity and limit, or completely stop, black officer requests. It released a statement declaring “it is not the intention of the Department at present

20 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 to commission colored men as line or field officers of colored regiments.”26 Nonetheless, requests continued to flow into Washington asking for authority to do so. Some requests went unanswered; others were denied, while a few were actually approved. In some instances, such as in New Orleans and Kansas, blacks were locally mustered in as officers with muster orders and commissions from Washington requested afterwards. On 18 June 1863 Stanton authorized Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, to raise black troops. As enrollment increased, two of the companies “desired to enter the service with their own officers.” General Lorenzo Thomas, who opposed it, but asked for a decision one way or the other so he would know how to handle “similar cases” in the future, forwarded this request to Secretary Stanton.27 The request went unanswered and black officers never served in Harrisburg. Further to the West in Cincinnati, Ohio, the War Department approved a carrot-on-a-stick policy. Colonel H. Van Renssalear of Cincinnati requested authority to appoint black officers in the regiment he was raising. On 30 July 1863 Major Charles W. Foster, chief of the Bureau of Colored Troops, informed Colonel Van Renssalear that “Colored men will not be examined for commissions. They may be appointed noncommissioned officers by regimental commanders and receive promotion if found worthy.”28 At this point the Free Military Schools (FMS), initially established in Pennsylvania, were being used to examine candidates who volunteered for service in black regiments to determine if they were worthy of becoming officers. No evidence exists to suggest that men of African descent were ever found “worthy” of officer commissions as a result of this particular policy or through matriculation at an FMS. While Foster seemed to be suggesting to Van Renssalear that black men could be promoted through the ranks, he refused to approve immediate commissions for black officers even though a year prior to Van Renssalear’s request, a “Black Brigade” had fortified and protected Cincinnati’s southern border from Rebel encroachment out of Covington and Newport, Kentucky. “All the company officers [of the Black Brigade] except three were colored men.”29 A request from Detroit, Michigan, met the same fate as Van Renssalear’s. In response to a 17 August request from Detroit, Major Foster replied, “Colored men will not be commissioned to command colored troops at present.”30 By the end of 1863 the struggle over whether men of African descent should be commissioned as officers took yet another turn. In 1863 Major General Benjamin Butler, who had been responsible for bringing the fi rst black officers into Union service in New Orleans, was back in the Eastern Theater. As commander at Fortress Monroe, Virginia, he asked and received authority on 5 December to commission black officers. 31 This correspondence clearly proves that, although many requests were denied, others were approved. Therefore, it can perhaps be concluded that the prestige of the requester carried some weight in Washington. 32

House Resolution 675

21

BELOW THE MASON-DIXON LINE The last bill to be introduced in 1863 calling for the commissioning of black officers did not originate from any of the states north of the MasonDixon Line, in Washington, DC or in Union controlled areas in Southern states. Ironically, an Alabama representative introduced it into the Confederate House of Representatives on 28 December. This bill would allow the Confederates to receive into service “that portion of the population of Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and Florida known as . . . creoles.” The bill also recommended “all officers below the grade of captain shall be elected by said creoles, whether white or mixed blooded.”33 Although the Confederates had suffered defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg earlier that year, most Southerners, including Confederate President Jefferson Davis, were staunchly opposed to accepting “the Negro” into their ranks. Despite the vehement support of men such as Judah P. Benjamin, the extremely capable Confederate secretary of state, and General Patrick Cleburne, an Irish-American who is often considered General Braxton Bragg’s best general in the Army of Tennessee, the bill failed. Had it passed it is unlikely that the Confederacy would have found many volunteers. By the winter of 1863–64 most blacks had concluded—as had the Native Guards discussed in Chapter 1, this volume—that to support the Confederate cause in any way was to support the continued degradation of the race.

3

Limited Success, 1864–65

In May 1864 the American Freedmen’s Inquiry Commission conducted a hearing to examine the effectiveness and conduct of black Soldiers. Among those testifying was the famed Robert Smalls,1 who became a hero on 12 May 1862, when he captured and guided a Confederate ship, the Planter, into the hands of a Union Navy ship, the Onward. Some of the testimonies, focused on the question of blacks as officers. Colonel Thomas Wentworth Higginson perhaps gave the most important statement. Colonel Higginson, a clergyman and Massachusetts abolitionist before the war, had raised the honored First South Carolina Volunteers, which held the distinction of being “the first of all the Negro regiments with official military status.” They were officially mustered in on 31 January 1863.2 When asked if black Soldiers were “cool or excited when brought into the presence of danger,” Higginson answered: I think they will stand if their officers do . . . If their officers are intimidated they will be and if their officers stand their ground they will also. Q. Do you think it would be [wise] policy to officer colored troops with colored . . . commissioned officers? A. I do most emphatically. . . . I have non-commissioned officers superior in military qualities to perhaps one-half my line officers. Q. But in another point of view—do you think the men would obey colored officers as readily as white ones?” A. Just as readily, . . .3 Higginson’s testimony, as well as that of others, although not calling for the appointment of black officers, certainly proved that there were some who believed blacks competent to command. ABOLITIONIST PRESSURE In June 1864 another military general was granted authority to commission black officers. General Samuel R. Curtis, a West Pointer, veteran of the Mexican-American War, and commander of the smaller Union force that spoiled Confederate General Earl Van Dorn’s attack at Pea Ridge on 7 March 1862, telegraphed Stanton on 29 June from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

Limited Success, 1864–65

23

Within twenty-four hours he had received permission to organize a “Negro battery, to be officered” by blacks “and organized according to the regulations of the service.”4 General Curtis, who had a hand in organizing the First Kansas, which had a company officered by black men, was again commissioning others. On 7 February 1865 General Curtis informed Stanton that he had “raised the artillery battery and now needed commissions for Captain H. Ford Douglass, First Lieutenant William D. Mathews, and Second Lieutenant Patrick H. Minor, all “of African descent.” All three were eventually mustered into service on 27 February 1865.5 Unfortunately for these men, a July 1865 report claimed that the Independent Battery U.S. Colored Artillery (Light) was barbarously and involuntarily mustered in against their will in Kansas. The report also charged that all the officers, “colored men,” had no experience, borrowed money from their Soldiers and therefore were in debt to them. The officers, according to the report, also had “little character and less integrity.” Whether the charges were true is unknown,6 but they were nonetheless damaging to the service of black officers. By the end of 1864 the 54th and 55th Massachusetts had commissioned at least eleven blacks, six of whom were officially mustered into the service. The first was Stephen A. Swails of New York. Swails was initially appointed as a company first sergeant. Swails had distinguished himself in the battles of Fort Wagner, in South Carolina, on 17 July 1863, and Olustee, Florida, on 20 February 1864. During the latter battle he was severely wounded. As a result of his recognized abilities he was commissioned second lieutenant on 11 March 1864. Because of the War Department’s refusal to discharge him, a requirement of any Soldier before he could be officially mustered as an officer, First Sergeant Swails was not fully commissioned until 15 January 1865.7 Lieutenant Swails’s ten-month struggle for a commission produced a torrent of literature in the last two months of 1864 and apparently paved the way for others. On 2 February Colonel Alfred S. Hartwell, who allowed himself to establish “deep personal friendships” with his “black soldiers,” requested “that fi rst Sergeant John F. Shorter of D. Company 55th . . . be discharged [and] mustered as a Second Lieutenant.” In March, Shorter was commissioned followed respectively by James Monroe Trotter and W. H. Dupree in April and May. Shorter, Trotter and Dupree were officially mustered into service as officers on 1 July.8 Additionally, Frank M. Welch of Connecticut and Peter Vogelgang of Brooklyn were each commissioned on 28 April 1865, the same day that Lieutenant Swails was promoted to fi rst lieutenant.9 A petition sent to the War Department early in the year was likely a contributing factor to the sudden increase in the commissioning of black officers between January and July of 1865. Abolitionist pressure had been building for more than three years on this issue. The abolition movement had fi nally become more accepted in Washington, whereas in earlier years a vociferous abolitionist risked life and limb if he dared set foot in the capital city.10 On 14 February 1865 the War Department reviewed the petition

24

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

that had been signed by 219 individuals, including Vice President Hannibal Hamlin, radical antislavery Republicans Benjamin Wade and Charles Sumner, the powerful New York editor Horace Greeley, and Union General and future President James A. Garfield. The petitioners urged the War Department to grant commissions to capable black men. The petitioners pointed out that there were black “non-commissioned officers in colored regiments who are amply qualified for these positions, both by education and experience.”11 The abolitionist pressure caused Lincoln not only to commission the officers mentioned above, but also to commission America’s fi rst black man to the rank of major in the infantry. Carrying his orders in hand, Major Martin R. Delany, the former recruiter, reported to Major General Rufus Saxton’s Department of the South in Beaufort, South Carolina.12 Delany’s task was to raise “Negro Regiments” to be officered fully by blacks. It was his dream to designate these regiments as units of the “armée d’Afrique.” Although Delany had successfully helped to raise the 104th and 105th U.S. Colored Troops, the war ended before he could accomplish his mission to lead these units into battle. Several days after Delany reached Beaufort, Captain O. S. B. Wall, also of African descent and a prosperous Ohio boot and shoe merchant, arrived to assist Major Delany in his recruiting duties. In 1863 he had been Governor David Tod’s chief “Negro recruiting agent” in Ohio.13 After the war Wall and Delany retained their ranks as commissioned officers in the Freedman’s Bureau.14 Had the Civil War lasted another year, these latest officer appointments would have likely produced an interesting chapter in American history worthy of study. Because, while it is unlikely that black officers would have become commonplace, there would certainly have been more than the roughly 111 currently recorded and some of the commissionees, simply due to strategic consumption and combat fatigue among officers, would have been promoted to field-grade ranks and commanded troops in battle. Had that occurred, the story of the USCT, Civil War military history and American history would have been much different.

ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN The quest for blacks to earn commissions during the Civil War was slow and difficult. Though there were many attempts to commission such men throughout the country, by far the most successful results were obtained in Louisiana, and within the 54th and 55th Massachusetts Regiments. Of the roughly 111 black officers mustered into the Army during the Civil War, more than seventy-five were in the Native Guards and at least six were in the Massachusetts regiments. The remainders were commissioned as chaplains, medical officers and in various other units such as the Independent Battery in Kansas. Other men of African descent were commissioned but

Limited Success, 1864–65

25

were never mustered in by the U.S. government, including those in the Kansas regiment in 1862, some in the 54th and 55th Massachusetts Regiments and those in the Philadelphia regiment. The most controversial of all black officers were those passing as white men. For example, Edwin Belcher served as a commissioned officer in a white regiment. Born in South Carolina and educated at an all-white school in Pennsylvania, Belcher’s light complexion enabled him to pass for white. In 1867, when his white “peers” discovered his ancestry and began to ridicule him, he responded: “My blood has died [sic] the soil of the Sunny South as deep as any other soldier’s. . . . My services during the war was just as acceptable as any other man’s and they was [sic] appreciated.” Belcher was wounded and was twice a prisoner of war.15 Belcher’s experience poignantly shows that race, rather than ability, was often used as an instrument of measuring a man’s character. For, until it was “discovered” that he was black, Belcher’s peers had no issue with him or his service. The push to commission black officers generally paralleled the effort to recruit blacks as enlisted men. But commissioning black officers was never as popular as enlisting them as laborers or Soldiers. As a result, only an extremely small percentage of units with black Soldiers had officers of the same race. General Robert E. Lee’s surrender at Appomattox Court House on 9 April 1865 marked the end of the quest to bring more black officers into the U.S. Army. Several black Civil War veterans, both former officers and enlisted Soldiers alike, became field-grade officers within their state militias during Reconstruction, but the federal government did not recognize them as commissioned U.S. officers. Case in point, Robert Smalls achieved the rank of major general in the South Carolina state militia.16 In post-Civil War years the responsibility to commission Regular Army officers had largely returned to the United States Military Academy at West Point. Thus, the next logical focus for those favorable to black officers was West Point.

4

The West Point Years 1870–1889 From the deck of the little ferryboat that steamed its way across from Garrison’s on that eventful afternoon I viewed the hills about West Point, her stone structures perched thereon, thus rising still higher, as if providing access to the very pinnacle of fame, and shuddered. With my mind full of the horrors of the treatment of all former cadets of color, and the dread of inevitable ostracism, I approached tremblingly yet confidently. The little vessel having been moored, I stepped ashore and inquired of a soldier there where candidates should report. . . . The impression made upon me by what I saw while going from the adjutant’s office to barracks was certainly not very encouraging. The rear windows were crowded with cadets watching my unpretending passage of the area of barracks with apparently as much astonishment and interest as they would, perhaps, have watched Hannibal crossing the Alps. Their words, jeers, etc., were most insulting.1

The above observation by Henry Ossian Flipper, the fi rst black graduate of the United States Military Academy (USMA), as he arrived at West Point in May 1873 perhaps echoed the arrival of other black cadets who disembarked there between 1870 and 1889. Approximately twenty-seven young black men, most of them from Southern states, were appointed to the Academy during this period.2 Twelve survived the entrance examination, while only three successfully contended with the rigorous academic curriculum and social ostracism to earn the right to wear the shoulder boards of a Regular Army second lieutenant. The three graduates were Henry O. Flipper, class of 1877; John H. Alexander, class of 1887; and Charles Young, class of 1889.3 As one reads this chapter it is important to understand the reason it was so imperative, perhaps more imperative than any other institution, to send a black American to West Point during this era. To receive a Regular Army officer commission, a young male had to be admitted to, attend, and graduate from USMA. There were certainly officers during this period who earned their commissions by working their way through the ranks and as a result of their Union Army service. For a black man, however, that was not likely to happen. According to noted historians and the official records, 178,892 blacks participated in the Civil War as Union Soldiers and more than 38,000 gave the ultimate sacrifice.4 In addition to the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments, respectively, passed in 1865 to abolish slavery, in 1868

The West Point Years 1870–1889

27

to guarantee citizenship and in 1870 extending the right to vote to black men, the USCT success had embedded itself into the Army Reorganization Act of 1866. The Army Reorganization Act established six black Regular Army regiments, which in 1869 became four, the 24th and 25th Infantry Regiments and the 9th and 10th Cavalry Regiments, the latter two famously known as the Buffalo Soldiers. Between 1866 and 1898 more than 12,500 blacks served in these regiments, inlcuding serving as Seminole Indian scouts, earning eighteen Medals of Honor. Since there were only ten cavalry regiments, blacks made up roughly 20 percent of U.S. Army cavalrymen playing a crucial role in helping to open the Western frontier. Buffalo Soldiers participated in skirmishes against Geronimo, Nana and Victorio; built forts and roads; escorted wagon trains, stagecoaches and mail runs; installed telegraph lines; and patrolled the Mexican border, among many other duties. In 1898 black regulars earned an additional five Medals of Honor. They deployed during the Spanish-American War in 1898 and participated in the Battle of San Juan Hill. At the turn of the century they deployed during the Philippine Insurrection and served during the 1916 Punitive Expedition along the Mexican border. All enlisted vacancies within the regiments were for black Soldiers while whites fi lled officer vacancies. Many felt that black officers should fi ll some of the officer vacancies, but there was only one viable way to Regular Army officership5 for black aspirants.

WEST POINT’S ORDEAL The attempt to send a black cadet to West Point began as early as 1867. The record of black Soldiers during the Civil War and the success of others in various professions during Reconstruction convinced many that a black man should be appointed to USMA. Massachusetts Congressman Benjamin F. Butler, supported by Oberlin College President James Fairchild, attempted to fi nd a “Negro with the proper combination of solid education, rugged physique, and military inclination to survive West Point’s ordeal.”6 In 1870 Butler thought he had found his man in Charles Sumner Wilson, who was born free in Massachusetts in 1854. Butler, knowing that Wilson was under age, nominated him anticipating a rejection, but hoping that Wilson would be allowed to enter the Academy the following year. The War Department rejected Wilson because he would “not be seventeen years of age on the 1st of July next.” Butler was given the option of nominating another candidate but he never did, nor did he ever renominate Wilson.7 That same year three black Americans were successfully appointed to USMA, but only one, James Webster Smith of South Carolina, enrolled in the fall of 1870. The other two appointees were Henry A. Napier of Nashville, Tennessee, and Michael Howard of Mississippi. Howard failed all

28 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 six8 portions of the written entrance examination and Napier’s arrival was postponed until the following year.9 James Webster Smith, thus, became the fi rst black cadet at USMA. Why was Smith the “chosen one?” The answer is uncertain, but perhaps, as suggested by authors Lowell D. and Sara H. Black in regard to Henry O. Flipper, his light complexion may have contributed to his selection.10 Captain Rufus L. King, a tactical officer at West Point, described Smith upon his arrival as “A tall, slim, loose-jointed cadaverous party, with arms and legs of extraordinary length, and indescribable complexion, chalky white except in spots where the tan struck through, and occasional deeper splotches of brown; little beady, snakelike eyes, high cheek bones and kinky hair . . . the personification of repulsive gloom.” Howard was described by the same officer as “a chuckling, bullet-headed little darkie, whose great eyes . . . wander. . . .”11 From this description it is clear that Smith was very fair skinned and Michael Howard was dark skinned. In his memoirs Flipper would later confi rm that in “complexion Smith was . . . an octoroon. Howard, on the other hand was black.”12 Perhaps Smith broke the initial barriers at West Point because of his light complexion. During the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries many Americans considered lighter blacks to be superior to their darker brothers.13 Thus, Smith may have been more acceptable to USMA than Howard. No matter his hue, Smith was still black in the eyes of all at West Point and for the next four years he was subjected to ostracism and silence in the cadet corps. Ostracism and silence, a form of hazing at USMA dating before the Civil War, was ordinarily reserved for the most flagrant acts of misconduct. A white cadet was usually ostracized and silenced after committing an egregious act. Case in point, during the 1890s Cadet Oscar L. Booz was ostracized after refusing to conduct the plebe special duty chores his upperclassmen assigned. To add insult to injury, after being knocked out during the cadet-arranged fight designed to teach disobedient plebes “proper respect,” Booz refused to get up and continue the fight.14 Black cadets, on the other hand, found themselves ostracized and silenced because of their race. According to historian Stephen E. Ambrose, “[they] were never subjected to hazing [but rather] left . . . strictly alone . . . to withstand four years of total isolation.”15 Smith’s father had assured him that he would be treated justly when he got to West Point among Soldiers. Smith, who had gone North expecting just treatment, soon found that his father, who had fought under General William T. Sherman during the war, was wrong. In fact, within an hour of his arrival, Cadet Smith learned that all cadets were not treated equally. When he asked where to find food and shelter, the following exchange occurred: ‘Over there, boy,’ replied the cadet, pointing to the Rose Hotel owned by the government. On arriving there the colored boy laid down his carpet-bag, registered his name, and asked for something to eat.

The West Point Years 1870–1889

29

‘What! A meal of victuals for a nigger?’ asked the clerk. ‘Yes, sir, I’m hungry and I should like to buy something to eat.’ ‘Well, you’ll have to be hungry a good while if you wait to get something to eat here,’ and the clerk of the government hotel pushed the colored boy’s carpet-bag off upon the floor.16 Shortly after Smith and Howard arrived to take the entrance examinations, they became involved in an incident in which a fellow cadet drew a knife on Howard. Prior to entrance examinations all cadets were assigned a variety of tasks, including getting their newly issued boots blackened. While waiting at the bootblack, Cadet Robert C. McChord, a native of Kentucky and an acting squad leader, accused Smith and Howard of obstructing the door, thus hindering other cadets from entering. When he ordered Cadets Smith and Howard to move, Howard, who was blocking most of the way, refused. McChord, “upon the impulse of the moment struck” Howard in the face.17 After continued jockeying for position McChord drew a knife. Smith and Howard denied that they had ever blocked the door. Furthermore, they said, Cadet McChord stepped up to Howard and without warning struck him for no apparent reason. Later, as Howard attempted to sit on the bench to get his boots blackened, McChord “borrowed a knife from one of the other cadets” and forced Howard to the ground.18 This was the fi rst of many altercations Smith experienced while at the Academy.19 As stated earlier, Howard did not survive the entrance examination period. Smith was subjected to more racial epithets and physical abuse before he was dismissed from the Academy on 26 June 1874 for failing natural and experimental philosophy. After Smith’s dismissal he wrote a series of open letters to the editor of the New National Era and Citizen, a Washington, DC, newspaper, 20 candidly discussing his mistreatment by other cadets. Smith, however, was most adamant in defending his academic capabilities. Although he had survived at least two court-martials for misconduct, often initiated by fellow cadets, he was officially dismissed for academic failure. Smith had good reason to claim that he had been treated unfairly. With the exception of his third academic year—fourth year at the Academy, in which he ranked thirty-seven in a class of forty-eight—Smith had done quite well academically. In June 1872 at the end of his second year he ranked fi fteen in a class of fifty-nine.21 Smith’s dismissal followed a private examination administered by Professor Peter S. Michie, who asserted that black cadets “all displayed a marked deficiency in deductive reasoning.” Smith’s request to retake the examination was denied. Administering private examinations and denying retest were both uncharacteristic practices at USMA. 22 One could therefore conclude that America’s fi rst black cadet was perhaps unfairly denied his right to graduate because of the color of his skin. Evidence strongly supports the possibility that Smith was forced out of USMA. First, the fact that Professor Michie used the general term “all” in his dismissal report suggests that he had a preconceived notion about

30

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

blacks. Secondly, why was Smith administered a private examination for which he was never given defi nitive results? Others, however, might conclude that Smith’s dismissal was long overdue. Had Smith been more like Flipper in his disposition, others suggest, he might very well have been the fi rst black West Point graduate. Cadet Smith was very outspoken and was not one to turn the other cheek. He was outspoken by way of making the press and outside observers very aware of his treatment. As a result, some saw him as getting off lightly on punishments for which a white cadet would not only have been punished, “but [would have been] physically ill-treated” by his peers. Indeed, President Ulysses S. Grant stepped in on one occasion to change a court-martial discharge decision against Smith to a lesser charge of one-year suspension. After “the contents of a slop bucket” were dumped on him and Cadet Howard late one night during the examination period as a welcome to the Academy, Smith went into a defensive posture for the remainder of his cadet career and he outwardly demanded equal treatment. One of his many physical engagements, in which “he broke a water dipper over a white cadet’s head during an argument,” became famously known as “the battle of the dipper.” Needless to say, this type of behavior from a black person at USMA less than a decade removed from the Civil War and slavery did not endear many to Smith. 23 Why did Smith not succeed? The truth may likely be somewhere in the middle of unfair treatment and removal, and Smith pushing too hard too fast. Flipper, who perhaps got to know Smith better than anyone else at the Academy because they roomed together for a year, was very careful not to judge Smith in his memoirs. Responding to why other black cadets failed, Flipper wrote: “To stoop to retaliation is not compatible with true dignity, nor is vindictiveness manly. . . . [T]he experiment . . . has been abundantly tried, and proven a most ridiculous failure.” “Of Smith,” Flipper later wrote, “I prefer to say nothing. . . . I have thus had an opportunity to become acquainted with Smith’s conduct and that of the cadets’ towards him. Smith had trouble under my own eyes on more than one occasion,”24 a vague statement to say the least and hardly an endorsement. In recent scholarship some have gone as far as to claim that Flipper, indeed, “disliked Smith’s belligerent attitude.”25

NEW COLORED CADETS During Smith’s tenure at USMA, at least six other black cadets were appointed. In addition to Michael Howard, James Elias Rector of Little Rock, Arkansas, also failed to survive entrance examinations. Rector was initially scheduled to arrive at West Point in early June 1871. When a request that his arrival time be delayed until September was denied, Rector developed a “very bad cold . . . which rendered him unable to

The West Point Years 1870–1889

31

travel.” On 7 August he was rejected because he had failed to report. Rector eventually reported to the Academy but failed arithmetic, grammar and history. 26 Four appointees survived the entry examinations during Smith’s tenure and gained admittance into USMA. They were Henry Alonzo Napier of Nashville, Tennessee, 1871; Thomas Van Rensslear Gibbs, of Tallahassee, Florida, 1872; Henry Ossian Flipper, of Thomasville, Georgia; and John Washington Williams, of Hampton, Virginia, both in 1873. 27 When Henry Napier arrived at the Academy in 1871 he found that his good friend from Howard University, Cadet Smith, had been placed back in his class. That there were now two black cadets at the Academy did not make things any better for Napier, who was treated as badly as Smith had been. General Oliver O. Howard, Civil War Medal of Honor recipient, commissioner of the Freedmen’s Bureau, and principal founder of Howard University, wrote: “No barbarian could torture a captive so as to wound him in spirit more keenly than other young fellows have done to Napier simply because it is in their power.”28 Napier’s arrival, as did Smith’s, received extensive local newspaper coverage. The greatest sensation of the season (and it is a great novelty) is the arrival of the new colored cadet, . . . rumor says he has the blood of the ancient and honorable English family of NAPIER’S. . . . He is darker than cadet SMITH, and is known by the Southern term of a ‘Mestizo.’ He is dignified, complaisant, ready spoken, and quite charming as a conversationalist. He is said to be very patient and even-tempered, but not at all likely to suffer being trampled upon unjustly. He has a very natural and becoming military bearing acquired at Washington, D.C., ‘Howard University,’. . . He has the reputation of being a good scholar, a hard student, and a conscientious gentleman. . . . 29 After one year of struggling academically, Napier failed both mathematics and French and was discharged along with eight of his classmates. The academic discharge report described Napier as having “very little” aptitude although he was “studious.”30 Even less is known of Cadet Thomas Gibbs’s short stay at the Academy. If heredity is considered grounds for success, one could conclude that Cadet Gibbs had a better chance of graduating from the Academy than any other black cadet. He was the son of Jonathan C. Gibbs and the nephew of Mifflin W. Gibbs. Jonathan, who graduated from Dartmouth, served as secretary of state and superintendent of public instruction in Florida. Mifflin, who had studied law at Oberlin, became a judge in Little Rock, Arkansas, the fi rst black municipal judge in the United States.31 Gibbs was initially appointed on 23 May 1871. Since he was not old enough, he had to wait until 1872 to enter. Following the midyear

32

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

examinations he was found academically deficient and discharged.32 General Oliver O. Howard and Gibbs’s father waged a campaign to get the young man readmitted. Secretary of War William W. Belknap, who seemed to support readmission, wrote Secretary Gibbs that his son was well liked at the Academy and was doing well up until his discharge. Belknap later wrote General Howard that “while the department would be pleased [to readmit Gibbs] . . . the board would not . . . reverse their action. . . .”33

HENRY O. FLIPPER: HE WAS SEVENTH, BUT THE FIRST The seventh black appointee and fourth to be admitted was Henry Ossian Flipper. Flipper was born a slave in Thomasville, Georgia, on 21 March 1856, the fi rst of five sons to Festus Flipper and Isabella Buckhalter. Soon after Henry’s birth, Festus Flipper’s owner prepared to move to Atlanta, which threatened to separate the family because different men owned Henry’s parents. Fortunately, Festus was able to persuade his owner, Ephrain G. Ponder, to allow him to purchase his wife and child from their owner Reverend Rueben H. Lucky. In this way the family was able to stay together. 34 Henry Flipper began his grammar school education in Atlanta at the age of eight under the guidance of John F. Quarles. His fi rst text was Webster’s Bluebook Speller, a Confederate reprint. After a short interruption caused by General Sherman’s Civil War advance through the Southeast in 1864 as part of the popularly known “March to the Sea” campaign, Flipper continued his education under the guidance of the wife of an ex-Confederate captain. Flipper later transferred to an American Missionary Association (AMA) school. For the next three years he and his brother Joseph, who later became a popular and well-respected bishop, 35 were educated at AMA36 schools. Flipper’s early school years were not without the mishaps common to black Americans in the South. On the night of 9 September 1867, nine white Soldiers roamed through an area of town known as Shermantown, where Flipper and his family lived. Several homes and stores were pillaged. Flipper’s father, now an independent shoemaker and a pillar of Atlanta’s black community, was among those seized and severely beaten.37 This episode undoubtedly had a lasting effect on the eleven-year-old Flipper. In 1869 Flipper entered one of the most prestigious of the AMA schools, Atlanta University. There he completed his high school curriculum and had begun his freshman year of college when he applied for and received appointment to USMA.38 James C. Freeman, a recently elected Republican congressman from Georgia, appointed Flipper. Dr. Thomas L. Powell of Atlanta, who had known Flipper since infancy, examined him and found him “duly physically qualified.”39 Two months later Flipper passed the entrance examination and began his historic cadet career at West Point.40

The West Point Years 1870–1889

Figure 4.1

33

Cadet Henry O. Flipper (USMA Archives Photo Section).

Henry O. Flipper’s previous education apparently prepared him well for the academic challenge of USMA. It is likely, however, that his education differed little from that of other blacks who preceded him since several of them had been educated at Howard University, also an AMA school. It is a quandary as to why Flipper was successful when other candidates failed. Three possibilities have been suggested: complexion, geographic location and education. Since his educational background was not appreciably different from other cadets, that probably was not a factor. Being of light complexion may have aided in getting him an appointment, but Smith’s experience proved that being a fair-skinned black did not guarantee success. Also, there is little evidence that the geographic location of his birth and early training gave him an advantage. With the exception of Gibbs, Flipper hailed from the furthest Southern state than any previous

34

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

cadet. It can be reasonably concluded that character and determination were Flipper’s strongest assets. It is fair to say that Flipper benefitted from historical insight as well. During the next four years Flipper demonstrated exceptional moral and physical character as well as a model attitude and academic capabilities. Most importantly, Flipper displayed a nonthreatening character to the white cadets. In this way he was remarkably similar to Booker T. Washington and dissimilar to Cadet Smith.41 Booker T. Washington, the founder of Tuskegee Institute in 1881, with his accommodationist and nonthreatening demeanor, was able to obtain unprecedented success before the turn of the century at Tuskegee Institute, a school for black Americans. Washington acquired assistance from whites in the form of fi nancial and other support because he was able to convince them that he in no way considered blacks equal to whites. In other words, he knew how to “keep blacks in their place.” Although Washington did not privately accept this notion, he exuded this perception publicly. In many respects, so did Flipper. Flipper was quiet and determined to avoid confrontation. Historical insight benefitted Flipper because he had read accounts of Cadet Smith’s numerous problems and he learned from Smith’s mistakes. Smith had also sent him a letter of advice. In the letter Flipper says Smith wrote that he should: Avoid any forward conduct if I wished also to avoid certain consequences. . . . I [wrote Smith] have learned from sad experiences. . . . It was a sad letter. I [wrote Flipper] don’t think any thing has so affected me or so influenced my conduct at West Point as its melancholy tone. . . . [Smith] gave me a world of warning. I looked upon it as implying the confession of some great error made by him at some previous time, and of its sadder consequences.42 When he arrived at the Academy on 20 May 1873, Flipper knew that he would undergo an enormous test of fortitude. The stories of the three black cadets who preceded him, especially that of Cadet Smith, had been maliciously flaunted before him by several white citizens of Thomasville and South Georgia who did not share Congressman James C. Freeman’s aspirations for Flipper.43 Nevertheless, Flipper was determined to succeed. He roomed with Smith for his fi rst year—Smith’s last—at the Academy, and likely heard and saw a lot that will never be revealed. In general, Flipper fared much better than his fellow black cadets. It is difficult to determine whether Flipper would have failed had he been the fi rst black cadet rather than Smith. Apparently many thought not. Captain George L. Andrew spoke for many when he wrote concerning Smith: “Probably a worse selection for the fi rst colored cadet could not have been made. He was malicious, vindictive, and untruthful. . . . The story of the colored cadets might have been quite different if Flipper had

The West Point Years 1870–1889

35

been fi rst instead of Smith.”44 To be fair, this is a difficult comparison to make in hindsight. One could argue that because Smith was the fi rst black cadet and had no template to learn from—positively or negatively—that he expected and demanded more from West Point. After all, it was Smith’s father; a Civil War veteran under General Sherman, who told his son he would be “treated justly [at] West Point.” Flipper, on the other hand, had the well-publicized experiences of Smith and others as a guide and as a result expected and demanded little. Though it is clear that Cadet Smith played a large role in his own demise, it is also fair to say that Smith in some small way blazed a trail. Being fi rst and unique in any environment is complicated; it was complicated being the fi rst black cadet at West Point in the 1870s. However, by studying Smith’s letter to Flipper closely it is evident that Smith realized his mistakes and “reached back” and gave solid advice to the fi rst black West Point graduate. Some of Flipper’s classmates treated him kindly and with a reasonable amount of respect; still, several cadets constantly harassed him with racial epithets and ostracized him socially. Many in his class would have associated with him and treated him as a fellow cadet but they feared being silenced themselves. Flipper never fought back at his classmates as Smith had done. As a result he never engaged in a physical altercation while at the Academy. Other than a classmate purposely stepping on his toes during drills, another cadet never physically attacked Cadet Flipper. That Flipper was treated better than Smith does not suggest that he was well received. He experienced far worse treatment than he had anticipated. Some have suggested that Flipper fared better than his fellow black cadets because of his physique. He was six feet one and three-quarter inches tall and weighed 175 pounds, which was large for a nineteen-year-old man during that era. This suggestion insulted Flipper. He emphatically declared, “I did not come to West Point purposely to ‘go through on my muscle.’ I am not a fighting character, as the cadets—those who know me—can well testify.”45 Although Flipper dismissed the theory that his physical prowess protected him from harassment, records reveal that Flipper was larger than most cadets. His fellow black cadets ranged from 5’7” to 5’10” tall, which was about the norm. Flipper, despite the ostracism and racial taunts, successfully competed at West Point. He completed all his academic requirements, maintaining a respectable standing throughout his cadetship. After the fi rst six months he ranked fifty-three in a class of 103 and fi nished the year ranked fortyseven in a shrinking class of eighty-nine. He was strongest in the French and Spanish languages and law.46 On 14 June 1877, Flipper became the fi rst black man to graduate from the United States Military Academy. On this historic day his determination and patience in the face of abuse and ostracism were rewarded. Flipper well knew of the pride that many Americans, both black and white, felt at his success. He was the only cadet to receive a round of applause as he accepted his diploma. For a brief period Flipper

36

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

was one of the most famous men in the United States. Unlike his arrival at USMA, which he tried to keep secret for security reasons, his departure was highly publicized throughout much of the Nation.47 Flipper’s graduation did not set a precedent for other cadets. His success was unmatched for ten years. That it took so long for another black American to graduate from the Academy is evidence of Flipper’s character, determination and ability to placate the fears of some who had blocked the path of so many before him and immediately after him. During the twelve years immediately following his graduation twenty other blacks were appointed to USMA. Seven were actually admitted, but only two graduated. The eighth black appointee and fifth to attend USMA was John Washington Williams of Hampton, Virginia. Williams was admitted into the Academy along with Flipper but did not arrive until 26 May 1873, five days later. Williams was apparently a bright and capable young man. Academy rumor suggested that he had made the best showing at the preliminary examination, which may have been true. In order to secure his appointment Williams appeared before a strict competitive examination board in his home county of Elizabeth and scored the highest among all aspirants, making him the examination board’s unanimous choice to represent his district.48 Since Flipper had preceded him by five days, Williams had an easier time on his fi rst day. Instead of harassment by a cadet corporal drilling him on the fundamentals of barracks inspection, etc., he was instructed by a friendly five-day veteran, Henry O. Flipper. Little is known about Cadet Williams and his short tenure at USMA except that he was forced to room alone while Flipper roomed with Smith. Additionally, while Smith and Flipper received guests in July 1873 there is no evidence that Williams did. In his autobiography Flipper, while referring to an incident between himself, Smith and Williams, refers to Smith as “my chum” but adds no term of affection for Williams. Williams apparently was even more isolated than Flipper and Smith. Cadet Williams was subsequently found deficient in French and was dismissed after six months. Of Cadet Williams’s dismissal, Flipper said, “I do express the belief that [Williams’s] treatment was impartial and just. He was regularly and rightly found deficient and duly dismissed.”49 Following Cadet Williams’s dismissal, Representative James H. Platt, Jr., who had appointed him, tried to secure his readmission. Platt based his request on the grounds that French, a subject that Williams had never been exposed to, was the only area in which he had failed. After a review of Williams’s record the board refused to reverse its ruling. 50

WEAKENED SPIRITS In 1874 four additional black cadets arrived at USMA. They were: William Henry Jarvis, Jr., of Lynn, Massachusetts; William Henry White of York,

The West Point Years 1870–1889

37

South Carolina; Whitefield McKinlay of Charleston, South Carolina; and William Narcese Werles of Floreyville, Mississippi. All four failed the May entrance examinations. Werles and McKinlay both failed arithmetic and grammar, while White failed all subjects except reading.51 The candidate who came closest to admission was Cadet Jarvis, who was “so nearly white that many initially did not observe him” as a black man. On several occasions Jarvis heard slurs such as “he was the Negro or Nigger or that is the darky.” Although he was never physically assaulted, his supporters, including Representative D. W. Gooch, alleged that he failed history because his spirit was broken by the ill treatment of his fellow cadets. 52 Gooch and others wrote Secretary of War William W. Belknap complaining about his treatment. According to Belknap they claimed that “[C]adet [Jarvis] is being insulted and put upon by the entire Academy because he is colored.” Furthermore, supporters claimed to Belknap that Jarvis “is a fi ne scholar and if he fails it will be because his courage is broken by his treatment.” Belknap asked his associates not to make this information public, 53 probably for fear of any further bad publicity. This, after all, was the same year that the well-publicized Cadet Smith had been dismissed. Although Gooch pressed for Jarvis’s renomination, he was advised to let the case rest. It was probably best that he did. Jarvis had been raised, educated and socialized in Lynn, Massachusetts, and had perhaps been sheltered from the prevailing racial atmospheres in America at the time. West Point, with its “melting pot” cadet body, was too much of a culture shock for the young “sheltered” man to overcome. Unable to understand the origins of the hostility towards him, his spirit and will to excel were weakened.

WHITTAKER’S WAR Johnson Chestnut Whittaker of South Carolina was the sixth black cadet admitted into USMA. Appointed to fi ll the vacancy created by Cadet Smith, Whittaker’s story is the best documented of all black cadets who did not graduate from the Academy during this period. 54 Whittaker spent his fi rst year at the Academy with Flipper and tried hard to follow Flipper’s quiet example of overlooking minor offenses. Except for one incident, in which Whittaker was struck in the face by a fellow classmate from Alabama, he did not experience any physical abuse his fi rst year. Whittaker reported the cadet instead of fighting him, which apparently was the beginning of his troubles at West Point. 55 From that point on, Whittaker’s cadetship went downhill. After completing three successful years at West Point, Whittaker was found to be academically deficient during the annual examinations in 1879. Rather than dismissing him, General John M. Schofield, Superintendent of USMA, allowed Whittaker to repeat the previous year, a courtesy commonly offered at the Academy

38 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 if the student was doing well academically in all other classes. Prior to the 1879 examination, however, Whittaker appeared to be feeling the pressure of the isolation and ostracism. Companionship was a rare and prized commodity for black cadets at West Point. In January of 1878 Whittaker wrote a gloomy letter to Lieutenant Flipper, who was then stationed with the 10th Cavalry in the West. Whittaker was defi nitely in a depressing mood. He told Flipper “sadness creeps over me, for I am all alone. Minnie [referring to Cadet Charles Augustus Minnie, discussed on page 39–40 this chapter] went home on last Friday. He was weighed in the ‘math’ scale and found wanting. . . .”56 As a result, Whittaker was the sole black cadet at USMA. On 6 April 1880, when Whittaker missed a scheduled 6 a.m. reveille formation, his tactical offi cer sent a cadet to his room who found Whittaker tied to the bed. His hands and feet were both so securely tied that he had to be cut loose. His face and ears had been cut with glass from a broken mirror, and his head was bleeding, apparently from a blow sustained from a nearby “Indian club.”57 The infuriated General Schofield ordered an immediate investigation. After several months of investigation, the investigating board concluded that Cadet Whittaker had brutally assaulted himself. 58 Whittaker immediately denied the charge and, for the remainder of his life, avoided discussing the issue. 59 Upon receiving the results of the investigation, the angry General Schofield began to believe that Whittaker was part of an outside plot against the Academy. Schofield, who prepared to dismiss Whittaker immediately, was forced by President Rutherford B. Hayes to reconsider. Public pressure had caused the president to insist that “defi ciency in his studies” will be the only grounds for dismissal.60 On the next annual examination Whittaker was found deficient in natural philosophy and was dismissed. He, as did his fellow South Carolinian, James Smith, spent four years at West Point without earning the distinguished diploma of the United States Military Academy or the prestigious Regular Army rank of second lieutenant. In response to the bad publicity directed towards the Academy in the wake of the Whittaker case, General Schofield wrote a five-page report defending the Academy. In it he wrote: . . . To send to West Point for a four years’ competition a young man who was born in slavery is to assume that half a generation has been sufficient to raise a colored man to the social, moral, and intellectual level which the average white man has reached in several hundred years. As well might the common farm-horse be entered in a four-mile race against the best blood inherited from a long line of English racers.61 Schofield’s logic had some merit, but only in the sense that the majority of black Americans in the 1870s and 80s were less than two decades

The West Point Years 1870–1889

39

removed from an institution that suppressed them educationally, and indeed denied them social, moral and intellectual skills. Some did lack the foundation to compete successfully at West Point. Nonetheless, Flipper, as would Alexander and Young—and some black cadets who did not graduate—proved conclusively that blacks, when extended educational opportunities, could compete at these higher educational institutions. Socially, none of the black cadets during the nineteenth century, and many well into the twentieth century, had been welcomed into USMA. Social interaction is difficult, if not impossible, when one is not accepted because of their differences. There is little denying that social ostracism and isolation adversely impacts upon an individual. With regard to intellectual capabilities, although Whittaker was ultimately discharged for academic failure, his overall academic performance was comparable to many of his classmates. For reasons that may never be revealed, Whittaker remained adamantly silent about his entire cadetship for the duration of his life. An inscription in his West Point Bible perhaps offers insight. During his second year at West Point Cadet Whittaker wrote the following words in his Bible: “Try never to injure another by word, by act, or by look, even. Forgive as soon as you are injured, and forget as soon as you forgive.” His granddaughter, Ms. Cecil Whittaker Pequette, later said during an interview, “[my] grandfather seldom talked about the case, not wanting to embitter his children,”62 which was sage words and actions that Whittaker apparently lived by that proved militarily beneficial for several of his descendants, who became commissioned officers during World Wars I and II.

NEW FACES In 1877 three black cadets, Joseph Thomas Dubuclet of Iberville, Louisiana; John Augustus Simkins of Edgefield, South Carolina; and Charles Augustus Minnie of New York, were appointed to the Academy. Simkins, the fi rst man to be nominated by Robert Smalls, failed to report.63 Cadet Dubuclet, who thought geography was the only subject he had failed, was denied his renomination request because he had actually failed orthography, arithmetic, grammar and geography.64 Charles A. Minnie was the only one to be admitted in 1877. He was assigned to be Whittaker’s roommate and the latter tried hard to be a positive influence on the new cadet just as Flipper had been for him. However, Minnie was stubborn and refused to study for a math examination because he did not like the instructor. As a result he was found deficient in January 1878 and was dismissed. By the time Cadet Minnie realized his mistake it was too late. Whittaker told Flipper, “On the day he [Minnie] left he told me that he did not really study a ‘math’ lesson since he entered; and was then willing

40 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 to give anything to remain and redeem himself. . . .”65 Cadet Minnie’s dismissal was self-imposed. After Cadet Whittaker’s 1880 dismissal, two years elapsed before another black cadet was appointed and three years before another one entered the Academy. In 1882 Lemuel W. Livingston of Madison, Florida, was nominated and failed the arithmetic examination. In an attempt to gain readmittance into the Academy, Livingston, who believed he had missed only one math question, claimed that he was discriminated against and rejected unfairly. He declared that other candidates who had scores equal to or less than his were admitted. Robert L. Lincoln, secretary of war, ordered an investigation and concluded that discrimination against one individual was impossible at the Academy because the board only knew candidates by number. Furthermore, the results revealed that Livingston did not get the highest score of those rejected. Colonel Merritt, the investigating offi cer, added that Livingston had failed five of ten math questions, three of which were considered the basics of ratio and analysis solving.66

JOHN HANKS ALEXANDER, SECOND BLACK USMA GRADUATE John Hanks Alexander, born in Arkansas, but appointed from Ohio, was admitted to USMA in 1883. He was attending Oberlin College at the time of his appointment. While at Oberlin, Alexander established himself as a credible student. One of his instructors said, “Mr. John H. Alexander has completed two terms of the Freshman year in the Classic Course with great credit. He is a young man of pleasing address, good character and very rare ability as a student.” The professor added that Alexander “enjoys the esteem of his teachers and will always have the best wishes for his true success.”67 Alexander’s career at the Academy was similar to Flipper’s. Interestingly, his physical resemblance to Flipper was striking. Both were handsome young men. From their wavy hair, caramel skin tone, and look of determination in the eyes, their likeness was amazing. Alexander, as did Flipper, survived the ostracism, the whispering behind his back and racial epithets to graduate. Four years after his appointment, John H. Alexander became the second black man to graduate from the United States Military Academy. His graduation, as thirty-second in a class of sixty-four, strengthened what Flipper had proven a decade earlier, that a black American could compete academically at the Academy. Indeed, Alexander fared extremely well academically. At the end of six months he ranked ninth in a class of one hundred and fi nished the year sixteenth in a dwindling class of eighty-one. He was near the top of his class in all subjects, and after his fi rst year Alexander fi nished fourth in English and seventh in French.68

The West Point Years 1870–1889

Figure 4.2

41

Cadet John Hanks Alexander (USMA Archives Photo Section).

Although black cadets were periodically admitted into the Academy, many people were of Schofield’s mind-set and expected blacks not to be competitive, especially with the overall failure rate for all cadets hovering as high as a third in some classes. While Cadet Alexander was still at USMA, at least nine other black cadets were appointed. Four arrived a year after

42

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

Alexander’s admission. Two failed the written examinations, one failed the medical examination, and one was admitted. Daniel Cato Sugg of Wilson, North Carolina, failed arithmetic, geography and history. Julius Linoble Mitchell of Berkeley County, South Carolina, failed arithmetic, grammar, geography and history. Robert Shaw Wilkinson of Grahamville, South Carolina, was one of five nominees to fail the medical examination. The only appointee to gain admittance was Charles Young.

MR. YOUNG Young was born in May’s Lick, Kentucky, on 12 March 1864 to slave parents. Within a year of his birth Young’s father, Gabriel Young, enlisted in the Union Army for one year on 12 February 1865 and served in Company F, Fifth U.S. Colored Heavy Artillery, Sixth District of Ohio until May 1866.69 When he was fourteen months old his parents took him to Ohio, where eighteen years later Congressman Alphonso Hart appointed him to USMA. In 1883 he became an alternate candidate and one year later received confi rmation as a full candidate. Young, who was the ninth black cadet admitted into the Academy and the twenty-fi rst appointed, eventually became the third black graduate in 1889. His graduation from USMA put to rest one myth that had been advanced as a result of Flipper and Alexander’s success. Unlike his two predecessors, Young had a handsome dark complexion that challenged the myth that lighter skin equated to more intellectual capabilities. A look into Young’s high school education may offer insight into the reasons he survived at West Point where others of his race failed. Although Ripley, Ohio, and the high schools where Young lived and was educated were segregated, many of the activities and some of the coursework were integrated. Therefore, Young had been educated in an environment where he was able to compete with white students, some of whom “treat[ed] him scandalously mean,” and perform well. Young was reported to be “conversant in German and excellent in French.” Young also participated in integrated school programs; on one occasion he presented the “keynote” reading during a Friday evening school program. He also reportedly participated in the fi rst integrated high school commencement ceremony.70 Because Ripley was segregated and Young understood what it meant to be black during that time period, perhaps he did not have some of the preconceived notions of fairness and equality that many of the black cadets who came from much more liberal Northern cities had when they arrived at West Point. Young’s class attendance with white supporters and white detractors in high school may have contributed to his understanding that all West Point cadets and faculty would not accept him freely. In contrast, Cadet Smith and some of the other black cadets from strictly segregated Southern cities and educational environments arrived at USMA and were thrust into

The West Point Years 1870–1889

43

a “new” somewhat integrated setting, one they did not quite understand, and demanded fairness and equality. Whatever the reasons, Young prevailed. Young’s career at the Academy, however, was academically difficult. Despite scoring the second highest score on his initial entrance exam, he graduated last in his class. After his fi rst year he was found deficient in mathematics and was held back one year with five of his classmates—eleven of his classmates were academically dismissed. This setback did not seem to discourage Young. After repeating the first year he ranked seventeenth in his class. From that point on his academic standing constantly declined. In 1886 he ranked fiftieth in a class of fifty-three and two years later he experienced difficulty in engineering and ordinance and passed only after receiving special attention from one of his instructors, Lieutenant George W. Goethals, who failed him in engineering and then tutored him to a passing grade.71 Although Young and Alexander received the usual silent treatment reserved for black cadets, many of their classmates silently pulled for them. Charles D. Rhodes, later major general, a classmate of Young, wrote, Our colored classmate, Charles Young, whom we esteem highly for his patient perseverance in face of discouraging conditions which have attended his cadetship for five years did poorly in both engineering and ordinance. . . . We are hoping that Young will get through; it would be a terrible disappointment for him to lose the coveted diploma after five years of intensive work.72 In a letter written twenty-five years after his graduation, Major Young corroborates the fact that some white cadets at West Point treated him with some level of dignity and respect. “The sole bright things that come to my heart,” Young wrote to then Colonel Delamere Skerrett, “are the friendship and sympathy from men like you, [Walter] Bethel, [Frank] Webster, [Edward] McGlachlin, [Ralph] Harrison, [James] Lamblin, [George] Langhorne, [Malvern-Hill] Barnum, and [Harry] Bandholtz.”73 During Young’s stay at the Academy several other blacks received appointments; however, only three others were admitted. They were: William Trent Andrews of Sumter, South Carolina, 1885–86; William Achilles Hare of Ohio, 1885–86; and Henry Wilson Holloway of Berkeley County, South Carolina, 1886.74 Those appointed but not admitted were: John S. Outlaw of North Carolina and Eli W. Henderson of Port Royal, South Carolina. The latter two simply failed to report to the Academy.75 Cadets Andrews and Hare were admitted in 1885 and survived until the fi rst examination proved fatal to their quest. Andrews, who was “studious” but had, according to the academic board, “very little” aptitude, failed math, while Hare, who was not so studious, and also considered to be of “very little” aptitude, failed both math and English. Both, along with eleven other classmates, were dismissed in January 1886.76 Cadet Holloway, who had done quite well in English, failed math and was discharged in January 1887.77

44

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

After Young’s graduation in 1889, another twenty-nine years passed before another black American received an appointment to USMA, and forty years before one gained admittance. During the height of the American involvement in World War I, as hundreds of black men were receiving commissions into the United States Army, one young man broke another barrier. In 1918 Byron Alexander, a seventeen-year-old graduate of Steven’s High School near Dayton, Ohio, was appointed to USMA as a result of a competitive examination with twenty other applicants.78 He was the fi rst to be so appointed since Charles Young graduated nearly three decades prior.

SEAGOING SERVICES During this same period, black Americans had much less success in the other service academies. Three were appointed to the United States Naval Academy. Midshipmen James Conyers, Alonzo McClennan and Henry E. Baker, Jr., all remained at the Naval Academy less than one year. Conyers’s arrival in 1872 was like a “bombshell” on the deck of a ship. Faculty and midshipmen alike were reluctant to accept him into their institution. As at West Point, hazing was common. Contemporary accounts indicate that Conyers bore racial incidents stoically. He eventually failed two subjects and was dismissed in 1873. McClennan arrived in 1873 and resigned under pressure in January 1874, and Baker, who entered in 1874, was dismissed for disciplinary reasons in November of that same year.79 The fi rst black American did not graduate from the Naval Academy until 1949. The Coast Guard Academy began as a sea-based academy in 1876, became land-based in 1890, and the Coast Guard Academy as we know it today began in 1915. During that period no blacks were admitted. In World War II two black cadets were admitted through the Academy Reserve Officer Training Course, but it was 1955 before the fi rst black actually entered and attended the Coast Guard Academy. It was not until 1966 that the fi rst black American graduated from the Coast Guard Academy.80

CONCLUSION The difficulties black cadets experienced at the academies in the nineteenth century were simply a microcosm of the black experience throughout much of America. The Reconstruction era of 1865 to 1877 failed to bring equality for all Americans. Indeed, as W. E. B. Du Bois would later write describing the period: “The slave went free; stood a brief moment in the sun; then moved back again toward slavery.”81 It is still significant to point out that despite obviously difficult race relations at USMA, West Point was far ahead of the majority of “mainstream” America in the 1870s and 1880s. At a time when Southern blacks were not

The West Point Years 1870–1889

45

allowed into Southern white institutions, and were discouraged at many Northern ones, they were at least receiving minimal opportunities at West Point. Of the twenty-seven black cadets who attended West Point between 1870 and 1889, only three graduated and only Young remained in the military long enough to make it a career and become a symbolic link between the Civil War and World War II. Young’s symbolic linkage is that he was born during the Civil War to a father who joined the USCT; and, as a captain, Young mentored an enlisted Buffalo Soldier who became a lieutenant and eventually the fi rst black American to became a brigadier general in 1940. As will also become evident in the next chapter, Young mentored so many others who earned officer commissions during the Spanish-American War and World War I. Without doubt, however, Henry O. Flipper, John H. Alexander and Charles Young were all important links in the black American officer chain.

5

The West and the Spanish-American War Years

Henry O. Flipper’s Army career ended before John Hanks Alexander and Charles Young’s cadetships started. In 1882 after five years of service Flipper was discharged for conduct unbecoming an officer. More than one hundred years after his graduation Flipper’s name was cleared by a review board that found he had been unjustly treated and Flipper received a presidential pardon.1 Flipper told his story as an officer on the Western frontier in his memoirs, the Negro Frontiersman. 2 Flipper’s five-year service as the only Regular Army black officer was full and productive. His fi rst duty as a commissioned officer was as an inspector of cattle for the Wichita Indian Agency. Shortly after completing duties as an inspector, Flipper was assigned as the post signal officer at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. While at Fort Sill, Flipper conducted missions that brought him into contact with Native Americans, such as guarding “Indian prisoners cutting rails to fence an Indian farm.”3 Flipper’s greatest and lasting contribution to the Army was the “Flipper Ditch” designed and constructed by him at Fort Sill. Fort Sill was situated on a high plateau at the junction of two streams, Cache Creek and Medicine Bluff Creek, had the best water in the world and ought to have been very, very healthy, but it was not. . . . There was a series of shallow ponds extending from Fort Sill to Red River, more than forty miles. They fi lled up in the rainy season and remained stagnant most of the year. There was much malaria in the Post and many soldiers died of it. [One time] when the ponds were dry and before the rain set in, Gen. Davidson detailed me to dig a ditch and drain them. He gave me a full Troop of Cavalry and I went down, made my surveys and estimates and came back and reported to him. . . . I fi nished the ditch and the Commanding Offi cer and other offi cers went down to look it over. We got down in the ditch and the General told me I had it running up hill and that the grade was wrong. It certainly looked that way, but I knew I was right. . . . When the rains came, the water flowed away perfectly and there never were any more ponds.4

The West and the Spanish-American War Years

47

Flipper also led G Troop, 10th Cavalry, for five months in 1879, becoming the first black officer to lead a Regular Army unit. Flipper held several other assignments, including post adjutant and commissary officer, and served at Forts Elliott and Davis, Texas. On several occasions he encountered “hostile Indians,” and went into battle against them in 1880.5 Flipper enjoyed his service and believed that most officers and professionals he dealt with generally respected and treated him well. A case in point was Flipper’s high esteem for Henry W. Lawton, who had helped him furnish and select his quarters at Fort Elliott. While Flipper spoke highly of Lawton, Lawton later wrote, after meeting Flipper again several years later, “I was glad to see even a darky whom I had known before.”6 Flipper’s career abruptly ended when the Army court-martialed and dismissed him in 1882. He was court-martialed for embezzlement of government funds and conduct unbecoming an officer. Flipper pleaded “not guilty” to all charges. While it was proven that he did not take the money, it was proven that over the course of several weeks he had been lying to his colonel while concurrently trying to replace the missing funds until he could find what he believed to be the real culprits. For the latter charge of lying Flipper was discharged for acts unbecoming an officer. Until his death in Atlanta in 1940, Flipper proclaimed his innocence and said that although he had been “warned by civilians” he could not escape “the trap” which “was cunningly laid” by Major N. B. McLaughlin, and Lieutenants Louis Wilhelmi and Charles E. Nordstrom. Flipper concluded that he “was railroaded out of the army. . . .”7 Most scholarship prior to 1999 supported Flipper’s contention that he was unfairly charged during his court-martial; however, it also suggests that he deserved to be punished because he was not completely honest. It should be noted, however, that there were several court-martial cases during the frontier years in which lesser charges were received for greater offenses.8 In 1872 a white officer serving as paymaster was court-martialed on fifteen embezzlement counts and seven misconduct counts for acts unbecoming an officer and gentleman. He was “reprimanded in General Orders and . . . suspended from rank and command for . . . four months.” In the end the officer’s sentence was suspended and then he “was restored to duty.”9 Many writers have alluded to the miscalculated perceptions held by Flipper and other black Americans of this era about how they felt some whites positively thought of them. Others have alluded to reasons cases such as Smith’s and Whittaker’s at USMA and Flipper’s on the frontier ended so negatively. Until recently, however, none had so definitively stated their rationale. Had Flipper been a white lieutenant it is uncertain whether he would have been court-martialed, but he most likely would not have been discharged from the Army in such an abrupt manner. Eighteen eighty-two was squarely in the middle of a terrible period for white and black race relations. Reconstruction had ended and disfranchisement and Jim Crowism were rapidly on the rise. Much of America, including formerly benevolent whites, had turned its back on blacks.

48 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Reconstruction, in fact, ended on a political compromise in 1877 that helped to secure President Rutherford B. Hayes’s election. The compromise included the removal of federal troops from the South. Furthermore, two Supreme Court cases decided in 1876—United States v. Reese and United States v. Cruikshank—essentially negated much of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments.10 So, like the rest of much of America, many in the Army were not eager to treat a black officer with justice in a profession that had historically been reserved for whites. Though Flipper certainly had benevolent whites supporting his efforts (and there were many), including the Army lawyer who agreed to represent him, the “cunningly laid” trap which led to Flipper’s court-martial found more support and few who could defend against it. As one historian recently concluded, “Henry Ossian Flipper received a painful reminder that justice for a black man was a patronizing boon granted at the whim of a white society.”11 Not all scholars, however, are convinced that race impacted Flipper’s treatment and subsequent discharge from the Army; some believe that he was fairly and justly discharged. In 1980 an English scholar wrote: Flipper’s Dismissals: The Ruin of Lt. Henry O. Flipper, U.S.A., First Coloured Graduate of West Point. The book essentially reprinted much of the testimonies from the trial, offered some analysis, and concluded that Flipper “had lost his ‘crown’—almost tossed it away—by his own youthful follies, aggravated to a fatal degree by his own repeated errors of judgment.” In 2008 an American scholar noted that Flipper’s Dismissals, although full of gaps, had merit. In The Fall of a Black Army Officer: Racism and the Myth of Henry O. Flipper, the latter author stated that “Flipper . . . was the author of his own problems.” This conclusion, according to the author, was based upon detailed examination of the case records as opposed to Flipper’s own writings and newspaper articles published during the period. Other scholars’ failure to study the case records, he explains, led to their conclusions favorable to Flipper.12 In explaining the treatment of other white officers, such as the one discussed above, who were brought up on similar charges as Flipper, The Fall of a Black Army Offi cer stated that most officers “had a far longer service record than Flipper. . . . A good service record often was a mitigating circumstance during the era.” Though The Fall of a Black Army Offi cer acknowledges that racism existed in the Army and in America during that period, his conclusion was that “there really were no other verdicts the court could have rendered.”13 Flipper’s Dismissals does not adequately address race or the racial climate of the era. As with Cadet Smith, for Flipper the truth may likely be somewhere in the middle of his unfair dismissal from the Army and him being deserving of his discharge. There is little doubt that Flipper should have been punished. The question for others to ponder is “did the punishment fit the crime?”

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ALEXANDER ACHIEVES John H. Alexander’s career ended abruptly when he died of apoplexy in 1894 while assigned to Wilberforce University as professor of military science and tactics [PMS&T]. Wilberforce was a small Methodist college near Xenia, Ohio, founded by Daniel Payne in 1863.14 Unlike Flipper, Alexander did not write about his experiences at the Academy and his untimely death did not afford him the opportunity to write memoirs. It is clear, however, that Alexander had an active and successful military career before his death. Two months after graduation Alexander reported for duty with the 9th Cavalry at Fort Niobrara, Nebraska. He also served at Fort Robinson, NE, Fort Washakis, WY, and as PMS&T at Wilberforce University, Ohio.15 Since Flipper had been dismissed from the Army, Alexander became the only Regular Army black officer. Lieutenant Alexander knew that “the country[,] especially the Negro, . . . will look to see the mark [he] will make in life.” Booker T. Washington was one prominent “Negro” who followed Alexander’s career. In 1887, shortly after Alexander graduated, he unsuccessfully attempted to get Alexander assigned to Tuskegee as PMS&T.16 Though his colleagues generally respected Alexander, he was barred from most social activities. Alexander was a member of the Officers’ Club at Fort Robinson, and probably paid dues, but since Captain Augustus Corliss was listed in the records as Alexander’s “proxy in Officer’s Club elections,” Alexander may not have been allowed to attend the club.17 One of the few fi rsthand accounts of Lieutenant Alexander’s life came from the Fort Robinson post trader W. E. Annin. Annin said that Alexander “made no calls upon families of brother officers. He was not expected at receptions and balls. If he came and stayed for a moment, as a matter of form, he always quietly withdrew.” Furthermore, Annin said, Alexander “messed by himself, although most of the remaining unmarried officers used the officer’s mess. . . . He lived more or less alone.” When asked if that lifestyle was difficult for him to maintain, Alexander was said to have replied, “No man can force himself into society anywhere. I have not attempted it here. I think I have gained the respect of my associate officers by keeping in the background and not intruding myself where possible I might not be wanted.”18 Alexander served six years on the Western frontier that, he believed, entitled him to his spurs. In October 1893 the Army fi nally promoted him to fi rst lieutenant and transferred him to Wilberforce on 6 January 1894. In 1892 Wilberforce had become the fi rst predominantly black institution to offer military training. Alexander, one of only two black Regular Army officers by 1892, was the only viable candidate to lead the program.19 Unfortunately, on 26 March 1894, while at the barbershop, Alexander died. Black and white Americans who knew him received the news of his death sadly.

50 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 The Negroes of the United States . . . can ill afford to lose a man like Lieut. John Alexander. . . . For a young man of unusual brilliancy with a long and useful career before him to be cut down just at the beginning of life . . . is a sad blow to the whole race.20 Alexander’s death was indeed a blow to America. He had the type of personality that would have carried him far in the Army or in any profession. He was never one to openly claim that his experience at USMA was any different from the next cadet. In fact, he claimed that he “got as much fun out of it [USMA] as the next man.” He was able to socialize with his former classmates comfortably as he ran into them on the frontier yet maintain the expected social distance. They seemed to enjoy him as much as he enjoyed them, despite his isolation. Alexander seemed to have been serious about his career, was prone to few habits, and though he enjoyed the company of women, it appeared that he had planned to be “married” to his career as a Soldier for a while. If the success of Alexander’s siblings is an indicator of Alexander’s potential, it is very likely that he, who was generally considered the most noted of the Alexander siblings, would have advanced well in the Army. He had seven siblings: Milo, Trigg, Glenn, Mark, Coolidge, Fannie and Titus. Milo followed in his father’s footsteps and became a prominent politician until the end of Reconstruction fi nished his political career. Trigg and Glenn, the latter a sister and graduate of Oberlin College, were both teachers. Mark became a popular minister and Titus settled in Los Angeles, becoming active in civil rights and Democratic Party affairs while working for the Bureau of Power and Light. So, in 1909 when John’s mother Fannie Alexander died after outliving two of her children, she died a proud woman. 21

MR. YOUNG, CONTINUED Charles Young symbolically connected the Civil War, nineteenth Century black cadets, the Western frontier, the Spanish-American War, Philippine Insurrection, Punitive Insurrection, World War I, and the World War II black officer corps together as one. 22 Upon graduation, Lieutenant Young was fi rst assigned to the 10th U.S. Cavalry. While on leave his orders were amended to send him to the 25th Infantry. He was ultimately assigned to Bravo Troop, 9th Cavalry, at Fort Robinson in November 1889. Although his old West Point mate Lieutenant Alexander was also in the 9th Cavalry, Alexander’s troop was stationed at a fort several hundred miles away from Young’s. 23 Unlike Flipper and Alexander, Young’s military career got off to an inauspicious start. His commander reprimanded him twice in April 1890, once for “tactical errors” while acting as officer of the guard and once for neglecting stable duties. Still, the commander hoped and was sure that

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Young would improve. 24 Young did improve and eventually became a fi ne cavalry lieutenant. Like Flipper and Alexander, however, Young lived largely isolated, except for an occasional outlet. Off duty he took most meals in his private quarters and because he was a musician, one of his white buddies and West Point classmate, Lieutenant Alexander Piper, said he often heard Young playing the piano and guitar in his quarters at night. Young also played the banjo and violin. Lieutenant Young apparently also made an impression on at least one young black female visitor who came West. When Nellie Plummer, the sister of the fi rst black chaplain, met Young, she later wrote: “I shall never forget the visit I made . . . to visit my beloved brother [Chaplain Henry V. Plummer] while he was stationed at Fort Robinson, Nebraska. It was there I met Chas. Young. Of all the joys blest memory shall bring to me that summer’s joy excels all!”25 In 1891 Young was transferred to Fort Duchesne, Utah, as an officer in charge and teacher. There he briefly served with Alexander until the latter was transferred back to Fort Robinson in 1892. In May 1894 he succeeded the deceased Alexander as PMS&T at Wilberforce University. In 1896 Lieutenant Young passed the fi rst lieutenant promotion examination at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and returned to Wilberforce for two additional years. 26 When the Spanish-American War broke out in 1898, Young was promoted to captain and eventually brevetted to major. Wilberforce and the Spanish-American War both broadened Young’s horizons. At Wilberforce Young was no longer isolated. In fact, because he was Charles Young, the only serving black Regular Army officer and West Point graduate, he was highly respected and admired in the black community and by many in the white community. He became an active member within the community and on campus. His large home, purchased and owned by him and his mother—his father died the same year he reported to Wilberforce and his mother moved from Zanesville, Ohio, to live with him—became a meeting place for some of the who’s who in black America. Those musical talents that Young had cultivated in isolation for so many years on the Western frontier probably came in handy while entertaining guests. W. E. B. Du Bois, who also arrived at Wilberforce to teach in 1894, spent a lot of time at Young’s home and became one of his closest friends. In W.E.B. Du Bois: Biography of a Race, 1868–1919, Du Bois’s best-known biographer stated that Young “was the fi rst genuine male friendship in Du Bois’s life.” With only four years separating them in age, like-minded in many ways, and intellectually yoked, their friendship was one that blossomed and lasted a lifetime. Besides Du Bois, Young developed friendships with Poet Paul Laurence Dunbar and became acquainted with Tuskegee Principal Booker T. Washington. 27 Most importantly, Young excelled at the Army’s intended goal to establish the fi rst military training program at a black institution, Wilberforce. Young aced his two recorded inspections, one in 1895 and the other in 1897. “Lieutenant Young is very enthusiastic and

52 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 energetic and has worked very conscientiously for the development of the department so recently established,” wrote Captain Henry O. Heistand of the Army Inspector General’s Office in 1895. Heistand went on to say that Young “seems eminently qualified both from inclination and ability for the position he occupies.” Two years later Captain Cyrus S. Roberts wrote: “[Young] is conspicuously qualified mentally, is zealous, industrious and thoroughly interested in his work.”28 When Young left Wilberforce in 1898, he had established himself in the white Army and the black community. During the Spanish-American War, Young continued to excel. It was customary for PMS&T instructors to serve with local and/or state National Guard units as inspectors. The end of Young’s inspector service with the Ohio National Guard coincided with the beginning of the SpanishAmerican War. Although he requested to return to his duties with the 9th Cavalry, hoping to deploy with them to Cuba, Ohio Governor Asa B. Bushnell was successful with the War Department in getting Lieutenant Young detailed to the 9th Ohio, where he offered Young command and brevetted him to the rank of major. To Major Young’s chagrin he did not see combat in Cuba but did once again establish an excellent record for himself during his more than one year in command of the 9th Ohio Regiment. Under his

Figure 5.1 Charles Young’s House in Wilberforce on Columbia Pike (Library of Congress, HABS OHIO,20-WILB,1–1).

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command the regiment served at Camp Alger’s in Falls Church, Virginia, Camp Meade near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and in Summerville, South Carolina. Young was hard but fair on his men, which naturally led to some criticism within the ranks that spilled over into the press. However, by most accounts from blacks and whites, civilian and military, the supportive press and even the press that was critical of him, Young’s performance during the Spanish-American War led to what his principal biography says was “the best drilled, trained, and disciplined of all Ohio units, and perhaps the best volunteer unit in the service.”29 For seven years (1894–1901), following the death of Lieutenant Alexander, Young remained the sole black “line” officer in the Regular Army. “Line” officer because there were a few black Regular Army chaplains who served beginning in 1884. In 1901 Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., who Charles Young tutored and influenced, became the next Regular Army black commissioned officer. In that same year John E. Green also received a Regular Army commission, and John R. Lynch, a volunteer paymaster, was commissioned a major in the Regular Army.30

NATIONAL GUARD OFFICERS In addition to Captain Young, Davis, Lynch, Green and the chaplains, there were other commissioned black officers in service. Five states, Illinois, Kansas, North Carolina, Virginia, and Ohio, had militia regiments with commissioned black officers. The 8th Illinois Volunteer Infantry had a full complement of black officers, including Colonel John R. Marshall, who commanded the unit before being replaced by a white officer at the start of the Spanish-American War. The 23rd Kansas Volunteer Infantry “generated considerable support among Negroes by authorizing the creation of two black battalions with black officers.” The 3rd North Carolina also had black officers. The unit that gained the most notoriety in demanding black officers was the 6th Virginia Infantry. Under the leadership of John Mitchell, Editor of the Richmond Planet, unit members waged a campaign under the slogan “no officers, no fight.” Eventually Governor J. Hoge Tyler authorized one battalion to have black officers. Additionally, the 9th Ohio Battalion, under the leadership of Brevet Major Charles Young, had black officers. 31

CHAPLAINS Beginning in 1884 and spanning World War I, five black chaplains earned Regular Army commissions. They were: Henry V. Plummer, who served on active duty from 1884 to 1894; Allen Allensworth, who served on active duty

54

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

from 1886 to 1907; Theophilus G. Steward, who served on active duty from 1891 to 1907; George W. Prioleau, who served on active duty from 1895 to 1920; and William T. Anderson, who served on active duty from 1897 to 1910. The chaplains were a different breed not only because they were not line officers but because they were all very accomplished men in their late 30s and 40s in age (or in the case of Plummer, 50) when they entered the Army. All had been well educated and, with the exception of Steward, were born into slavery. Plummer and Allensworth were Civil War veterans. All, with the exception of Plummer, retired from the Army. Steward was medically retired and Anderson was retired early. An often overlooked fact is that in 1906 Chaplain Allensworth became the first Regular Army black officer in history to be promoted to lieutenant colonel, a full decade before Charles Young was promoted to lieutenant colonel.32 Each chaplain was outspoken in his own way. Allensworth and Anderson, however, have been described as Booker T. Washington accommodationist. While applying for his commission, Allensworth wrote: “I know where the official life ends and where the social life begins.” While stationed in Oklahoma he was known, however, to use his divine intellect to get white Soldiers to salute by preaching a sermon on the courtesy, after which the white Soldiers there “never failed to salute him again.” Prioleau and Steward were much more vocal. “When a white enlisted medic refused to salute [Steward, he] reported the incident to the hospital’s commander. When three white enlisted Soldiers insulted him along a busy street, he lectured the troops and then reported them.” The most vocal of all was Plummer. Plummer was highly involved in the temperance movement, which was not so unusual for chaplains; he also supported African colonization and published several antiracist articles, which was unusual for Army chaplains. At one point he also demanded equal officer housing for him and his family, a request that was publicly denied and did not go over well within the command. The straw that broke the camel’s back for Plummer came when he was seen having a drink with Soldiers after duty hours, a precarious position for someone who advocated temperance. As a result, he was eventually discharged after ten years of service for fraternization and conduct unbecoming an officer and gentlemen.33 The black chaplain on the Western frontier and into the twentieth century was an important figure in the black military experience. He ministered to the special religious needs of black Soldiers, offered educational classes and served as an educated father figure that most Soldiers never had. Just as importantly, many black chaplains were able to reach the white Soldier like no other black Soldier could.

SEPARATE BUT EQUAL The Spanish-American War and the Philippine Insurrection brought new demands for the appointment of black cadets to USMA. According to an

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Army and Navy Journal editorial, some had suggested “that [President McKinley] appoint a cadet at large of colored blood to the Military Academy.” Neither the president nor Congress responded to the suggestion.34 Those who supported the appointment of black cadets complained that although blacks were expected to fight for their country, they were not properly represented in the military. All things considered, these critics said, there should be “10,000 soldiers . . . four Generals, fifty staff officers and 390 line officers” of African descent in service.35 The Journal editorial, after putting forward the above argument for black officers, attempted to refute it. “We tried the experiment during the Civil War,” the Journal said, “and it was not a happy one.” Furthermore, “the qualities that make a good soldier and those required for an officer are not the same.”36 What the editorialist failed to consider was that the Civil War “experiment” was not a failure because poor black candidates were commissioned as officers. His inference that blacks lacked the “qualities” necessary to be good officers was based upon biased “empirical” conclusions. The failed “experiment” and lack of “quality” had foundations rooted in the racially charged and prejudicial society that America was between 1861 and the turn of the century. In 1896, Plessy v. Ferguson, the most celebrated case addressing black Americans during that period, which ruled that “separate but equal” was legally acceptable, codified W. E. B. Du Bois’s statement: “The slave went free; stood a brief moment in the sun; then moved back again toward slavery.”37 And as discussed earlier in this chapter, United States v. Reese and United States v. Cruikshank had begun the process to turn the clock backwards significantly on black progress and equality. In a profession such as the Army that required close interaction and strict discipline and fiscal demands, “separate but equal” would be difficult and indeed impossible to foster. The conflagrations during the era could have been effective vehicles to challenge the color line within the officer corps and at the academies. However, the Indian Wars were too remote, the Spanish-American War too short and the Philippine Insurrection too limited to bring about those changes. Supporters of black officer commissions would have to wait until a world war before they could try again.

6

A Campaign for Bars and a Brief Side Show The 368th Infantry fought in the Argonne. It became necessary to send a runner across an open field swept by heavy machine gun fi re. . . . Private Edward Saunders of Company I. responded. Before he had gone far, a shell cut him down. . . . “Someone come and get this message. . . . I am wounded.” Lieutenant Robert L. Campbell. . . . dashed across the shell swept space, picked up the wounded private and, with the Germans fairly hailing bullets around him carried his man back to the American Lines. . . . Under the same Lieutenant . . . a few colored soldiers, armed only with their rifles, trench knives, and hand grenades, were moving over a road in the Chateau-Thierry sector. Suddenly their course was crossed by the fi ring of a German machine gun. They tried to locate it by the direction of the bullets, but could not. . . . Lieutenant Campbell who knew by the direction of the bullets that his party had not been seen by the Germans, ordered one of his men, with a rope which they happened to have, to crawl to the thick underbrush and tie the rope to several stems of the brush; then to withdraw as far as possible and pull the rope, making the brush shake as though men were crawling through it. . . . The ruse worked, . . . The Germans, their eyes focused by the brush, poured a hail of bullets into it. Lieutenant Campbell gave the signal. The flanking party dashed up; with their hand grenades they killed four of the Boches and captured the remaining three—also the machine gun.1

The above recorded act for gallantry in battle was only one of many that black officers and their Soldiers performed during World War I. The struggle for these men to earn a commission in the United States Army, however, began far from the battlefields of France. World War I began in Europe two years before most black Americans gave it much thought. In fact, many rural Americans did not realize there was a war until someone in their immediate family received a draft notice. The assassination of the Hapsburg heir, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, in Sarajevo on 28 June 1914 meant very little to most Americans, least of all black Americans. In 1914 blacks had their own foes to face in the United States. They had been battered economically, socially, educationally and physically. There were sixty-nine documented lynchings

A Campaign for Bars and a Brief Side Show

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in 1914. 2 Most influential and civic-minded black Americans, to include Charles Young, fought hard to combat lynchings. In a letter to his wife dated 27 September 1916, Young wrote that he had received a “short letter from Du Bois thanking me for making a contribution for the AntiLynching fund of $208.61. Since then I have sent him $394.00, making a little over $600.00.”3 Thousands of Southern blacks were victims of the tenant and sharecropping system that left them virtually dependent on their landlords for all the necessities of life. Each year tenants found themselves in greater debt than the year before. For example, if a sharecropper earned $50.00 over a period of time, he might be obligated to repay the landlord $60.00 over that same period for housing, food, farming materials and more. The cycle repeated itself and rarely ended. The boll weevil had severely damaged the Southern agricultural economy, and although all Southerners were affected, black Americans often suffered more. Most were compelled to live in the poorest areas of the country, forced to travel on segregated public transportation and given the lowest paying jobs. The notorious “separate but equal” school system in the South left a majority of blacks educationally deprived. In 1911–12 “the South spent an average of $10.32 in educating each white child, but only $2.89 for each black child.”4 In 1917 an Atlanta school board unfairly ended a black seventh-grade class in order to channel funds into a white school. Lynchings, disfranchisement and political isolation also adversely affected the black community prior to the United States’ entry into World War I. Black Americans protested all of these inequalities. When the war erupted many were determined to challenge still another American discrimination. William E. B. Du Bois, Robert Moton, president of Tuskegee Institute, and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Young, joined by white National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) president, Joel E. Spingarn, were determined to increase the black officer enrollment in the Army.

CENTRAL COMMITTEE OF NEGRO COLLEGE MEN Prior to World War I, there were three methods to obtain a commission in the Regular Army. An officer in active service could graduate from the United States Military Academy, an enlisted Soldier with at least two years of active service could competitively obtain a commission, or a civilian could compete for a commission. The two latter methods required the applicant to undergo a series of tests given at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. There were only three black Regular Army line officers in the U.S. Army in 1916. Lieutenant Colonel Charles Young received his commission through USMA in 1889. Captains Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., and John E. Green served at least two years in the Regular Army prior to passing all

58

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

qualifying tests at Fort Leavenworth. Davis had served with the 9th Cavalry while Green had served with the 24th Infantry.5 When it became increasingly evident in 1917 that the United States would be drawn into the war in Europe it was widely assumed that black men would again be called upon to serve their country. Once again leadership positions within the officer corps for qualified black applicants became a major issue. The NAACP led the movement. On 15 February 1917 Dr. Joel E. Spingarn, the fi rst president of the NAACP, addressed an open letter to educated black men: It is of the highest importance that the educated colored men of this country should be given opportunities for leadership. You must cease to remain in the background in every field of national activity, and must come forward to assume your rightful places as leaders of American life. . . . There is now just such an opportunity possible for you, in case of war, to become leaders and officers instead of followers and privates. . . . Candidates must be between the age of twenty and forty-five, in vigoroos [sic] health and of good moral character. . . .6 Spingarn’s letter initiated an enormous reaction for and against the idea of black officers. The many auxiliary chapters of the NAACP, black colleges and universities and black fraternal organizations were among the many supporters. At Howard University the faculty, student body and the Beta Chapter of the local Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity organized and interviewed government officials hoping to convince them to support the training of black officers.7 Emmett J. Scott established the Central Committee of Negro College Men (CCNCM) on 1 May 1917, which became the single most important organization created to fight for the rights of black men to earn commissions. Headquartered in the Howard University Chapel basement, the committee rapidly began to solicit support from throughout the country. The CCNCM’s fi rst major step was to appeal to congressmen for officer training for blacks. The appeal was based on several existing facts: First, fourteen new officer-training camps had recently been established and patterned after Plattsburg,8 an existing officer-candidate school, from which blacks were excluded, and no commissions would be granted without training; second, the black population would be drafted and since there were numerous men with liberal-arts, technical and medical backgrounds capable of leading, black Soldiers wanted to be led by them; and fi nally and simply stated, “The Negro race request the establishment of an officers’ reserve training camp for Negroes.”9 Scott felt the drive was not gaining traction with the War Department so he took the campaign directly to Congress. He had cards printed and delivered to the desk of congressmen. The cards stated in part:

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Our country faces the greatest crisis in its history; the Negro, as ever, loyal and patriotic, is anxious to do his full share in the defense and support of his country in its fight for democracy. The Negro welcomes the opportunity of contributing his full quota to the Federal army now being organized. He feels very strongly that these Negro troops should be officered by their own men. The letter went on to recommend black officers who could be selected to lead black Soldiers to include “Lieutenant General [Charles] Young.”10 Over 300 senators and representatives endorsed the request.11 While the CCNCM fought to establish a training camp for black officers, segregated or not, others were adamantly opposing the plan. The major opposition came from white Southerners who argued that the training of black Soldiers in large numbers, especially officers, would be dangerous. To support their claim they cited the 1906 incident in Brownsville, Texas, in which black Soldiers were falsely accused of going on a rampage against white civilians. Substantiated fighting between black Soldiers and white policemen in the summer of 1917 in Houston, Texas, also added fuel to the opposition’s debate.12 By the time of the Houston incident, however, the War Department had actually already internally made the decision to establish and locate the training camp. Prior to World War I only four black regiments in active service existed; the 9th and 10th Cavalry and the 24th and 25th Infantry all served mainly in the West. But now there was a strong possibility that black officers would be trained in the South. Tuskegee, Alabama, was considered as a possible site for the proposed officer-training camp and the thought of having several hundred armed black college-trained men in their backyards alarmed many Alabamians. They were opposed to “strange Negroes in large numbers” being sent there for training. But South Carolina voiced the strongest objection.13 It sent several elected officials to Washington, DC, to protest the plan. It should be added, however, that Southern opposition was not universal. Some whites “spoke favorably of the plan, always making clear, however, that southern traditions must be upheld.” Moreover, many Southern white officials proudly wrote “letters of endorsement.”14 Ultimately, Southern whites’ protests against locating an officers’ training camp for black men in their midst succeeded. Opposition in the North took a different approach. Henry Smith, the black founder and editor of the Cleveland Gazette, complained that a segregated training camp was unfair to blacks. He said it was simply another example of Jim Crowism, and against absolute rights, absolute justice and absolute equality. Lieutenant Colonel Young agreed with Smith’s assessment, but added, “Two wrongs never make a right. Let us train and prepare ourselves in every way for the eventualities that appear to be heading our way. And the Almighty Hand that unerringly guides and directs the destinies of peoples and races will bring us to the haven where we would

60

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

be. . . .”15 Young and many other distinguished leaders, including W. E. B. Du Bois, were willing to temporarily overlook the practice of Jim Crowism if it would bring the Nation together and provide an opportunity for black men to gain commissions and eventually lead black troops into battle. The concept of race leadership in the military was not unique. Other ethnic groups advocated for the same. George J. Austin, commodore at the St. Paul’s Academy at Lawrenceville, Virginia, noted that the Irish community was pushing for distinguished Irishmen to lead an Irish regiment and the Jewish community of New York was “striving hard to induce the Governor to allow a Jew regiment to be headed by a Jew, . . .”16 Unlike black men, however, men of other ethnic groups were allowed to attend Plattsburg and the other fourteen officers’ training camps established in 1917. So blacks, banned from attending the established camps, had little choice but to push for a “Jim Crow” camp if they wanted any chance of raising black officers for the war.

FORT DES MOINES DECIDED After three months of campaigning filled with spirited debates, meetings and letters from supporters and opponents alike, it was all but decided that an officers’ training camp for blacks would be established. In early May several conferences were held, one in Washington, DC, and two at the Army War College. In Washington, Dr. Robert R. Moton and his secretary at Tuskegee, Emmett J. Scott, met with Dean George W. Cook and Professor T. Montgomery Gregory of Howard University to discuss their game plan. Later at the War College, Dean Cook, accompanied by several black dignitaries, met with Major John J. Kingman, head of the War College contingent, who assured them that a camp would be established. The following day they met with Secretary of War Newton D. Baker and received further assurance from him. On 12 May 1917 at 7:00 p.m., President Stephen M. Newman, of Howard University, received verbal confirmation that final approval was forthcoming.17 On 15 May 1917 Brigadier General Joseph E. Kuhn, chief of War College Division, forwarded a War Department memorandum to the acting chief of staff of the Army, Major General Tasker H. Bliss, which suggested that the decision had already been made by Secretary of War Baker. The opening sentence of paragraph two stated, “It is evident from the instructions received that the Secretary of War has decided to establish an Officers’ Training Camp for colored citizens. . . .” In this two-page memorandum, three primary issues were discussed: the number of candidates that should be allowed to attend, the beginning date for training and the location of the camp.18 In order to determine the number of candidates to be selected, several matters had to be addressed: the availability of instructors, equipment and shelter. Brigadier General Kuhn emphasized that the Regular Army could be embarrassed if it recruited more candidates than its support capability could train. Kuhn recommended the selection of 1,250 men. Approximately

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250 candidates were to be selected from the noncommissioned officers corps of the 10th Cavalry, and the 24th and 25th Infantry Regiments. The remainders were to be selected from the civilian community. Kuhn recommended that the camp open on 14 June.19 The last major concern was where to conduct the training. This was a difficult decision because of the reasons previously discussed. The field was fi nally narrowed to four sites: Tuskegee Institute in Alabama; Howard University in Washington, DC; Hampton Institute in Virginia; and Fort Des Moines in Iowa. Tuskegee was eliminated, most likely, because of Southern white protesters. Howard and Hampton were rejected for various reasons, including proximity to a large city and lack of training space. General Kuhn recommended Fort Des Moines.20 Fort Des Moines was finally selected for several reasons. Des Moines was a city with a fi nancially stable black American population of roughly 4–5 percent.21 Most people believed that there was little “race prejudice” in the community. Moreover, unlike Howard and Hampton, it was isolated from both a hostile white community and an exuberant black community, both of which were considered factors in the outbreak of potential race riots. The War Department “agreed with others that there was a correlation between density of black population and the rate and intensity of race friction.”22 On 17 May 1917, just two days after Brigadier General Kuhn forwarded his recommendation, Major General Bliss approved the establishment of an “Officers’ Training Camp for Colored Citizens.”23 EXCITEMENT AND ENTHUSIASM The public announcement of an officers’ training school for black men on 19 May 1917 provoked mixed emotions. Some continued to claim that the camp was merely an extension of the existing Jim Crow system. Others were still asking, “Why waste time trying to train Negroes to be officers?” At Howard University, Fisk University, Talladega College and other black universities and colleges a great celebration spread throughout much of the black community. After an initial letter of notification was sent to all applicants, the War Department raised the qualifying age limit for officer candidates from 18 to 25. Yet, there was still considerable euphoria in the black community24 as indicated by the following letter sent to interested candidates by the CCNCM shortly after the news was announced: Dear Brother: A Reserve Officers’ Training Camp, accommodating 1250, at Des Moines, Iowa, for Colored men, to start June 15th. . . . Stop . . . and realize what this means. . . . Overdue recognition at last . . . the greatest opportunity since the Civil War. But what if we fail? Eternal disgrace! . . . We must succeed. . . . Let no man slack.

62 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Some few people have opposed the camp as a “Jim Crow” camp; . . . Let them talk. This camp is no more “Jim Crow” . . . than our other institutions [in fact it was less], for here the Government has assured us of exactly the same recognition, treatment, instruction and pay. . . . Let us not mince matters; the race is on trial. . . . Up, brother, our race is calling. We cannot tell you how to register just now; . . . Watch all the papers. . . . Look for all bulletins; and, above all, be ready! Just think a moment how serious the situation is. . . . Look to the future, brother, the vision is glorious!25 Black college men answered the call with great excitement and enthusiasm and a determination to succeed. If they failed, they believed, it would mean eternal disgrace to the educated black community. It would mean, they thought, educated black Americans would be considered cowards. The flood of applications exceeded the demand well before the official decisions were publically announced. General Leonard Wood, Army chief of staff, required at least 250 candidates enroll before the camp would be considered. By 5 April 1917, more than a month before the announcement, 281 applications had been received.26 Not only college men, but professionals such as doctors, lawyers, journalists, professors and ministers volunteered.27 Some had military training and experience. Once the official decision became widely known, the numbers of applications continued to swell.28 On 15 June 1917 Fort Des Moines began receiving candidates and training began on 18 June.

THREE BLACK LINE OFFICERS While the Nation debated whether to establish a black officers’ training school, the country’s three black line officers, Davis, Green and Young, were experiencing a struggle of their own, and George W. Prioleau was the only black chaplain of the original five still on active duty. Not surprisingly, Green, Davis and Young were reassigned to positions that would prevent them from serving above white officers. Although no official written policy forbade them to serve over white officers, it was generally understood that black officers would not command whites. 29 The exception was Colonel Young, who had briefly served over white officers on several different occasions. At the turn of the century America was unwilling to place blacks in positions of authority or leave them in places where they could gain authority.30 Moreover, the adjutant general of the Army, General H. P. McCain, a Louisiana native, opposed not only placing black officers in positions of authority but also the officers’ training camp at Fort Des Moines. Captain John E. Green spent the majority of the war as the military attaché to Monrovia, Liberia. In the Pre–World War I years the War Department regularly assigned Young, Green and Davis to predominantly

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black countries such as Haiti and Liberia. Most white officers with similar credentials were assigned to American embassies in countries with substantial military influence and power. 31 While Green was in Liberia, Davis was completing his second year as professor of military science at Wilberforce University. The sudden death of his wife and problems encountered with the administration at Wilberforce in early 1917 led Davis to ask for a transfer back to active service. With America about to enter the war, Davis was confident that he would have an opportunity to command troops and fight for his country if he could be reassigned to an active service unit. The War Department returned Captain Davis to active service, but it assigned him to the 9th Cavalry at Camp Stotsenburg, Luzon, Republic of the Philippines, where he sat out the Great War. During the war Davis was promoted twice, fi rst to major and then to lieutenant colonel; regardless of assignments, officers in good standings were normally promoted by date of rank. Davis was reassigned to the United States well after the war in March of 1920. 32

DILEMMA Young, the senior black line officer and already a lieutenant colonel, was a graduate of the United States Military Academy with over twenty-five years of distinguished service from the Indian Wars on the Western plains to the Spanish-American War and the Punitive Expedition. He had fought under the command of General John J. Pershing in the latter. Pershing eventually became commander of the American Expeditionary Force (AEF) during World War I. Young had already served in command positions five times and was in temporary command of the 10th Cavalry when the United States entered the war. The dilemma that Young posed to the Army was not only that he might command white officers (he was already doing just that) but also that he could very well be promoted to general-officer rank as a result of the war since regardless of assignment, officers in good standing were normally promoted by date of rank. Because Young’s qualifications were impeccable, and the possibility for promotion was highly likely due to his seniority, white protest intervened. 33 According to one contemporary source, Young’s seniority placed him “sixth in line for promotion” to brigadier general.34 In the spring of 1917 Senator John S. Williams of Mississippi complained to President Woodrow Wilson that one of his native Mississippians, First Lieutenant Albert B. Dockery, was under the command of a black officer. On 25 June 1917, the president forwarded a personal and private letter to Secretary of War Baker, asking the secretary to transfer Lieutenant Dockery and replace him with a man who would not object. 35 On the following day Secretary Baker responded to the president that Lieutenant Dockery was not the only white officer who objected to serving

64 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 under a black officer. Baker said that “several Senators, seriously enough one from North Dakota, have presented cases to me of your officers in the 10th Cavalry who were under the same embarrassment as Lieutenant Dockery. . . .”36 Baker was angered by the entire situation. In a handwritten, barely legible letter written in late June, Baker told General Bliss that a young lieutenant such as Dockery should either do his duty or resign. 37 Nevertheless, the complaints eventually resulted in a change. By 7 July 1917 Lieutenant Colonel Young, who had recently passed a physical examination with a perfect bill of health, was ordered to the Letterman General hospital in San Francisco. There he was diagnosed as having Bright’s disease and high blood pressure and was unceremoniously retired from active service because of “ill health.”38 Black Americans bitterly resented the treatment of Lieutenant Colonel Young. They assumed he would command a regiment or even a division. Lieutenant Colonel Young’s ability for such a task was unquestionable. Former President Theodore Roosevelt mentioned Young when he spoke to an organization known as the Circle for Negro War Relief in 1918: “Had I been permitted to raise troops . . . I should have asked permission to raise two colored regiments. It is . . . possible . . . that there is more than one colored man . . . fit for the extraordinary difficult task of commanding one such colored regiment, . . . But . . . I knew of one . . . Colonel Charles Young.”39 One would also think that someone of General Pershing’s stature—who was a Young supporter and served as president of the colonel promotion board that selected Young for promotion—would have the ability to get Young promoted and into the fray. Because, after all, Young’s biographer states, “[General] Pershing had penned a list of possible general officers to take with him to the continent, and Young was one of his nominees to command a militia brigade.” Pershing also credited Young and his men “for contributing to [Pershing’s] success in the [Punitive] Expedition, thus making [Pershing’s] promotion [to major general] possible.” We also know that Young’s repeated personal requests to be recalled from retirement did reach General Pershing—or at least his headquarters—in France in September of 1918. In the end, however, there is no further evidence that General Pershing responded or intervened on Young’s behalf beyond the 1916 list of possible general officers and brigade commanders.40 Crisis magazine investigated Young’s discharge and in February 1918 published a heated editorial that it forwarded to General McCain. The editorial discussed Young’s distinguished service, questioned the results of the “rushed” examination board and Young’s “hasty” retirement. For the next six months Crisis magazine and black newspapers around the country reported on the Charles Young event. That Young was placed on active duty (which is not active service) and “Ordered to Ohio TO SET STILL AND DO NOTHING” did not ease the pressure at all. Blacks from all over the country unsuccessfully pressed for Young’s reinstatement. To prove his good health, Colonel Young rode horseback from his station in Ohio to

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Washington, DC, a distance of roughly thirty-one miles a day, for sixteen days, totaling 497 miles. After arriving in Washington in good health and condition on 22 June 1918, Emmett J. Scott, Secretary of War Newton Baker’s black assistant, was waiting. Scott had arranged for Young to interview with Baker. During the interview Baker said to Young: “I’d like to ask you a question. Would you prefer combatant or noncombatant service?” “Combatant!” answered Young as he “clicked his heels and saluted.”41 Young never heard from Baker after the interview and his request to return to active service went unanswered.

Figure 6.1

Colonel Charles Young, circa 1919.

66 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Charles Young’s treatment was among the most controversial black American military episodes to occur during the World War I era, but the least publicized in the “majority” press. Unlike the Houston riots, which shone light negatively on blacks, Young’s case illuminated the Army’s, the government’s and most importantly America’s poor treatment of black officers in the military. Though there is much to be said for the support given to Young by many distinguished individuals, including former President Theodore Roosevelt,42 not even Roosevelt could influence the minds of the military and government officials nor change the prevailing attitudes in the country at that time. America was a country not yet ready to allow a black American to rise to the rank of general-officer. Separate but equal did not embrace the promotion. It couldn’t, as evidenced by the fact that Young’s “forced” retirement was nudged on by a letter sent by a lowly white lieutenant who probably was not born when Young entered active service in 1889. Yet further examination of whether Young was forced to retire and unfairly treated by the Army as a result of a “rushed” and “hasty” examination board is necessary. Recent scholarship examined the medical fi ndings more closely and it appears that there is little reason to believe that the Army medical examination and results were rushed and then rigged in some way to derail Young. Standard Army practice required a complete physical examination upon standing a promotion board to colonel. Lieutenant Colonel Young’s medical examination was, in fact, associated with a promotion board that had indeed recommended him for promotion to colonel. Although the medical board found Young to be in poor health, it also concluded that “The personal appearance of this officer is astonishingly better than his physical examination. . . .” The report went on to say: “He may be able to do full duty . . . and the board is of the opinion that his services should be utilized during the present war.” When the results of the promotion and examination board reached Adjutant General McCain in Washington, DC, he concluded that Young “can be utilized in the present emergency to the same extent whether he is on active or retired list.”43 In light of the above statements attesting to Young’s ability to continue to serve, why was he retired? Perhaps it can be attributed to the politics of race relations at the highest levels in 1918 America. Young’s medical examination results may have come at the opportune time for those against his progress to seize the moment. A few politically connected people in high places, including President Woodrow Wilson, the fi rst Southerner in the White House since before the American Civil War and not seen as sympathetic to blacks,44 held the cards and they may have used them to their advantage to satisfy the complaints of politicians such as Senator John Sharp Williams of Mississippi. The Army did not act alone to retire Young. In fact, up until that point, Young had, relatively speaking, solid support in his Army career. It is quite possible that national-level political leaders either pressured Adjutant General McCain or simply directed him to retire Young. Regardless of the

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circumstance, it was McCain who made the decision to retire Young, stating legal reasons kept him from supporting the board’s recommendation to promote and retain Young.45 The dilemma of promoting Charles Young to general-officer rank as a result of the war and the real potential he would command above white officers was averted. A white colonel, while addressing a crowd in December 1919 at St. Mark’s M. E. Church in New York City, stated his opinion: “It was very plain,” he remarked, “that the only reason why this dark-skinned military officer had been retired, was that the army did not want a black general.”46 In order for Young to become a general-officer, command a brigade or division and not lead white officers, there would literally have had to be two regular armies, the second Army being one that had black officers from the bottom to the very top. For Young to be a general-officer in a command position the Army would have had to promote a larger number of black majors, lieutenant colonels, colonels and perhaps another black general to be Young’s second-in-command—something the Army was not prepared to do. Just as America could ill afford to fund completely separate but equal political, social or educational systems, it could not afford to fund two completely separate military systems—nor was it logical. At least twelve of Young’s West Point classmates who were still on active duty during World War I received promotions to general-officer rank, as did many West Pointers who graduated years after him.47 Young would also probably have had to be promoted by virtue of seniority and his solid record of performance—certainly there are other factors such as types of past assignments and jobs, and the potential to serve at the next level that must be factored into the promotion equation. White and black Americans who opposed Young’s treatment had cause for concern and disappointment. Charles Young was eventually promoted to colonel and called back to service, but not until 6 November 1918, five days before the war officially ended.48 In the meantime, 1,250 black officer candidates had begun their training at Fort Des Moines, Iowa. The training began on schedule and progressed well. The NAACP and black newspapers followed the progress and applauded the patriotism displayed by these volunteers.

7

Fort Des Moines

When the announcement came that the officers’ training camp would be located in Des Moines, Iowa, some local citizens protested. However, once they realized that the trainees’ behavior was excellent, most protesting ceased.1 Still, a number of businesses discriminated against the candidates. A local Chinese restaurant owner joined forces with other cafes in denying service to black Americans. When several Soldiers entered the chop suey “palace,” the irate proprietor refused to serve the men for fear of losing business from his white customers. 2 All things considered, relationships between the citizens of Des Moines and the officer candidates went well considering the racial climate of the period. The local Des Moines YMCA showed motion pictures on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and candidates were often invited into homes and churches. Early in their training period, the officer candidates gave a military drill exhibition and a musical presentation. These events set the stage for relatively cordial relations for the remainder of their stay. According to most observers “the spirit of the men themselves was the biggest factor in the success of Fort Des Moines.” Their spirit, pride and determination to maintain good relations with the community were evident when the owner of a neighboring apple orchard accused some Soldiers of stealing fruit. When word reached the candidates, several concerned members voluntarily approached their commander and paid for the loss suffered by the farmer. 3 The men selected for training were among the highest caliber of men in the Nation. Those from the three black Regular Army regiments had been carefully selected by their commanders. Most of them were experienced veterans and four had seen action at Carrizal.4 Those men selected from civilian life were either recent college graduates or had been working successfully in their professions. In one company there were fourteen lawyers, ten physicians, four dentists, three engineers, and a college professor. The camp housed at least four Harvard graduates from the class of 1917, and two students who left the Harvard Law School to serve. The largest contingent from any one institution came from Howard University. Among these distinguished candidates was Charles H. Houston,

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who later became a successful civil rights lawyer and was instrumental in securing commissions for black officers during World War II. 5 The trainees were required to undergo a routine physical examination, and all trainees were found to be in good physical shape. Many were declared to be in “perfect” physical condition, a rare assessment. Moreover, camp commander Colonel Charles C. Ballou said, “The boys are far more obedient and much less difficult to handle than a similar body of white men. . . . They learn rapidly. . . . We have the making of a large number of good officers. . . .”6 All of the men were volunteers and most of them could have continued to make a better living for themselves as civilians. Yet they were willing to sacrifice fi nancial gains and place their lives in jeopardy in hope that it would bring them and their families equality in America. Captain William S. Braddan, chaplain for the 370th, perhaps spoke for many when he said, “I owe to my race this sacrifice, . . . for I realize that upon the showing of this regiment depends the weal or woe of our race. If we fail, the race fails; if we succeed, the race succeeds.”7 Although it is well beyond the scope of this book to assess the educational, social and physical caliber of white officers who served during World War I, it is reasonable to say that the educational, social and physical prowess of black officers were at least equal to, if not better than, their white counterparts. Not because any particular race of man was superior, but because the selection process to fill the limited number of OCS slots allotted to blacks dictated that the black officer candidate be of extremely high caliber.

TRAINING The camp regimen was very demanding. Each day consisted of approximately sixteen hours of training: 5:30 a.m., reveille followed by personal hygiene, barracks cleanup and breakfast; 7:30 to 8:30 a.m., basic infantry drills without weapons; 8:30 to 9 a.m., calisthenics; 9:15 to 10:15 a.m., infantry drills; 10:45 to 11:45 a.m., a practice hike without weapons, followed by dinner; 1:30 to 2:30 p.m., musketry arms training; 2:30 to 3 p.m., communications training; 3 to 4:30 p.m., conference on care of equipment, followed by supper and a little free time; 7 to 8 p.m., evening study on regimental organization; taps sounded at 9:30 p.m.8 Frederick T. Edwards, a white candidate at the Offi cers’ Training Camp in Fort Sheridan, Illinois, described what candidates at all the camps must have felt. “We get up at 5:15; and from then, until ten o’clock at night every hour is taken. . . . Getting ready for war isn’t all brass buttons and cheering. It is like hoeing the garden on a rainy day and lying down every few minutes. Then, when you get tired, come in the house and . . . read a few columns . . . then go to bed [for a few hours] and do it all over again.”9

70 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 The cadre, made up mostly of white officers from the existing black regiments, conducted and maintained the camp in the same manner as the officer training camps for white candidates. Alcoholic beverages were prohibited and anyone found with alcohol could be dismissed from the camp without question. Most of the training was infantry-oriented, conducted outside and drew large crowds of black admirers from the surrounding communities. The candidates soon became heroes to the local boys and girls. The Literary Digest, a nationally read public opinion magazine published in New York, wrote, “No member of the camp can walk through the town without a dozen small darkies trailing worshipfully at his heels.”10 As the scheduled graduation date drew near, the War Department began circulating memorandums addressing the dilemma of what to do with the newly commissioned officers. As late as August 1917 the only defi nite decision made called for putting a limited number of the officers in engineer service battalions and the remainder in quartermaster, stevedore and infantry regiments. Prior to World War I blacks had not been assigned to engineer battalions. As a result, the chief of engineers opposed the assignment of such officers even to service battalions because they might eventually be placed in charge of white noncommissioned officers. Another issue under discussion was whether to commission the graduates into the National Army or the Reserve Corps. By mid-September it was announced that the majority of the graduates would be commissioned into the National Army while roughly 155 would be commissioned in the Reserve Corps of staff departments. The War Department also planned to establish black labor units with white commissioned officers, but no plans were made for black officers in such units. By 15 September 1917—the originally scheduled graduation date—the War Department had largely solved its dilemma of how to integrate the officers into active service. Nevertheless, the graduation date was rescheduled for 15 October because the enlisted trainees would not be ready for mobilization until 1 November.11 Whether the postponement of the graduation was politically, administratively or militarily motivated (all three were possible reasons), the additional month disheartened several candidates. Two untimely events compounded their frustration. The fi rst was the Houston riot, which involved the 24th Infantry, stationed on the outskirts of Houston, Texas. The riots put the use of black troops in jeopardy. The second was the visit of a general from the War Department to Fort Des Moines who “questioned the advisability of continuing the camp and raised doubts as to whether the candidates would ever be commissioned.”12 In the wake of these two events it was difficult for some to believe that readiness and availability of enlisted Soldiers were the true cause for the extension of the training camp. Several of the more disillusioned candidates packed their bags and departed the camp believing the Army never intended to commission them. Most, however, stayed. During the additional month of training, the War Department fi nalized plans for the organization of a “Colored Division.” The division required

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an officer strength of 775—151 white officers and 624 black officers (all infantry). There would be no black officers above the rank of captain. After nearly four months of training, Fort Des Moines graduated roughly 50 percent of the original 1,250 candidates, just enough to fi ll the divisional requirement, which raised an interesting question.13 It was ironic that only enough men were commissioned to meet the requirement preset by the War Department. Had the War Department secretly established a quota system? And, if so, why was it not at least representative of the number of black troops in the Army? Several hundred candidates had been unable to complete the rigorous training during the various phases and others departed the camp after the extension notification, not knowing that they would probably have been commissioned in less than a month. Still, many candidates completed the training but were denied commissions on the grounds that they “fail[ed] to meet military requirement.”14 It appeared that the number of black officers was being deliberately limited. In essence, those considered to be the “cream of the crop” were skimmed from an already selective pool of candidates. After the fi rst class graduated, the cadre continued to train and commission officers. In the second cycle the primary emphasis was on training physicians and dentists to serve as medical officers. During the winter of 1917 nearly seventy-five physicians and dentists were commissioned at Fort Des Moines. The War Department sought to assign these men to regiments where black line officers were stationed. Six were assigned to Camp Upton, New York; six to Camp Dix, New Jersey; three to Camp Meade, Virginia; three to Camp Chillicothe, Ohio; four to Camp Grant, Illinois; and forty-four to Camp Funston, Kansas. These men were extremely fortunate to have been commissioned to serve in their profession. There were hundreds of men with medical backgrounds who had been commissioned into the stevedore and infantry branches and even more who were enlisted as privates.15 One of the black physicians during World War I was Lieutenant Edgar H. Martin, a native of Greenville, South Carolina, and a graduate of Clafl in College, Orangeburg, SC, and Meharry Medical College, Nashville, Tennessee. After eight years of practice in Atlanta, he volunteered for service. In November 1918, Martin was the only black physician of the six sent to La Grange, Georgia, to battle the influenza epidemic. During the initial two weeks he lost only one of fifteen hundred cases treated, made over 380 visits, and supervised one hundred transient and hospital cases.16 Fort Des Moines stopped training officers after the medical professionals graduated.

92ND AND 93RD DIVISIONS17 When “the United States declared war against Germany on 6 April 1917” there were three sources from which to draw black manpower: the four

72 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Regular Army units; the various state National Guard units; and from the general population as a result of the draft law passed in May 1917. The manpower raised from the sources became the 92nd and 93rd Divisions. The 93rd Division (Provisional)—meaning not full—was formed from using National Guard units. The “15th New York and the 8th Illinois, respectively, became the 369th and 370th Infantry Regiments. The various units from DC, Ohio, Tennessee, Maryland, Massachusetts and Connecticut became the 372nd Infantry Regiment. To complete the division, draftees were trained and formed into the 371st Infantry Regiment.”18 Each regiment in the 93rd Division, except the 371st, had black officers who had been in the units since they were state National Guard units. The 92nd Division was formed after carefully screening the “best” 26,000 black draftees. “Unlike the 93rd Division (Provisional), the 92nd Division was organized and brought to full strength. Its four infantry regiments were the 365th, 366th, 367th, and 368th. The 349th, 350th, and 351st were the division’s three field artillery regiments. The division also included the 317th Engineer Battalion; the 325th Signal Battalion; the 349th, 350th, and 351st Machine Gun Battalions; the 316th Laundry Service Company; the 317th Trench-Mortar Battery; the 322nd Butchery Service Company; and various other small specialty units.”19 Most officers trained at Fort Des Moines served in the 92nd Division. In addition to the men selected as a result of the CCNCM discussed in the previous chapter, “250 former NCOs of the 10th Cavalry and the 24th and 25th Infantry Regiments were selected to attend Officer Training School at Fort Des Moines, Iowa.”20 Regiments in the 92nd and 93rd Divisions “were trained at separate locations in the United States only to be brought together as a complete division once in France. No other American division was organized and trained in that manner” before “being thrown into the fray.”21

OTHER COMMISSIONING SOURCES In early 1918 black men began pursuing commissions through alternative means. The Student Army Training Corps (S.A.T.C.) began enrolling qualified candidates. The S.A.T.C was more of a steppingstone towards formal officertraining programs than an actual commissioning source. The S.A.T.C.’s goal was to develop young men between eighteen and twenty-one for physical and mental readiness for the military by the time they reached age twenty-one. The specific “aim was to train officer-candidates and technical experts of all kinds. . . .” There were two S.A.T.C. sections, “A” and “B.” The “A” section allowed qualified students to progress on to an officers’ training school. “B” section, the technical side of the program, was a training vehicle to prepare trainees for technical fields within the enlisted ranks. “A” section initially only allowed white institutions to have S.A.T.C. programs, and in a few cases black students were allowed to enroll. This

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practice, however, did not last long. On 19 September 1918, R. M. Hughes, regional educational director of the S.A.T.C., recommended that black students be disenrolled from all white programs because it was “contrary to army regulations for white and colored to be housed in the same barracks.”22 Four days later, all black students were ordered to fall out of ranks at Ohio State University, and other schools across the country, and report to black schools. Historical black institutions began S.A.T.C. programs on 1 August 1918. Ten black institutions combined to form eight government-approved section “A” programs. 23 Shortly after the Great War armistice, all S.A.T.C. programs were eliminated. Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (R.O.T.C.) also began to enroll black candidates. On 12 August 1918 twelve out of one thousand candidates at Harvard University were recommended for immediate commissions. Richard B. Sansbury was the only black student among them. After the war and the elimination of the S.A.T.C programs, black colleges received R.O.T.C. units. Among the fi rst were North Carolina Agricultural and Technical College, Tuskegee Institute, and the State Agricultural and Industrial School for Negroes at Nashville. The Adjutant General of the Army designated them all as branches of the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. 24 By 1 April 1919 twelve historically black colleges had R.O.T.C. programs with fi fteen instructors. 25 These officer instructors were placed in reserve positions on active duty. R.O.T.C. programs were more advantageous than S.A.T.C. programs mainly due to the Morrell Land Grant Act, which gave R.O.T.C. institutions greater government financial support. Additionally, R.O.T.C. programs specifically trained individuals to become commissioned officers while the S.A.T.C. only trained section “A” individuals for “eligibility” for possible officer training. The two greatest advantages gained for black officers as a result of these schools being designated R.O.T.C. branches were: 1) it opened additional doors for officer slots as faculty members, albeit reserve slots, and 2) it offered greater chances for black cadets to earn commissions. Another way to obtain a commission was by attending predominantly white officer-training camps. Beginning in early 1918 black Americans were admitted into these camps. In April 1918 thirty candidates attended the Third Officers’ Training Camp at Camp Grant, Illinois, where no color line existed. Additionally, there were 100 attending the Second Officers’ Training Camp at San Juan, Puerto Rico; forty-one at Camp Stanley, San Antonio, Texas; thirty-one at Camp Upton, New York; and forty-eight at Camp Logan, Texas. By June, many of these men were commissioned while additional predominantly white schools were opened to black candidates. 26 On 15 May 1918 a fourth officers’ training school opened at Camp Dodge. Over 300 black officer candidates, mostly from the 92nd Division, attended this school. For the fi rst fifteen days ten black officers served on the instructor staff, the fi rst time black officers served in this capacity. Since they were recalled to their unit to prepare for overseas movement they

74 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 were unable to complete their mission. Nevertheless, their brief assignment proved a success because the camp “was well organized, and the officers showed the greatest confidence and faith in each other.”27 Another method of earning a commission was by attending Army candidate schools in France. At least fi fty-five black men received commissions in this way. About 35 percent of all black officers were commissioned through the various training camps, R.O.T.C., and S.A.T.C. programs. The Fort Des Moines Officer Training Camp commissioned 55 percent of the black officers commissioned during this time and was the leading source of commissions for black men. The remaining 10 percent of black officers during World War I were members of the various black National Guard units that had been in existence before the war. They were already commissioned officers and entered the active Army as commissioned reserve officers. 28 The sudden rise of black enrollment in predominantly white officertraining programs was perhaps the result of complaints that Fort Des Moines was a “Jim Crow” institution. Or, perhaps the negative publicity about the lack of proficiency of the black candidates led many to push for equal commissioning rights within the same environment.29 Maybe, it was a combination of both. More importantly, however, was the need for manpower. General John J. Pershing, who had been in France since June 1917 planning with his staff, originally requested 1,000,000 Soldiers by May 1918. As it became increasingly evident that the war would last longer and be more costly than anticipated, Pershing requested 5,000,000 (Clemenceau, French prime minister, figured 4,160,000; Goethal, British Commander, figured 4,260,000; and BG Henry Jervay, A.E.F. Operations Divisions, figured 4,160,000) over the next two years. Since more men were needed, additional officers were required.30 Therefore, the need for more quality and equally trained officers likely pushed the Army to reforms, which included integrated officer training. Since the war ended much sooner than Pershing and others had anticipated, the fruits of what may have come out of the integrated officer training camps and a larger black officer corps ended as well.

8

Into the Fray, Success or Failure

After a short leave of fi fteen days the fi rst graduating class from Fort Des Moines was assigned to the 92nd Division, the “Colored Division.” Since they had been instructed only in the basic skills of infantry, the officers assigned to specialty units were ill prepared. Among the specialty units in the 92nd were a field artillery brigade, an engineer regiment, and a field signal battalion. Thirteen officers were assigned to the 325th Field Signal Battalion: one white major, three black captains and nine fi rst lieutenants. There were forty-four officers in the 317th Engineer Regiment: one colonel, one lieutenant colonel, two majors and eleven captains, all of whom were white. The black officers of the 317th consisted of eighteen first lieutenants and twelve second lieutenants. The black officers assigned to the 325th apparently fared well. The thirty officers assigned to the 317th Engineer Regiment, however, lacked engineering experience and “after seven months of training” white officers relieved them and they were sent to infantry units. Reputedly transferred because they were considered incapable of learning the trade of engineers; in actuality they had been “with[held] engineer training . . . while they were in the officers’ training school. . . .”1 The 130 black officers assigned to the 167th Field Artillery Brigade at Camp Dix, New Jersey, also received unsatisfactory reports. In March 1918 Colonel W. E. Cole, commander of the 167th Brigade, reported black lieutenants assigned to his command performed poorly. He further recommended blacks not be assigned to the field artillery because most lacked the mental capability to be efficient officers.2 These officers, as their engineer counterparts, had been assigned to a specialty for which they had received no formal technical training. White officers assigned to the field artillery generally received artillery training and elimination screening. Colonel D. W. Ketcham, acting director, War Plans Division, Army assistant chief of staff, was practically correct when he stated, “It is obvious that the colored lieutenants now on duty with the 349th and 350th Field Artillery have received their commissions under less exacting circumstances than any white officer of the National Army Artillery. . . .”3 Although Ketcham was absolutely correct, by blaming the untrained officers rather than those who

76 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 had assigned them without proper training or those who had withheld the training, his statement was rather biased. Regardless of who was to blame, the black officers suffered the consequences. In response to Colonel Cole’s negative report, Colonel Ketcham recommended black officers either not be assigned to the field artillery or receive the proper training and elimination screening required of white officers assigned to artillery. The secretary of the Army decided that it would be better to send the black officers to the School of Fire so that they would be available to fill vacant slots created by the reassignment of white officers. The officers were ordered to report to school on 1 May 1918.4 After roughly two weeks of training it was determined that black officers could not be trained to perform the intricate and precise tasks of firing a barrage of live rounds over the heads of advancing friendly troops.5 Of the fortyfive men sent to the school, only five were still enrolled by the third week. Although “the best field artillery officers of the Regular Army” instructed them, their average weekly scores rarely exceeded 35 percent. Thus, on 21 May 1918, after just three weeks of artillery training, the secretary of the Army, acting on the recommendation of the Chief of Field Artillery Brigadier General William J. Snow, transferred all black officers not qualified in artillery to infantry regiments or stevedore and labor units.6 Some black officers did serve laudably in artillery units during World War I. Roughly ninety-five completed the intricate training at schools of fi re and successfully served in the Artillery Corps during the war. In fact, during the summer of 1918 the Central Artillery Officers’ School at Camp Zachary Taylor, Louisville, Kentucky, graduated 2,500 men. A total of thirty-five black officers received commissions at Camp Zachary Taylor and among the ten men honored for excellence during the course were six black Americans. During the winter of 1918 a black field artillery regiment at Camp Jackson, Columbia, South Carolina, won fi rst place in a competition against twenty-four white regiments. In the spring of 1918 when the 349th Field Artillery Regiment departed a French city, the mayor wrote a lengthy and affable farewell. In closing the letter he wrote, “I hope that the white troops replacing your regiment will give us equal satisfaction, but whatever their attitude may be, they cannot surpass your 349th Field Artillery. . . .” This was one of the same units in which Colonel Ketcham said black officers “received their commissions under less exacting circumstances.” Many black officers served with the 349th, including at least two captains. Once given an opportunity, trained black officers could do the intricate duties of a field artillery officer.7

AVIATION AND NEWFOUND EQUALITY Black Americans were less successful in the Army Aviation Corps. Only a few attempted to earn wings and all were denied. In 1918, four reported to

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the Aviation School at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. The fi rst, a light-skinned man, was initially accepted as equal among his peers. Shortly afterwards, the other three black officers arrived and were quickly segregated and ostracized. “Given a separate table and placed in a separate class, with a sergeant instructor who observed no military courtesies,” the three men soon requested transfers back to their units. Since the fi rst black candidate to arrive had fraternized with the other three officers he was identified as a black man and was then treated differently by the same men who had initially befriended him. He lasted until two days prior to graduation.8 The fi fth black man to attempt to enter the Army Aviation Corps had extensive combat flying experience, in fact likely more than many other pilots in the U.S. Flying Corps. Eugene Jacques Bullard went to Europe in the early 1900s to escape Jim Crowism. When the war began he joined the French Foreign Legion, joined a fl ight unit, Swallows of Death, and became a successful fighter pilot. Although his credentials included shooting down at least one German aircraft, his application to fly for his home country was denied. Despite Bullard’s experience, the U.S. military clung to the myth that blacks were incapable of learning to fly. It would take twentytwo years and another world war before America would reluctantly allow blacks to fly military aircraft.9 Once in France black officers attempted to live up to the exemplary standards they established for themselves. Aware that their every action would be scrutinized, they were keenly conscious of how they carried themselves. These new officers were also learning to deal with a new state of equality. The most cultured French officers associated with them willingly and freely, which shocked and pleased many black officers but was difficult for most white American officers to accept. Most Americans did not understand that the French were more progressive than the United States in the area of race relations at the turn of the century. Books about the French Foreign Legion of the World War I era reveal white and black Soldiers in unit photographs with no color line. In 1918, the French Army had two black generals, four colonels, 155 captains and numerous lieutenants.10 Black Soldiers in the French Army were traditionally treated and promoted much more liberally than black American Soldiers. At least two of Napoleon Bonaparte’s generals during the Napoleonic Wars, Thomas Alexander Dumas and Jacques Coquille, called Dugommier, were of African descent. Additionally, General Alfred Amedee Dodds, a mulatto, was inspector general of the Marines and had commanded both allied and American Soldiers during the Boxer Rebellion in 1901. Colonel Sosthene H. Mortenol, “a black West Indian,” who commanded the Air Defense unit in Paris during World War I, had white American aviators under his command. General Robert Neville’s chief of staff, Lieutenant Colonel D’Alenson, was a “dark Negro.”11 This is not to suggest that all was palatable for blacks in France.12 But, clearly, blacks in France enjoyed a much greater level of respect during the World War I era than did blacks in the United States.

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PATRIOTISM; ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE Prior to discussing black participation on the battlefield, an obvious question must be explored. Why did these men risk their lives for a country that segregated, discriminated and lynched them? Many believed proving themselves and their loyalty during the war presented the greatest opportunity since the Civil War to achieve equality in America. They believed that by demonstrating once again their loyalty, bravery and willingness to fight and die, as did their white brethren, that it would fi nally result in whites recognizing their true worth and treat them fairly. Many black Americans saw the war as a struggle against oppression and for equality. But their battle was not for black Americans alone. They fought for their country, too. Blacks had always been patriotic and they rallied behind the fl ag in times of crisis. World War I was no different. They fought for the American fl ag and its rising symbol of freedom and what they believed it meant. They fought for oppressed people all over the world, but most of all they fought for what they felt was a long overdue equality in their own country.13 Soon after the 92nd and the 93rd Divisions reached Europe they were in the trenches. The 92nd Division fought under the American fl ag while the 93rd Division was split into separate regiments and fought under the French fl ag.14 Several authors have written about the heroics of black Soldiers led by courageous white American offi cers.15 Less has been written about the silent hero, the black offi cer. Many black officers performed well on the battlefield. Unfortunately, the exploits of only a very few have been recorded. Three of those American battle heroes were Lieutenant Urbane F. Bass, Lieutenant Mallalieu W. Rush and Captain Napoleon B. Marshall. Lieutenant Urbane F. Bass, a graduate of Union University in 1902 and Shaw University in 1906, practiced medicine in his hometown of Fredericksburg, Virginia, for several years before he volunteered for the Army and was commissioned at Fort Des Moines. In March 1918 he sailed to France with the 372nd Infantry. On the evening of 7 October 1918 many men of the 372nd, fighting with the 157th French Division on the frontlines, were severely wounded. Without regard for his own safety Lieutenant Bass constantly treated Soldiers while under continuous fi re. Finally, a German round fatally severed both his legs at the thighs.16 Lieutenant Mallalieu W. Rush, a 1916 graduate of Atlanta University, and one of the original signatories of the petition to secure the Offi cers Training Camp at Fort Des Moines, later received his commission there. He arrived in France with the 366th Infantry in March 1918 and was subsequently awarded the Croix de Guerre for bravery in combat. Rush, reportedly the tallest man in the American Army at the time, often wrote his mother back in Atlanta. His pride and patriotism were evident in his

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correspondence. In one letter he wrote: “About a month ago General— sent for me and said he wanted to shake my hand and congratulate me upon the good work I was doing—I will fight and die with my company. We have never yet been defeated nor made to cower by the enemy.” At the young age of twenty-three Lieutenant Rush made the ultimate sacrifi ce with his life, a sacrifi ce he had fearlessly predicted.17 Captain Napoleon B. Marshall, a popular student athlete at Harvard University and a Harvard Law School graduate, practiced law in New York City several years before he volunteered for service. Marshall fi rst offered his services to President Woodrow Wilson in a personal letter written after the Germans sank the British Lusitania killing 128 Americans in 1915. Later, he became one of the fi rst black officers recruited into the 15th New York Infantry—which became the 369th Infantry—in 1916. Before overseas deployment Marshall served in a machine gun company that guarded German internees on Ellis Island.18 Captain Marshall served on the front for seven months. Confi ned to the hospital on three occasions, he always returned to the front. On 21 October he led a raid south of Metz to capture a machine gun position. Few returned from such raids and the French considered them the highest test of bravery and ability. Fifty yards from the enemy machine gun emplacement Marshall opened fi re and as a result drew enemy fi re. Though wounded, he survived and was cited for his gallantry in action.19 Although only three examples, the experiences of Bass, Rush and Marshall represented the great majority of the American Officer Corps during World War I, black or white. The actions of these brave men proved blacks were indeed brave and capable leaders on the battlefield. Others who performed laudably on the battlefield were Lieutenant James Reese Europe and Lieutenant Colonel Otis B. Duncan. Lieutenant Europe, the leader of the legendary 369th Band, also spent time at the front. Although well known for his inspiring musical exploits during the war, Europe also served on the front, where he was gassed. One stanza of a song he wrote about his experience on patrol duty reads: “Alert, gas, put on your mask. Adjust it correctly and hurry up fast. Drop! there’s a rocket for the Boche barrage.”20 Lieutenant Colonel Otis Duncan, a battalion commander in the 370th Infantry Regiment, which was attached to the French 59th Infantry Division, served with distinction on the front as well. Though most of the officers of the 370th received mixed reviews during and after the war, when Lieutenant Colonel Duncan was selected to command he was described as “capable, courageous, efficient, and energetic.”21 And, as most black officers were receiving negative comments, Duncan appears to have escaped ridicule, even being singled out for his performance. When the war ended Duncan’s battalion and the 370th were still in the thick of battle, having just captured the village of Le Gue d’Hossus at 11 a.m. on 11 November 1918.22

80 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 REPORT CARD Approximately 1,353 blacks served as commissioned officers during World War I in the 92nd and 93rd Divisions. Each division had two brigades, the 183rd, 184th, 185th, and 186th. Each brigade had two infantry regiments, the 365th, 366th, 367th, 368th, 369th, 370th, 371st, and 372nd. Additionally, the 183rd had the 350th Machine Gun Battalion and the 184th had the 351st Machine Gun Battalion. All battalions, except the 371st, initially had black officers. The 365th, 366th, 367th and 368th Infantry had white fieldgrade officers while most company-grade officers were black. In the 93rd (Provisional) Division the 369th had only five black officers. The 370th had a full complement from Colonel Franklin Denison on down through the ranks. The 371st, as earlier stated, had none, and the 372nd had a large number of black officers. When the grade for the 93rd Division was published in the summer of 1919 the units were interestingly rank ordered from 371st, 369th, 372nd to the 370th.23 The order directly coincided with the ratio of black officers in each unit. The foundation for what would become their war record essentially began on 23 August 1918 when the 92nd Division, attached to the French 38th Corps, entered combat. On 24 September the 92nd Division moved to the Argonne Forest to take up a reserve position for the U.S. 1st Corps. The 368th Battalion was left under French control to fight what would be the last Allied offensive, Meuse-Argonne. By most widely published, reported and ultimately accepted accounts, the entire World War I record of black officers hinged on the events which occurred between 26 September and 31 September 1918 during the MeuseArgonne offensive. The 368th Infantry Regiment was assigned to the French 38th Corps to help defend a forward sector about twenty-five kilometers wide north of St. Die. During this five-day period two battalions, the second and third, disintegrated while one went beyond the call of duty. For three consecutive days the two battalions attacked the enemy, but were always repelled. When the third battalion (1st Battalion) was sent forward, under the command of a white captain, who at times forced his men at gunpoint, it achieved limited success, but eventually stalled. After five days the regiment was withdrawn. 24 As a result of this unsuccessful operation thirty company-grade officers, all black, were relieved of command and five were later court-martialed— all charges were eventually commuted. Critics were quick to point to the company commanders for the failure of the units. No emphasis was placed upon the fact that the 368th received only thirty minutes of artillery support during the entire five days or that the mission was changed at the last minute. And no one seemed to consider that the officers in the front were operating without wire cutters or sufficient maps. With one exception, white officers were exonerated of all blame. The fi nal verdict was that black officers were incapable of leading troops into battle.25

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Meanwhile, the 369th, 370th, 371st and 372nd, all attached to the French for the duration of the war, successfully accomplished their missions. But critics of black officers ignored those mostly positive fi ndings. Noted historian Edward M. Coff man, in The War to End All Wars, perhaps said it best, “On the very days in late September that the 368th had its difficulties, . . . the 369th, 370th, 371st, and 372nd were carrying out successfully their missions . . . in Champagne and the Oise-Aisne sectors. And the 370th was officered largely by Negroes. The French praised these regiments but white Americans chose to remember the 368th.”26 In conclusion, one could say that the existence of black officers during World War I was a matter of perspective. From a detractor’s point of view, most of them Southerners and many of them military officers, the black officer was an utter failure. As evidence, detractors pointed to particular performances in military schools and on the battlefield, mainly that of the 368th. From a supporter’s point of view, most of them black but with a good number of white supporters, the existence of black officers received a split decision. To some supporters, since so few black Americans were allowed to earn and hold commissions, and were trained in and assigned to segregated units, the campaign was not a complete success. Not only should there have been more black officers, they believed Charles Young should have become a general. To other supporters, the establishment of a school for black officers and their service as officers on the field of battle made the campaign a success because a lasting foothold had been gained. Unfortunately the detractor’s perspective received the most attention. Nonetheless, the campaign to open the gates of the officer corps to black Americans did begin in earnest during World War I. It would, however, take nearly two decades, another period of political jockeying and the outbreak of war again to complete the campaign. Concurrently, the generalized and collective performance of black officers during America’s short participation on the European western front was put on trial, discredited and ridiculed.

9

Full Share

At the end of World War I there were nearly 1,400 black commissioned officers in the military. Most held combat arms commissions—80 percent in infantry and artillery—while the remainder either served in medical-related fi elds or as chaplains. Regardless of their branch of service most had crossed the Atlantic Ocean to fight for democracy. The irony was that many of them had been denied democracy in their own country. They went to war with the hope of returning to a changed America, one that would embrace them with open arms. They hoped the country would fi nally recognize their military leadership skills and abilities, thus opening the doors of the distinguished offi cer corps to them. That did not happen. Hundreds of black officers returning to America during those early months of 1919 were wounded both physically and mentally. Indeed, others never returned at all. Although most were initially welcomed with gala parades and celebrations, there was already a sense that something was amiss. First, many of them still wore the rank of lieutenants and captains after having been recommended, as early as July 1918, for promotions to captains and majors, respectively. Secondly, nearly all who marched found themselves marching behind white officers. One year prior many had either marched behind black commanding officers or were themselves the commanders of troops.1

RED SUMMER Within months after the armistice the United States drastically reduced military manpower. In 1918 there were approximately 130,485 commissioned officers in the Army. The number dropped to 91,975 in 1919 and to only 18,999 in 1920. 2 Of those in 1920, only seven were black Americans and four of those were chaplains. 3 Although the officer corps was voluntary, many officers were as eager to return to civilian life as the drafted private. Officers of all creeds, colors and hyphenations4 left the service freely.

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Not all officers, however, wanted to leave the service. In his Official History, Emmett J. Scott noted that many black officers’ applications for continued active duty were denied. Some rejections were based on the prejudicial statements of white officers who claimed black Soldiers did not respect or want to follow black officers. Others were rejected because white officers believed there were “qualities inherent in the Negro race [which made them] incapable of being leaders and officers.”5 Evaluation boards also became tools to deny blacks commissions.6 Moreover, the racial climate seemed to be deteriorating. Black officers returned to the Red Summer of 1919.7 Numerous race riots resulted in many deaths. Among the deaths were black Soldiers, some still in uniform. The experience of Lieutenant Joseph B. Saunders, of Vicksburg, Mississippi, illustrates that of several officers who wore their officer uniform home. Lieutenant Saunders “was counseled by friends to put on civilian clothes, for fear that he might be mobbed if he appeared on the streets in the uniform of a United States Army officer.” Saunders did not listen and he “was abused, knocked off the sidewalk, and set upon by certain residents . . . and compelled to remove his uniform and escape . . . in disguise to avoid mob violence.”8 With such an atmosphere, inside and outside the military, it is surprising that some black officers wished to stay in the military. Many, however, felt like Dr. Charles H. Houston, a prominent civil rights lawyer during the 1930s and 40s who served as an artillery officer during the war. Many years later Dr. Houston said, “My experience in the World War is so bitter that I never even applied for a service medal.”9 The cases of Captains James Wormly Jones and Thomas Marshall Dent show how far the boards went to oust black officers and to keep them out of the ranks. Captain Jones’s war record identified him as the “most efficient, energetic, and hard working colored captain in the regiment.” Yet the board found him to be cowardly and “unfit for Regular army service.” Dent had been commended for “unusual bravery and courage,” and was promoted to captain “based on his ability to handle troops under fire.” The board found him “unsuitable to be an officer or leader of men.”10 These two examples represent established attitudes immediately following the war. In the fi rst full Army War College class after the war, a study concluded that [N]egroes do not make as good combatant troops as whites and that they cannot be commanded or led by [N]egroes even in the lowest commissioned grades, and it is only inviting disaster to attempt to use [N]egro officers in peace or war. As labor of pioneer troops under white officers they are excellent and we should utilize them to the fullest extent for this purpose so as to spare our white troops for combatant service.11 Thus, the crusade to eliminate black officers began. The World War I negative assessment given to black officers as a group shortly after the war and

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repeated over and over again throughout the 1920s and 30s had cast a dark cloud that lingered over the service of black officers for many years.

STUDIES AND REPORTS Shortly after World War I the Army War College wrote a “History of Negro Troops in the World War, 1917–1918.”12 Interestingly, while most of the postwar comments about black units were favorable, much criticism was directed towards “colored officers.” One report stated that Colonel Herschel Tupfs, commander of the 372nd Infantry, requested all his “colored officers” to be replaced by “white officers.” He was so adamant in his desire that he was willing to accept “white officers of lower grades” if “officers of like grades [were] not available.” Among the many reasons which appeared on efficiency reports requesting removal of black officers were: “Worthless,” “Inefficient and worthless,” “Unfit to be an officer,” “Untrustworthy and generally worthless,” “Fled or withdrew without orders,” “Allowed Company to disintegrate and flee,” and “Led his men in a cowardly and inexcusable retreat.”13 Many of these charges, subjective in nature, were serious and merited dismissal and/or replacement of any leader in combat. It was clear, however, many commanders eliminated black officers solely on the basis of prejudice. Inefficient, worthless and unfit were broad hard-to-prove-or-disprove indictments that often stood up under the scrutiny of discharge boards. The studies and reports relied largely on the actions of some incompetent black officers as the standard to measure all black officers, while cowardly actions of some white officers were considered to be the exception, completely ignored14 or looked at for what they were—an “individual” act of a man in battle under distress. In many cases leaders during World War I, of all races and nationalities, broke under the stress and strain of trench warfare. Men of African descent were no exception. Conversely, there were countless cases of black officers leading their units gallantly, which were simply ignored in the reports. Case in point, in late September 1918 during the Oise-Aisne campaign, Lieutenant Colonel Duncan and his men were ordered to conduct “an immediate frontal attack across open ground to take Ferme-de-la-Riviere and the railroad line south of the canal,” a mission they successfully accomplished by 5 October with black company level commanders and medical officers leading and medically supporting the battle. Captain William B. “Crawford, wanting to ensure success, went forward and personally led the advance element of [Company L] through a scathing machine gun and artillery barrage, for which he received the Distinguished Service Cross.” Medical officer Lieutenant Claudius “Ballard was severely wounded while engaged in treating his charges at a forward aid station. He refused to leave . . . in spite of his own injuries.”15

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The Army War College report on black American troops contained both positive and negative comments about the service and use of black Soldiers, but nearly every conclusion about officers was negative. Colonel Charles C. Ballou commanded the Fort Des Moines Officers’ Training Camp and subsequently the 92nd Division in Europe. He proclaimed that while “the occasional colored officer . . . proves . . . a good officer, . . . he [is] a liability rather than an asset.”16 Ballou added, had the Army studied previous United States wars, it would have realized “how dependent the [N]egro Soldier [was] upon good leadership,” and “is therefore more dependent than the white man on skilled leadership.” Basically, Colonel Ballou believed that blacks were “weak in the solution of problems . . . [requiring] the exercise of judgment and arriving at a decision.”17 In other words, they could be low ranking Soldiers who simply follow orders but not commissioned officers who may need to make key decisions on a moment’s notice. Colonel Ballou also suggested that the ordinary black Soldier did not respect black officers. Although most accounts by black Soldiers indicate considerable pride in their own black officers, Colonel Ballou painted a much different picture. To a Soldier, Ballou stated, “a colored officer was simply a ‘stuck-up’ nigger.”18 While Ballou was generally negative about the success of black officers in the infantry and field artillery, he thought that “surgeons, . . . were generally efficient in their profession.” Ballou claimed to know the reason black combat arms officers were failures and the reasons were not necessarily the fault of the men themselves. The problem, in his opinion, was that from the start of the fi rst training camp to the end of the war, the black American was “limited . . . to certain grades . . . [which] deprived him of something because he was black.” He further explained that blacks should not have been “commissioned in any specified numbers, or proportion, or grades,” but rather commissioned based upon their abilities, which would have resulted in much better performance.19 Ballou hit upon several significant factors in his conclusions that he, perhaps better than others, was in a position to advance during the war. First, his overall solutions were exactly what blacks and their white supporters requested all along. Had black men been “commissioned based upon their abilities,” and also given all the proper training and promoted without limitations, there might have actually been more black officers and indeed a better quality officer corps. Second, had Ballou put into place his own recommendations several years earlier, black officers might have performed better. 20 Lieutenant Colonel Allen J. Greer served as the chief of staff for the 92nd Division from 1 November 1917 to December 1918. LTC Greer corroborated Colonel Ballou’s views. He attacked the intelligence, honesty, bravery and performance of black officers. Greer generalized and cast blanket indictments against all black officers based on his personal observations and opinions while serving with the 368th Infantry. Greer said, “[T]aken as an average their ignorance was colossal.” Furthermore, Greer could “not

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The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

remember a single patrol report coming from [a black] officer that . . . [did not have] to be checked up by some white officer.” Greer also stated that the reports lacked veracity. “The average [N]egro is naturally cowardly,” Greer claimed; therefore, “the [N]egro Soldier was utterly lacking in confidence in his colored officer.” Greer argued that the fearful would never successfully follow the fearful. Moreover, Greer added, black officers had a tendency to “clique together” and “lack[ed] mental capacity for command.” Furthermore, when given a dangerous assignment black officers were quick to accuse white officers of attempting to “kill them off.” In conclusion Greer emphasized that “care must be exercised” to ensure that black Soldiers are “kept under the supervision of white officers.” Otherwise, “[n]ot only will those troops fail in war, but the seed of racial ferment will be sown and we will have to reap the consequences thereafter.”21 Major General W. H. Hay commanded the 184th Infantry Brigade, 92nd Division, between 5 November 1917 and 25 October 1918. General Hay prefaced his report by comparing and contrasting the performance of Soldiers when led by white officers versus black officers. When “officered by white men, [N]egros make excellent soldiers,” but when led by black men “the [N]egro as a soldier . . . has no confidence . . . nor will he follow a [N]egro officer into battle.” Hay fi rmly believed that “the same confidence and lack of fear” embodied in an individual would be automatically overcome if led by white officers. He argued, “The [N]egro needs trained leadership . . . and above all, they need leaders in whom they have confidence, and whose presence they can feel and see at all times.” Though a black Soldier would not follow a black officer into battle, he would “follow the white leader with the utmost bravery and without fear of personal consequences.”22 Hay also degraded black officers in part II of his report. “The [N]egro as an officer is a failure,” he said, “and this applies to all classes of [N]egro officers, whether they be . . . long experience[d] . . . as noncommissioned officers—referring to those formally enlisted in the 10th Cavalry and the 24th and 25th Infantry—or . . . men of education, who gained their commissions through the Officer’s Training Camp.” Hay’s strongest statement perhaps went beyond any other indictment against black officers. It attacked black Americans as a race and illustrated the stereotypical views which black officers had to overcome. “The fact that a [N]egro holds a commission, leaves him still a [N]egro, with all the faults and the weaknesses of character inherent to the [N]egro race, and as compared with the [N]egro soldier, the officer has the same faults, which are exaggerated by the fact that he wears an officer’s uniform.”23 Clearly, General Hay’s report was based on far more than his observations while in command. It was obviously influenced by his own strong prejudicial beliefs. Ballou’s, Greer’s and Hay’s conclusions are representative of many other reports with similar viewpoints. Although some were more virulent than others, all emphasized the basic theme—blacks lacked the necessary qualities to be good and effective officers. Robert R. Moton, president of Tuskegee

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Institute, indirectly addressed the problem with most of these reports. In an article entitled “Negro Troops in France,” Moton, who may not have been fully aware of the War Department reports at the time of his article, said “both the military and the press had focused on the failures of a few, and had not viewed the overall performance of black officers.” Gerald W. Patton’s, War and Race corroborates Moton’s thesis, adding, “[T]he entire black race had been indicted for the inefficiency of a few officers.” Conversely, “no one thought . . . that because several thousand white officers were found . . . incompetent . . . [that] the white race was therefore a failure.”24 In short, the reports emphasized the negative stereotypes that produced a caricature of black officers that would keep blacks out of the Regular Army officer corps; thus proving there were elements within the military that were as prejudicial and racist as elements within American society at large. In length, however, the reports revealed something much different, that black officers were fighting a battle that could not be won in the 1920s. The reports, as was clearly evident in Hay’s conclusions, were not actually attacking officer performance; they were attacking black Americans. The conclusions were foregone before the war started. During this period many considered blacks inferior persons. In the eyes of many military and civilian officials it was impossible for any black person to be a good leader. Not all reports on black officers were as negative as those cited above. Retired Colonel V. A. Caldwell, who served with black Soldiers in Cuba, the Philippines and in garrisons after these confl icts, also served with the 365th Infantry during World War I. Caldwell believed, as long as black Americans were an integral part of America, then they should, and he believed they would, be accepted as Soldiers and officers. In order to alleviate the problems experienced during World War I, Caldwell recommended the integration of battalion-sized black units, with black officers, into larger white units rather than rid the service of black officers. He “believed in having colored officers for these colored units to the extent that . . . [they were] available . . . [and] qualified.” Although Caldwell did not feel that black officers were without fault, he was not quick to degrade them. Caldwell believed proper training could develop any candidate into a capable officer. In summary Caldwell wrote, “It is a waste of time to consider whether we shall have colored troops and colored officers. It is quite probable that in the future, as in the past, circumstance will arise to compel us to have both.”25 Major T. A. Roberts, who held the rank of colonel during the war, commanded the 370th Infantry from 12 July 1918 until its demobilization in the spring of 1919. Although critical of the officers who served under him during the war, he advocated, rather reluctantly, for the use of black officers in the future. Roberts said, “Taken as a whole, . . . Company officers generally did . . . not share the danger to which [their] men were exposed; . . . did not enforce discipline, . . . [possessed] poor leadership [skills],” and were hesitant to criticize each other for fear of degrading the unit. The 370th,

88

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

formerly the 8th Illinois, was the only unit, initially, entirely led by black officers which, Roberts asserted, may have been the reason officers were hesitant about criticizing each other. Roberts further claimed that “there were . . . many charges of fi nancial irregularities [and] dishonest[y]” among the officers. However, Roberts acknowledged, “[I]f political or other considerations permitted, [he] would favor [N]egro officers in grades no higher than [l]ieutenant in the beginning and would promote to higher grades for proved efficiency only.” Clearly, Major Roberts was not a strong advocate of black officers. Nonetheless, he was “convinced that there [would always] be [N]egro officers”; thus, the issue must “be met fairly.”26 The initial War Department studies sketched an outrageously bleak picture of black officers during the World War. Too often the actions of one bad officer were applied to all. And in almost every case, only one side of the story was told. Some black Soldiers and officers did indeed write of their accounts, but many of their memoirs never emerged beyond the shelves of personal libraries or the stacks of historical black colleges. With no one to argue their case, black officers were nearly purged from the ranks of the officer corps. Those who applied, or desired to remain in service, were often denied. Nearly 200 officers, primarily from the 368th Infantry, 351st Machine Gun Battalion, 366th Infantry, 317th Ammunition Train, 317th Headquarters Train and Military Police, 317th Sanitary Train, 349th Machine Gun Battalion and the 350th Artillery Brigade, submitted applications to remain in service, but were all denied. 27 The negative reports about black officers failed to acknowledge such men as Lieutenant Colonel Otis B. Duncan of the 370th Infantry. Duncan, one of only three black lieutenant colonels during the war, was awarded the Croix de Guerre for his leadership skills. 28 The reports failed to recognize men such as Lieutenants Urbane F. Bass and Mallalieu W. Rush, discussed in the previous chapter, both of whom gave their lives on the frontlines. 29 Additionally, the reports failed to mention the 2,500 graduates of an integrated artillery school at Camp Taylor, KY, in 1918; six of the ten honor graduates were black men.30 Many officers of this caliber returning from the war who deserved and expected a “square deal” found they were heroes only to a few and mainly to their own people.31

LIMITATIONS AND OTHER FORMS OF EXILE Several additional factors also worked against black officers. They were allowed to only serve in black units, all of which, except the four traditional units—9th and 10th Cavalry and the 24th and 25th Infantry—were being demobilized, resulting in drastic cuts in available slots for commissioned Army officers.32 Moreover, the decision to give priority to officers who had served in the Regular Army prior to 1 May 1917 eliminated all but a handful of black officers.33 Before 1 May 1917 there were only three,

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excluding chaplains, black officers in the Regular Army. Lastly, although the 1922 Plan said “[a]ll [black] units were to have Negro officers,” it also emphasized that “no Negro officer should command a white officer.” The plan was approved on 23 December and was perhaps the reason Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., and John E. Green were never allowed to command troops during the interwar years.34 Since Davis and Green were colonels, and white lieutenants and captains commanded troops, this plan effectively eliminated them. They spent much of the interwar years serving as professors of military science and tactics at historical black colleges. The only other options available to black officers were Reserve Officer Training Corps instructor positions. On 21 December 1918, Secretary of War Newton D. Baker authorized “colleges of the country . . . to . . . establish . . . Reserve Officers’ Training Corps . . . and also asked that colored officers of experience and capacity be installed as instructors in military science and tactics.” Twelve historically black schools were selected: Howard University, Tuskegee Institute, Wilberforce University, North Carolina A&T College, South Carolina A&M College, Hampton Institute, Virginia Institute, Prairie View College, Tennessee A&I School, West Virginia Collegiate Institute, Branch Normal School, and Straight College. Of these, only two, Howard and Wilberforce, offered senior ROTC programs. The others offered junior programs. Fifteen instructor slots were made available.35 These officers, however, were placed in reserve positions on active duty.

NOT GIVING UP ON THEIR FULL SHARE It cannot be said with certainty that the War Department set out to empty its ranks of black officers since its policy was never written or documented, but if this was the intention it was accomplished. Statistics are evidence of the dramatic decrease in black officers during the 1920s. Of the 667 lieutenant colonels on active duty on 30 June 1922, only Davis and Green, less than 0.3 percent, were black men.36 In 1925, of 14,594 officers on active duty, only five were black. Three of the five were chaplains. The retired list carried eight, of whom six were chaplains.37 The War Department was able to eliminate black officers by establishing evaluation boards to appoint officers through “competitive examination” for Regular Army commissions. Used as devices to reject certain officers, practically every black officer who applied for service was rebuffed by these boards based upon openly racist views. The most popular reason given by the boards was black officers were unfit “by reason of qualities inherent in the [N]egro race.”38 Unable to retain or secure Regular Army commissions, some officers chose an alternative route to remain in the military. On 9 June 1920, the War Department amended the National Defense Act of 3 June 1916 to allow the secretary of war to appoint qualified individuals to the rank of

90 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 warrant officer—that rank directly below second lieutenant and above sergeant major. At least fourteen former commissioned officers retained military status as warrant officers.39 Generally, the American public was unaware of the details of the reports previously cited. It was obvious to most observers, however, that Soldiers were not receiving their “Full Share,” and black newspapers and magazines tried to ensure their side of the story was told. The Crisis and Crusader printed many positive editorials and articles depicting the great accomplishments of Soldiers and officers. In February 1919, the Crisis carried two such articles. One, entitled “The Colored Americans in France,” was a translation of an article written by a French female journalist. She spoke of her village’s expectation of the arrival of American forces with great curiosity. Surprise, astonishment and even fear overcame many villagers when the faces of the Soldiers turned out to be black. The journalist wrote, “Some of the women became afraid. I reassured [one] lady, . . . quiet yourself. They do not eat human flesh.” The journalist continued, “[V]ery quickly it is seen that they have nothing of the savage in them.” Quite the contrary, the journalist referred to the black Soldiers as “faultless . . . affable . . . [and] delicate.”40 The officers of the units, perhaps a majority of them black, were not the negative stereotypes they were so often made out to be. A Crisis editorial published that same month applauded four black officers as the “Men of the Month.” The editorial portrayed the courage, skills and leadership abilities of the men, sharply contrasting the War Department’s reports and the characterizations they would later lead military and government officials to believe. Not mentioned in the government reports were the courage and strength of twenty-three-year-old Lieutenant Mallalieu W. Rush of Atlanta. Rush never returned from France to defend his honor. Instead, as his blood soiled the battlefields of France, white officers at the General Staff College, some of whom had often observed combat from the rear, debased his supreme sacrifice.41 Without doubt, the most positive account of the black experience during World War I was Emmett J. Scott’s Official History of the American Negro in the World War. 42 Scott, formerly on Booker T. Washington’s staff at Tuskegee, became Secretary of War Newton D. Baker’s special assistant of Negro affairs. Based upon primary sources and firsthand reporting, Scott’s work was nearly as pro-black as many of the War Department reports were negative. Scott’s Official History, endorsed and sanctioned by the Army, suggests the brave and gallant leadership of nearly all black officers. He obviously chose to address the other side of the story. Not totally unbiased, Scott’s discourse was extremely important because, were it not for his study, many important accounts, offsetting the negative accounts, would have been lost to history. For example, Lieutenant Colonel Otis B. Duncan, “the highest ranking Negro officer in the American Expeditionary Forces,” commanded the 3rd Battalion of the 370th Infantry. During the Allied advance from September through November 1918, his battalion was the first to enter Petit Chapelle

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and eventually forced the Germans out. Duncan and his entire battalion were awarded the French Croix de Guerre for their actions at Petit Chapelle.43 The actions of Lieutenant Colonel Duncan and others mentioned by Scott made it clear that black officers pulled their load. Statistics mentioned earlier show that the efforts of Scott and the black press did little to convince officials that black officers deserved a chance to serve in the peacetime Regular Army. Black Americans enjoyed very little political clout in post–World War I America and articles in their defense were about as far as the officers’ fight progressed. Although the Regular Army was unwilling to accept a proportionate number of blacks into the officer corps, Reserve Officer Training Corps were steadily producing potential candidates. Six hundred fi fty-six officers had been commissioned in the reserves from Howard and Wilberforce as of 6 November 1922.44 The declining strength of the four traditional black regiments and the limited ROTC instructor slots offered little consolation to these ROTC graduates. Most never served on active or even reserve duty. On 28 November 1922 the War Department completed a comprehensive confidential report apparently based largely upon the individual reports compiled immediately following the war. Although admitting the existence of exceptions, the report categorically stated, “[N]egro troops cannot . . . be successfully led by [N]egro officers.” It emphasized black troops responded better to white officers and dedicated nearly two pages to highlighting the drawbacks when black officers were in command. The study acknowledged that, while it was ridiculous to consider using black officers to lead white troops, “The [N]egro in this country enjoys a range of intelligence comparable to that of the white”; therefore, it is wrong to generalize that they are not capable of being effective combat officers.45 The report also suggested the use of standardized training and qualifications for both black and white candidates could result in effective black officers. “If the [N]egro measures up to the standards set for white officers, grade for grade, he should be commissioned accordingly.” Furthermore, the report added, “[I]f in war, he proves himself able to command successfully, he should be continued in command.” Though the War Department remained uncertain about the ability of blacks, it was willing to consider them to lead black troops. Moreover, the War Department acknowledged for the fi rst time in a report that white officers too had drawbacks. “Not all of our white officers are selected from the ranks of the most intelligent. . . . We commission many white officers of only average intelligence.”46 It seemed the War Department leaned toward utilizing at least a small number of black American officers. Unfortunately, the situation for blacks to earn officer commissions became even worse before there was any noticeable improvement.

10 Attack and Counterattack The Interwar Years

During the early 1920s the Army continued to reduce forces, from 148,763 in 1922 to 142,673 in 1924, which further restricted opportunities for black Americans. At the same time the military continued to evaluate the use of black Soldiers. A War Department study during the summer of 1924 attempted to decide the best way to use black manpower during war. The study asked faculty and students at the Army War College to answer eight questions, including “If [N]egro combatant organizations are authorized should any utilization be made of [N]egro officers? If so, to what extent?”1 The study results, released in August, initially appeared favorable. Of eighty-four officers surveyed, fi fty-three “thought there should be a minimum number of Negro officers used, . . . and that their appointment should be under [the] same physical, mental and moral qualifi cations as whites.” Only nine completely opposed using black offi cers. Another fi fteen approved of black offi cers serving in service/labor organizations only. Most officers surveyed felt “that promotion . . . should be made only upon demonstrated effi ciency and capacity to command, demonstrated by actual combat service.”2 So, on a positive note, most agreed black offi cers should be used and that promotion should be based on merit. On the negative side, the study showed that advancement of black officers depended upon the social and moral character of senior white officers. Could white offi cers of the 1920s and 30s objectively rate black officers according to their “demonstrated effi ciency and capacity to command” without being influenced by stereotypical views? Furthermore, with the addition of the statement “demonstrated by actual combat service,” the study stacked the deck because, as discussed in the previous chapter, black officers were given a failing grade for their World War I performance. In December 1924 the fi rst full-length document based upon the questionnaire was published. 3 Edwin A. Hickman, the author of the document, did not favor special training camps for black officers, such as the one at Fort Des Moines during World War I. He added that in these so-called integrated camps white and black officers would not share the

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same dining facilities or living quarters. Furthermore, although the student officers would have the same instructors, they would attend different training sections. In short, Hickman advocated for a segregated enclave training camp within an Officers’ Training Camps. Positive this system would work, Hickman cited the success of “the 3rd Officers Training Camp at Camp Grant, Ill., in 1918.”4 Hickman’s lengthy and detailed document also drew several unflattering conclusions about black officers. The following enclosure highlights some of his conclusions. Enclosure: Organization of Negro Combat Units. III. Fact bearing upon the Study. 1. The dependability of the Negro soldier in a combat unit. c. “During the World War large numbers of Negro officers were employed with Negro troops. Many of them had insufficient education to learn the military profession and in addition lacked the essential qualities of leadership so necessary for securing the confidence, respect, and discipline of their troops.” f. “Under white leadership the Negro soldier as an individual has generally given a good account of himself in battle. g. “Under Negro leadership the Negro soldier has rarely given a good account of himself in battle. 2. The dependability of Negro troops in organized combat units when led by white officers. a. “During the War of the Revolution, the Civil War, the SpanishAmerican War and the World War, . . . (2). The mechanism of drill quickly learned. (4). Individual bravery is not rare. (8). Good discipline can be readily established and maintained. (10). Confidence and respect for the white officer. 3. The dependability of Negro troops in organized combat units when led by Negro officers or when the majority of their leaders are Negro officers. a. “During the World War we organized, trained and fought a Negro division (92). (1). The Negro Officer is generally unreliable, ignorant and lacks the essential of leadership. (4). Judged by the standard of white officers of similar rank few Negro officers can qualify. (5). In general Negro soldiers do not have confidence in Negro officers nor do they respect them.

94 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 (6). In the Meuse-Argonne battle some commands drifted to the rear, their officers (Negro) apparently making no attempt to stop them and unable to organize them when stopped by white officers. (9). Few Negro officers qualified as engineer or artillery officers. (11). Negro officers had little regard for the sanctity of the oath in connection with the trial of men of his own race.” IV. Conclusion. 2. “No Negro combat unit officered by Negroes or any considerable proportion of Negroes is dependable under any circumstance in combat.”5 It is clear to see what made a simple questionnaire so damaging. Documents such as this circulating among senior officers and officials made it virtually impossible for a black man to earn a commission in the Regular Army. Between the publication of “Organization of Negro Combat Units” and America’s entry into World War II, no less than ten studies examined the use of, need for, or capabilities of Negro troops.6 Although each study developed during this sixteen-year period recognized the need for black Soldiers and generally applauded their service, all either objected to the use of blacks as officers or reluctantly advocated for their limited use. It is notable that all these studies drew their central theme from Hickman’s document or from the report/survey published the year prior. In fact, only one study actually introduced different ideas.

OUR NATURAL STRENGTH In 1927 a piece entitled “Our Natural Strength”7 introduced the notion of Nordic superiority into the ongoing debate.8 “Our Natural Strength” claimed “the pure Nordics are surely the best by every test, and the [N]egroes are the poorest.” It added the military must adopt a Southern policy towards black Americans, e.g., keeping blacks in the lowest job levels, and “limit [N]egroes to the grade of corporal and lower [because 99%] of the race [is] unfit to be officers.” History, “Our Natural Strength” continued, had shown that social and political pressure would force the military to use black Americans. Furthermore, blacks would be “far more liabilities than assets, . . . [and] when comparing ourselves with nations of pure Nordic stock” the United States must subtract 10 percent from the reported “Natural Strength.” Since blacks were roughly 10 percent of the population, “Our Natural Strength” essentially discounted the entire race. To illustrate the reputed lower intelligence of blacks, the study incorporated the chart below.9

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Table 10.1 World War Intelligence Tests Percentages and Classes Race

Cases

A

B

C+

C

C–

D

D–

White

93,973

4.1

8.0

15.0

25.0

23.8

17.1

7.0

Negro

18,891

0.1

0.6

2.0

5.7

12.9

29.7

49.0

Although “Our Natural Strength” was riddled with racial fallacies and assumptions, it was widely accepted in the 1920s.10 Subsequent studies attempting to solve the problem of how to use black units were little better. One advocated smaller black regiments. If a regiment is small, the study concluded, then “its capacity for evil is less.”11

BLACK PRESS Despite numerous obstacles, black Americans continued to fight for Regular Army commissions. ROTC units at historically black colleges continuously produced National Guard and reserve officers. By 1933 there were 143 black National Guard and 786 reserve officers.12 The 369th Infantry, New York, had the largest contingent of black officers in the country. From 1925 to 1929 its officer strength increased gradually from 23, 40, 49, 50, to 52 each year, respectively.13 Thus, there was the potential for a black American Regular Army officers’ corps. Yet, in 1934, only one black officer existed on the Regular Army rolls, Benjamin O. Davis, Sr. In August 1934 Charles H. Houston, an NAACP litigator and World War I officer veteran, wrote the Army Chief of Staff General Douglas MacArthur that “Negroes keenly resent the . . . eliminat[ion of] Negro officers from duty with [Regular Army] troops.” Furthermore, Houston said, “Negro patriotism” will continue to decline under the present policy and “in the future [we] will not be content with the [same unfair] treatment.” In closing, Houston urged MacArthur to integrate the armed forces and to end prejudice and discrimination in the service.14 MacArthur’s reply denied the existence of prejudice and discrimination.15 Houston immediately fi red back a three-page response summarizing the current status of blacks in the military. After recounting the poor treatment of Charles Young during World War I, Houston said “Negroes would like to know why Negro officers are so continuously kept from active service with troops. . . . If the Negro is good enough for the Army in time of war,” he said, then “he should be good enough for it in time of peace.” Houston informed MacArthur that he was forwarding both letters to the press.16 Since black Americans were effectively disfranchised during the interwar years—although their political clout began to increase during the Franklin D. Roosevelt New Deal Era—their most effective weapon against

96 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 the “establishment” was the black press. For example, in 1924, as much of the negative literature about poor black officer performance during World War I surfaced, the Crisis blasted the government for not admitting blacks into summer Citizens Military Training Camps. W. E. B. Du Bois noted “that unless we American Negroes go into these camps and get this training then when war comes our boys are going to be the dumb driven cattle of white offi cers.”17 The Crisis, in fact, had denounced the notions of Nordic superiority two years before the publication of “Our Natural Strength” at the War College. “THAT NORDIC NONSENSE,” as the editorial was titled, is “laughable.” Germans have a “strong slav admixture” and the English have “a strong Mediterranean element.” So, since most white Americans are of either German or English descent, “where is the Nordicity in them?” The editorial drew several parallels between the Negro and Scandinavians and added there were fewer similarities between white Americans and Scandinavians. W. E. B. Du Bois, still the editor of the Crisis, did not believe in a Nordic race, but if there was one, as some whites believed, he insisted it was “of a proto-Negroid type.”18 Other groups, such as the National Association of Colored Officers, organized in 1934, were formed to advance the black officer cause.19 Nonetheless, the press and increasing political pressure were the most effective tools. As United States entry into World War II became increasingly probable, the campaign for a “Full Share” intensified. In 1938 the Pittsburgh Courier launched a campaign for an all-black division. 20 And in February and March 1939, the Crisis published a serial article entitled “Old Jim Crow in Uniform.”21 The article, a historical synopsis of World War I, indirectly attacked the current military situation. “Old Jim Crow in Uniform” enlightened blacks on their past military accomplishments and reminded them of how they had been repaid. During the war no less than 326 blacks, some of them Soldiers in uniform, were lynched. Draft boards regularly inducted black men at a disproportionately high rate by using various extralegal discriminatory tactics. 22 In 1917 thirteen “courageous Negro Soldiers” were “executed without a chance to appeal to the War Department and the President.” Black officers traveled to France in second-class accommodations while all white officers traveled in fi rst class. Furthermore, white junior officers often refused to salute black senior officers. The article also printed, in full, the infamous military order warning Frenchmen to treat blacks in a manner that would not “spoil” them. 23 Perhaps the most poignant paragraph in the entire article follows: On Bastille Day, July 14, 1919, came the most important celebration of all; it was probably the most impressive military display in all history. Every one of the Allied Nations had representative soldiers in the gigantic parade. Belgium in addition to her white troops had her

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black colonials proudly in review; France her Senegalese, Moroccans and Madagascans; England her Indians and Africans along with white soldiers. America had her white soldiers there but had left her pariahs behind. The Negro soldier, disowned and disinherited, was not allowed to represent his country.24 “Old Jim Crow in Uniform” further reminded blacks how their leaders had been denied passports to attend the 1919 Peace Conference because United States officials feared black Americans “would tell Paris of lynchings.” Ending on an upbeat note, the Crisis acknowledged, “Encouraging signs are visible indicating that this campaign is starting. . . . Only a united drive can succeed.”25 If the black press was one side of the pincer, the other side was politics.

BRAIN TRUSTERS As mentioned earlier, political clout in the black community during the 1920s was practically nonexistent. In fact, white race liberals26 were the base for blacks politically. Just as the progress of black officers during World War I was discounted and suppressed during the 1920s, so were any industrial, economic, or political gains. Presidents Warren G. Harding, Calvin Coolidge and Herbert C. Hoover seemed “either oblivious to minority rights or indisposed to invest their own political fortunes in support of minority causes.”27 As a result, the War Department allegations against black officers went unchecked at the political level. Although Oscar De Priest had been elected to Congress in Illinois in 1929, it was not until the election of Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1932 that black Americans gradually began to make political gains. 28 Significant white-race liberals who emerged during the Roosevelt era were Will W. Alexander, Elihu Embree, Clark H. Foreman and Harold L. Ickes. Ickes, the former president of the Chicago NAACP chapter from 1922 to 1924, was the most effective of them all. 29 Ickes brought William H. Hastie into the political fold as solicitor in the Interior Department during President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s (FDR) fi rst term. Hastie later became civilian aide to the secretary of war during World War II, where he did more than any other for black servicemen and women during the war. 30 Ickes began calling for “the addition of black officers to the armed forces” as early as 1936.31 Unfortunately for blacks, just as one New Deal term was insufficient to reverse the economic crisis, it also was not enough to reverse military attitudes towards the use of black officers.32 Whiterace liberals argued inheritance, rather than inherentness, was the cause of the poor performance of many blacks in any job or profession. In other words, if officers inherited no training during peacetime, then it could not be said with certainty inherent qualities were the cause of their failure. To

98

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

condemn someone for failure when they had not been properly trained was to condemn those in charge. Black Americans also played a significant role during the 1920s and 1930s in the struggle to better their situation. During the early stages of the New Deal era when white-race liberals were increasingly emerging onto the political scene, so were their black peers. During the 1930s and 1940s, no less than 100 blacks held political positions. The most influential were: William H. Hastie, Charles H. Houston, Mary McLeod Bethune, Robert Weaver, Robert L. Vann and Forrester Washington. Additionally, in 1929 Illinois Republican Oscar De Priest became the fi rst black person to be elected to Congress in a Northern state. He used his academy nominations to reintroduce blacks at the United States Military Academy and Naval Academy. 33 William H. Hastie and Charles H. Houston were extremely effective as lawyers on the NAACP legal staff. During World War II they both held important positions in the War Department. Because of their persistence, blacks played an increasing role in military-related activities. Of more influence, politically, for servicemen and women before World War II were Bethune, Weaver, Vann, Forrester and De Priest. The election of FDR marked the point of entry of these “Black New Dealers” and “Black Brain Trusters,” as they came to be called. Bethune, chairperson of the “Black Cabinet,” and Weaver, vice chairman, were the most influential members of President Roosevelt’s Black Cabinet. 34 Bethune championed the ideas and direction of white-race liberals. Among other things, “she pressed for integration [of blacks] into the armed forces” and “was one of the few black New Dealers . . . who openly supported A. Philip Randolph’s march on Washington in 1940.”35 Bethune was also instrumental in obtaining slots for black women in the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC).36 Weaver, more than forty years Bethune’s junior, spent most of his efforts on improving housing and employment for black Americans. His only direct relationship with the military was a short tour as director of the Negro Manpower Service for the War Manpower Commission in 1943–44.37 Nonetheless, he became a powerful advocate for black participation in World War II on all levels. As with Weaver, Washington was not one of the outspoken advocates for service members. But, like Weaver, he was a strong advocate for the progress of black people in any arena. Washington stayed in DC only briefly as “race adviser” in the Federal Emergency Relief Administration (FERA). Robert L. Vann, another short-time black New Dealer, had greater influence as the editor of the widely read black weekly Pittsburgh Courier, a position he held for more than thirty years [1910–1940]. The Courier advocated the reintroduction of blacks into the United States Military Academy. It exposed the unfair treatment of Soldiers at various installations, such as Fort Huachuca, Arizona; it pressed for the establishment of an all-black Army division and pushed for the promotion of Colonel

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Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., to general. 38 Vann died in 1940 without witnessing the fruits of his labor.

BRIGADIER GENERAL The pressure of the black press, white-race liberals, and black New Dealers did not result in more than three black Regular Army commissioned officers on active duty at any one time during the interwar era. In fact, between 1929 and 1936 there was only one, Benjamin O. Davis, Sr. From Armistice Day at the end of World War I until Pearl Harbor at the beginning of World War II, a total of five Regular Army black officers, excluding chaplains, served on active duty. They were: Colonel Charles Young, Lieutenant Colonel John E. Green, General Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., Captain Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., and Lieutenant James D. Fowler. Charles Young, discussed in previous chapters, was medically retired on 7 July 1917, and reinstated on 6 November 1918, five days before the armistice. He was eventually reassigned to Monrovia, Liberia, as attaché, where he died on 8 January 1922, in the service of his country. John E. Green, promoted to lieutenant colonel in the early 1920s, served as PMS&T at Wilberforce at the time of Young’s death. Frustrated the Army refused to give him no assignment other than PMS&T, Green retired in November 1929, after thirty years.39 Green’s retirement left Davis as the only Regular Army black officer on active duty. On 12 June 1936, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., graduated from the United States Military Academy. Thus, the only two black officers in the Regular Army at that time were father and son. Benjamin, Jr., was assigned to the all-black 24th Infantry Division in Fort Benning, GA.40 In 1938, according to the Pittsburgh Courier, Ben, Jr., was hopelessly falling into the same abyss Young, Green, and Ben, Sr., had been trapped in; he was to be “add[ed] . . . to [the] faculty at Tuskegee,” an assignment he abhorred.41 Ben, Jr., was eventually assigned as aide-de-camp to his father at Fort Riley, Kansas, before entering pilot training in 1941.42 James D. Fowler, the fi fth black man to graduate from USMA, was the only other officer to serve on active duty before the U.S. entry into World War II. Fowler graduated in June 1941, just six months before Pearl Harbor.43 Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., was the only Regular Army black officer to endure the black officers’ quest to earn their “Full Share” throughout the entire interwar years. Unlike the average commissioned officer on active duty that received a variety of assignments, ranging from PMS&T to assignments with troops, Davis frequently received assignments as PMS&T at either Wilberforce or Tuskegee. Davis, a lieutenant colonel, served in positions regularly held by captains because the Army refused to assign him to a Regular Army unit for fear he might serve above white junior

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The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

officers. This did not keep Davis from pressuring the War Department for an assignment with troops. In July 1924, the Army fi nally agreed to assign Davis to a troop unit. Although it was a National Guard regiment, Davis, who was unhappy with his assignment at Tuskegee because it was in the South, gladly accepted reassignment as instructor to the Second Battalion, 372nd Regiment, Ohio National Guard. Subsequently, Davis was happy his family now was not subjected to the dangerous and demeaning atmosphere of the South.44 While Davis enjoyed the change of pace with his new assignment, Green remained stuck as PMS&T at Wilberforce. In 1929 Davis’s tour of duty with the 372nd ended and, although he again initiated a vigorous letter-writing campaign asking the War Department to assign him to his beloved cavalry, he was briefly assigned to Wilberforce to replace the retiring Green. It was not long before Davis was reassigned to Tuskegee. While at Tuskegee, Davis was fortunate enough to serve as OIC (officer in charge) of the “Colored Gold Star Mothers” pilgrimages. For three consecutive summers Davis and his family left Alabama to spend time in Europe. While Davis escorted mothers and widows of World War I deceased veterans, his family enjoyed Europe. Although being a Gold Star Mother escort took Davis’s mind off the problems associated with living in the South, he was acutely aware that, even with his promotion to full colonel in 1929, the Army was still using him as a PMS&T.45 As Davis’s fourth year at Tuskegee approached, he pushed for an assignment commensurate with his rank. In 1934, Houston went one step further and unsuccessfully campaigned for Davis’s promotion to general. Davis remained a colonel and at Tuskegee until 1937, when he was assigned as PMS&T at Wilberforce. Finally, Davis’s situation began to improve in 1938. He was appointed instructor, then commander, of the 369th New York National Guard. While Davis commanded the 369th it was converted from an infantry regiment to a coast artillery regiment.46 The years spent with the 369th were among the best years in service for Davis. He not only commanded troops and lived in the North, but he was able to take his wife out to dinner, plays and other social events that enhanced the enjoyment of life.47 Urban New York in 1939 was worlds apart from rural Tuskegee, Alabama. The 369th conversion was a significant step forward for blacks in the military because it signaled the changing attitude of the War Department. Prior to the conversion in 1940, black Americans could not serve in any of the specialty units such as the Coast Artillery Corps, Air Corps, Tank Corps, Engineering Corps, Chemical Warfare Service, Ordnance Department, Field Artillery Corps, or Signal Corps. The Pittsburgh Courier called the conversion “another milestone in the Pittsburgh Courier’s persistent fight for equality.”48 In 1940, after more than forty-two years of service, Davis fi nally received a promotion to Brigadier General and took command of the 4th Brigade, Second Cavalry Division, Fort Riley, Kansas.49 General Davis,

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who had not attained his “Full Share” during the interwar years, fi nally achieved his ultimate goal. For him, his family, and many others, this was “Full Share” enough. In a letter dated 26 November 1940, a young Army captain wrote: You have fi nally accomplished what you set out to do many years ago and everyone is rejoicing with you. You have not only attained a rank that no negro has reached, but you have attained a rank that only a very few white men reach. Captain Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. 50 The two decades immediately following World War I dealt black Americans who had been, or desired to become, officers in the United States Regular Army a devastating blow. Although they were used indiscriminately on the frontlines during the main offensives in 1918, fought and led heroically for democracy, and initially were welcomed home as heroes, they soon found that their services were no longer wanted. That is, until U.S. involvement in World War II.

11 The Gate Opens This was the fi nest time of my youth. It was a continuous adventure. CMTC [Citizens’ Military Training Camp] was a system for developing Army officers, and it was a good system. Unlike ROTC, which in California was for whites only, CMTC was open to blacks. I was at camp [MacArthur, California] with other Negro teenagers. That in itself was good for me because I was exposed for the fi rst time to high quality young black men who had matured in the progressive urban centers of California. These were young men of the highest quality I had ever known.1

Lieutenant Colonel Charles M. Bussey, who made the above statement, retired in 1966 after serving twenty-four years on active duty in the Army Air Corps and Army. Bussey, like many other young Americans, attended CMTC in 1938. The fi rst CMTC “for members of the Race” opened at Ft. Howard, Maryland, 8 July 1936. 2 According to Arthur Fearing, a member of that fi rst all-black CMTC, there was a CMTC at nearby Fort Meade, Maryland, but since blacks were not allowed there Lieutenant Colonel West A. Hamilton, of the local National Guard, pushed for and received permission from the War Department to organize a camp for blacks at Fort Howard. It was there that Fearing earned his commission in 1938. 3 Thus, when World War II began the War Department did not have to start from scratch in its efforts to produce a “qualified” black officers corps. Quite the contrary, by 1939 several options were open to young men who wanted to obtain military skills that would qualify them for commissions in the military. They were: CMTC, Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC), Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), and the Civil Aeronautics Authority (CAA). Additionally, National Guard and reserve units were popular. Enlisted men were also in the four all-black regiments who later earned commissions via officer candidate schools (OCS) or by direct commission. For example, eight Soldiers of the 761st Tank Battalion earned direct battlefield commissions while serving in Europe.4 Lastly, the United States Military Academy accepted at least five blacks during this period but only two graduated.

CITIZENS’ MILITARY TRAINING CAMPS Citizens’ Military Training Camps were established in 1920 as a result of the Army Reorganization Act and continued to operate every summer until

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1940. CMTCs were basic military camp programs that prepared mainly affluent and educated men with a no-obligation military officer preparednesstraining program that taught them to march, shoot and become physically fit. Candidates had to complete four progressive summer programs to graduate. In the event of another major war these men were eligible for reserve commissions as second lieutenants. It took more than sixteen years, however, before blacks regularly gained admittance. It was difficult for them to enroll because the CMTC admission policy outmaneuvered the federal law that stated all male citizens were eligible. According to policy, black men could enroll in most established camps only if enough qualified to make the financial burden of “separate but equal” accommodations and training feasible. Basically, unless a certain number of black men qualified for enrollment— enrollment figures were locally set—none would be admitted.5 During the 1920s several qualified black applicants were denied entry. In 1922 Walter Bradley of New York was fully qualified and was accepted into the Plattsburg camp. Although the government paid his transportation, he was informed immediately upon arrival that a mistake had been made and was sent home. The following year, Anthony R. Mayo was rejected at a New Jersey camp because only eight blacks had applied and the camp’s minimum had been set at fi fty. In 1927, Marsden V. Burnell of New York City was turned away simply because of color. On America’s Western shores, applicants faced the same barriers. In 1928 Walter W. Davis of Monrovia, California, was denied entry into Camp MacArthur—the camp at which Bussey and many others subsequently trained—despite his previous acceptance for training. As in the case of Bradley, a “mistake” had been made and Davis was sent home.6 The War Department’s solution to this dilemma was to advise blacks to pool their resources and apply in mass to a specific camp. Unfortunately, the government was unwilling to pay the additional cost associated with long-distance travel to attend CMTC camps outside of an attendees’ residential district. This led to complaints of unfairness because blacks had to travel long distances at their own expense when there were camps closer to their homes while white youth did not have this undue burden placed upon them. In 1931, the National Afro Protective League complained, “Colored youth . . . are good enough to die in battle but not good enough to associate with whites in Training Camps.”7 Blacks eventually received training at CMTCs on the eve of World War II. By 1936, in areas with large black concentrations,8 some found CMTCs to be a stepping-stone to military commissions. In fact, in the late 1930s, camps in the Third Corps Area were staffed with black Officers.9

RESERVE OFFICER TRAINING CORPS Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) were perhaps the most popular officer-training program for young men prior to World War II. The goals

104

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

and mission of ROTC programs were essentially the same as CMTCs with the exception that ROTC programs were college based. At sanctioned and participating colleges and/or universities a college enrolled military officer candidate—as they are today—would be educated and trained to become commissioned officers as he concurrently pursued his college degree. Many historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) had ROTC programs and several predominantly white universities admitted blacks into their programs. But in 1939, only two HBCUs, Howard University and Wilberforce College, had senior ROTC programs. By March 1942, Hampton Institute and Tuskegee University added senior ROTC programs. 10 Between 1922 and 1936, 353 men were commissioned at Howard University, and another sixty-five were commissioned at Wilberforce College between 1928 and 1936. From 1937 to 1941, Howard commissioned an additional eighty-nine (plus, six special) and Wilberforce commissioned thirty-nine.11 Most of the roughly 250 black officers on active duty in March 1942 graduated from one of four HBCUs—Howard, Wilberforce, Tuskegee and Hampton.12

CIVILIAN CONSERVATION CORPS The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) provided an avenue for young men to hone their leadership skills to prepare them for possible leadership positions in the military. President Roosevelt established the CCC as one of many domestic programs designed in 1933 for the advancement of all disadvantaged and unemployed American youth. Many CMTC and ROTC veterans also found employment as cadre members at CCCs. Although Congressman Oscar De Priest proposed at the outset that there should be no discrimination in hiring CCC personnel, blacks found it difficult to obtain commissioned officer slots with the CCC.13 In March 1934 presidential assistants Walter White, Harold Ickes and Louis Howe began pressuring the War Department to appoint black reserve officers “in the Negro camps.”14 The election of 1936, however, brought the needed political pressure. Soon thereafter, FDR ordered the establishment of new camps with the requirement that they be officered entirely by black Americans. As a result, an all-black staff was assigned to the Gettysburg National Military Park demonstration camp. By the end of 1936, 189 Negro CCC companies existed, 188 existed in 1938, and 141 in 1940.15 The opening of a second camp in Elmira, New York, in 1939 with more companies officered by black men,16 however, did not seem to increase the number of blacks in the CCC. The declining numbers were a function of the government’s cutbacks for CCC camps and enrollment nationwide. While progress was slow for the general-skills candidates seeking officer slots, chaplain reserve officers and Medical Corps officers found progression even slower. In 1935 the War Department ordered corps areas to call

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up eight chaplains and thirty-three Medical Corps officers. Three months later eight chaplains had been called up but only ten medical officers. A year later there were only four chaplains and still ten medical officers. By 1940, only nine doctors and four chaplains remained.17 As in the case of CMTCs, black enrollment in CCCs remained low from its inception in 1933 to its inactivation in 1942. Enrollment never reached above 10 percent of the total CCC enrollment. For officer cadre members it was even worse. The quote below sums up very well the frustrations of those seeking CCC officer cadre positions: A Negro reserve officer in Columbus has made strenuous efforts, direct and through Congressmen, to be placed on CCC duty. Our reply has been that a priority list is maintained in each Military Area and that a reserve officer’s place on the list is determined by his record of general efficiency, date of application, and unemployment. Then follows a statement of this applicant’s place on the list. The Negro officer has been like a frog getting out of the well. He has never come to the top.18

CIVIL AERONAUTICS AUTHORITY In 1939, the Civil Aeronautics Authority (CAA) began to enroll blacks via its subunit, the Civilian Pilot Training Program (CPTP), which had a purpose of providing a trained and skilled pool of pilots who could be called upon during a military crisis. Since blacks were initially excluded from white CPTPs, they gained permission to establish separate CPTPs. On 13 October 1939 Tuskegee Institute’s application for a CPTP was approved. Eventually six HBCUs were awarded CPTPs, including Howard, Hampton, North Carolina A&T, Delaware State and West Virginia State. Additionally, two noncollegiate institutions in the Chicago area had black CPTPs. A few schools in the North, such as the University of Minnesota, admitted blacks into their program. Ultimately, Tuskegee beat out other considered locations to emerge as the primary training site for black military pilots. When, on 16 September 1940, the War Department announced that the Army and CAA were “making a start in the development of colored personnel for the aviation services,” black pilots were already in training there and throughout the Nation. Licensed black American pilots numbered 125. In fact, of the more than 400,000 pilots trained by the CPTP during the early 1940s, 2,700 were black.19

NATIONAL GUARD AND RESERVE Unlike the CMTC, ROTC, CCC and CAA, National Guard and reserve units were prewar military institutions that further developed the officer skills

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The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

of those already commissioned. In 1939 black officers served in three black National Guard regiments and eight reserve branches.20 The three National Guard regiments were: 372nd Infantry, 369th Infantry and the 8th Illinois Infantry. Combined, they could mobilize 150 officers by September 1940. The eight reserve branches could mobilize 353 officers by June 1940. The tables below depict the breakdown and new designations of the National Guard units by 1941 and the branches in which reserve black officers served.

Table 11.1

Negro National Guard Officers, September 1940

Unit

Infantry

Medical

Dental

Chaplain

Total

DC

3

1

0

0

4

MD

3

1

0

0

4

372d Inf. Regt.

MA

15

1

0

0

16

Ohio

14

1

0

0

15

44

3

1

0

48

57

4

1

1

63

136

11

2

1

150*

184th F.A. Regt. [8th Illinois]

369th C.A. Regt. TOTAL

*Total does not include enlisted personnel holding National Guard United States (NGUS) commissions.

Table 11.2

Negro Reserve Officers Eligible for Active Duty, 30 June 1940

Branch

COL

LTC

MAJ

CPT

1/LT

2/LT

TOTAL

Infantry

1

2

4

30

73

152

262

Quartermaster

—

—

1

1

1

Medical

—

1

3

4

52

—

60

Dental

—

—

—

2

6

—

8

Chaplain

—

—

1

4

9

—

14

Chemical

—

—

—

—

1

—

1

Veterinary

—

—

—

—

—

3

Military Intelligence

—

—

—

1

—

—

1

TOTAL

1

3

9

42

145

153

35321

3

1

4

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107

Once mobilization for World War II began in earnest and the National Guard regiments were federalized, a fourth regiment, the 366th, was activated. Roughly 122 of the 353 reserve officers were assigned to the 366th and the remainder rounded out the 372nd, 369th and 8th Illinois.22 According to Colonel (Ret.) Elliotte J. Williams, most of the officers assigned to the 366th came from the 428th Regiment of Washington, DC. 23

ENLISTED CORPS An obvious pool to draw from for officer candidates, as has historically been the case, was from within the enlisted corps. The exact number is unknown, but many enlisted Soldiers earned commissions in various ways, including through direct commission. Officer candidate school [OCS] was another method. Colonel Williams, mentioned above, was an enlisted admissions and disposition clerk at West Point’s hospital in 1940–41 before earning an OCS commission in 1942. 24 The United States was well into the war before it began to admit and subsequently graduate black Americans from OCS. The fi rst graduates were commissioned in July 1942. By the end of that year approximately 1,686 were commissioned. 25 Another monumental barrier was broken in 1942 when, in addition to the 1,686 male OCS graduates, thirty-nine black females graduated from OCS at Ft. Des Moines, Iowa.26

WEST POINT Not including OCS, West Point made the smallest contribution to the black officer pool before full mobilization into World War II. Since the United States fought to ensure democracy in a foreign land during World War I and was on the verge of foreign war yet again, it seemed only natural to black Americans that all of America’s citizens be admitted equally into the Nation’s military academy. Yet, only two black men graduated from West Point between World War I and America’s entry into World War II. Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., graduated in 1936 and James D. Fowler in 1941. It was a profound statement that Davis and Fowler were the only black Regular Army officers who had graduated from West Point, the Nation’s primary officer commissioning source. Nonetheless, in varied small ways the gate to the officers’ corps was slowly but surely opening for blacks. And indeed, West Point and the Naval Academy eventually begin readmitting black cadets and midshipmen, the topic of the next chapter.

12 West Point and Annapolis Revisited

Since Colonel Charles Young’s1 graduation in 1889, no other black American had graduated from the United States Military Academy until Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., graduated in 1936, and only one other is believed to have received an appointment prior to the ending of World War I.2 Exactly how many blacks sought admission into West Point between 1889 and Executive Order 9981 in 1948 may never be known. But several applied, a few were accepted, and fewer still, only eight, graduated. The Naval Academy continued to lag behind USMA. Its graduation rate was zero for blacks before E.O. 9981. That, however, was not due to lack of attempts. Beginning in 1936 two additional black midshipmen entered the Naval Academy with no success. This chapter examines the struggle of those individuals who sought education at the military and naval academies. For the past three days, the senior cadet in charge of the New Cadet Barracks has ordered that I and two other colored [emphasis added] boys be brought out and run around the mass formation of new cadets in the so-called “Central Area.” We “double-time” around the formation several times until we perspire and then we join the formation to march to the mess hall for breakfast looking sweaty and dirty while the others are cool and clean looking. Although we are not supposed to talk to each other, we whispered each other’s names. One of them is named Morgan (last name) and he is from Detroit. I did not understand the other boy’s name. But very sad today, they are planning to resign. I have whispered to them NOT to resign. I will never resign. But they say that they have separately been told that each of us is resigning, and that they (each of them) will be left as the only colored man in the class. I whispered that this was a trick to get us all to resign. I am afraid it may be too late for they say they have “signed some papers.”3 The above quote described how three black cadets were singled out, and two tricked into resigning, shortly after their arrival at West Point in 1941. Black cadets during this era found, as did Henry O. Flipper more than sixty years earlier, they were not welcome at West Point. The first confirmed black cadet to enter since Charles Young’s graduation was Alonzo Parham.

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109

OSCAR DE PRIEST’S IMPACT A black Republican congressmen, Oscar De Priest, appointed Alonzo Parham to USMA in 1929. De Priest, elected to Congress in 1929, was determined to appoint blacks to both the Military and Naval Academy. His fi rst selection, Parham, lasted six months before he was discharged along with one-third of his class for academic deficiencies. Parham’s official separation occurred on 14 January 1930 for deficiency in mathematics. During Parham’s short stay at USMA he concluded, “Cadets do not take kindly to change of any kind.” He was silenced, lived alone, and never had an opportunity to become acquainted with any of his classmates. Surely this must have affected his academic performance. Parham, who was briefly the pride of many Americans, could not fulfi ll De Priest’s dreams.4 After Parham’s discharge, the black press joined the campaign to appoint more blacks and De Priest successfully appointed others to USMA. The first editorial to address the service academies appeared within three months of Parham’s separation. The Pittsburgh Courier published a letter entitled “A Job for Negro Veterans,” which read, “There is only one [black] line officer . . . and the [W]ar [D]epartment sees fit to keep him buried at Wilberforce University instead of commanding one of the Negro cavalry regiments.” The writer concluded Veterans “must not stop at sending a few Negroes to Annapolis and West Point, but demand that they be given something to command when they graduate.”5 Nothing substantial resulted from this initial demand; there was only one black cadet appointed to West Point within four years. Congressman De Priest appointed Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., in 1932. Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., was born 18 December 1912 in Washington, DC. His father, Benjamin O. Davis, Sr., the only black officer then on active duty, and his stepmother, Sadie Overton Davis, learned of Parham’s appointment to West Point and successfully stimulated the young Davis’s interest in the Academy. After completing one year at the University of Chicago and failing the fi rst West Point entrance examination—he passed the second time—Davis entered West Point 1 July 1932. The euphoria and excitement Davis experienced on his train ride to West Point soon turned to gloom, disgust and eventually despair as he realized he would be ostracized. Davis was assigned to “a large room designed for at least two cadets,” but no roommate ever showed.6 The ultimate insult came or, in Davis’s words, “the roof fell in,” with a mistaken invitation to a meeting in the basement of his barrack. As he approached the meeting he overheard one of the cadets say, “What are we going to do about the nigger?” Realizing the mistake and that he perhaps was not supposed to be there, and that he was, in fact, the subject of the meeting, Davis rushed out of the area.7 Although more than forty-five years had passed since Charles Young and John Alexander graduated from West Point, the Military Academy was still a microcosm of society and black Americans were not always welcome. Despite rooming alone, being silenced for the most part of four years and experiencing a host of other problems the average cadet did not

110 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 endure, Davis graduated from West Point in 1936 in the top 13 percent of his class, 37/276.8 As in the case of Henry O. Flipper, Davis’s graduation did not trigger acceptance of, or success for, other blacks. In fact, the numbers of blacks enrolled at West Point were larger during the 1870s and 1880s. When Flipper attended West Point, at least six other black cadets passed through USMA’s gates. Only one other cadet entered while Davis attended. Felix J. Kirkpatrick, also appointed by Congressman De Priest, entered West Point in July 1935.

Figure 12.1 Cadet Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. (USMA Archives Photo Section).

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DÉJÀ VU Kirkpatrick’s separation from West Point on 7 December 1935 for defi ciency in conduct may have been unfair. Evidence suggests Kirkpatrick was forced out of the Academy. According to Kirkpatrick, one particular tactical officer delighted in giving him demerits. Additionally, an upperclassman informed “him that he would walk the area as long as he [the upperclassman] was at the Academy.” Of course, if demerits became excessive, a cadet could be legally dismissed from the Academy. Kirkpatrick, who knew that he was receiving demerits, did not realize the consequences.9 Despite his separation, Kirkpatrick eagerly attempted to return to West Point and appealed his dismissal. Kirkpatrick stated that although “several of the Southern upperclassmen . . . seemed to resent his presence,” several of his classmates, “even the Southerners,” were friendly. So Kirkpatrick was confident that had his appeal been upheld he would have succeeded at USMA because he was ranked in the top third of his class academically, and unlike most midyear separations, his was not academically related.10 Although Kirkpatrick’s appeal failed, he earned his way into the officers’ corps. Davis, Jr., then a retired three star general, fondly remembered seeing Kirkpatrick at a 1987 reunion party hosted by the Chicago Tuskegee Airmen Chapter. Kirkpatrick “had been an active fighter pilot in the 332nd during World War II.”11 In fact, First Lieutenant Kirkpatrick was credited with shooting down a German aircraft on 27 July 1944.12 MORE DÉJÀ VU The summers of 1936 and 1937 brought the admission of three other blacks to the naval and military academies. A vigorous campaign by the Pittsburgh Courier preceded their admission. Obviously chagrined at Kirkpatrick’s discharge and appalled with Davis’s requirement to serve in the infantry or as PMS&T at an HBCU, despite his graduating high enough in his West Point class to select any branch of service he desired, the Courier wrote, “Both services [Army and Navy] are simply glorified versions of the Ku Klux Klan.” Furthermore, the editorial stated, “West Point and Annapolis are the fountain heads of this stream of race prejudice . . . [and] [i]f the stream is to be purifi ed, we must start with the source.”13 The Courier offered a solution. Blacks “must send dozens of young colored men” to West Point and Annapolis. “Colored people,” if informed, the Courier said, “have it within their power to send at least ten young colored men to each . . . in 1937.”14 This could be accomplished only if black Americans elected other blacks to Congress. The bottom line was the vote. People elected congressmen and congressmen appointed cadets and midshipmen. Unfortunately, the Courier’s fervor

112

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

never resulted in the appointment of twenty cadets and midshipmen until more than three decades later. In the meantime, naval mid shipmen James L. Johnson, Jr., and George J. Trivers and West Point cadet James D. Fowler, like so many before them, began their lonely ordeals at the service academies.

THE BLACK, LONG GRAY LINE BEGINS The fi rst black midshipmen in thirty-nine years, James L. Johnson, Jr., entered Annapolis on 16 June 1936. Unfortunately, Johnson, appointed by Congressmen Arthur W. Mitchell, Democrat of Illinois, was discharged after eight months for academic and physical deficiencies and misconduct. Congressman Mitchell appealed directly to President Franklin D. Roosevelt claiming Johnson had been “railroaded” out of Annapolis. Although Mitchell had information about Johnson’s failure in two subjects, English and History, he continued to pressure FDR. After Secretary of the Navy James L. Swanson’s investigation reported Johnson received just treatment and “nothing was found . . . to warrant . . . retention,” Johnson and an additional 134 midshipmen were separated.15 The following year Mitchell appointed George J. Trivers to the Naval Academy. Trivers resigned after only three weeks because he, according to Mitchell, “could not do a midshipman’s work.”16 George J. Trivers was the last black to enter the Naval Academy until Midshipman Wesley A. Brown enrolled in 1945. Midshipman Brown subsequently became the fi rst black American to graduate from Annapolis in 1949. Between Trivers and Brown, however, several others attempted. In 1939, Elliotte J. Williams, for example, was shocked when, after being appointed and passing the entrance examination, he failed to meet the Navy’s vision standards.17 James Daniel Fowler was born 27 January 1916 in Atlanta, Georgia. When he was one year old his parents moved to Washington, DC, where Fowler received all of his education. After graduating magna cum laude from Howard University in June 1937, Congressman Mitchell asked Fowler to follow in Davis’s footsteps. Fowler accepted the challenge and received admission to USMA 1 July 1937.18 Although Cadet Fowler entered West Point one year after Davis graduated, his four years differed vastly. While Davis was silenced and generally avoided by other cadets, “Mister Fowler” received plenty of attention. During daily formations upperclassmen gravitated toward Fowler. With several sets of eyes examining him, Fowler often received demerits for “[d]irty cap visor, stubble on chin, lint on braid, cuff s not pinned properly, dirt in fi ngernails, spot on trousers and unshined shoes.”19 One of Cadet Fowler’s white classmates said, “Even we could distinguish between our treatment and that reserved for ‘Mister Fowler.’” Further,

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we “were advised to refrain from speaking to him and were threatened with ostracism ourselves.”20 In an effort to ensure Fowler earned poor grades, which, coupled with excessive demerits, could result in dismissal from USMA, several upperclassmen kept him awake at night. They took turns visiting his room so he would fall asleep in class. He was also given regular tours on the area to further reduce study time.21 As a result of all the special attention, Cadet Fowler’s academic and conduct grades suffered. In a class of 424 he graduated 324. Considering his record alone, perhaps Fowler should have been dismissed. But his determination, perseverance, and will to continue warranted retention. 22 Fowler graduated from West Point 11 June 1941 becoming only the fifth black graduate of the Military Academy.

BLACK PRESS IMPACT In 1939, as Cadet Fowler began his third year at USMA, two more black cadets entered. Meanwhile, the black press continued to criticize the military and naval academies’ lack of inclusion. In June 1938 the Pittsburgh Courier carried two related articles, one entitled “Only Four Negroes Have Ever Graduated from West Point,” and the other “Dad Spent 28 Years in Army, Boy Can’t Get in West Point.”23 In the latter, editor Robert Vann wrote an open letter to President Roosevelt stating the unwillingness of both Texas and Georgia congressmen—apparently the applicant was a resident of one state and his father was stationed in another—to appoint “this American boy” to the Academy. Vann printed a letter in the Courier the applicant’s father had written to either Vann or perhaps to a congressman that Vann later acquired. The letter, claimed Vann, was “a voice from twelve million black American citizens.”24 This is what that voice said: I am writing you requesting any information you may be able to give me towards securing an appointment to the United States Military Academy, West Point, NY, for my son . . . I have served about twenty-eight years in the Ninth and Tenth Cavalry and the 24th and 25th Infantry. My son has been carefully reared, is clean living, healthy, was born in the service, reared in the service with his whole ambition “West Point.” With the background he has had were he to receive an appointment, he would have a great many advantages colored appointees have not had in the past. Born in Galveston, Texas, May 9, 1921 he spent his early life in Arizona. Later, when I was transferred to the 24th Infantry, Fort Benning, Ga. I brought my family with me and entered my son in the public schools in Columbus, Ga. I then sent him to Pennsylvania where he entered the Germantown Senior High School from which he was

114 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 graduated in the upper bracket of thirty honor students. He took a postgraduate course and matriculated in Pennsylvania State College. He has majored in mathematics. He is also a medalist on the college debating team. Very truly yours, 25 Since Vann withheld the father’s name it is unknown if the son ever entered West Point. Nonetheless, this letter illustrated black Americans’ interest, capability, and determination to send their eligible youth to West Point. The Courier also kept abreast of the Fish Bill. On 26 January 1939 Representative Hamilton Fish introduced House Resolution (H.R.) 3317, which called upon the president to appoint at least two blacks per year to West Point until an aggregate of eight were at the Academy and that at least eight be maintained at the Academy at all times. 26 Later that year West Point and Annapolis were unfavorably compared to the French Military Academy at St. Cyr and the Naval School at Brest. A strong belief existed, according to the Courier, that “although black boys and girls in the United States [won] highest scholarship honors,” the American academies gave “the impression that they [were] not smart enough or strong enough” to attend and graduate from either institution. Conversely, “French black citizens, whether citizens of the colonies or of Metropolitan France, are admitted to” St. Cyr and Brest. 27 In the midst of this aggressive media blitz and political jockeying, a few blacks earned their way into West Point. On 1 July 1939 Cadets Clarence M. Davenport and Robert B. Tresville, Jr., began their cadet careers and subsequently graduated three and a half years later. The Second World War caused their class to graduate early. Commissioned in the Coast Artillery Corps, Davenport eventually rose to the rank of full colonel on 11 April 1962. Tresville, commissioned in the Army Air Corps, died on 22 June 1944 while flying an air mission in Italy. He was the seventh black to graduate from West Point, but the fi rst to be killed in combat. 28 Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., who had been Tresville’s commander at one time, said, “I was fortunate to have Capt . . . Tresville. He was a fi ne officer, and I put him in command. . . . [He was] killed on [a] low-level combat mission.”29 Although little is known of Davenport’s and Tresville’s cadet life, there is no reason to believe that they were treated any differently from those who came before, and shortly after, them.

FIFTH-GENERATION FREE WASHINGTONIAN H. Minton Francis, born in Washington, DC, 23 December 1922 was a fifth-generation Washingtonian. His family’s distinguished history

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included free black entrepreneurs and medical professionals. Francis expected to go to medical school. However, as he completed his fi rst year of premed courses at the University of Pennsylvania in 1941, his father urged him to apply and compete for an appointment to the United States Military Academy. “My father,” said Francis, “possibly distracted by Hitler’s moves into eastern Europe, . . . decided, . . . that I should seek an appointment to West Point.” Francis’s father felt that Francis could better avoid the draft by being a cadet at USMA. Reluctantly, Francis applied, because at that time “one did not argue with one’s father,” and entered West Point 1 July 1941. 30 After growing up in Washington and attending a predominantly white college for one year, Francis was shocked at the “harsh reality of racism in 1941 America” at the Nation’s Military Academy. Now, try to imagine what it would feel like to be a fi fth-generation Washingtonian whose great-great-grandfather settled as a free man in Washington, DC, in 1814, and in whose great-grandfather’s (Wormley’s) hotel the Missouri Compromise was signed; where nationally known politicians including John Hay, Charles Sumner and Roscoe Conkling, Lincoln’s Cabinet, and other prominent Americans such as General Schofi eld preferred to stay in Washington. And try to imagine being that fi fth-generation Washingtonian with a grandfather (Francis) who earned an MD degree from the University of Michigan in 1877, a year in which, arguably, several of the ancestors of some of the folks who happened to be stationed at West Point in 1941 were scratching out a living somewhere on a dirt farm, or just getting on the boats in Europe to get to the United States. Then imagine how you’d feel when a descendant of such latecomers, whom you consider a social level or two below you, asks you, “Why do niggers want to come to West Point?”31 So began Francis’s three-year career32 at West Point that was similar to Fowler’s experience with continual hazing, as opposed to Davis’s experience of constant silence. The usual tactics of pressuring black cadets to induce them to resign continued. The quote at the beginning of this chapter vividly describes how Francis’s two black classmates fell prey to such chicanery. Francis stuck it out at West Point under circumstances lesser men would have buckled under. A victim of “incessant harassment,” he said, “’silence’ would have been a blessing.”33 It would have been much better than fi nding human “excrement placed in my shoes” and, due to the proximity of formation, having to put the shoes on after only dumping it out in order to make formation. Francis, the victim, became the butt of jokes when the inspecting cadet asked, “Why do the Nigger stink?”34

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Figure 12.2 Section).

Cadet H. Minton Francis (USMA Archives Photo

Among other indignities, Francis was subjected to interrupted study and sleep time, and daily thirty-minute private interviews for a fi fteen-day period so a Lieutenant Colonel named Samuels could deem him mentally unstable. Additionally, rumors circulated that the NAACP was paying him $100.00 per week to stay at West Point. 35 If proven to be true, of course, Francis could perhaps have been dismissed from the Academy; at a minimum, it shone a negative light on him. As Francis became an upperclassman his situation improved. Several graduating cadets of the Class of 1942—Francis called them the “best and the brightest” leaders—invited him to their rooms to “recognize” him sub rosa. 36 Small gestures of human kindness such as this often helped to sustain and encourage Francis and so many others before and after him.

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Before graduating from USMA, Francis became the fi rst black to earn the rank of cadet sergeant. The seven before him had been privates. 37 In the end, Francis, who had always excelled as a student—he had been admitted into Ivy League Colleges/Universities without examination—graduated only 246 in a class of 474, well below the standard he had set for himself and felt he deserved. Francis acknowledged that “[a]lthough I have great empathy for Ben Davis’s isolation and for the resultant loneliness he must have experienced, I am convinced I would have thrived and prospered under such circumstances.”38

REVISED THINKING In July 1942, three new black cadets joined Francis at West Point. Leven C. Weiss on 1 July, Mark E. Rivers, Jr., on 15 July, and Ernest J. Davis, Jr., on 20 July. Weiss stayed only six months before he was discharged for deficiency in mathematics. Rivers and Davis remained and graduated in June 1945. 39 Rivers and Davis [no relation to Benjamin O. Davis] became the ninth and tenth black Americans to graduate from West Point.40 Both were fair skinned, which led to a bit of confusion for Davis on his fi rst day at West Point. Although assigned to a room with two white cadets, a messenger shortly came to Davis’s room and asked him to leave. Davis said officials obviously looked at his record after room assignments. He always identified his race on all forms so the mistake was theirs, not his.41 During their fi rst summer, cadets subjected Rivers and Davis to extra hazing, harassment and unfriendly nightly visitors whose sole mission was to induce fatigue to cause Rivers and Davis to fail or quit. This harassment, though, occurred during “Beast Barracks,”42 so it did not really matter, according to Davis, because there were no academic classes to contend with. The night visits continued for Rivers into the fall semester, but Davis had a stroke of luck. Placed in Cadet H. Minton Francis’s company, when the upperclassmen returned, Minton and Davis became roommates. Francis served as a buffer between Davis and other upperclassmen. As a plebe, Davis received almost no night visitors and because Francis was his roommate Davis had a radio in his room, something that plebes were not allowed to have.43 During the second semester of 1944 Rivers and Davis volunteered for aviation training and were sent to Tuskegee for contract primary fl ight training. Rivers failed and was subsequently commissioned as a field artillery officer while Davis successfully completed the fl ight course. Upon graduation his assignment was to the 99th Pursuit Squadron.44 Before leaving West Point, Davis learned several lessons unrelated to the curriculum. The most important one dealt with geographical perceptions of people. Raised in segregated Washington, DC, Davis did not know any

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white people. Upon his arrival at West Point he thought “that most of the guys from the North were OK” and those “from the South probably looked down on any black person.” Not so. Davis clearly remembered the most vindictive cadet he encountered at USMA was from Boston and one of the men who helped him the most was from Louisiana. “So,” said Davis, “I had to revise my thinking” and judge people as individuals.45 Many years later Davis and his wife, Frances, concluded that perhaps the saddest thing for all black cadets was that they never saw the inside of officers’ quarters. While their classmates received invitations into officers’ quarters for various events, they never did. Davis was a field-grade officer before he entered an officers’ home at West Point and only because a relative of his was assigned there at the time.46

Figure 12.3 Cadet Mark E. Rivers (USMA Archives Photo Section).

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NO BIG DEAL Twelve more blacks entered West Point before 1948. Ten graduated and one eventually became the first black American promoted to four-star general in the United States Army.47 The cadets were academically strong as illustrated by David K. Carlisle. Initially appointed in 1944 as an alternate, Carlisle did not gain admission into West Point until 1946. After two years of college training at California Institute of Technology and a six-week preparation course at the University of California, Carlisle scored “the highest . . . in the entire country” on the West Point civil-service competitive examination. Indeed, Carlisle performed well academically at West Point. He graduated fifty-ninth in a class of 670, or the top 9 percent, making him the highest academically ranked black person to graduate from West Point up to that point.48

Figure 12.4 Cadet Ernest J. Davis, Jr. (USMA Archives Photo Section).

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Conditions had changed for the better by the time Carlisle attended West Point. World War II was over, Jim Crowism in the voting booths, although not completely nonexistent, had been effectively challenged by Smith v. Allwright, and the military had begun to change its attitudes about the treatment and service of blacks. Admittedly, there was still more ground to gain. Yet progress at the Military Academy was progressing positively as evidenced by the recollections of Roscoe Robinson, Jr., who entered West Point as a plebe 1 July 1947 and retired a four-star general in 1985. General Robinson graduated from high school in 1946 and attended college for one year before entering West Point. According to Robinson, “[b]eing a black in that environment really wasn’t a big deal.” Obviously things had changed drastically in just a few short years, as Robinson realized. He acknowledged “just a few years before [I entered] . . . black cadets did not participate in . . . corps activities [and] their classmates didn’t even speak to them.” Robinson did not have those same experiences, but he did have only black roommates and was encouraged not to attend social events on road trips with the Corps of Cadets. Robinson believed he was never “singled out because he was black.”49 During the three decades following World War II the treatment of black cadets at West Point slowly changed for the better. As race relations in the country changed, so too did West Point and the Naval Academy. West Point became more willing to allow all regardless of race to compete on an equal basis and achieve the ultimate goal—an officer’s commission in the United States Army. Yet not until 1968, at the tail end of the civil rights movement and the height of the Vietnam War, did West Point establish an equaladmissions-opportunity policy.50 The Naval Academy did not implement such a policy. However, in the early 1970s it did place increased emphasis on recruiting black candidates. 51 What black cadets experienced at the academies between 1929 and 1948 was without doubt due to their race. This, however, is not an indictment of these institutions. West Point and Annapolis were composed of individuals who represented all of America. It is safe to conclude, however, that several blacks who graduated during this period were much better than their academic records depict given the negative treatment they endured while succeeding at the academies.

13 The United States Army I[,] a commissioned officer of the United States Army, am denied the rights and privileges of an officer. I am excluded by members of my own rank and station in the Army. I am denied the privilege to use the Officer’s Club. Although members of my race are used as waiters and general help around the club, I am denied the privilege of using it. It has been a source of embarrassment for a Negro soldier working there to ask me if I am denied the privilege of the club. I ask you, gentlemen, what would you say or do if a soldier, who respected you as an officer of the Army, knew that you, an officer sworn to uphold and defend the principles of this democracy, were being denied the very thing you are and asking them to lay down their life for. How can we demand the respect of men under our command when we are not respected by members of our own rank.1

Despite such injustices, which black military officers suffered during World War II, thousands served proudly and patriotically without hesitation. By February 1945 black commissioned officers numbered 6,546, male and female, on active duty. 2 They served in every branch of the military, with the exception of the Marine Corps. By 1 May 1945 the number increased to 6,691.3 Considering the magnitude of World War II it is not surprising this seemingly large number of officers “constituted less than 1.9% of all officers in the military by 1945.”4 One reason so few served was because the War Department established strict guidelines for the use, assignment and promotion of black officers. Additionally, black officers could serve only in black units. Further, white officers fi lled many “vacancies” in “Negro” units and they held most fieldgrade positions in many of them. Eventually, the Army planned to replace white officers with “qualified Negro officers.”5 What did it mean, however, to be qualified? Black officers in the Army were often treated much like black cadets at West Point, with constant scrutiny by white superior officers and frequent unfair evaluations and assignments. One example is the case of Second Lieutenant Martin Winfield and First Lieutenant Raymond Grube, 3rd and 1st Battalions, respectively, 25th Infantry, 93rd Division. Winfield graduated second in his infantry class and fi rst in his class at communications school. He had also been highly praised by his commander for work during the Bougainville Campaign. Grube, on the other hand, a motor officer, had been court-martialed and found guilty of embezzling government property

122 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 and fi ned $300.00. One year later Grube was a captain serving in a command position while Winfield remained a second lieutenant. Winfield was black and Grube was white.6 Another example involves two black officers who graduated from Judge Advocate General’s Officers Candidate School “with top honors but were assigned to nonlegal positions.” It was only after Civilian Aide on Negro Affairs Truman K. Gibson appealed to Assistant Secretary of War John J. McCloy that the assignments were changed.7 These two examples certainly offer no empirical statistical evidence to the reader of this book that such inequalities were widespread. However, throughout the pages of Taps for a Jim Crow Army: Letters from Black Soldiers in World War II, and especially Ulysses Lee’s Employment of Negro Troops, many other examples exist.8 Despite entering World War II as second-class citizens and in many cases serving as second-class officers, blacks willingly donned officer shoulder boards. Like most black Americans they fought for what would become known as the Double V Campaign—military victory abroad and race equality victory at home. Furthermore, like most Americans, they fought out of a sense of patriotic fervor and for President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Four Freedoms.9 They served in every theater of operation and in nearly every type of unit. Branches in which black officers were allowed to serve were: Army Air Forces, Armored Forces, Cavalry, Chaplain Corps, Chemical Warfare Service, Coast Artillery, Corps of Engineers, Field Artillery, Finance Department, Infantry, Judge Advocate General’s Department, Medical Department, Corps of Military Police, Ordnance Department, Quartermaster Corps, Signal Corps, Special Services, Tank Destroyers, Transportation Corps, Services of Supply and the Adjutant General’s Department.10 World War II was so vast that services rendered by black officers easily merit a separate book. This chapter examines only those men who served in the Army. Select samplings of officers in each theater are addressed in an effort to offer readers a glimpse into the world of a black World War II commissioned officer.

INITIAL MOBILIZATION As discussed in Chapter 11, when World War II began there was an excellent base from which black officers could be selected. As mobilization plans solidified, the War Department tapped this reservoir. Black officers began to report for active duty at various training facilities and other hopefuls began to attend OCS courses. Key training installations were Camp Livingston, Louisiana; Ft. Huachuca, Arizona; and Fort Custer, Michigan. Most black officers served in the 92nd and 93rd Divisions. When these divisions deployed to Italy and the Pacific they did so with hundreds of black junior-grade officers. Although neither division deployed to Germany

The United States Army 123 or other theaters of operation, twenty-two separate combat battalions and many service battalions served in Germany. Most had black officers.11 As World War II began, the shortage of white officers who would select to serve in black units increased the necessity for black officers. However, the number of black officers lagged far behind the number required to man the growing number of black units. For example, in early 1942 there were approximately 1,098 black infantry officers on duty, or only 2.58 percent of all infantry officers in service.12 At that same time there were 228,715 black Soldiers on active duty, or roughly 7 percent.13 Initially, blacks’ greatest barrier to becoming officers was their inability to get into OCS because some failed to obtain the required 110 points on their Army General Classification Test [AGCT] and others lacked the formal education necessary to enroll.14 By no means, however, was the general black American population incapable. In fact, many who qualified were denied simply because they were black. During the summer of 1941 more than 2,500 black quartermaster Soldiers were stationed at Camp Lee, Virginia. Although a few qualified for OCS, the Quartermaster School refused to admit them.15 Soldiers stationed at Fort Huachuca often discovered their applications were never forwarded out of the 8th Corps areas.16 So although it appeared on the surface not enough black officers could qualify for OCS, the culprit was old-fashioned discriminatory practices, reminiscent of the post–World War I examination boards. While some blacks did indeed score low on the AGCT, lacked the “required” educational background, were denied entry based on race or never had their applications forwarded, many more simply chose not to apply. In 1942, many intelligent black Americans, and especially activeduty Soldiers, indicated “reluctan[ce] to give up the known certainties and privileges of their [civilian professions or] non-commissioned rating for the uncertainties of the officers’ rank” because of the “difficulties and risks” associated with becoming a second lieutenant.17 Ultimately, lack of ability and education requirements were minor reasons for the scarcity of black officers. Because, even though “the AGCT requirements alone were sufficient to cut the potential number of Negro officer candidates far below the proportion . . . expected, . . . by the end of 1942 the number of available Negro officers were beginning to exceed [my emphasis] the number of available assignments.”18 Simply put, while the War Department continued its claim that it could not produce enough black officers, it in fact failed to make assignments available for them. As late as 1944, black officers petitioned the War Department for assignments.19 Some of the above was because the military continued to react to the Nation’s complaints from the white civilian community, relative to the attitude of the era. If a community petitioned against black officers being stationed on a nearby military installation, most likely none were sent. This, in part, buttressed the appearance that there were too many black officers, when, in fact, black officer strength was low. For example, the 733rd

124 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Military Police Battalion, an all-black unit staffed initially with white officers, never received its full complement of black officers because the unit was transferred to New Mexico among “a potentially anti-Negro civilian population.” So the full complement of black officers was never assigned. The entire Mississippi congressional delegation petitioned the War Department to assign no black officers in their state, and Georgia congressmen objected to assigning any to Camp Steward.20 In addition to debarment from certain sections of the country, the War Department did not send black officers to some units because War Department officials generally believed they were incapable of leading troops and maintaining unit standards. 21 Consequently, junior white officers continued to fill slots previously designated by the War Department as “Negro officers” positions. Furthermore, at locations such as Camp Sibert, Alabama, where some black officers were sent, white junior officers were regularly promoted above them.22 Nevertheless, in October 1943 the Army Military Personnel Division “concluded that the current promotion policy is operating satisfactorily. . . . Of the [N]egro officers . . . eligible and qualified for promotion, 44% were promoted.”23

GHOST OF WORLD WAR I The lack of assignments and misuse ultimately led to many of the problems the War Department experienced with black officers later in the War. Upon graduating from OCS the War Department sent many black officers to large officer pools at Fort Huachuca—93rd Division—or at their respective OCS sites instead of to units. Thus, many of these men, trained to be commissioned officers and unable to get an assignment commensurate to their specialty, remained inexperienced and eventually became bitter. Morale plummeted as overcrowding set in at these “special separate pools,” as they came to be called. For example: As early as August 1942, when many other Negro units were reporting officer shortages, the 93d Division was being swamped by the daily arrival of new lieutenants. Housing and messing facilities available to the division at Fort Huachuca could accommodate 636 officers of all grades, but the 93d had 644 lieutenants alone. Many . . . sleeping two and three in a room. . . .’24 In sharp contrast to the overcrowding in the 93rd Division at Fort Huachuca, black officers assigned to mixed staff units were segregated and often assigned one or two to large spacious barracks or houses isolated from other officers within the unit.25 Proportionately speaking, chaplains often received assignments to mixed-staff units in line with their training. As had been the case dating back to the Civil War, the chaplain was one officer most likely accepted by

The United States Army 125 white and black Soldiers and officers at face value. A good chaplain could make a significant difference. There were instances where the presence of a black chaplain kept black Soldiers from rioting against white Soldiers, officers or local civilians. A case in point was Chaplain Lorenzo Q. Brown, who, on 12 July 1942, dispersed a mob of more than 500 Soldiers intent upon forcibly freeing some of their comrades from civilian police.26 Despite their acceptance, the number of black chaplains remained much lower than required to staff designated units.27 Black officers’ experience during World War II regrettably proved the unfair assumptions based on the post–World War I studies were still widely held—i.e., that only a few hand-picked white officers could lead black units and that black officers were generally incapable and inefficient. Nonetheless, no less than 6,691 black officers served during the war. Short sketches of the following ten officers should offer insight into the life of a black officer during World War II.

EXPENSIVELY EDUCATED Black officers’ World War II experiences varied as much as the officers themselves. Although many served overseas, many never left the United States. William E. Gott and H. Minton Francis both spent their World War II years stateside. Gott, who enlisted in 1935 and received a direct presidential appointment as a second lieutenant in 1942, served as adjutant and medical registrar at Station Hospital #2, Fort Huachuca, Arizona, throughout World War II. 28 For Francis, assignment to a federalized Florida National Guard artillery battalion stationed at Camp Gruber, Oklahoma, kept him, a 1944 graduate of the Military Academy, from doing what he most wanted to do, fight Hitler’s Wehrmacht. 29 Gott was born 12 November 1914 in Plainfield, New Jersey. His father died when he was three, his mother passed away when he was twelve, and his oldest brother, born with infantile paralysis, died a few years after Gott’s mother. Raised by a widowed aunt, Gott worked any job he could fi nd after school during the Great Depression. In 1935, when Gott saw a poster in the local YMCA announcing vacancies in the 25th Infantry Regiment, then located in Arizona, he jumped at the chance to join the Army. After raising enough money for bus fare to Fort Huachuca, Gott set off on a “risky gamble” journey to Fort Huachuca—because his acceptance was not guaranteed—which culminated in a thirty-two year military career. 30 After seven successful, educational and productive years as a medical technician, X-ray technician, morgue technician, operating-room technician, pharmacy technician, medical-records specialist and a student, Gott rose to the rank of fi rst sergeant and ultimately earned a direct commission as a second lieutenant. Although not used in a foreign theater of operation,

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Gott used all the skills he was trained to perform and served his country well during World War II.31 Francis, who vividly recalled how he and most of his West Point classmates worried about the war ending before they could do their part, was also never sent overseas. Instead, after attending Field Artillery Officers Advance Course, Francis became the fi rst black to be commissioned in the Regular Army in the Field Artillery Corps—he served the remainder of the war in a National Guard unit of which he had horrible recollections.32 When Francis graduated from West Point “there existed two U.S. Armies, one white and mainstream, fully supported and promoted, and one black and second class, barely supported and relegated to the back burner in Army priorities.”33 As a black officer Francis served in the latter. Ordinarily, Francis, an “expensively” educated West Pointer, should have had an advantage in the 1944 Army. Not so. When he reported to his battalion commander at Camp Gruber, Oklahoma, the commander told the executive officer, “Well, the nigger West Pointer has arrived. Let’s see what he’s like.” The commander quickly informed Francis the source of his commission “cut no ice” and he would “start from scratch.”34 Though Francis did not seek favoritism, he equally expected fair treatment. Inequality, however, is what he received. Assigned to the headquarters motor pool and mess officer duties, it was not long before he and the commander clashed. The confl ict began when Francis reported to the “officers” mess section and noticed officers’ assignment to tables by race, rather than rank and/or unit. Against the timid advice of the mess sergeant, who had arranged the tables by order of the battalion commander and was himself hesitant about rearranging the names, Lieutenant Francis, acting in his mess officer capacity, reshuffled “the names of the officers at each table so that field-grade officers would be seated separately from company-grade officers, and that all companygrade officers would be seated by battery, regardless of race.” Most officers paid little attention to the new seating arrangement and promptly took their seats at the next meal. The battalion commander, however, “was outraged and wanted to know who had changed the seating arrangements. . . . [Francis answered] in a loud voice” that he had done so. 35 Francis promptly was labeled a “subversive” and placed under investigation for two months. When the unit began to deploy to Europe aboard the Queen Mary, Francis was removed from the ship, reassigned to the infantry and remained stateside at Fort Benning, Georgia.36 Francis did not go to Germany until 1946. By then the war was over. He was assigned to the Big Red One (First Infantry Division), and fate had returned him to the Field Artillery. 37 The World War II service of Gott and Francis exemplify the positive and negative experiences of black officers during World War II. Gott, highly trained and wisely utilized during the war, had fond memories of his World War II service. Francis’s skills and training were wasted during the war, although he was highly and expensively educated by the Nation.

The United States Army 127 His memories were mainly bad memories. Other factors contributing to the varied experiences of Gott and Francis lay with their units. Gott served at Fort Huachuca, which had a large concentration of black officers, some of them field-grade. Additionally, Fort Huachuca had a diverse group of officers and Soldiers from all areas of the Nation. Francis, on the other hand, served in a Southern—Florida—federalized unit with all company-grade black officers and most, if not all, “rednecks [and] hand-picked southerners” as the senior white officers.38 The arrival of “the nigger West Pointer,” as Francis was called, 39 apparently incited considerable resentment.

EUROPEAN THEATER Two officers who served overseas during World War II were Joseph A. Kahoe, Jr., and Elliott Johnson. Both served in specialized units new to the Army and only recently opened to blacks. Although Johnson’s specialized unit, the 795th Tank Destroyer Battalion, was converted into a support unit prior to deployment to Europe, Kahoe’s unit, the 761st Tank Battalion, deployed as a combat unit and eventually became the first black tank battalion to see combat.40 As mentioned earlier, approximately twenty-two black separate combat battalions, and many more service battalions, saw action in the European Theater. On 6 June 1944, D-Day, between 1,500 and 2,000 black Soldiers went ashore.41 In late 1944 as a result of the decrease in infantry manpower more than 5,000 black Soldiers, already in Europe, volunteered to serve as infantry troops in integrated companies. Although only 2,800 of the volunteers actually got the opportunity to serve in the infantry,42 it resulted in the first low-level integration of black and white American Soldiers since the American Revolution. Furthermore, between 1942 and 1945, the percentage of black service troops serving in the European Theater of Operation increased from roughly 25 percent to 75 percent.43 Lieutenant Elliott Johnson served in one of those service battalions. Elliott Johnson was born in South Carolina 21 January 1917. Johnson, a second-generation college graduate, rare in the black community (north or south) in the 1930s, went to South Carolina State. Drafted in 1941, he had no ill feelings about being a college graduate drafted as a private. He immediately, however, began inquiring about OCS. His determination to become an officer stemmed from his father’s inability to do so because his age prevented him from attending OCS at Fort Des Moines during World War I. Luckily, Johnson satisfied the necessary age requirements and was selected to attend OCS immediately upon completing basic training at Camp Cross, South Carolina.44 After OCS, Lieutenant Johnson was sent to Fort Custer, Michigan, where his fi rst assignment was to the newly designated 795th Tank Destroyer Battalion.45 After a brief delay at Camp Bowie, the 795th moved to Fort Hood, Texas, where it trained extensively for combat duty as a tank-destroyer

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unit. It eventually became one of the first units to deploy to Camp Claiborne, Louisiana, for fi nal maneuvers. In December 1944 the 795th Tank Destroyer began overseas deployment, strangely enough, after receiving extensive fi refighting training46 rather than additional tank-destroyer training. Johnson’s unit was indeed converted into a service battalion and therefore never saw action as a combat arms unit. A total of thirty-two black combat arms units were converted between August 1943 and early 1945. Many Soldiers resented being converted.47 The War Department claimed it needed more labor units as the rationale for conversions.48 Of course, this was not what most blacks wanted or believed. Also, it conjured up the old beliefs of the War Department’s reluctance to use blacks as fighting Soldiers. Johnson stated Soldiers in his unit were more disappointed than resentful of being converted. “We were not a bunch of youngsters who were out to get into, say a brawl or fight or something. . . . We were patriotic Americans on duty to serve our country.”49 Needless to say, however, most wanted to fight on the frontlines as combat arms troops rather than service and support-type duties away from the front. After the invasion of Europe a massive amount of labor and service support units were increasingly needed to support the Allied push toward Berlin. The War Department’s decision to convert units was sound and rational. Perhaps it was also true that the War Department did not much care to use black units in combat arms roles. Certainly, the ratio of white combat arms units to black labor and service units was disproportionate, which raises the question of whether more white units could have been converted just as easily. The fact, however, that a great deal of the service troops in Europe by 1945 were black is justification enough to conclude that V-E Day would not have been possible by May 1945 without black Soldiers. An army cannot sustain combat operations without the food, fuel and ammunition provided by labor and service support units. What some Soldiers actually resented more than being converted, according to Johnson, was “any number of people . . . not eligible for military service; . . . political leaders, [and] particularly our [black] newspapers . . . agitating, . . . for want of a better word, . . . higher ups to send . . . Negro [Combat Arms B]attalions overseas.” These agitators were often “not available to go out and get themselves hurt” but were eager, it seemed to some Soldiers, to send them into harm’s way.50 Though disappointed, Johnson was determined to take full advantage of overseas duty. Fully aware many young black Americans had not been exposed to different cultures, he decided to expose them wherever they happened to go. When in England, Johnson and other officers in his unit ensured their men visited London and while in France they made sure their men visited Paris.51 Within four months of Johnson’s arrival, the war in Europe ended. Since no one in his unit had accumulated enough points to return to the states, they were rerouted to the Pacific. Shortly after they passed through the Straits of Gibraltar the United States dropped the second atomic bomb and the war in the Pacific ended.52

The United States Army 129 Joseph A. Kahoe, Jr.’s, European service contrasted dramatically with Johnson’s service. Trained as a tanker with the now famed 761st Tank Battalion, Kahoe’s unit, along with the 758th and 784th, was activated during World War II. The 761st, organized on 1 April 1942, at Camp Claiborne, Louisiana, transferred to Fort Hood, Texas, in September 1943. 53 After more than one additional year of training the unit began movement overseas. Upon deployment very few of the 712 men who eventually landed on Omaha Beach, on 10 October 1944, believed they were on the threshold of history.54 Among those 712 men with thirty-six officers, six white and thirty black, was Lieutenant Joseph Kahoe. Born 4 March 1917, in New Orleans, Louisiana, Kahoe moved with his family to Chicago, Illinois, at age eleven. Although no one in his family had ever been associated with the military he was attracted to high school ROTC at an early age and subsequently joined the National Guard, which trained during the summer at Camp Grant in Rockford, Illinois. He became so attached to the program that he enlisted in the Army in 1935 after graduating from high school. Kahoe served until he married in 1938. 55 When the draft was reinstated in 1940, Kahoe was classified as 3A—married status, or more specifically, deferred because of hardship to dependents. As a 3A Kahoe might not have been drafted, but he was still interested in serving his country. He heard of the Volunteer Officer Candidate Program (VOC) for 3As with a certain IQ who could join the Army, attend basic training and go directly to OCS if they passed a basic aptitude test and basic training. Kahoe entered the program in September 1942, and was assigned to Fort Knox, Kentucky, for basic training. 56 Although Kahoe selected Quartermaster and Engineers, because he felt career progression for blacks were better in noncombat arms units, he received a slot to attend Armor Basic Training at Fort Knox. Shortly thereafter he learned the Army was actively training blacks as tankers and “became all excited about” his new assignment. After successfully completing basic training and meeting all VOC requirements Kahoe received his commission as a second lieutenant and joined the 761st already on maneuvers at Camp Claiborne, Louisiana.57 At Camp Claiborne Kahoe encountered a different Army than he knew as an enlisted Soldier. First, he met other black officers who had joined the 761st during the past year. Second, he met white officers who were supposed to treat and respect him as a fellow officer. Kahoe recalls they “had all types” of black officer personalities. Though all the officers appeared to be sharp and competent, some liked to gamble, some liked to go to town and have a good time and others were very “conscientious about what was going on” around them. After a while Kahoe began to notice some men’s abrupt transfer out of the unit. Initially he was unsure of the reason for the abrupt transfers but he later realized it was not always “a bad” officer, but rather one who was perceived as “militant.”58 In an interview with Kahoe in 1994, Kahoe had little recollection of white officers. “We had very few

130 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 when I joined. But some looked like they were older; it wasn’t real racist per se; but you could see they didn’t want us; they defi nitely didn’t associate with the black officers. . . . In most cases the white officers all held higher positions than the black officers.”59 The 761st began overseas deployment to Europe on 27 August 1944. Prior to deployment they turned in every piece of tanker equipment. Unaware this was the norm, they believed they were going to become one of the many black combat arms units to be converted into a service battalion. “We were very skeptical that we were ever really going to get into combat,” said Kahoe. When several months later the battalion “got the call to go up to whatever depot and pick up the tanks . . . Morale changed again, it really went up.”60 Unlike the 758th Tank Battalion, which went to Italy and was issued used, largely unserviceable, equipment, the 761st was issued new M4A3E8 tanks with the 76mm gun, “the best equipment that was available.”61 The 761st landed on Omaha Beach on 10 October 1944 in high spirits and ready to join the fray. By that time Allied forces had burst through the Bocage, bloodied the nose of German forces at the Falaise Gap, liberated Paris, executed Operation Market-Garden, and were pushing on to the Rhine River. But before reaching the Rhine, the Germans made one more stand in the Ardennes. The 761st was there.62 Once in France the 761st maneuvered 200 miles across country to link up with the fast moving allied forces on the frontline. They reached the front in late October and officially committed to battle on 31 October 1944. Their fi rst major engagement, however, did not occur until 8 November and “Joe Kahoe’s platoon moved out fi rst.”63 By that time young Lieutenant Kahoe was fi red up because just a few days prior to the fi rst battle, on 2 November 1944, General George S. Patton, Jr., visited his battalion, stood on a half-track, and told Kahoe and his unit, “I have nothing but the best in my Army and if you hadn’t been good I wouldn’t have asked for you, I don’t care what your color is. You get out there and kill the Kraut SOBs.”64 Fight the “SOBs” they did. The 761st fought in the Battle of the Bulge and in many other engagements until the war ended. Kahoe, unfortunately, was wounded in January and was evacuated. He returned to his unit in April and fought with it until they met the Russians in Steyr, Austria, on 6 May.65 Kahoe’s World War II experience was unique for only a handful of blacks got the opportunity to serve in a combat arms branch and even fewer served as officers. Kahoe was proud to have served his country, but strongly resented a statement in Patton’s memoirs.66 Years after the war Kahoe read Patton’s book, War as I Knew It, and was incredulous to see that Patton wrote, “Today I visited with the 761st Tank Battalion. . . . I still don’t think that the colored Soldier has the mentality or thinks fast enough to operate a tank.”67 Though Patton wrote these words before the 761st proved itself, Kahoe believed Patton had ample time to retract or correct the statement, if he actually thought otherwise, before publication of the book.68 Most importantly, Kahoe was unsure that he and

The United States Army 131 his comrades accomplished their goal. Speaking of why they fought, Kahoe said, “I think we all felt that it was going to help us in the long run, that we were going to make things better in this country.”69 In the interview as Kahoe made the above statement his facial expression, body language and tone of voice suggested he believes black Americans had not accomplished their ultimate goal. Kahoe was right in some respects. Allied success at bringing democracy to much of the world did not fully translate into equality for blacks in America. Many, to include those who fought with valor “above and beyond the call of duty,” came home to return to second-class citizenship. The poignancy of democracy versus second-class citizenship is best illustrated in the stories of two men, one enlisted, the other an officer. Sergeant Edward A. Carter and Second Lieutenant Vernon J. Baker, both decorated war veterans who volunteered for frontline duties, were willing to give their lives for the defense of America. Yet after the war neither man could find a decent job. Because Sergeant Carter served in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade during the Spanish Civil War from 1936 through 1939 and the American government hastily linked him to an organization classified as Communist in 1945, he was identified as a Communist and placed under surveillance. By 1950 he was denied the opportunity to reenlist in the Army and was essentially stonewalled. Unable to make a decent living for him and his family as a civilian and with failing health, Sergeant Carter died largely a broken man in 1963. For Vernon J. Baker, after not being able to find a job in civilian life following the war, he fortunately was able to reenlist in the Army, where he remained until he retired in 1968 after twenty-eight years of service. He then went to work for the Red Cross for eleven years. The irony of Sergeant Carter and Lieutenant Baker’s stories is they were both among the seven black Americans who had performed in battle at the “above and beyond the call of duty” level that merited the Nation’s highest award, the Medal of Honor. They received the award fifty-two years after World War II ended.70 One of Lieutenant Joseph Kahoe’s 761st Tank Battalion company mates, Staff Sergeant Ruben Rivers, also belatedly and posthumously received the Medal of Honor in January 1997 for his actions in early November 1944. Rivers was killed in action on 19 November 1945, nearly two weeks after he performed the action that earned him the Medal of Honor.71 When Kahoe, who fought in the same company as Rivers in the Saar Basin in France, was interviewed for this book, the Medal of Honor had not yet been awarded to Ruben Rivers.72 However, Kahoe knew he had fought with fine American tankers in the 761st.

PACIFIC THEATER Black officers, including Lieutenants Thomas B. Smith and George Looney, fought in the Pacific. Both served in the 93rd Division, which deployed throughout the South Pacific from Guadalcanal to the Philippines.73 Smith served in health care, while Looney served as an infantryman.

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Thomas B. Smith was born 21 October 1909, in Adrian, Georgia. His father was a sharecropper who through hard work and thrift saved enough to become a farm renter and owner of domestic stock and equipment. Smith earned a bachelor’s degree in 1933 from Wilberforce, where he took ROTC under then Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Sr. He had no interest in a military career at the time. Instead, he pursued his main interests of teaching and furthering his education. In 1942 he earned a master’s degree in bacteriology from the University of Michigan and was drafted into the Army shortly thereafter.74 In August 1943, Smith earned a direct commission and was immediately assigned to Fort Huachuca as a microbiologist. In November, he was transferred to Tuskegee Army Airfield to become the medical laboratory officer. After successfully organizing the Tuskegee laboratory, he went back to Fort Huachuca, at the request of Dr. Hildrus A. Poindexter, to begin deployment for Guadalcanal with the 93rd Infantry Division.75 For black medical officers “Fort Huachuca [was] the life center.” Smith noted that there were two station hospitals. Station Hospital #1 was all white and station hospital #2 was primarily black. Nearly all the doctors at the latter were black. “So, at Fort Huachuca I [Lieutenant Smith] was shielded. I seldom saw any white officers . . . and of course the [officer’s] club was a club for blacks.”76 While on duty in the Pacific, Smith served in Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Luzon and Manila. His main function was to prevent the spread of malaria and reduce troop exposure to unsanitary conditions and the indigenous population. Since he was a medical officer Smith had few direct combatrelated stories. He vividly recalled, however, the evening kamikaze pilots attacked the ship convoy on which he was sailing. Watching as “one of them veered off and came down in a screaming dive . . . into the #3 hatch of a [nearby] ship” was perhaps his “starkest” experience in the Pacific.77 Lieutenant George Looney’s Pacific experience differed. Looney, born 28 October 1923, in Douglas, Arizona, was in the unique category of being a second-generation Soldier. His father served in the 9th and 10th Cavalry Regiments and the 25th Infantry Regiment. Looney’s entire childhood was spent in Fort Huachuca, Arizona, where he attended both segregated and integrated schools and learned the ins and outs of the life of an enlisted Soldier. Although he hoped to attend college to study music, he had to abandon that dream for a job to help support his family. He enlisted in the military in 1940.78 Shortly after Looney enlisted, the draft was reinstated and Fort Huachuca began to look different. Many of the newly assigned black draftees were “rough troops” far from the quality of regular Soldiers of old. The former white officers, most of them sincere West Pointers who chose to serve with the “Buffalo Soldiers,” were slowly transferred out “to new white groups or National Guard units” and were replaced by Southern white officers, Looney said, “who could not have made it with . . . any white division of any caliber.” Looney added, “What we [the 93rd Division] didn’t get of the misfits [referring to the white replacement officers] ended up with the 92nd Division.”79

The United States Army 133 Looney scored high on the AGCT and was classified as Class I. He was selected in 1942 to attend Infantry OCS at Fort Benning, Georgia. His class consisted of twenty-two black officer candidates segregated into two squads. Upon graduation white officers immediately received orders to proceed to new assignments, most of them overseas. “No blacks received any orders.” One month later they were all ordered to serve as airfield guards at Camp Swift, Texas. Once the airfield guard unit was disbanded Lieutenant Looney returned to Fort Huachuca to serve in the 25th Infantry Regiment.80 Unlike Lieutenant Smith, who encountered few white officers in Station Hospital #2, Looney encountered white officers daily. Unfortunately, they were not the Regular Army, West Pointers he knew as a child and young enlisted Soldier. They were replacement officers and, according to Looney, a great deal of “animosity [existed] between the white and black officers . . . ; the black officers as a whole were superior to their senior officers . . .; those white officers . . . knew they were outclassed . . . and this heightened their resentment.”81 Although the 93rd was an infantry division, it worked as a stevedore unit for many months after arrival in the Pacific in early 1944. Eventually the 25th and 24th Infantry Regiments were called forward—together they were known as the Brown Brigade.82 Looney was a heavy-weapons platoon leader. As a platoon leader he participated in, led and observed many patrols. He recalled there was a double standard for whites and blacks. During one patrol a white company commander deserted his unit in the field during an ambush. His black lieutenant and the main body of his patrol were annihilated. The CO was never charged; he was simply transferred to the battalion staff. Conversely, during a patrol in which Looney was assigned to locate an observation post (OP), he was recommended for a court-martial because it took him too long to locate the OP. In actuality he was given erroneous information by the intelligence officer, which had nearly cost the lives of men from two separate patrols. When it was proven the intelligence information was incorrect Looney was cleared, but the intelligence officer who made the near fatal mistake never received punishment.83 An obvious display of the racial double standards in the Pacific was General Harry H. Johnson’s “school for bad boys.” According to Looney: Those black lieutenants they considered not up to snuff, one way or another, were to be the students. The program instituted at this “school” was not too bad, if you didn’t mind doing your OCS training again. All of us had to read a paper called ‘Johnson’s Plan for Success in Battle.’ Nobody but we black junior officers had to read this, and I was of the opinion, what good was it going to do if our white senior officers were ignorant of all of this accumulated wisdom?84 After thirty-seven months in the South Pacific, Looney returned to the states. Like Smith, Looney made the military a career.

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ITALY The 92nd was the other all-black division. Initailly composed of the 365th, 370th and 371st Infantry Regiments, it deployed to Italy. Several months after deployment three other units were attached, the all-black 366th Infantry Regiment, the 442nd Regimental Combat Team composed of Japanese-Americans (Nisei)85 and the all-white 473rd Infantry. The 92nd Division consisted of roughly 12,000 Soldiers and 800 officers of which 600 were black.86 In August 1944, the 370th Regimental Combat Team became the first regiment of the 92nd Division to deploy to Italy and engage in combat.87 During the combat period from 2 August to 5 October 1944, General Edward M. Almond, who had commanded the division since 1942 and took it through training, reported, “Although the pitfalls common to all new units were experienced, the operational results were good; morale was high.”88 In October the remainder of the division arrived and on 26 November the 366th Infantry Regiment, which had been in Italy since May providing air base security for the Fifteenth Air Force, was attached to it and soon committed to battle.89 Much of the negative report attributed to the 92nd Division was as a result of the 366th Infantry, which was attached in the 92nd in the Italian Theater of Operation after the 366th had just completed eight months of noncombat airfield security duty. Shortly after arrival the 366th was put into the 92nd Division’s Order of Battle and from 26 December to 23 February it experienced several tactical and operational setbacks. The period 8 to 11 February was the most troubling. “This operation,” according to General Almond, “established in the minds of all commanders, . . . the almost total unreliability of the Infantry of the Division, especially the rifle elements.” 90 Although the 366th Infantry never considered itself an official part of the 92nd Division it was nonetheless attached to the division.91 Conversely, General Almond and his commanders probably never fully considered the 366th an official part of the division, which had been together for more than two years when the 366th joined. What effect this last hour attachment had on the performance and rating of the 366th can only be speculated. Furthermore, and as one contemporary white officer who served with the 92nd would publish years later, “[a]lthough the 366th had passed its combat fi ring tests and 15 company-grade officers had attended a three-week leadership and battle training course, its overall state of training and operational readiness had suffered as a result of its dispersed and prolonged security guard duty. Morale was high, though, in anticipation of its combat assignment.”92 As a result of the combat actions in January and Frebruary, criticism of the 92nd Division’s performance in Italy has been vigorous. Lieutenant General Mark Clark, commander of the Fifth Army in Italy, and Major General Almond, commander of the 92nd Division, both placed the combat failures of the entire Italian Campaign squarely on the shoulders of the junior officers of the 92nd Division. Members of the 92nd Division

The United States Army 135 never denied it was forced to retreat in the Serchio Sector on 26 December 1944 after a surprise German attack and its failure to capture the town of Massa in February 1945. However, members point out that many American units—black and white—had similar setbacks, that its successes far outweighed its failures, and most importantly, that “whatever shortcomings the 92nd had rested entirely on the shoulders of Major General Almond [and] his entire staff [which] was incompetent excepting for” a few officers.93 In the classic sense, the story and record of the 92nd Division are a two-sided “he said, she said” coin but one that the junior officers and Soldiers could not defend in 1945 and immediately after the war. On 24 February after the difficulties in battle a prompt reorganization began in which “the best qualified infantry officers, noncommissioned officers and enlisted” of the 366th, 365th and 371st were consolidated into the 370th. Throughout the remainder of the war the 92nd fought with three distinctly different racially composed regiments, the 370th (black), 442nd (Nisei) and 473rd (white) Infantry Regiments.94 Four of the five officers discussed below were young lieutenants in the 366th during the Italian Campaign of 1944–45. John T. Martin, Frederick E. Davison, Arthur Fearing and John R. Fox served with the 366th Infantry Regiment, and Joseph Hairston served with the 599th Field Artillery Battalion. Joseph Hairston was born 8 May 1922, in Martinsville, Virginia. Hairston’s stepfather moved the family to Connellsville, Pennsylvania, when he was two years old and he was raised there in an integrated community. He lost his mother when he was ten and his stepfather died two years later. As a result his stepaunt raised him.95 In June 1940 he and a friend (apparently white) joined the Army. The friend was inducted within a week, but Hairston’s official induction did not occur until October. Hairston, who said he grew “up fat, dumb and happy” in his comfortable integrated community, later learned he had been the victim of the military’s “separate but equal” policy. The policy for black volunteers prior to the draft was that none could be inducted into the service unless one left the service.96 After an initial assignment at the West Point Hospital, followed by a second assignment as a medical Soldier at Camp Livingston, Louisiana, where he rose rapidly in rank, Hairston applied for OCS and was accepted. He asked for any noncombat arms branch but was sent to Field Artillery School at Fort Sill, Oklahoma.97 One of only four blacks in a class of several hundred OCS candidates, Hairston’s class was fully integrated, a sharp contrast to Looney’s OCS class at Fort Benning, Georgia. Everyone was assigned alphabetically. Consequently, he was the only black person in his six-man tent. Upon graduation he received an assignment to the 599th Field Artillery, 370th Infantry Regiment, 92nd Division, then stationed at Camp Robinson, Arkansas. In the spring of 1944, his unit transferred to Fort Huachuca to align with the other battalions of the 92nd Division in order to prepare for overseas movement.98

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Hairston, well aware of the negative rating given the 92nd Division after World War II, saw things differently from his lowly vantage point as a lieutenant. First, he said General Almond was “a rampant racist,” and had a policy at Fort Huachuca that no black officer could serve above a white officer. Consequently, Hairston and others remained second lieutenants while junior white officers were promoted to first lieutenants. This policy obviously affected morale and performance. Hairston finally received a promotion to first lieutenant after two years and two months only because General Clark, while visiting him in the field in Italy, said that he had been a second lieutenant too long.99

Figure 13.1 First Lieutenant Joseph Hairston, circa World War II (Courtesy of Hairston).

The United States Army 137 Secondly, Hairston believed the 92nd was “bad” because its commander said it was bad, not because the junior officers were bad. “If we were so bad,” Hairston countered, why did many of the junior officers achieve so much during the post war era? Some “became general officers,” and one, Edward William Brooke III, became a U.S. senator from Massachusetts. The commander of the 92nd Division considered the men more than “bad.” Shortly after the war in an extremely scathing “Top Secret” report, General Almond summarized “The Negro Officer”: The negro officer, in general, fails to meet minimum infantry combat standards. He lacks pride, aggressiveness, a sense of responsibility and has practically no command capacity above the grade of captain. His race consciousness seriously affects his general efficiency. He does not comprehend the merit system of promotion. The negro officer does have utility in the artillery and the services.100 Hairston was also critical of his battery commander. He was “a person who impressed me as being unsuited for combat. . . . I hesitate to say that he was a coward, . . . but I only saw him once or twice on the front.” As a result, Hairston actually commanded the battery while he was assigned as the executive officer.101 Many of the officers in Hairston’s unit knew each other personally before the war or had become very well acquainted after it began. This “brotherhood” saved Hairston’s life. In December 1944, Hairston’s outfit came under heavy coast artillery fi re while moving towards Genoa. On the road, he could not return fi re. Moreover, he was under radio listening silence so, by procedure, he could not speak or receive radio messages. Eventually he broke radio silence and called “Mayday.” No one responded. He later learned he was given the wrong SOI (signal operation instructions)—or radio frequencies—for that day. Recognizing Hairston’s voice on the wrong frequency, Lieutenant Roscoe Cartwright also broke radio listening silence and asked Hairston to validate with his father-in-law’s name, which was Dawson. Once Hairston validated, Cartwright moved into a support-by-fi re position so Hairston and his men could safely disengage from the enemy artillery fi re.102 *

*

*

Lieutenants John T. Martin and Frederick E. Davison, both graduates of Howard University, and Arthur Fearing all served in the 366th Infantry Regiment. Martin, born 29 April 1920, in New York City, graduated from Howard in 1940. Davison, born 28 September 1917, in Washington, DC, graduated from Howard in 1938. Fearing, born 12 September 1915, on the campus of Tuskegee Institute, earned his higher education while on active duty.103 In many ways their stories are unique, but in other ways they reflect

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the general experience of World War II era black officers, especially those who served in the 366th Infantry Regiments. Most of the black officers in the newly activated 366th were members of the 428th Infantry Regiment, a District of Columbia reserve unit.104 In 1941 the men simply transferred to the 366th Infantry stationed at Fort Devens, Massachusetts, where they remained for more than two years before being identified for deployment. From Fort Devens they moved to Camp AP Hill, Virginia, for training but were relocated to Camp Atterbury, Indiana, before fi nal deployment. After more than two years of training for a war they felt they were being excluded from, many were no longer willing to settle for second-class status. One night a group of Soldiers boarded a bus at Camp AP Hill bound for Fredericksburg, Virginia. On the way back the bus driver told the Soldiers, as usual, to move to the back of the bus. The Soldiers refused, removed the driver and drove the bus to Camp AP Hill themselves. A few days later the 366th transferred out of Virginia.105 Martin, Davison and Fearing were with the unit and would be among the men who fi rst conducted airfield security before joining with the 92nd Division and subsequent combat actions. John T. Martin’s father, a grade school dropout, worked for fi fteen years in the Philippines for the War Department, where he learned to speak fluent Spanish and other native tongues. He eventually returned to New York City, where young Martin was born. Since Martin’s mother was in poor health, his grandfather asked his father to move the family to Washington, DC, where Martin was raised and educated.106 While at Howard University, Martin, with his father’s encouragement, joined the ROTC program. Upon graduation he entered military service as a reserve officer and was subsequently called to active duty in 1941. Equality of pay was what appealed to Martin about the military. White and black officers of the same rank earned the same pay. Also, as far as Martin could see, progression within the military was also possible; he was assigned to an all-black battalion from colonel to private. Conversely, noted Martin, “in the Federal Government . . . promotions were very . . . very slim . . . you did not even think of blacks rising above GS-5.”107 Martin was a transportation officer during the war and commanded Italian as well as black Soldiers. He remained with the 366th until its deactivation in 1945. He eventually retired as a full colonel in 1966. Colonel Martin died on 27 May 1995. Frederic E. Davison also served with the 366th. After graduating from Howard, he was commissioned as a reserve officer and served in the 428th until he was called to active duty on 3 March 1941. He was eventually transferred to the 366th.108 Basically the entire officer cadre of the 428th, including the black field-grade officers, were moved to Fort Devens. However, when they “reported to Fort Devens, there were five senior white officers: four lieutenant colonels and one colonel who were assigned there ostensibly for the purpose of guiding and advising.”109

The United States Army 139 These five officers were essentially shadow commanders for the black commanding officers. For example, Colonel Edmond Andrews shadowed Colonel West Hamilton, the black regimental commander. This remained the command structure of the 366th for several years.110 The shadow system ended once the 366th deployed to join with the 92nd Division. Very few officers in the 366th had favorable opinions of the five senior officers assigned to them. Davison cynically believed “the caliber of the white officers [was poor and that they were placed there] so that the regiment would fail.”111 Years later Davison said, After thirty some years in the Army I could well understand what had happened. The 366th was brought to active duty, as I understand it, as a result of pressure that was placed on the government to allow Negroes then to participate. There was no intention of ever letting the 366th see the light of day in combat. . . . As a result, if you assign to a virgin outfit people who lack in capacity to supervise, and you add to that the fact that these people probably had no interest in the regiment or in us per se, it becomes pretty clear in my judgment that there was no intent . . . for the 366th to succeed .112 To make matters worse, very few black officers were sent to specialty schools to enhance their skills. Davison, however, was fortunate enough to attend the Rifle and Heavy Weapons Course at Fort Benning while he was stationed at Fort Devens. The conditions for blacks who attended school there were “miserable,” according to Davison. All blacks, “regardless of the course or rank, stayed in . . . building 1300.” The post theater, main post club and swimming pool were off limits. General Omar N. Bradley, commandant of the Infantry School when Davison attended, informed the senior black officers at Fort Benning that they “were not to use those facilities.”113 The 366th fi nally departed Camp Atterbury for Italy, by way of Casablanca, North Africa, in March 1944. Although many barriers remained for Davison, Martin and Fearing throughout the war, they faced a shortterm barrier on the fi rst day of their departure. When they boarded the ship in Virginia a rope in the lounge separated it by race. Once the ship passed the three-mile limit at sea the captain removed the rope acknowledging he no longer had to obey Virginia law and that there was only one lounge on his ship.114 The 366th arrived in Italy in May and initially conducted airfield security duty. When the unit later transferred to the 92nd Division, Davison was transferred to the 371st Infantry Regiment. Though he felt the 92nd Division was “qualitatively on par,” it had serious problems at the senior staff level. One evening just after dusk, Davison reported as operations officer (S-3) for the First Battalion. He learned an attack had been ordered for his battalion the following morning. Intelligence information

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provided by the division staff assured him there were no minefields in his sector. However, once the attack began the battalion immediately encountered mines directly in front of them. Fortunately “the mines were not concealed at all” and they were able to negotiate the field safely. That was one of several incidents which caused Davison to conclude “that the 92nd Division staff didn’t know what the hell they were talking about” or it just did not care about the subordinate units it was charged to support.115 After the war Davison got out of the Army for a brief period. He reentered in 1947. During the Vietnam War Davison became the fi rst black American to command a brigade in combat. He retired as a major general in 1974. Arthur Fearing was in a category even more unique than Looney, discussed earlier, who joined his father’s 25th Infantry Regiment in 1940. Fearing was a second-generation commissioned officer whose father and uncle had been commissioned at Fort Des Moines, Iowa, during World War I. Fearing was commissioned through the CMTC at Fort Howard, Maryland, on 2 August 1938. He too was a member of the 428th. The most heralded combat experience Fearing clearly recalled years later was the German Italian offensive from 26–31 December 1944, in the Serchio Valley. Fearing’s Foxtrot Company was on Barga Ridge on day one of the offensive and was effectively overrun by a German force. After several days of fighting, American forces restored the front, but Fearing’s company had been pulled off the lines after the fi rst night because it had become combat ineffective. Fearing was one of only five enlisted men and two officers of Foxtrot Company to survive.116 Lieutenant Fearing was later sent to Mine Warfare School. For the remainder of his European tour Fearing blew up rocks to be mixed with tar for patching roads and recovered casualties from minefields so they could be properly handled by graves registration.117 While conducting his post–World War II duties Lieutenant Fearing became disenchanted with the Army and decided to leave. His disillusionment did not relate to his duties, but rather the way he was personally treated on two separate occasions. The fi rst incident occurred in October 1945 prior to his return to the states: . . . my father was on his deathbed; . . . I requested permission for emergency leave; it was approved all the way up to the headquarters in Fifth Army; and the answer was that there were no other units that I could be assigned to or attached to that would be leaving Europe before my unit. So therefore, my request for leave was denied. I then requested permission to go to Italy to make a phone call to my father. . . . On the 1st of October I made application and was told to come back on the 4th of October and my call would be going through. I asked for person-toperson to my father, Charles H. Fearing. My oldest brother was a junior, he answered the phone. I said ‘Charles let me speak to dad.’ He said,

The United States Army 141 ‘Didn’t you get my cable?’ I said, ‘No, what.’ He said, ‘Daddy died on the 1st of October and we just walked in the house from Arlington Cemetery where we buried Daddy. At that time my mind started flying saying ‘get the hell out of the Army, and get out as fast as you can and don’t do anything with it.’ But once I settled down, I decided that the military wasn’t bad and that I liked what I had done so far. . . .118 Fearing’s welcome home ultimately convinced him he was not going to serve his country any longer. Upon return to the states Lieutenant Fearing was assigned to Fort McClellan, Alabama. On the Saturday night he signed in he asked the duty officer where the post exchange, cafeteria, officer’s quarters and club were. The officer replied: “Sir (and I [Fearing] was in uniform too) for you all everything is right over there in those tents.” Two hours later Fearing returned to the Charge of Quarters (CQ) and asked how many points he needed to get out of the Army. The CQ asked him how many he had and he replied: “I have 86 points.” The CQ informed him that was sufficient credit and he only needed to report back Monday morning at 0800 hours. Fearing returned and was separated from the Army.119 The “system” beat down Arthur Fearing who enjoyed the military and serving his country, but there was no reciprocation, so he escaped the humiliation and briefly left the service. As with many others, Arthur Fearing returned to the Army. He eventually retired in 1966 as a lieutenant colonel (See Figure 13.2). The ultimate testament of the caliber of many of the men that served in the 366th is the battlefield sacrifice of 1st Lieutenant John R. Fox, who, on the morning of 26 December 1944—the same day that elements of the 92nd were forced to retreat in the Serchio Sector—called artillery fire in on his own position. Fox’s selfless actions on that day facilitated the retreat and undoubtedly saved many American lives. Like many Americans who performed the acts of “at risk of his life . . . beyond the call . . .,” Fox was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross (DSC). Fifty-two years later a different citation read: For extraordinary heroism on December 26, 1944, while serving as a member of Cannon Company, 366th Infantry Regiment, 92nd Infantry Division, near Sommocolonia, Italy. Being greatly outnumbered, most of the U.S. infantry forces had withdrawn from the town, but Lieutenant Fox and some other members of his observer party voluntarily remained on the second floor of a house to direct defensive artillery fi re. After acknowledging the danger, Lieutenant Fox insisted all fi re be directed at him, as this was the only way to defeat the attacking enemy soldiers. Later, when a counterattack retook the position, Lieutenant Fox’s riddled body was found along with bodies of approximately one hundred German soldiers.120

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Figure 13.2 Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Fearing, circa 1965 (Courtesy of Fearing).

The citation was the DCS upgrade to the Medal of Honor. Fox would be one of four black officers awarded the Medal of Honor during World War II, all by President William Jefferson Clinton on 13 January 1997. Each of the individual vignettes in this chapter could be those of any American Soldier who served during World War II, except these all happen to be black officers. They were no better or worse than the mainstream American officer. They sought no special favors nor expected more glory then they rightfully deserved. They only wanted an opportunity to show

The United States Army 143 the world America was their country too and that they would and could defend it as well as any other. In return they simply wanted to be equal. Instead, they were often seen as oddities and aberrations, and treated as second-class citizens. There are at least two closing points that should be addressed relative to the two-sided coin matter associated with the vignettes of the officers in the 92nd Division. First, while the generalization that black officers and men of the 92nd Division were “bad” was indeed biased and very unfair, elements within the division did have difficulty in combat. Some difficulties were related to training, some were related to inefficiency and some related to racism, the latter of which set the 92nd apart from other units that did not perform to expectations during initial combat baptism. Second, the situation from the point of view of junior officers and Soldiers in war throughout the history of warfare, albeit not always, is that those at the next higher headquarters are “always screwed-up.” Some of the latter point of view was perhaps in play among junior offices within the 92nd. The fact, however, that all senior officers were generally white and all junior officers generally black only exacerbated the issue on both sides. It was a no-win situation for all involved, especially the junior black officers; because, like their World War I fathers and uncles, they held the short end of the straw. This would be the last time America repeated this hard-learned lesson that began with Major General Nathaniel P. Banks during the American Civil War.

14 The Army Air Corps

Aviation is often considered the most glamorous branch of any service. One of the earliest documented uses of air assets in a military role dates back to the Napoleonic era when, in 1794, France established a balloon corps (only one company) as a branch of the artillery. After the British destroyed much of Napoleon’s ballooning equipment at Aboukir Bay in 1799, he disbanded the balloon company.1 Though balloon observation was used throughout the nineteenth century, the use of aviation to any great advantage on the battlefield did not occur until World War I. At the 1st Battle of the Marne in September 1914, France avoided annihilation because Allied aerial reconnaissance identified a formation gap in the German front which the Allies were able to exploit and subsequently stop the German drive to Paris.2 More than a year before the United States officially entered the war on 6 April 1917, American pilots were playing a small, but significant, role in securing democracy in Europe. In fact, the first black American military aviators flew for other countries. During World War I, Eugene Jacques Bullard of Columbus, Georgia, flew for the French; James Peck of Pittsburgh flew for the Spanish during the Spanish Civil War; and J. C. Robinson flew combat missions for the Ethiopians during their conflict against fascist aggression.3 These men, and perhaps many others, were pioneers and precursors to the Tuskegee Airmen. Eugene Jacques Bullard aside, the long difficult road to Tuskegee began as early as World War I. As discussed in Chapter 8, four black Americans reported for aviation school at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, in 1918.4 The next attempt came in February 1931 when Albert Roberts of Orange, New Jersey, became the first black American to officially apply for training in the Air Corps after World War I ended. Though NAACP National Secretary Walter White strongly protested to General Douglas MacArthur, Roberts’s application was denied because no provisions had been made for training blacks to fly.5 When Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., graduated from West Point in 1936 he also was denied entry into the aviation branch. Two years later the drive to put black men into the cockpits of military aircraft began in earnest. The first serious breakthrough occurred early in 1939 when James C. Evans, West Virginia State College’s director of trade and technical education, secured approval to establish a Civilian Pilot Training Program at that predominantly black college. Soon after, five additional HBCUs,

The Army Air Corps 145 Tuskegee Institute, Delaware State University, Howard University, Hampton Institute and North Carolina A&T, were selected into the CPTP program.6 The establishment of CPTPs at these institutions did not immediately open the doors to air training because the Air Corps refused to recognize these programs. Finally, Tuskegee Institute President Fred Patterson applied for a Public Law 18 contract with the Civil Aeronautics Authority. Public Law 18, passed in April 1939, automatically affiliated a civilian aviation school with elementary and primary military aviation training.7 Tuskegee’s application was approved on Friday, 13 October 1939. More than three additional years elapsed, however, before the first of the pilots trained at Tuskegee were deployed for combat roles. More than 900 blacks trained as pilots at Tuskegee Army Air Field (TAAF) by the end of World War II.8 They served in a fighter group, which consisted of four squadrons, and a bombardment group also consisting of four squadrons. Credited with hitting 1,037 tactical targets, the Tuskegee Airmen logged more than 7,500 combat hours and flew 1,578 missions.9 By the time future Tuskegee Airmen began training as actual military pilots at Tuskegee on 19 July 1941, black Americans had been flying for more than two decades. As previously mentioned, American-born Eugene J. Bullard had a short stint as a military aviator during World War I. But the desire did not begin and end there. Several blacks earned private and commercial pilot’s licenses during the 1920s and 1930s. In fact, the first black person to have a private pilot’s license was Bessie Coleman, one of the first woman aviators.10 Though Coleman was an American, she had to travel to France to receive pilot training. A few years later Charles A. “Chief” Anderson became the first to earn a commercial pilot’s license.11 Born on 9 February 1907 in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, Chief Anderson, who largely taught himself to fly during the 1920s, experienced several flying trials and tribulations, including losing two planes, before finally finding a “Flying Dutchman” by the name of Ernest Buehl, who agreed to prepare him for his Air Transport License test. Buehl, who then lived in Philadelphia, had been a pilot in the German Air Force during World War I. After the war he apparently moved to America because he earned Air Transport license No. 824 in 1920 signed by Orville Wright. Chief Anderson recalls that after instructing “[me] in spins, steep turns, and perfecting me so I could go take a flight check,” Buehl literally forced the instructor to give the test and to be fair about it. According to Chief Anderson: “[Buehl] took [me] to the inspector himself [because he] didn’t want any monkey business.” It was a good thing Buehl decided to accompany Anderson because “when we went to take this flight check the inspector didn’t want to give it to me. He said, ‘Well, I’ve never given a flight check to a colored boy, and I’m not going to do it now!’ I remember Mr. Buehl became very hostile with the man, and threatened him, ‘You’re going to give him the flight check—he deserves it—he’s qualified and I demand that you give him the flight check or else you’re going to have to deal with me!’” After the check ride was over Buehl asked the instructor how Anderson did: “Well he did okay with his flying, and he got 100% on his written test—I’ll give him an 80% and that will pass him.”12 Thus, the man who would eventually lead the air school at Tuskegee became the first black man

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to earn a pilot’s license in the United States. Chief Anderson first began flight training for blacks in 1932. In 1937 he introduced ground school training “in black High Schools [in] Washington, D.C. . . . [and by 1939 began] conducting Civilian Pilot Training Program for Howard University.” In 1940 Chief Anderson transferred to Tuskegee, where he continued to conduct CPTP, but now under a Public Law 18 contract, and from June 1941 through December 1945 he served as the “Chief Pilot for the Army Primary Training at Moton Field, Tuskegee Institute, . . . under the U.S. ARMY Air Corps.”13

Figure 14.1 Charles A. “Chief” Anderson, Far Left, on the Visit of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt before the Famous Flight with him and the First Lady (Courtesy Anderson Estate).

The Army Air Corps 147 Other noteworthy black aviators of the 1920s and 1930s include: Dale White and Chauncey Spencer, both of whom flew a demonstration flight from Chicago to Washington, DC, in May 1939 to prove that blacks could fly; Albert E. Forsythe, a physician by profession, but an avid long-distance pilot; and Willa B. Brown, one of America’s early aviatrix entrepreneurs who operated a flying school in Chicago.14 Like Bessie Coleman and Chief Anderson, Willa B. Brown was also an aviation pioneer who played a role in the development of the Tuskegee Airmen. Born on 22 January 1906, Brown was in the “first black class of 1931–1932 at the Curtiss-Wright Aeronautical School” in Chicago. John C. Robinson, the first black graduate of Curtiss-Wright, taught the class. In 1937 Brown became the first black woman to earn a “pilot’s license in

Figure 14.2 Lieutenant Willa Beatrice Brown as a World War II C.A.P. Officer.

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the United States, and she later became the first black woman to earn a commercial pilot’s license.” Brown is important to this chapter of history because she was a founding member of the National Airmen’s Association of America (NAAA) in 1939, whose “sole purpose . . . was to aggressively advocate for black participation in the all-white Civilian Pilot Training Program (CPTP)”15 and ultimately into military aviation. Brown later became the first black woman “commissioned in the wartime U.S. Civil Air Patrol, training pilots for the U.S. Army Air Forces.”16 By 1939, 125 blacks held pilot’s licenses in the United States17 and many more, like Bullard, Peck, and Robinson, likely flew as pilots in other countries.

BLACK PRESS CAMPAIGNING FOR THE COCKPIT The black press, especially the Pittsburgh Courier, led the campaign for the cockpit. Although the Crisis, Opportunity and other black organs joined the struggle, the Courier led the charge. Beginning in February 1938, nearly every issue of the Courier contained an article related to black participation in military service. In May it specifically began to target the Army Air Corps. The Courier fi rst emphasized establishing an enlisted corps since black pilots would not be allowed to fly using white mechanics. When the Senate passed a bill calling for a 3,100-man increase in the basic allotment to the Air Corps, the Courier proposed an amendment stipulating at least 10 percent of that figure be composed of blacks. The Courier hoped these men would be trained as mechanics18 that could then support black pilots. Soon after publication of this article, Representative Louis Ludlow, Democrat of Indiana, proposed an amendment to an appropriations bill to earmark $1,000,000, of an approved $7,901,859, for air training of black airmen and pilots. Representatives rejected the amendment 207 to 47. Ironically, earlier in 1939 Congress approved a measure allowing blacks to train as pilots; now it refused to approve funding for that training.19 Without funding, proposed training of black pilots would wither and die on the vine. The opponents of the Ludlow amendment claimed it was unfair to earmark one-eighth of the approved funds for blacks when they were only one-thirteenth of the population. Democratic Representative R. Ewing Thomason of Texas argued “that if preferential treatment was to be accorded colored people, Mexican citizens in his district in Texas ought to be included.” He added, almost to the point of sarcasm, “Why not set aside so much for the Mexicans and the Jews and the Scotch and some of us Swedes?” The flaw in Thomason’s argument was, with the exception of Mexican-Americans, these groups of Jewish, Scottish and Swedish-Americans had by in large been fully assimilated into America’s “white” society and unlike blacks were not subjected to “separate but equal.” The real flaw in Ludlow’s bill was indeed that the funding proportion might have

The Army Air Corps 149 been too high. Ludlow’s supporters, nonetheless, countered by pointing out black Americans paid taxes like everyone else, so they should be entitled to some funds. Obviously, many felt some funding was better than none. Furthermore, the supporters questioned, why pass a measure approving expensive training and then negate it by not allocating funds? More importantly, Representative Ludlow said when war breaks out: Negroes will be conscripted on a widespread scale, and it is just as certain as anything in the future that a considerable proportion of Negroes with aviation training will be sent into the combat detachments. It would be positively cruel and inhumane to assign Negroes to the combat air service without giving them the means to protect themselves. The protection to which they are entitled is a thorough course in combat air training, the same course that is given to white pilots. 20 Clearly Congress as a body did not intend to appropriate funds to train black military airmen and pilots. Thus, the Courier began its 1 July article with larger-than-usual print, which read, “It is up to President Roosevelt to issue an executive order earmarking funds for the training of colored aviators.”21 Partly as a result of the constant pressure of the Courier and other black papers, Tuskegee was fi nally funded as a CAA Public Law 18 training facility for blacks on 13 October 1939.

TUSKEGEE TRAINING Though Tuskegee had been funded as an aviation training school, was awarded Public Law 18 status and began graduating students in May 1940, many obstacles remained to negotiate before the fi rst black flight unit could be considered for overseas duty. The most serious problems were those related to: 1) the location of the training site and granting of full military affiliation; 2) the segregated nature of the training and the prejudicial atmosphere associated with the “Tuskegee Experiment”; 3) the alleged quota system which directly effected the graduation ratio; and 4) the assignments for the pilots, and whether they would be used for combat upon completion of their training. The selection of Tuskegee as the training site was not without opposition. Some believed since Booker T. Washington, a compromiser/accommodationist, founded Tuskegee, a program could succeed there because of the pleasant atmosphere and good chemistry between blacks and whites. Tuskegee, according to an Air Corps planner, was “riot proof” and “furnished many precepts and examples in conduct and attitude.”22 However, as news emerged of the proposal, hundreds of local white citizens wasted no time drafting a petition to block the establishment of Tuskegee Army Air Field. 23 Nonetheless, on 16 January 1941, the War Department fi nally

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announced the establishment of the 99th Pursuit Squadron and the Tuskegee training program.24 Two months later, on 21 March 1941, the War Department activated the 99th at Chanute Field, Illinois. 25 Fourteen handpicked black cadre were selected among noncommissioned officers from the 24th and 25th Infantry Regiments. The remainder of the support personnel were young recruits, most of them directly out of high school. On 5 November the squadron was relocated to Maxwell Field, Alabama. On 10 November it fi nally arrived at Tuskegee to merge with the well-established Tuskegee Flight Training Program. In fact, training for pilots to be used for military service began at Tuskegee in July. 26 Since black supporters pushed for an equal and fully integrated program, many were initially bitter because Tuskegee was the exact opposite; but most eventually concluded that a segregated air program was better than none at all. The cadets, keenly aware of the doubts and claims they could not be trained to fly, simply accepted the situation and focused on making the “Tuskegee Experiment” a success. 27 It was an experiment because many believed blacks lacked the mental capacity, smarts, discipline, courage and moral fortitude to learn and then fly military aircraft into combat. 28 Still, a segregated program was a painful reminder of black Americans’ status in America; this was only further reinforced with the award of the Distinguished Service Cross to a Filipino pilot (captain). That he was awarded the DSC was not an issue. That he and others of his nationality were trained at “mainstream” Randolph and Kelly Fields in Texas, both off limits to blacks, was an issue.29 It seemed though time had elapsed since World War I, progress stood still. Tuskegee was shaping up to be like the 1917 Fort Des Moines OCS, “separate but equal.” Again, blacks had to settle for “separate but equal” or nothing at all. An obstacle that stood squarely in the path of success for many air cadets was the alleged quota system. Beginning in 1942 the Crisis openly discussed whether many black air cadets were deliberately failed, forced out or denied entry into the program.30 In other words, why accept one hundred flight cadets when you only made twenty-five pilot slots available; and, if you only train fifty cadets but forty actually achieve the established standards, how do you eliminate the overage? Statistics support the possibility of “washing out” candidates to reach a floor. For example, while 50 percent to 60 percent of white aviation cadets graduated from flight training, only 25 percent of black cadets graduated.31 Many found it difficult to believe that stringently selected black air cadets fairly “washed out” at a rate of 50 percent higher than white air cadets. Even if no deliberate quota existed, hundreds of black applicants were denied the opportunity to fly simply because only one air training site was available for them and the government limited and strictly controlled “black” aviation slots. In April 1942 the Crisis estimated, at the current training rate, no more than fifty black pilots would graduate by the end of the year. This, according to the Crisis, “was nothing . . . to cheer” about. Indeed, black applicants

The Army Air Corps 151 were at a serious disadvantage. While white applicants waited for an average of ninety days, it was nearly one and a half years for black applicants.32 This lengthy wait undoubtedly foiled many potentially successful military and/ or civilian aviation careers. For example, future General Daniel “Chappie” James, Jr., then a civilian flight instructor at the Tuskegee school, applied for the air program in early 1942, but did not enter the program until January 1943 because the program only admitted ten candidates every five weeks.33 If James, already a trained pilot at Tuskegee, had to wait, one can only imagine what the ordinary applicant experienced. This “separate but equal” policy raises several questions about the graduation rate of black pilots. It seemed to be a déjà vu of Fort Des Moines. Was there a glass ceiling at Tuskegee as well? After a strict screening process and long waits to get into the “elite” Tuskegee training program, it was difficult for many to believe that so few carefully selected black pilots would graduate in comparison to white pilots. The Tuskegee fl ight school served its purpose well, but because it was the only one of its kind it proved to be a disservice to the country. The main reason the graduation rate of black pilots was low was because of limited training opportunities, and, some would argue, questionably high “washout” rates. As stated earlier, on 9 January 1941, after nearly three years of pressure from the black press, political jockeying and black outrage, the War Department fi nally approved the establishment of the 99th Pursuit Squadron. 34 The 99th was the fi rst of eight black squadrons formed during World War II. Air cadets trained intensely for six days a week and had to complete several phases before receiving combat certification. Preflight training, the fi rst phase, consisted of lower prefl ight training and upper prefl ight training. These phases, recounted Charles “Chuck” McGee, who flew 136 combat missions with the Tuskegee Airmen, were “intended to screen out those not academically fit.”35 After prefl ight training cadets progressed to primary flight training where successful cadets soloed. Cadets then went on to basic flight training where they flew other advanced aircraft, learned complex air and ground techniques, performed aerial gunnery training and received instructions in formation flying during the day and at night. Upon completion of basic, cadets were commissioned second lieutenants and went on to the last phase, combat training. 36 In March 1942, after eight months of rigorous training, the first five fliers graduated.37 The following month the Crisis described these young men as “fi ne as any of any race in this broad land.”38 One of the original five was Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. 39 Davis eventually became commander of the 99th and deployed it to North Africa.40 Shortly after promotion to lieutenant colonel, Davis took command of the 99th. Graduates of subsequent classes were assigned to the 99th until the unit reached full strength in July 1942. Two months later the unit was pronounced combat ready, placed on alert and everyone believed it

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would deploy in October.41 For reasons still unclear, the 99th remained at Tuskegee well into 1943. Black Americans and their supporters were furious. Disenchanted with the treatment of black servicemen, Judge William H. Hastie resigned his post as civilian aide to the secretary of war on 31 January 1943.42 One of the reasons for Hastie’s resignation, claimed the Crisis, was: a year and five months after the beginning of pilot training, not a single one of our fliers is in combat service, although from time to time, announcement is made that numbers of them have been graduated and have received their wings. There is not a Negro bombardier, navigator, bomber pilot, or aerial gunner in the whole air force.43 The 99th fi nally received its orders to go overseas on 1 April 1943. By the end of the month it was in North Africa.44 Within weeks the 99th received a shipment of twenty-seven brand new P-40L fighters and flew its fi rst combat mission on 2 June.45

DEPLOYMENT The 99th’s progress was gradual and learning curve steep. Although strong bonds were established with many of the pilots of the 27th Fighter Group, the white unit to which the 99th was initially subordinate, the 99th did not have constant guidance from a veteran flying group. White pilots, Major Ralph Keyes, Lieutenant Robert F. Thackler and Lieutenant Robert J. Conner, flew sorties with the 99th to instruct it in tactical maneuvers prior to the 99th seeing action,46 but unlike most new pilots in other units, who were integrated into an established unit and flew with experienced combat veterans regularly, the pilots of the 99th were all new to combat and an air war that was well in progress when they arrived. For this reason the 99th was initially at a grave disadvantage and made mistakes as a result. It eventually proved to be no worse or better than other P-40 units that flew in the European Theater. The 99th encountered its fi rst German fighters on 9 June 1943 while flying escort over Pantelleria. Lieutenant Willie Ashley damaged one of the German fighters. Shortly thereafter, on 18 June, 99th pilots damaged two additional German aircraft. A 99th aircraft flown by First Lieutenant Lee Rayford was also damaged on 18 June. On 2 July 1943 Lieutenant Charles B. Hall earn the distinction of being the fi rst black pilot to destroy a World War II German aircraft in air-to-air combat. The 99th unfortunately lost Lieutenants Sherman White and James McCullin on that same day.47 On 19 July the 99th was relocated to Licata, Sicily. Within days the number of sorties flown by the squadron increased substantially. To add to the stress associated with the increased fl ight schedule, as many as

The Army Air Corps 153 thirteen missions per day, the 99th did not regularly receive pilot replacements.48 This resulted directly from the segregated system established by the Army Air Corps. Because only one fl ight school was available for blacks, their training and development were slow. Furthermore, the Army Air Corps planned to establish seven additional black squadrons and those slots needed to be fi lled by these newly trained pilots. The lack of replacements led to increased combat pilot fatigue. While most white pilots rotated to noncombat positions after roughly fi fty missions, Tuskegee Airmen often flew well over seventy missions before their replacement. In addition, the 99th was understaffed. While most squadrons operated with thirty to thirty-five pilots, the 99th generally had twenty-six.49 Despite the fatigue factor, the 99th performed throughout the war as well as other AAF units. 50 In fact, on 17 August, after only four months in combat, the 99th was a successful veteran of two air campaigns: the Pantelleria and the Sicilian. 51 On 3 September 1943, Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., was called back to the United States to take command of the 332nd Fighter Group, which was activated on 13 October of the previous year. Lieutenant George Roberts, Davis’s operations officer, succeeded him as commander of the 99th. 52 The 99th continued to fly numerous ground-attack missions.53 These missions, while denying the 99th an opportunity to encounter enemy aircraft in air-to-air combat, counted as missions. Consequently, by the end of October 1943, the 99th had flown 199 missions for a total of 843 sorties.54 As a result of the continuous flying, on 22 November 1943, Lieutenant James Wiley became the fi rst black pilot to reach fi fty combat missions. 55 By the end of the year the 99th had flown more than 255 missions and 1,365 sorties. 56 January 1944 ushered in a new era for the 99th and other black squadrons. They were transferred to Capodichino, Italy, on the west coast, to support the Allied invasion at Anzio. Enemy-fighter sightings increased and the 99th fi nally received the opportunity to prove itself in air-to-air combat. On 27 January it shot down an impressive eight enemy aircraft; on the following day it shot down four more; and on 5 and 7 February it shot down one and two more, respectively. All this success came at a cost of only two aircraft and one pilot—the other pilot made his way back to Capodichino. 57 For the next six months the 99th was attached to the 79th and the 86th Fighter Groups. But fi nally, as rumored, it became the veteran squadron of a newly deployed fighter group, the all-black 332nd. On 29 June 1944, the 99th joined the 332nd Fighter Group, which had been in Italy since February. The 99th could look back on more than a year of combat service and a record that included more than 500 missions, 3,277 sorties58 and fi fteen confi rmed enemy kills, with only two aerial combat casualties. In the next nine months the 99th bagged eleven more enemy fighters in air-to-air combat, scoring its last six kills on 31 March 1945. 59

154 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 ON TRIAL Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., left the 99th Pursuit Squadron in September 1943 to take command of the 332nd Fighter Group. The 332nd had been activated in October 1942 and required pilots who graduated from the same program as pilots going to the 99th, which likely was responsible for the slow deployment of the 99th. The other three squadrons of the 332nd Fighter Group, the 100th, 301st and 302nd, were ready for deployment by the end of 1943. Unfortunately, racism nearly prevented the 332nd from deploying. Shortly after Davis returned to America, reports surfaced about the 99th’s performance indicating that “the Negro type has not the proper reflexes to make a fi rst class fighter pilot.”60 Time magazine cited secondhand sources claiming “the Negro pilot tires easily and that he loses his will to fight after five or six missions.”61 Davis was outraged. He went public with fi rsthand knowledge of the 99th’s accomplishments and he defended, on paper and in person, the service of the 99th at a Pentagon committee meeting. The rumors had begun at the lowest level. Colonel William Momyer, commander of the 33rd Fighter Group, to which the 99th had once been attached, wrote that men of the 99th “disintegrated” under fi re, had a “lack of aggressive spirit” and should be relegated to coastal patrol. Momyer’s claims went through channels to commanding general of the Army Air Force, General Henry H. Arnold, who hastily recommended training and activation cease for black fl ight units and that the 332nd be deployed in a noncombat role.62 Fortunately for the Tuskegee Airmen, Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall ordered a formal in-depth study to determine the validity of Momyer’s claims and Davis’s defense. The study concluded “the record of the 99th Fighter Squadron reveals no significant general difference between this squadron and the balance of the P-40 squadrons in the [theater.]”63 “Colonel Momyer’s letter,” Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., stated, “had come within inches of destroying the future of black pilots forever.”64 As was the 99th, the three squadrons of the 332nd were trained at Tuskegee. Overcrowding at Tuskegee compelled the 332nd to transfer in March 1943 to Oscoda Army Air Field, a subbase of Selfridge Army Air Field near Detroit, Michigan. After a hostile welcome, the men trained and prepared for deployment, which began on 22 December 1943.65 The 332nd fi nally arrived in Italy in February 1944. Once in Taranto, Italy, the 332nd was assigned the P-39Q and flew its fi rst mission on 5 February. Their initial routine duties included “harbor and coastal patrols to determine the movement of German and Italian forces.”66 The pilots found these missions frustrating because they rarely encountered enemy aircraft. On 31 May 1944 the 332nd was assigned to the Twelfth Air Force, where it flew armed reconnaissance, protective cover, radar strafi ng and harbor-protection missions.67 In May they also received an added bonus when they switched

The Army Air Corps 155 from the P-39Q to the more powerful P-47D Thunderbolt and a change in mission. After assignment to the Twelfth Air Force, the 332nd began flying fighter sweeps and bomber escort. However, it was difficult to fly high enough to effectively support the bombers and fast enough to effectively counter the German jets. Fortunately, within six weeks after receiving the P-47Ds, the 332nd was assigned the P-51C-10 Mustang, which was not only more powerful but could fly higher and was more maneuverable.68 The 332nd scored its fi rst air-to-air confi rmed kills on 9 June 1944. Lieutenant Wendell Pruitt describes how he bagged one of the five German planes destroyed on that day: As the Jerries passed under me I rolled over, shoved everything forward, dove and closed in on one Me-109f at 475 miles per hour. I gave him a short burst of machine gun fi re, found I was giving him too much lead so I waited as he shallowed out of a turn. Then I gave two long two second bursts. I saw his left wing burst into flames. The plane exploded and went straight into the ground, but the pilot bailed out safely.69 On 29 June 1944 the 99th transferred into the 332nd. All the pilots of the 99th did not necessarily welcome the union with the 332nd. First, many of the black and white pilots of the 79th had become close. Secondly, the 99th pilots saw the 332nd as a rookie outfit. Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, the 332nd’s composition of all-blacks represented a step in the wrong direction70 —the 99th had been fighting for integration, not segregation. At no point was there any serious friction between the 99th and the rest of the 332nd. The unit proceeded to compile an impressive combat record. For example, Captain Joseph Elsberry, of the 302nd, destroyed three enemy aircraft on 12 July during a single mission,71 and Lieutenant Clarence D. Lester, of the 100th, made history when he destroyed three enemy aircraft within minutes on 18 July.72 In August Lieutenant Charles McGee scored his fi rst air-to-air kill against a German Focke Wulf Fw-190 and in the same mission engaged a German train as it pulled into station.73 At deactivation on 19 October 1945, the 332nd had flown more than 15,500 sorties, destroyed at least 111 enemy aircraft in air-to-air combat and 350 more on the ground, destroyed fi fty-seven locomotives and seventeen vessels, and at that point in history were known to never have lost a single Allied bomber to enemy fighters.74 A demonstration of its air prowess occurred on 1 April 1945 when it destroyed an impressive twelve enemy aircraft attempting to interdict a B-24 Bomber mission near Wels, Austria.75

477TH BOMBARDMENT GROUP While the 332nd was making history overseas, the 477th Bombardment Group languished at home. Activated in June 1943, the 477th remained a

156 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 paper outfit until January 1944.76 Even when it became a full-fledged unit it never achieved combat-readiness status. Much of the 477th failure to achieve readiness can be attributed to the segregated and prejudicial climate of the time. Among other setbacks, the 477th experienced problems with its initial commander, frequent relocations and a lack of promotions and poor living conditions. All contributed, in some way, to the lack of readiness of a potential United States combat multiplier. Internal confl ict posed the largest hurdle for the 477th. Colonel Robert Selway, a white officer assigned as the unit’s fi rst commander, was “hostile” to the establishment of a black bombardment unit. Rather than supporting the unit he was charged to lead, he was an obstacle. Colonel Selway’s strict insistence on maintaining separate facilities, which were in “clear violation of Army Regulation 210–10,” eventually prompted the only wartime victory for the 477th.77 After more than a year of denied entry into “white” officers’ clubs at various installations, black officers fi nally sought to integrate the club at Freeman Field, Indiana. On 5 April 1945, between 2030 hours and 2230 hours, forty black officers made four separate attempts to enter the club. Seventeen succeeded. On the following afternoon, twenty-four more officers entered the club, so Colonel Selway ordered the facility closed. Although the desegregation effort led to 101 officer arrests, the case lingered on until July when only one officer received a fi ne for a total of $75.00 for his actions. The black officers considered this, in itself, a great victory.78 The 477th‘s frequent moves from one installation to another greatly contributed to its non-readiness status. Within fourteen months, various 477th units moved thirty-eight times and the headquarters moved four times. Initially the unit deployed to Selfridge, Michigan; then to Godman, Kentucky; then to Freeman, Indiana, before returning to Godman Field, Kentucky. These frequent moves, Davis acknowledged, “halted progress toward combat readiness.”79 The lack of promotions for blacks and the poor living conditions forced upon them and their families also made service with the 477th an unpleasant experience. As in most black units during the war, white junior officers in the 477th were often promoted above black officers with seniority in service and experience. In one case a newly assigned white captain with no experience received a promotion to major within a month of his assignment. Meanwhile, black officers with more than 700 hours of flying time remained captains.80 To add insult to injury, as time passed many of the “junior” black officers were combat veterans while their “superior” white officers were not.81 The shameful living conditions at Godman Field led General Davis to vow he would “never forget nor forgive . . . the U.S. Army” for the way he and other veterans and their families were forced to live: The building Agatha and I [Davis] lived in had two bathrooms, one for men and one for women, but the other building had only one bathroom

The Army Air Corps 157 for two floors full of people, and they had to devise a guard system to indicate whether the bathroom was being used by men or by women at any particular time. In both buildings the rooms, which had been designed for single occupancy, were more like cells. In the other building they had been partitioned off from one another with wooden panels that went only halfway to the ceiling, so there was no privacy.82 Elliotte Williams also pointed out the treatment of Italian and German prisoners, who lived next to them, was better than black Soldiers and their families. A case in point, German prisoners worked and ate in cafeterias that were off limits to the 477th.83 Lastly, because the 477th was a bombardment group, this lengthened its training time and thus prolonged its availability date. The squadrons in the 332nd flew single-seater aircraft. After one pilot was trained, he could virtually do it all. The 477th flew B-25 bombers, which required a larger crew of from three to six crewmen, depending on the fl ight configuration. In addition to pilot training, navigators were trained at Hondo, Texas, and later attended bombardier school at Roswell, New Mexico; radiomen and the engineers trained at Chanute and Rantoul Fields in Illinois, and gunners trained at Tyndall Field in Panama City, Florida.84 After having commanded the 99th and 332nd in combat, in Davis’s next assignment he commanded the 477th. He replaced Colonel Selway in late June 1945. Although the war in Europe was over, the 477th still expected to see combat in the Pacific. The 477th planned to deploy in October but the dropping of two atomic bombs in August forced the end of the war in the Pacific and the end of deployment plans for the 477th. The 99th Pursuit Squadron, 332nd Fighter Group, and the 477th Bombardment Group were the only black units to serve in the Army Air Corps during World War II. All men who served in these units, whether enlisted or officer, flyer or nonflyer, were identified as Tuskegee Airmen. Although this chapter focused mainly upon the select few men who flew the planes, a myriad of others served in support jobs that kept the planes flying. In fact, enlisted and nonflying officers made up the majority of the Tuskegee Airmen. The following vignettes include two nonflying officers, Elliotte Williams and Elmer Jones, and three who served in flying capacities, Daniel James, Jr., Charles Bussey and Harry Sheppard.

FIVE VIGNETTES

Elliotte Williams Colonel (Ret.) Elliotte Williams, portrayed several times in previous chapters, served as a Tuskegee Airman beginning in January 1943. During the summer of 1942, Williams, a newly commissioned medical officer, was assigned

158 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 to the 93rd Division at Ft. Huachuca, Arizona. Conditions at Ft. Huachuca and a desire “to do something . . . more meaningful in the war effort” led to his request for a transfer to the new hospital at TAAF. Williams arrived at Tuskegee in January 1943 and was initially given a menial assistant’s job. In April, when the 99th Pursuit Squadron deployed, he replaced the departing commander of the medical troop. In this role he prepared 150 men, fifteen physicians and dentists and fifteen nurses for deployment. Additional duties for Williams included: clothing and equipment supply officer, post payroll and personnel matters liaison officer, and discipline control officer.85 In September 1944 Williams was promoted to captain. Early the following year, Colonel Davis returned from Europe to command the 477th and to select sufficient personnel to staff the bombardment group. Williams was one of two medical administrators selected to work for Davis at Godman Field. While at Godman, Williams was assigned as administrative assistant to the group surgeon and was a member of the General Court Martial Board and Officer Candidate Examining Board.86 Williams served with the 477th through its deployment to Lockbourne Air Base in Columbus, Ohio, after the war. In January 1947 he transferred to the Army of Occupation in Japan.87 Williams retired in 1966.

Elmer Jones Although Colonel (Ret.) Elmer Jones was a 1940 graduate of the CPT program at Howard University and the advanced CPT program at Tuskegee, he served in a nonflying position throughout the war. In February 1941, while completing his degree at Howard, the Headquarters, Army Air Corps, contacted him and offered a nonflying position as an engineering, communications or armament officer. He accepted and, on 28 May 1941, was sworn in as a cadet and subsequently graduated from the specialty school in November 1941. One month later Japan bombed Pearl Harbor and Jones immediately received his commission as a second lieutenant.88 Jones joined Tuskegee from the beginning of the training for the 99th Pursuit Squadron. He served in Service Detachment #99, which provided aircraft maintenance and repair services for the 99th Pursuit Squadron. When the 99th deployed to North Africa in April 1943, Jones was commanding Service Detachment #99. When the 332nd Fighter Group absorbed the 99th in 1944, the 332nd’s newly formed 366th Service Squadron absorbed Service Detachment #99 and Jones became commander of the 366th. The importance of nonflying officers such as Jones and hundreds of enlisted men who kept the Tuskegee pilots airborne cannot be understated. Charles McGee’s principal biographer, his daughter, recounted their importance, as told to her by her father: The mechanics at the base were ace detectives when it came to discovering a problem, . . . The mechanics’ ear . . . could often diagnose

The Army Air Corps 159 a problem on approach before the plane even touched down. . . . No sane pilot ever underestimated . . . his mechanic. [They] were held in high esteem. . . . In the midst of aerial combat, Charles knew that in addition to his own skill, his fate was in the hands of God and his mechanic, to whom he entrusted his life. The craft, pilot and mechanic were family. . . . Charles . . . named his plane ‘Kitten.’ He chose . . . it [fi rst for his wife whom he called Kitten and] also in honor of his mechanic, Nathaniel ‘Nate’ Wilson, who kept [his plane’s] engine purring.89 In June 1945 Jones returned to the United States with Colonel Davis to assume command of the 387th Air Service Group. The 387th was the 477th Bombardment Group’s service unit90 and Jones served as Colonel Davis’s nonflying counterpart. Wherever Colonel Davis commanded, so too did Jones. Davis spoke highly of Jones in his memoirs. Jones retired in January 1970. Williams and Jones were just two of the many nonflying men who contributed to the Tuskegee Airmen’s success.

Daniel “Chappie” James Daniel “Chappie” James, Charles Bussey and Harry Sheppard made their mark in the cockpit. As previously mentioned, James waited nearly a year for approval of his military fl ight-training application even though he was already a pilot and a civilian instructor at Tuskegee. James was born 11 February 1920, in Pensacola, Florida, and graduated from Washington High School in 1937. In 1942 he graduated from Tuskegee after a rocky four and one-half years. James was six feet four inches tall and had a robust build. His many physical exploits fi nally caught up with him in 1941 and he was expelled, apparently for one semester, for fighting.91 Perhaps this expulsion served as a wake-up call for James. In January 1943, James entered the military fl ight program and almost immediately his persona began to change. Once, when an old friend who had not seen James in more than a year blurted out, “Hey Chap” while cadet James was reviewing troops, James’s expected reaction was not forthcoming. James merely glanced at his friend with a look of nonconfi rmation.92 The military style of doing and reacting to things was beginning to influence James as it had many young men who fi nally felt they had found their calling in life. In July 1943, Cadet James graduated and was commissioned a second lieutenant in the Army Air Corps. Assigned to the 477th Bombardment Group, he relocated to Selfridge. Although James trained in the medium-range, multiengine B-25 bomber and became a very proficient pilot, he never got the chance to demonstrate his skills in combat during World War II because he was in the 477th. James was one of the 101 officers arrested for defying Colonel Selway’s “segregation” order in April 1945 following the officer-club

160

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

incident. Young Lieutenant James was not the only officer arrested in that incident who later rose to distinguished positions. Among that group was also William T. Coleman, future secretary of transportation under President Gerald R. Ford, and Coleman Young, future mayor of Detroit.93 As the war in Europe came to a close and the planned deployment to the Pacific became unlikely for the 477th, many black officers began to speak of leaving the military as soon as possible. James, on the other hand, informed his buddies “I am staying in and I expect to make general.”94 Although this seemed to be an arrogant statement, especially since the military remained segregated and James had served at one of the worst Army Air Corps bases, his confidence had foundation. Colonel Davis personally selected Lieutenant James to be his copilot when he initially learned to fly bombers.95 James remained in the military and eventually became a four-star general, the fi rst black American to do so.

Charles Bussey Lieutenant Colonel (Ret.) Charles Bussey also served in the segregated air corps, but, unlike James, he was assigned to a combat unit and scored two aerial kills. As discussed in previous chapters, Bussey graduated from Citizens’ Military Training Camp at Camp MacArthur in California. His achievements at CMTC led to approval of his application for aviation training. Bussey’s accounts give additional insights into the Tuskegee training program and aerial combat. He believed the reason white aviation cadets graduated at a 50 percent to 60 percent rate versus 25 percent for black cadets was directly related to prejudice, not because one group was superior to the other. Furthermore, Bussey claimed the so-called “combat veteran instructors” from the Pacific Theater who trained him and other 332nd pilots at Selfridge, after he completed initial training at Tuskegee, were actually lousy pilots who had perhaps failed in aerial combat in the Pacific. This became evident once they began to have mock aerial dogfights. The fi rst time they went aloft with the “veterans,” they defeated them. After that the “instructors” never went up with the students again.96 On 4 January 1944, the 332nd deployed to Italy and Bussey’s combat career began. By the war’s end Bussey had flown seventy combat missions, destroyed two enemy aircraft in air-to-air combat, and damaged two others. Bussey described his fi rst kill: I was leading Blue Flight and feeling pretty good about it all. We were flying in a four-ship tactical formation heading north over the Udine Valley. . . . Suddenly out of the radio came the stark warning from Lt. Larry Wilkins, “Bombers under attack at one o’clock low.” Larry had the best eyes in the group. He saw it all, from the ground up to fi fty thousand feet. . . .

The Army Air Corps 161 I signaled Blue Flight to drop their wing tanks, and we were on the way to fight. . . . I set my timing with the progress of the planes in the loop, taking advantage of our greater altitude and consequently greater speed. I joined the loop behind one of the ME-109s, became vertical directly behind him, and blew him out of the sky before he fired at the bomber over his nose. His debris showered me as I passed dangerously up through the bomber formation. The same maneuver was occurring behind me. I was unable to get a second victory because we were observed by the other ME-109s, who split for home. It had all happened so rapidly and so instinctively that I hadn’t even breathed during the brief encounter.97 As mentioned in the outset of Chapter 11, Bussey retired from the Army in 1966 as a lieutenant colonel.

Harry B. Sheppard Colonel (Ret.) Harry B. Sheppard, who served with Bussey in the 302nd Fighter Squadron, 332nd Fighter Group, was born 24 October 1917, in New York City to West Indian immigrant parents. Sheppard’s parents brought with them from the West Indies a strong sense of discipline, which they instilled into all of their children. His father periodically visited his childhood school, regularly went over their homework, and advocated strong family training and ties. All this helped Sheppard considerably in his military career of thirty-two years and three months.98 After graduating from high school in 1935, Sheppard attended the City College of New York at night and worked during the day. Since his draft number was so low he anticipated being drafted into the Army; Sheppard preempted his anticipated draft call by enlisting in the Air Corps. He enlisted as a private on 1 April 1941 and became one of the initial members of the 99th Pursuit Squadron. He worked as a line mechanic for more than a year before he learned he was educationally qualified to apply for pilot training. He began training in October 1942 and graduated as a second lieutenant on 28 April 1943.99 While in Italy Sheppard flew an incredible 123 combat missions. According to Sheppard, strafing missions were the worst type of missions to fly because they subjected the pilot and plane to small-arms fire. It was “the most dangerous part of a fighter pilot’s existence.” Conversely, “high altitude combat is . . . clean, . . . [because] its your skill against the other pilots skill [and] the effectiveness of his machine and armament against yours so its a pretty even trade.”100 As with most Tuskegee Airmen interviewed, Sheppard took great pride in the 99th’s bomber-escort mission record. For more than fifty years most believed, and some still do believe, that the 99th never lost a single bomber to enemy fire. Sheppard tells why the Red-Tails—the name given to the 332nd after it painted its tails red—were so successful:

162

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Our mission was to escort the bombers to let them deliver their loads over these strategic targets. And we weren’t allowed to wander off looking for kills. That’s where we had the popularity from the bomber crews that we escorted. We stayed with the bombers from the time that we identified them until the time that our relief showed up. . . .101

It pleased Sheppard that many of the white bomber pilots openly admitted in interviews, letters and publications “they were glad when the Red-Tails . . . [were] assigned to escort them.” As he traveled throughout Italy in his capacity as maintenance officer, Sheppard personally received thanks by many bomber pilots who immediately recognized him and others with him because they were the only black pilots in the theater. Conditions continued to improve for black pilots while in the war zone. In fact, Sheppard returned to the United States on an integrated troop ship and shared a stateroom with eleven other bomber and fighter pilots, all of whom were white. They got along fi ne. His arrival in America spoiled things: The whole shocking thing that happened to me was after I disembarked from the troop ship . . . in April of 1945, [in] . . . Boston, the ‘cradle of independence’ right? . . . at the bottom of the gangplank were two huge signs: one said, ‘Negro personnel on this side’; and ‘White personnel’ on the other. . . . I had forgotten about segregation in the states. That hit me right between the eyes. . . . I could taste the bitter gall in my saliva when I got down there. All of that for this, 123 combat missions to come back and the biggest enemy was our own United States.102 Bussey and Sheppard’s World War II combat records were sterling. That Bussey flew seventy combat missions and Sheppard 123 shows the fiftymission limit established by the Army Air Corps for rotation purposes did not always apply.

UNIQUE WINGS The Tuskegee Airmen wrote a unique chapter in American history. They overcame many adversities and obstacles to earn their wings. Although at nearly every turn some considered them the worst the Nation had to offer, they proved otherwise. Had they been given an equal chance from the outset, there would certainly have been many more American aviators to serve during the war. For those black Americans that earned their wings the “separate but equal” segregated system left little room for mediocrity, which made them as a group, and as individuals, high-caliber pilots. After World War II the Army Air Force conducted a study where it compared 1,200 black, and approximately the same number of white, aircrew applicants. Both groups had similar backgrounds, but black applicants

The Army Air Corps 163 were better educated and trained. 43 percent of all blacks, compared to 20 percent of all whites, had some college. Furthermore, blacks were judged excellent in athletics more often. Lastly, blacks were older than their counterparts.103 The results of this AAF study is offered to illustrate that the standard bar to become a black pilot during the “Tuskegee Experiment” was set, relatively speaking, high. Based upon the stringent qualification scale to become a Tuskegee Airman, coupled with the results of the aforementioned study, it can be concluded that black military aviators during World War II, by and large, were better “qualified” than their white counterparts. This is not to say one group of people were more superior, but that sometimes segregation breeds the unexpected. In the case of the Tuskegee Airmen, it bred one of the fi nest air units to fly during the war. In fact, a Tuskegee Airman achieved one of the most celebrated flying combat records in existence. In 1994 at a Tuskegee Airmen convention, then Air Force Chief of Staff General Ronald Fogleman remarked in his keynote speech that he had a surprise announcement to make. It turned out that Colonel (Ret.) Charles McGee had flown the most fighter pilot combat missions than any other American pilot. “At 409 missions he held the record!” No one was more surprised than the American veteran of World War II, Korea and Vietnam.104

15 The United States Navy, Marine Corps and Coast Guard

The United States Navy and the military force dependent upon it to deploy to distant places, the United States Marine Corps, initially completely barred black Americans. Although the Navy relaxed its policy as early as 1807, the Marine Corps remained a “white bastion” until World War II. The Coast Guard, which was not officially established until 1915, admitted blacks as early as 1831 when it was still known as the Revenue Service. The United States Marine Corps was founded, as the Continental Marines, on 10 November 1775, at Tun Tavern in Philadelphia.1 Captain Robert Mullan, owner of the Tavern, allowed it to be used as a recruiting station. Two black individuals, Isaac Walker and a man simply known as Orange, participated in the Marine company raised by Mullan. Walker, Orange and a slave named John “Kato” Martin, who served in another unit, were three of the few black Marines who served during the Revolutionary War.2 After the war the Continental Marines virtually disappeared until it was reestablished as the Marine Corps on 11 July 1798.3 However, once recruiting started again in 1798 the Marine Corps, following the lead of the Navy, banned “Negroes or Mulattos” from serving.4 This policy stood for more than 144 years until President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 8802 on 25 June 1941, which led to the lifting of the ban. In April 1942, the Marine Corps reversed the 1798 policy and on 1 June sought its fi rst black recruits, who began arriving for training in August. By the end of 1942 it had enrolled 790. Black enrollment steadily increased until a total of 19,168 had served by the end of the war.5 But not a single one of those Marines were commissioned officers. This, however, was not due to their lack of trying. During the closing months of World War II six black candidates enrolled in the Platoon Commanders Officer Training course at Quantico, Virginia. The first three were: Sergeant Majors Charles F. Anderson and Charles W. Simmons and First Sergeant George F. Ellis. They entered the program in April 1945 but failed to graduate. Three additional black candidates soon entered the program but they too failed, which raised the question of fairness. Since the initial three candidates all became successful professionals later in life, historians have been suspicious of their treatment at Quantico. Anderson became a lawyer, Simmons a medical doctor and Ellis a college professor.6

The United States Navy, Marine Corps and Coast Guard

165

Frederick C. Branch eventually became the fi rst black Marine Corps officer. He received his commission on 10 November 1945, approximately 170 years to the day after the establishment of the Corps7 and a few months after World War II had ended. Branch, however, was commissioned as a reserve officer. In 1946 three additional black Marines were commissioned as reserve officers, Charles C. Johnson, Herbert E. Brewer and Judd B. Davis.8 Not until 1948 did the fi rst black Marine receive a commission onto active duty.9 In 1964 and 1973 there were only forty-eight and 282, respectively, black officers in the United States Marine Corps.10

WE SHOULD COMMISSION A FEW The Navy, although it fell far short of the Army and Air Corps in efforts to commission blacks, was well ahead of the Marine Corps.11 Although the Navy banned the enlistment of “Negroes and Mulattos” in 1798, blacks, with the exception of two brief periods, were recruited into the Navy since the Revolutionary War era. The fi rst brief period in which persons of African descent were not recruited occurred following the 1798 ban. This ban lasted less than a decade. The second period occurred after World War I.12 From 1919 to 1933 the Navy did not recruit black Americans. Consequently, only 0.55 percent of all Sailors in 1932 were black.13 Historically, blacks served the Navy in large numbers. During the War of 1812 they constituted between 10 and 20 percent.14 During the Civil War, participation increased to roughly one in four.15 But, once again, none were commissioned officers. Although Robert Smalls successfully delivered a Confederate steamer, the Planter, to Union naval forces during the Civil War, demonstrating excellent leadership and command, the Navy did not commission him. Instead, Smalls was commissioned in the United States Colored Troops.16 And, as discussed in chapter 12, at least six blacks attempted to enter and complete the midshipman program at the Naval Academy before World War II. As World War II neared, blacks became increasingly critical of the Navy. In 1940, black Sailors sent a letter to the Crisis harshly criticizing the Navy for stopping black American enlistments in 1919 in favor of enlisting Filipinos and Guamanians.17 The anonymous drafters of the letter sought to steer other young blacks away from the Navy. “Contrary to popular belief,” wrote the Sailors, “Negroes cannot become petty officers or chief petty officers.” In fact, blacks could only be cooks or stewards when World War II began. The anonymous letter also complained of low pay, lack of pay raises, extreme segregation, no chance to learn a trade and lack of promotional opportunities.18 Obviously, blacks had a long way to go to earn commissions in the Navy. On 7 December 1941, Dorie Miller shot down two Japanese aircraft at Pearl Harbor and was awarded the Navy Cross for his actions. The irony of the episode was that Miller, a black steward working below deck, reacted

166 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 to the attack by going on deck and successfully manning a machine gun for which he had no formal training.19 Approximately four months later— perhaps as a result of EO 8802, Miller’s actions, the United States need for all the manpower it could muster, and/or in response to pressure from white and black advocates for blacks serving in the Navy in all specialties—the Navy saw fit to amend its policy with regard to black Sailors. The new Navy policy allowed blacks to be more than mess attendants and stewards, but on an extremely selective basis. While they could hope eventually to become petty officers, the policy conclusively stated that “there will be no Negro commissioned officers either now or later, and all commands will be in the hands of white men.” The New York Times wrote, “There has never been in recent years any good reason why some units of the fleet should not be manned and officered by colored Sailors.”20 The Navy adamantly stood by its policy, which slowly but surely began to change. In early 1942 William H. Lewis unsuccessfully applied for a commission in the Navy. Despite the Navy Department’s claim that “there are no regulations that preclude the [N]egro citizen from becoming an officer,” Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox believed there was “no way” Lewis could be commissioned. He felt a considerable body of black Sailors needed to be recruited and trained “before approach[ing] the problem of the Negro commissioned officer.”21 Whether it was policy or regulation precluding blacks from becoming commissioned officers, the fi rst black Navy reserve officer was commissioned as a result of a mistake. On 18 June 1942, Bernard Whitfield Robinson, a black medical student attending Harvard University, was commissioned as a reserve officer. In its competition with the Army for medical doctors, the Navy hastily signed up a group of Harvard medical students who had one year remaining in school. Robinson was among those students. Although Robinson was fair skinned, the mistake probably was made because the commissioning officer never actually saw Robinson or the others. After Robinson’s commission the Navy detected his race and unsuccessfully tried to rescind his commission. A few years later Robinson reported for active duty. By then, however, several other black naval officers had preceded him.22 Once the Navy officially decided in 1943 to commission black officers, it recruited and subsequently enrolled several men into the V-12 program. V-12 combined officer training and college education to produce a quality naval officer. Testing began in April and a number of black applicants scored high enough for admission to the program.23 As testing continued throughout the summer, more applicants took and passed the test. One of them, Samuel Gravely, eventually became the first black American admiral. The Navy had also enrolled a number of candidates into a 10-week indoctrination program. Thus, by the time Robinson received his active duty commission the Navy had commissioned at least thirteen blacks through the indoctrination program and a number of others were either in the V-12 program or had graduated from the program. Additionally, a few had been selected for active duty commissions as staff officers. As a result of the Navy’s reluctant decision to commission black

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Americans, only fifty-eight earned active-duty commissions during World War II. Further, two WAVES (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service) officers and four female nurses also earned commissions.24 Additionally, at the end of World War II thirty-six black candidates were in the V-12 program and three were in the Harvard Graduate School of Business Administration Supply Corps School.25 Since the V-12 program required from a few months to roughly two years to produce a naval officer, 26 some argued for blacks to be admitted into other established Navy commissioning programs to get them into the service sooner. One such advocate was Assistant to the Secretary of the Navy Adlai Stevenson. In a 29 September 1943 memorandum to his boss, Secretary Knox, Stevenson wrote: I feel very emphatically that we should commission a few Negroes. We now have more than 60,000 already in the Navy and are accepting 12,000 per month. Obviously this cannot go on indefi nitely without making some officers or trying to explain why we don’t. Moreover, there are 12 Negroes in the V-12 program and the fi rst will be eligible for a commission in March, 1944. 27 Three months later a Navy captain, interested in protecting the interests of the Navy, offered several additional reasons the Navy should commission blacks: As of December 31, 1943, more than 125,000 Negroes will be serving in the enlisted ranks of the Navy. . . . . . . it is believed unrealistic, and defi nitely unwise to overlook the fact that it is impossible for the Navy to have 125,000 enlisted Negroes but no officers. However unpalatable the idea may be, it is believed certain that unless the Navy, on its own initiative, prepares and puts into effect a program for commissioning some Negroes, the Navy will be required to do so. . . . If the Navy prepares a limited program there is much less danger that it will be required to take much greater numbers of officers on any certain percental [sic] basis. . . . In view of the above, it is recommended that immediate plans be made to provide from the civilian ranks of Negro college graduates, a minimum of 50 officer candidates and that an attempt be made [to] determine whether a minimum of 25 Negroes, presently enlisted, possess sufficient qualifications for their promotion to offi cer rank. 28 As a result of these accelerated efforts Gravely and others who had already started on the road to the officer corps would not become the fi rst black commissioned officers in the Navy. That distinction belonged to the men who would later be called the “Golden Thirteen.”29

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GOLDEN THIRTEEN On 1 January 1944, sixteen black candidates began officer indoctrination training at Camp Robert Smalls at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Illinois. Ten weeks later thirteen graduated—one as a warrant officer. Their experience was similar to that of the Tuskegee Airmen. Their program, too, was an experiment; they also faced white officers who questioned their abilities; and they were also very carefully selected and limited by an unfair quota system. But, as with the Tuskegee Airmen, there were white officers who supported them. Selection to the officer indoctrination program was swift, selective and a pleasant surprise for most involved. George C. Cooper and John W. Reagan were suddenly called in by their commanding officers and told that they were going to the Great Lakes for special training. Reagan, initially disappointed because he had recently obtained an exciting trailblazing position as an electrician’s mate aboard a destroyer, was surprised and happy when he learned of his selection to become an officer. Cooper, at fi rst uncertain of what lay ahead, believed it must be “fairly important” since his superior, who had come to depend on him, was eager and willing to let him go. 30 Without processing a single application or administering any examinations, the Navy had carefully handpicked its fi rst black officer candidates. The program at Great Lakes was no different from any other “ninety-day wonder” course, as most short in duration OCS/OTS programs were called. Lieutenant (JG) Paul D. Richmond, an Annapolis graduate and supporter of the program, designed the course to micro-mirror his Naval Academy experience. Mandatory courses included: naval law, seamanship, naval regulations, navigation, gunnery and leadership. The grades earned by the candidates were equal to, if not better than, their counterparts in other programs.31 Although only thirteen of sixteen graduated, the actual attrition rate was zero and scholastically there were no failures. Why was their success rate so high? First, like the Tuskegee Airmen, the candidates all realized that they “were involved in an experiment,” and quickly adopted the Three Musketeers motto: “All for one and one for all.” In the words of Samuel E. Barnes, the group collectively decided that whatever knowledge any one . . . had on a given topic would be shared with everyone else. We decided not to compete with other members of the group, so we had many study sessions together. We were determined to succeed in spite of the burdens that would be placed on us. We knew that we were the foot in the door for many other black sailors, and we were determined not to be the ones who were responsible for having the foot removed.32 Lieutenant John F. Dille, Jr., a white direct commissioned ROTC officer, who volunteered to work with the program, 33 acknowledged the group’s strength. “Many officer-training situations are competitive,” said Dille, “but I didn’t fi nd that to be the case with the Golden Thirteen. [They were] more

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supportive of one another than competitive.”34 Dille himself supported the candidates and they believed he provided strength and motivation. Another reason for the Golden Thirteen’s success can be attributed to the candidates’ strong educational backgrounds. Graham E. Martin, for example, earned a bachelor’s degree from Indiana University in June 1941 with a B average while playing varsity football. One year later he earned a master’s degree in history from Howard University.35 Others completed their college education after the war. One such example, John W. Reagan, dropped out of college to enlist in 1942, despite his designation as a scholar-athlete. Reagan returned to Montana State University after the war where he played quarterback and graduated in 1947. He re-entered the Navy in 1949.36 All the men had a good work ethic and high self-esteem. Martin, a selfproclaimed hothead in high school, concluded, while attending Indiana, “there are more important things . . . [like] getting to work and trying to be at the top of the class.” Samuel E. Barnes learned early in life “you’re not better than others, but you’re as good as others.”37 As a group they were proud, determined and prudent. Interestingly, the Navy picked these men because it perceived them as nonmilitant, intelligent, hardworking and possessing leadership skills. As Ensign Richmond said, They are all good leaders and they are not radicals in any sense of the word. They were picked because we knew that we could count on them to benefit the Navy and they will not raise racial issues, I am sure, such as coming to the Officers Club or anything of that nature. They are loyal to the Navy. 38 More disheartening than the selection process was the Golden Thirteen’s graduation. Dennis Nelson, a Golden Thirteen, described the process: Despite posted records of class progress and the scholastic standing of the men, which showed no failures, an announcement was made to the class by one of the indortrition [sic] officers that only 12 of the 16 men were to [be] commissioned. At the end of the 10-week period small groups of men drifted out of class daily to be duly processed into officer ranks, while the others sat dejectedly by, uncomfortably awaiting the final elimination of the four who were not to be commissioned. During this “sweating out” period class morale was at an all-time low. . . . This ignoble end came 17 March 1944 to the first Negro officer indoctrination school. No graduation exercises or presentation ceremonies were conducted, and the only “glad hand” came from the officer who swore in the new officers within the confines of his office. Thus the first Negro officers in the history of the U.S. Navy were ushered into the service.39 SAMUEL L. GRAVELY As the Golden Thirteen completed their indoctrination training at Great Lakes, others, including Samuel L. Gravely, progressed through their V-12

170 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 programs. Gravely was born 4 June 1922, in Richmond, Virginia. As the eldest of five siblings he constantly heard his parents exclaim “be good so that your brothers and sisters will be good.” His parents also impressed upon him the importance of attending college. From the age of four, Gravely concluded he would attend Hampton Institute, learn a trade, enroll into ROTC and become an Army officer. His situation changed on Gravely’s fifteenth birthday when his mother died. His outspoken advocacy for his education ended with his mother’s death, and without his mother’s persistence and his father’s wishes to keep the family together, Gravely enrolled in Virginia Union University instead of Hampton because VUU was closer to home.40 Gravely attended school year round, graduated from high school on his sixteenth birthday, and entered college early. He eventually dropped out of college and began work at a tobacco company and later at a clothing design store. Gravely attempted to enlist into the Army in 1940 but failed the physical due to a rapid heartbeat. “So,” said Gravely, “that took care of that.” Two years later, on 15 September, Gravely successfully joined the Navy.41 After attending service school at Hampton Institute, Gravely received an assignment to San Diego where he volunteered for pool-hall duty because he believed it would afford him the freedom and flexibility to study his trade. Thus, Gravely became a common sight in the pool-hall with his nose buried into a manual or book. His military superior obviously took note. Gravely described how happenstance his rise into the officer corps was: One day, . . . my boss came in and he said, ‘Sam, why aren’t you taking the V-12 test.’ ‘Well,’ I said to him, ‘Mr. Stubbs I understand that the V-12 test is to train people to become an officer; and as you well know, there are no black officers in the Navy. . . . He simply said, ‘get your ass down there and take that test.’ I went down and took the test; and when the results came back, there were 3 people from my base selected. I was one and two white guys.42 Gravely began school in November 1943. Though the V-12 program was established with the proviso that candidates be enrolled “without regard to race, color, or creed,”43 Gravely knew he would not be allowed to enter the segregated University of Virginia’s V-12 program in his hometown; therefore he selected “no choice” on his school selection card. He was subsequently assigned to the University of Southern California. After spending one night with his five white roommates, the school informed Gravely there had been a mistake and ordered him to proceed immediately to the University of California, Los Angeles. Jackie Robinson and Kenny Washington had already broken the color barrier at UCLA. However, “O.J. Simpson,” explains Gravely, “hadn’t quite got to USC at that time.”44 Although UCLA had two Navy programs—ROTC and V-12—Gravely was the sole black in either program.45 With nearly 50 college credit hours, Gravely quickly satisfied the program’s seventy-hour requirement and graduated in June 1944.46 After graduation, Gravely attended the Pre-Midshipman

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School in Asbury Park, New Jersey, for two months. From there he went to Columbia University in New York City to earn his commission. The only black in a class of 1,040 candidates in his class at Columbia, Gravely graduated on 14 December 1944, and became an ensign in the United States Navy Reserve.47 To his chagrin his first assignment was to the Great Lakes Training Center while many of his classmates received sea duty. Gravely remembered venting his frustrations by yelling at the top of his voice at people in his section, which came to the immediate attention of the duty officer, but nothing changed. His orders stood and luckily for Gravely “nothing really happened [to him, he] didn’t get restricted or busted.” The road to ensign for Gravely was much different than it was for the Golden Thirteen, but just as rewarding.48

Figure 15.1 Rear Admiral Samuel Gravely, circa 1971 (Courtesy of Gravely).

172 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 ENSIGNS Though conditions improved for black commissioned naval officers during the fi nal years of World War II, a commission did not always bring respect as illustrated by the experiences of Ensigns George C. Cooper and Graham E. Martin. Ensign Cooper encountered the age-old problem of disrespect by subordinate white servicemen. In one particular incident, but for his wife, he might have lost his commission. It was common for white Sailors not to salute him. Many would cross the street when they spotted him. One day as he, his wife and daughter walked down the street in Newport News a white Sailor approached, approximately one foot from him, and said: “You black son of a bitch, I heard about you guys, but I never thought I’d meet one.” When Ensign Cooper lost his “cool” and started after the Sailor his wife grabbed him and convinced him that it was not worth it.49 Ensign Martin and his wife faced another more serious incident one afternoon while dining in downtown Chicago. When they entered a restaurant they received the usual stares, mainly because his uniform identified him as an officer. They were served and ate without incident, but after dinner they both had to visit the bathroom constantly for the next twelve hours. Martin believed croton oil, a laxative, was put into their food. “That’s,” exclaimed Martin, “the way they treated a commissioned officer in the Navy.”50 Still, black officers served with distinction and often earned the respect and admiration of their comrades. By the summer of 1944 the chief of naval personnel was responding to requests for more black officers.51 Lieutenant Samuel E. Barnes served as the only black officer on Okinawa after its capture. He served as the battalion personnel officer. Although most officers walked out of the Officers’ Club the fi rst couple of times Barnes entered, many eventually stayed as time went on. While on Okinawa, Barnes developed several congenial relationships with other officers. They ate and slept together and there was never a bad incident. 52 Ensign Gravely, upset with his initial assignment, found himself serving aboard the USS PC 1264, a subchaser, by May 1945.53 He reported for duty on 2 May and relieved one of the five white officers. From that point until the end of the war, PC 1264 operated with Gravely as the sole black officer aboard a ship operated by an all-black enlisted crew. PC 1264 was one of only two vessels in the Navy operated by an all-black enlisted crew; the other was the USS Mason. Both Gravely’s white captain and the black Sailors under him were impressed and proud of him.54 Besides Gravely, at least two other black officers are known to have served aboard larger ships considered part of the “fighting Navy” during World War II. John McIntoch and Jim Hair, both Golden Thirteen graduates, served aboard the USS Mason. Hair, like Gravely, was among the fi rst black officers to serve on board a warship beginning in the spring of 1945, while McIntoch came aboard several months later. After receiving

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his commission John Hair was assigned to YTB-215, an integrated harbor tugboat, in the Third Naval District in New York. In that assignment he believed he was among the fi rst black naval officers “with white enlisted men working for him.”55 Commander Norman Meyer, the white skipper of the USS Mason, observed Hair’s handling of his YTB-215 tugboat in the spring of 1945 and invited him to serve on his ship. Meyer recounted how he got Hair assigned to his ship: One day we were putting in at the ammunition depot . . . near Sandy Hook [New Jersey]. The tugboat that was helping us dock was very sharp. The brass literally shone and sparkled; the shiphandling and everything else were smartly done. . . . It was obvious to me that [Jim Hair] knew his business. I was so impressed by his tugboat that I invited him over to lunch on the Mason. . . . The next day I called Eddie Fahy to say I wanted Jim to be my fi rst lieutenant. Jim was a very intelligent guy and intensely patriotic. . . . It was a reward for good performance, and I’m sure he communicated that to the crew. . . . He believed in me and what I was trying to do, and that was very helpful. . . . He was very conscious of the fact that blacks have been pushed around, but he didn’t brood on it. Inasmuch as a black man and a white man could, he and I communed about the unfair treatment of American blacks. 56

COAST GUARD The Coast Guard was established in January 1915 but its genesis dates back to 1790 with the establishment of Revenue Cutter Service. Forty-one years later (1831) as a result of a Treasury Department ruling, blacks were admitted into the Revenue Service and have been serving since that time. Michael A. Healy, son of an Irishman and black mother who was a former slave, became the fi rst recorded black commissioned officer in the Revenue Service in 1865. In 1877, the same year Henry O. Flipper graduated from West Point, he began commanding the Revenue Cutter Chandler, thus becoming the fi rst black man to command a U.S. vessel. He rose to the rank of captain before officially retiring in 1903. 57 The service of black commissioned officers in the United States Coast Guard, however, began in earnest during World War II. During World War II three blacks (Joseph Charles Jenkins, Clarence Samuels and Clarence Russell, Jr.) earned ensign commissions. Since Joseph Jenkins earned his commission on 14 April 1943, eleven months before the Golden Thirteen, he became the fi rst black American officially commissioned in a naval service. Clarence Samuels’s commission came in September 1943 and Clarence Russell’s in February 1944. However, not until after the Korean War, in 1955, did the fi rst black enter the Coast Guard Academy (he failed to graduate), and not until 1966

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did the fi rst black graduate. 58 When Merle J. Smith, Jr., graduated in 1966 as the fi rst black Coast Guard Academy graduate, his proud father, Army Colonel Merle J. Smith, Sr., was present. It was a long time coming, but black Americans fi nally earned their way into the officer corps of the United States Marine Corps, Navy and Coast Guard.

16 Women Go to War

Black women were perhaps the most unique group of officers to serve during World War II. Twice minorities, they battled “twin problems”—sexism and racism.1 In spite of this, roughly 658 black American women served as commissioned officers during World War II in either the Army Nurse Corps (ANC) or in the Women’s Army Corps (WAC), and four naval nurses and two WAVES earned commissions. Since the American Revolution women of African descent have served on the field of battle. During the Revolution and the War of 1812, black women tended to sick Soldiers and made bandages alongside white women. Some even disguised themselves and fought shoulder to shoulder with men. 2 Most of their identities have unfortunately been lost to history. During the American Civil War many more black women, Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman and Susie King Taylor, served in various capacities. Truth, an abolitionist and advocate of women’s rights, became a nurse. Tubman, better known for her antebellum role as “Conductor of the Underground Railroad,” served as a Soldier, spy, scout and nurse. So valued was Tubman she was referred to as “General” Tubman. A name she partly earned after she “led a force of 300 cavalrymen on a raid in South Carolina that freed 800 slaves and destroyed valuable cotton.” Though not officially in military service, Tubman subsequently received a military pension for her Civil War duties. Taylor, who married a noncommissioned officer of the 1st South Carolina Volunteers (33rd United States Colored Troops), served as a nurse, teacher and launderer for her husband’s unit.3 As was the case during the American Revolution, a few black women disguised themselves and fought as men during the Civil War. Recent scholarship confirms three such women, two of whom have been identified by name. The unidentified black woman served with the 29th Connecticut Infantry (Colored) and survived the siege of Petersburg throughout late 1864 and early 1865. She was only identified as a women after giving birth in March 1865.4 A second, Maria Lewis, passed as a white man and served in the 8th New York Cavalry. At the end of the war she joined with abolitionists in Alexandria, Virginia, who vowed to help her.5 The third known black woman to disguise herself as a man during the Civil War, Lizzie Hoff man from Winchester, Virginia, served with the 45th U.S. Colored Infantry. When it

176 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 was discovered she was a woman while boarding a train with her unit near Alexandria, Virginia, she was arrested and sent to the Washington Guard House where she was “furnished . . . with a dress.”6 The best-known black woman to disguise herself as a Soldier, Cathay Williams, served as a Buffalo Soldier for a brief period during Reconstruction.7 When war with Spain began in 1898, black women once more answered the call to duty. Of the eighty8 who served, most were brought on as yellow fever “immune” nurses. In reality many of them were not immune to yellow fever and eventually died of the disease.9 The belief at that time was that since blacks “had long residence in warm wet climates and [had] thicker darker skin” they were immune to yellow fever and other warm climate diseases.10 The service of all women, to include black women, during the Spanish-American War led to the establishment of the Army Nurse Corps in 1901 and the Navy Nurse Corps in 1908, though neither was yet an official part of the Army or Navy. The Army Nurse Corps did not allow black women to serve until after World War I. The Navy barred them until 1945.11 As did their World War I black male counterparts, black women served only after a struggle, and then not until after the armistice. Had it not been for the worldwide influenza epidemic in 1918 these women might never have received the call to serve in the reserves. Hundreds of black nurses volunteered to serve overseas during the war,12 but none were called.13 Not until several weeks after the armistice, 1 December 1918, did the Army induct eighteen black American nurses into the active Army Nurse Corps as commissioned officers; these nurses had served since October as Red Cross volunteers (reservists) treating victims of the influenza epidemic.14 Since hostilities ceased in Europe, and the Army reduced the Nurse Corps, none were sent abroad for duty.15 Nine of the nurses were assigned to Camp Grant, Illinois, and nine to Camp Sherman, Ohio. They served for only eight months before their discharge on 16 August 1919. Among the eighteen was First Lieutenant Aileen Cole Stewart. Stewart, reminiscing in 1963 about her short service in the Nurse Corps, said though they lived in segregated housing “there . . . was no bias or discrimination in [their] nursing assignments at the base hospital.”16 After Stewart’s discharge in 1919, no black women served in the military either as enlisted or officer until April 1941. NURSES In April 1941, as a result of efforts by First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, educator Mary McLeod Bethune, and Executive Secretary Mabel Staupers, R.N., of the National Association of Colored Graduate Nurses (NACGN), twentyfour black nurses were assigned to Camp Livingston, Louisiana, and another twenty-four were assigned to Fort Bragg, North Carolina.17 Their commissions came with limitations. First, a quota of only fifty-six blacks would be accepted18 and secondly, Army Surgeon General James C. Magee stated “Negro nurses” would serve only “in hospitals or wards devoted exclusively to the treatment of Negro soldiers.”19

Women Go to War

Figure 16.1 Historian).

177

World War I Nurses (Center of Military History, Army Nurse Corps

Della H. Rainey of Suffolk, Virginia, became the fi rst black nurse to receive a commission since 1919.20 Demands by Staupers and the NACGN eventually led to the removal of the quota. By July 1942, sixty nurses were assigned to Fort Huachuca, Arizona, 21 and by February 1943 nearly 200 served at various installations across the United States. 22 Still, black women constituted only 0.6 percent of all commissioned nurses.23 Eventually black nurses cared for Soldiers of all races including prisoners of war.24 Black women most wanted to serve overseas. “When I signed up in Los Angeles,” explained Lieutenant Chrystalee Maxwell, “I asked for overseas duty. . . . The sooner they send me the better I will feel.”25 Lieutenant Maxwell eventually got her wish. Thirty nurses, led by First Lieutenant Susan E. Freeman, deployed to Roberts Field, Liberia, West Africa, in March 1943.26 Before World War II ended black nurses served in the China-Burma-India Theater, New Guinea, Warrington, England, throughout the European Theater and on the Philippine Islands.27 A. A. Maley, a nurse completing a tour in 1945 with the 383rd/335th Station Hospital in the China-Burma-India Theater, perhaps summed up the feelings of many nurses when she wrote in January 1945: We find that we have come a long way when we look back over this fi rst year of duty overseas. . . . The hard work and energy put forth; the experience gained in making an organization function without too much friction; new knowledge gained and shared in the study of tropical diseases and treatment of battle wounds; maintaining a high standard of nursing;

178 The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 a high standard of morale; seizing opportunities for further study—all this helped us immeasurably. We nurses learned to work with a minimum amount of equipment and few supplies. . . . On our return home we will be able to offer suggestion and new ideas that will help much to push that [sic] standards of nursing just a little higher.28 Susan E. Freeman and Prudence Burns Burrell were two of many nurses who served with distinction during World War II. Lieutenant Freeman, born and raised in Stratford, Connecticut, and described as quiet, small and busy, was among the initial forty-eight nurses commissioned in April 1941. Like many of the nurses who served during World War II, Freeman had stellar credentials and experience prior to her commission. She had been head nurse and superintendent of Freedman’s Hospital in Washington, DC—present-day Howard University Hospital. In July 1942, she was assigned to Camp Livingston, Louisiana, and eventually transferred to the Station Hospital at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. At Fort Huachuca, Lieutenant Freeman became the principal chief nurse of the 700-patient hospital. Initially there were only seven nurses, but they “plunged right in,” according to Freeman, “and worked like beavers” to accomplish the mission. 29 In June 1942, she became the fi rst black nurse to be promoted to fi rst lieutenant,30 and in March 1943, Lieutenant Freeman became the first black “nurse to command an overseas unit in the Army Nurse Corps.”31 While in Liberia, West Africa, she received an award, the Ribbon of the Knight

Figure 16.2 World War II Nurses in Burma (Center of Military History, Army Nurse Corps Historian).

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Official, Liberian Order of African Redemption, for her service. In 1944 she returned to Camp Livingston and soon pinned on captain bars. In that same year the NACGN awarded her the Mary Mahoney Award for her achievements as the fi rst black nurse to command overseas and for her role in the 1937 Ohio River flood disaster.32 Prudence Burns Burrell of Kansas City, Missouri, also served her country with devotion. During the summer of 1942, Burns (Burnell became her married name in October 1945) began to recruit black nurses for the Red Cross. On 20 October, she recruited herself and was soon off to Fort Huachuca, Arizona, where she received an assignment to the 268th Station Hospital. In September 1943 she transferred to Camp Stoneman, California, before sailing to Australia on 15 October 1943.33 After eighteen days at sea, zigzagging and briefly escorted by a Navy blimp, Burns arrived in Sydney but was immediately transferred to Brisbane to a women’s staging area. Lieutenant Burns’s unit remained in Brisbane until facilities at their final destination in Milna Bay on New Guinea were ready. Upon arrival on New Guinea, Lieutenant Burns became head nurse of the surgical ward. She found her assignments as a temporary flight nurse most exciting. As a flight nurse Lieutenant Burns took her first airplane ride. Since some flight nurse trips required overnight stays away from her base of operation, often no specific segregated facilities were available for Lieutenant Burns. As a result, she quartered in the chief nurses’ billets.34 Lieutenant Burns’s rank did not entitle her to chief nurses’ billets, but due to segregation these were often the only quarters available to house her. In rare circumstances such as this, America’s “separate but equal” policy inadvertently benefited those it was meant to oppress. In May 1945, Lieutenant Burns’s unit received a transfer to the Philippines. Since the war ended shortly thereafter, she was back in the United States by October. Burns separated from active Army duty on 12 February 1946, but served in the reserves until 1952.35 Though the sketches of Freeman and Burns depict rather rosy pictures of service by black nurses, many nurses faced hardship and discrimination. They were even disrespected in front of enemy prisoners of war (EPWs). Black nurses cared for EPWs in some camps. At one such camp, nurses recalled orders to eat in a separate dining room as surprised EPWs observed.36 Moreover, the commission of only 512 black nurses37 by the end of the war demonstrated that many barriers remained. The Navy finally commissioned four black nurses in 1945 shortly before the end of the war.38 Not until 1948, the year of EO 9981, did Lieutenant Nancy C. Leftenant become the first black nurse to receive official commission into the Active Army Nurse Corps.39

THEY WANTED TO BE WAACS Black American women also served in the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC), which later became the Women’s Army Corps (WAC). During the war more than 140,000 women served,40 of whom 6,500 were black.

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The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948

However, only 146 were commissioned officers.41 They endured the same discrimination as their male counterparts, they could command only black units, they were segregated in most arenas, and they were subjected to abuse. In 1941 Congresswomen Edith Nourse Rogers of Massachusetts introduced the precursor of the Women’s Auxiliary Bill calling for 25,000 quasi-military clerical workers. Congress took no action. In January 1942, obviously unhappy about how her first bill was discounted, Congresswoman Rogers introduced the Women’s Auxiliary Bill, which provided for a “corps of 150,000 women for noncombat duties.”42 On 14 May 1942, Congress approved the bill and President Roosevelt signed it into law.43 Public Law (PL) 77–554 established the WAAC on 15 May 1942. Its major purpose was to free up men for combat duties. WAAC, however, did not become an official part of the military.44 The WAAC, unlike many United States agencies, accepted black women from its inception. With great excitement and anticipation, black women began to appeal for inclusion before the bill had even passed. On 25 April 1942, Bessie Marie Reed of Los Angeles, California, wrote to Assistant Secretary of War Hastie: I was advised to contact you in regard to the Women’s Aux. to the Army. . . . I have been interested in this cause for some time; to the extent of expenditures of money, time, and energy, for the training of a group of ladies of my race. . . . I am offering you my services, Sir, as one to be trained as an officer in the Aux. to the Army.45 And on 27 April 1942, Mrs. Henrine E. Ward of the Wrightstown, NJ, USO wrote: Please send me a copy of the Rogers Bill, for the drafting of women as an aid to the army. Many of the volunteers who come in are asking questions about the bill, thus I would like a copy so I can give accurate information.46 On 16 May 1942, the War Department issued a press release announcing the particulars of the WAAC. Officer candidate requirements included: age 21 to 45 years old, U.S. citizenship, excellent character, good health and at least a high school education. The Army planned to select 450 to attend the fi rst class of WAAC officer candidates at Fort Des Moines, Iowa.47 Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall selected Oveta Culp Hobby of Houston, Texas, as director of the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps.48 Recruitment went forward with unprecedented speed. The Army appointed Mary McLeod Bethune as “an unofficial advisor to help recruit and select the forty black women” to fill the War Department’s officer quota.49 Hundreds of women sought information, application, and high profile recommendations that would take them to Fort Des Moines and into the military. The National Archives contains many letter campaigns similar to the one below.

Women Go to War

181

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TH E G O O D S H E P H E R D C O M M U N ITY C E N T E R 5120 South Parkway C H IC A G O O K i w C£ ! Lr DIRECTOR

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O f f i c e o f th e S e c r e ta r y o f T.'nr ^ ash in ^tor., D. C. "y d t rea u rl y " yo u“ЗІЬзоп: rs, 1 3 h o i:li ! і >:e f o r you to h e ir ne in any way '.«-.at you can to r e t in to t h « o f f i c e r s t r a in in g s ch o o l o f th e Tt&AC. th e -jiaoer t h is e o r n in i i t t t M th a t th e r e -..111 Je 40 !.e -ro can did ates a c c ep te d ’ f o r th e cou.- з е b egin n in g June 1 st ar.d : s h o -ili l i k e v r y nuch to be c o n s id e re d . TIw ; 'i3 t few ro-.ths have found ne d o in r я number o f t h i n -з a lo n j о г - а п іг а *-i?n sl I'n c s f o r v o lu n te e r workers f o r d e fe n s e . I № Captain o f th e T o r ie : : ’. e r C ir ijtn r o f th e T>—. « » ’ s D?->r.se C o r;# o f . л е г і с а . Th’ s is « n a tio n a l >r-nn r o f th a er aT>—. c i a «l »l y’ s nD?->r.se ix ed o a oCboere y p«a rntai tio e·; la.: : ’. e rilia Ctiridijtn r;#h ip o f o. fл еoгvіeс rа .2000. Th’ s ” is nal c h a ;-.«r ha з a' out 1 ? 0 п » - і)е г з . "'o produce lu xu ry k i t s c o l l e o t and r e p a ir books f o r t e day rooms a t canps. І an а із о s e r v in g as Laison O f f i c e r f o r >ie . o r a le C o in it t e e o f th e Chicapo Commission o f C iv ilia n "ie fe n s e , and as ?r.airmar. o f th e F ir s t A id T ra in in g p r o - r a r f o r th e Red CroS 3 in the "/ashincton Par·- C o m u r.ity. Ля you >now ! w » gradu ate o f F is k U n iv e r s it y in S o c io lo r y cind S o c ia l R esearch , and have had f.vo y e a rs o f gradu ate vc rk in th e ;nns f i e l d . For f i " * yea rs I worked as a S o c ia l TTorkdr under to d Chica.-O ..dnini3*'.ration o f b e l i e f . This is ; « s r a b r i e f resume' o f my bae!:-round which you r . ~ h t need in making any c o n ta o ts f o r me th a t you can г е -a rd in ;- the 'omen's . u x i l l a r v Corps. I am v e r y s erio u s about t h is and hope th a t you nay be a b l» t o h e lp me. '_к*. ne ’.-now i f th e re is an;-thin.' w iic h T can do t o h elp a io n ·-. I t seems fche t in e *s 3?*ort because i f r/~.at the papers за ·1 · із tru^r th e v a r e * o in r t-.r -i: ■.th t .із 11’-» « r i l l f i r e and I d " want to - e t in th e f i r s t t r a in in -Ourse i f t h c r - i s any -my p o s s ib le so i f you reed t - w ir - ne r e r a r d i r - t h is r.a tt^ r - lo a s o i-; so a t nv e x '^ n s e . S o rry I d id n rt have :. chance to see you when you wvre h o re . G iv e my k i.-d es t гед лго з to Is a V e lle and tno baby. L e t me hear fro n you on t h i s as soon as you ca- . Regards from Horace. t r u l yt ryo u luyrs, yo u rs,

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Figure 16.3a.

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182

The Story of Black Military Officers, 1861–1948 Ktl'KOUL'CED АГ TKL ΝΑ. ...:.AL AKl,HlVt>j

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■гв. Ігял Geytoo Th· Oood Shepherd Co aunity Cantor 5120 South Hnrk»ay Chicftgo, ШІПОІ8 0s*r era. Cayton· Juat a note to acknowledge your le tt e r o f May 1 7 , Juat a note to your acknowledge le tt e r o f May Juat to acknowledge le ttЯв e r Of oyour f your May І*a к /note ° и Juat th,; b » t to t l eacknowledge «rote en a tnote your le co tt enrv o f tio Mayn Juat note I to acknowledge your le tt eset r o out f MayIn the г в ім м with a.їм. f 70U follow the course Juat a note to acknowledge your le tt e r o f May Juat a note Juat to “ acknowledge your le tt e r oyour f May le end tt e rt roafinMay ί ι ? Γ 1 0ae note rt, ln to ttuacknowledge ,t y our background in g »1-11 in eto v e racknowledge y 00 n e ld e r a your t io n fle a rttyou . f May Juat obt& a note er o lo u r· very truly.

Truntn K. Gibson, Jr. Aoci tent C ivilian Aide to the SoereUly o f »«r

Figure 16.3b.

Women Go to War

183

REPRODUCED AT THE NATIONAL ARCHIVESj

H E A D Q U A R TE R S S IX T U CORPS A REA OFFICE

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REPLY

R E F E R TO*

Αϋ 201-Cayton, Irma

Mr. Тгшпап K. Gibson, Jr. Assistant Civllliin Aide to the Secretary оf W at War Denartaent Office of the Assistant Secrets *ashln£ton, D. C. Dear Ur. Olbsoni The Commanding General has directed ae to rei>lv to У w r l e t t e r of June 1 . l P i ? , l n l h , b . e r e „ t o f 10 Women's Aray Auxiliary Corps fo r Officer Candidate Training. Cay ton of Chicago, whoCorps has file an application with the Women's Aray Auxiliary fo rd Officer Candidate Training. Women's Aray Auxiliary Corps fo r Officer Candidate Training. lour le tte r has been attached to lire. Cayton's application which w ill receive every coneider.ition consistent r a j. .іаг Bepartoent instructions governing the nroceesW 0f sucn applications.

Sincerely 70Ш*s.

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