4th Beach Battalion Photo Album

Welcome to the 4th Beach Battalion online photo, trivia & stories album.

Members of the 4th BB hit the beach at Southern France, H-hour (Photo by Andy Scorsur - Provided by Dick Deneen)

Navy's Unsung Heros
NAVY BEACH PARTIES
By: Harry Dwyer

Copied from "Our Navy"

In times of peace, the term "Navy Beach Party" is apt to evoke visions of a driftwood fire, a gang of merrymakers, marshmallows, hot dogs, and maybe a case of beer on the side.

Not today! When men talk of a "Beach Party" they are not apt to smile. The term goes hand in hand with danger, death, and destruction, and those who have the rare privilege of attending one of these "parties" qualify as charter members in the Legion of Unsung Heroes.

Just what do these Navy Commandos do, and what is it about their work that is so dangerous and heroic?

Pull up a chair and lend an ear. When the Beach Parties go into action it means the amphibs are storming ashore to establish another beachhead, and that guns are roaring and the skies are raining bombs. The members of the Navy Beach parties are the connecting links between the Army (or Marines) and the ships that brought the assault troops this far. They are the signalmen, radiomen, firemen, seamen, and the various ratings of the repair forces, officers and enlisted men. They hit with, or before, the first wave of shock troops, and no words need be written on the danger such a position entails. The objective is to set up advance fire control posts and communication centers to ensure that the bombarding ships will plant their TNT where it will do the most good. That accomplished, their work begins in earnest.

With rifles and packs slung over their shoulders, the men of the Beach Parties dig in and prepare for action. Tales of heroism and courage on the part of these fox hole sailors have been told and retold by the troops who have seen them in action.

(In a photo by Andy Scorsur, provided by Dick Deneen, Radioman John Zetts maintains communications during the landing operation)

Communications win wars, says an old adage-and certainly in the critical first few minutes of an assault on some enemy shore, communications are the key to success or failure. The word has to get back-accurately and immediately. The oncoming waves must be directed away from mined areas, enfilading fire, traps, and entanglements. That's the first job on the board for the Beach Party. Supply depots must be arranged, sheltered spots, if possible, where the mountains of ammunition and food can be safely stored. All this must be managed while the main landing force is still coming in, when the enemy is raking the beach with fire, and bombs are making life a precarious thing.

Why, you might ask, is this work left to the Navy! Doesn't the Army have capable personnel! The answer to that is a definite Yes. But this is a combined operation, and the experience has already shown that even the slight difference in Army and Navy thinking, in their terminology, can cause hesitation. And there can be no hitch in a landing operation. Timing must be perfect. Delays of even a few minutes can doom the undertaking to failure. The presence of Naval personnel, working hand in hand with the Army advance personnel, is insurance that the schedule will be met. It has been good insurance. Every landing operation so far undertaken, from the South Pacific to Anzio has been a success-even at such hot spots like Salerno where one bungle meant catastrophe. Communications at Salerno paid off as never before.

The beachhead has been established, and the landing operations have been made a success. What remains for the Beach Parties?

Plenty. More than one landing craft which had been given up as lost because of enemy fire or accident has been returned to duty through the reckless disregard for danger and the untiring labors of the officers and men of the Navy Beach Parties. For the second job of these daredevils is to salvage and repair equipment of all kinds from the largest landing craft to the bulldozers and tractors.

It is to be expected that many of the barges and other landing craft will broach the beach or become otherwise disabled-but it is almost too much to expect the Beach Parties to repair the damage under fire. That is exactly what they do, and many and many a time the "hopelessly lost" has been returned to the duty line while the initial assault was still being hotly contested within a few hundred yards of the beach.

At one of the landings made on a beach in the Mediterranean area, more then twenty-five of the small craft ran afoul of enemy fire or were beached by the heavy seas. But within twenty-four hours, ninety percent of them were back in service again. There is no rest for these men and their work goes on around the clock, not a minute wasted, not a move made that has no calculated effect on the operation in progress. Most of the men were farmers and doctors and lawyers, or just kids in school, a few months before, but their training has built them into a coordinated unit.

Once the main body of the invasion force has been put ashore and the enemy driven back into the interior, the third stage is set-that of occupation. And again the Beach Parties are in evidence. Here it is the "follow up" men who go into action. These are specialists who have been trained to take over seaports and put them into condition to take the cargo ships at the piers and to store and distribute the tons and tons of heavy equipment, big guns, food and ammunition that will keep the army rolling along.

When the Germans or the Japs leave a seaport, you can take it for granted that nothing is left standing that will aid the oncoming allied forces. Piers are dynamited, warehouses burned, ships sunk in channels and anchorages, mines planted, power lines demolished. While Army experts have jurisdiction over the major portion of the work of reconstruction in such a port, the Navy specialists turn-to on the waterfront areas. They have performed magnificent services in repairing piers and docking facilities at such places as Palermo and Naples. They have established permanent signal and radio stations, reorganized port regulations along efficient lines, and indoctrinated shipmasters in the wartime rules of the road. Snarled ship traffic is untangled and rerouted, and the major and minor difficulties of operating a busy, first class port under hazardous battle-threatened conditions are efficiently thrashed out.                                                                                (Photo by Andy Scorsur)

In their line of duty, nothing is impossible. Time and time again these Navy Beach Parties have dug their way through the smoldering ruins of bombed and burned towns, and in a few short hours established communications between the port and the waiting ships outside.

In every theater of war, European, South Pacific, or the Arctic, the Navy Beach Parties have distinguished themselves for efficiency and courage. As Confucius is reported to have said, "They who put forth their best effort accomplish much."

So it is with these Unsung Heroes-the Navy Beach Parties! Well done!

This is an account written by Emajean Jordan Buechner (Copyright © 1991), Published by: Thunderbird Press, Inc. 300 Cuddihy Drive, Metairie, LA, U.S.A.  70005.  It tributes Brigadier General Felix L. Sparks, A.U.S. (Ret.).

In Chapter 10, "The Blood Bath of Salerno ...", there is an emotional account of the heroic act by Signalman 2nd Class Fred N. Bingaman who unselfishly placed his own life in danger to save those of the rest of his unit, the 4th Beach Battalion, as well as others.  The US forces were taking friendly fire from the destroyers (Bristol, Edison, Ludlow and Woolsey).

Bingaman ran from cover onto the beach to the waters edge and, using white handkerchiefs or similar material, sent the semaphore signal to the ships to raise their fire.  It worked.  Not only did the friendly fire upon our forces cease, all enemy fire that had initially chased Bingaman across the beach also ceased.

It is believed that the Germans recognized this feat as an extreme act of courage and as a show of respect to such a man, held their fire.

This book also pays tribute to the "...very brave and little known group of men who constituted a highly unusual unit."  These were the men of the U.S. Navy 4th Beach Battalion.  

Sailors in Army uniforms.  There were so many similar acts attributed to this group of unsung heroes that many went unrecorded.  This group deserves every letter of credit, every sound of praise.

This book is available through Amazon.com on the web. 

(Photo Credit:  The Marshall Cavendish Illustrated Encyclopedia of World War II, Volume 5 Page 1162 Picture Acknowledgement: Keystone.   Special thanks to David Benevelli for sending the photo to THE SAND-WITCH Webpage!)

PHOTOS OF MEN OF THE 4TH BEACH BATTALION AT SOUTHERN FRANCE and SALERNO ITALY

---

These photos are contributed by Clark Halstead, Dan Halstead's brother.

Cast of the 4th NBB Show "It's Regulation Now"
The men of the 4th NBB had to provide entertainment for themselves since they were in a battle zone and outside entertainment couldn't come to them!
(Click to enlarge)

Dan Halstead with other members of 4th NBB 
"Somewhere in North Africa"
(Click to enlarge)

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Members of the 4th Beach Battalion Hitting The Beach at Southern France H-Hour (0800 hrs) 

 

Making Smoke (unknown location)

Bill Webb, posing during a break in operations at Salerno Italy

Bill Sprague, Gene Martin 
and John Bargas

Willie and Leroy France asked the Coxswain of an LCVP how they could get out to one of the AKs (troopships) anchored in the Bay there at So. France, and he "volunteered" to take them out in his landing craft.  They were hungry and wanted to beg some food from the ship's supply.

Going AWOL., they arrived alongside one of the AKs and appealed for help, they were treated to a great meal in the ship's mess hall and then were loaded down with a roast, some flour and some fruit to take back ashore.  They were told that the ship was in short supply too and couldn't give them any more.  Willie and Leroy were quite happy to get what they did and thanked them.

So as soon as they got back to their quarters on the beach, there were more than enough volunteers to help prepare a feast for them.  Willie mentioned John Endyke, Al Bernier, Frank Innes, Doug Linnell, Dick Manhart, C.A. May, Nick Perrotta, Bill Schwacke, Andy Scorsur, Emil Sulzbach and Dutch Weise.  What a crowd!  Did you really feed this army?  If I have this correct, that must have been quite a treat!  And of course they all volunteered to do the dishes, too!  (Sure they did!)

The other experience that got Willie a slap in the face was when he was on liberty and went into a restaurant in Toulon and asked the pretty (what is pretty in French?)  waitress (in his Louisiana-Bayou-Cajun French), "How is business?"

Willie used the Cajun French he was used to speaking back home but it must have sounded rather rough, like you might ask a prostitute, "How is business?"  (How would that be written in French?)

It was raining "cats and dogs" and I was late for physical training. Traffic was backed up at Fort Campbell, Ky., and was moving way too slowly. I was probably going to be late and I was growing more and more impatient. The pace slowed almost to a standstill as I passed Memorial Grove, the site built to honor the soldiers who died in the Gander airplane crash, the worst redeployment accident in the history of the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault). Because it was close to Memorial Day, a small American flag had been placed in the ground next to each soldier's memorial plaque.

My concern at the time, however, was getting past the bottleneck, getting out of the rain and getting to PT on time. All of a sudden, infuriatingly, just as the traffic was getting started again, the car in front of me stopped. A soldier, a private of course, jumped out in the pouring rain and ran over toward the grove. I couldn't believe it!  This knucklehead was holding up everyone for who knows what kind of prank.  Horns were honking. I waited to see the butt-chewing that I wanted him to get for making me late. He was getting soaked to the skin.  His BDUs were plastered to his frame. I watched-as he ran up to one of the memorial plaques, picked up the small American flag that had fallen to the ground in the wind and the rain, and set it upright again. Then, slowly, he came to attention, saluted, ran back to his car, and drove off.

 

I'll never forget that incident.  That soldier, whose name I will never know, 
taught me more about duty, honor, and respect than a hundred books or a 
thousand lectures. That simple salute -- that single act of honoring his fallen 
brother and his flag -- encapsulated all the Army values in one gesture for me.  
It said, "I will never forget.  I will keep the faith.  I will finish the mission.  I am 
an American soldier." I thank God for examples like that. And on this Memorial 
Day, I will remember all those who paid the ultimate price for my freedom, and 
one private, soaked to the skin, who honored them.

(Contributed by Bill Sprague, US 4th Naval Beach Battalion) 

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 To all my friends whom I cherish...
 These things I wish for each of you

     By Paul Harvey

       We tried so hard to make things better for our kids
      that we made them worse. For my grandchildren,
      I'd like better.

      I'd really like for them to know about hand-me
      down clothes and homemade ice cream and
      leftover meatloaf sandwiches. I really would.

      I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and
      that you learn honesty by being cheated.  I hope
      you learn to make your bed and mow the lawn
      and wash the car.  And I really hope nobody gives
      you a brand new car when you are sixteen.  It will be
      good if at least one time you can see puppies born
      and your old dog put to sleep.

      I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you
      believe in.  I hope you have to share a bedroom with
      your younger brother.  And it's all right if you have
      to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when
      he wants to crawl under the covers with you because
      he's scared, I hope you let him.

      When you want to see a movie and your little brother
      wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him. I hope you have
      to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live
      in a town where you can do it safely.  On rainy days
      when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask
      your 'driver' to drop you two blocks away so you won't
      be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom.

      If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you
      how to make one instead of buying one. I hope you
      learn to dig in the dirt and read books. When you learn
      to use computers,
      I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.
      I hope you get teased by your friends when you have
      your first crush on a girl, and when you talk back
      to your mother that you learn what Ivory soap tastes like.
      May you skin your knee climbing a tree, burn your
      hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen
      flagpole.  I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope
      you don't like it. And if a friend offers you dope
      or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.

      I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with
      your Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.  May
      you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.
      I hope your Mother punishes you when you throw a
      baseball through a neighbor's window and that she
      hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when
      you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

      These things I wish for you -tough times and
      disappointment, hard work and happiness.
      To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.

      Written with a pen. Sealed with a kiss.

      If you are my friend, please answer this:
      Are we friends Or are we not?
      You told me once But I forgot.
      So tell me now And tell me true.
       So I can say....... "I'm here for you."
       Of all the friends I've ever met,
      You're the one I won't forget.
      And if I die Before you do,
       I'll go to heaven
      And wait for you.

  

This came from a United Airlines pilot:

The German controllers at Frankfurt Airport are infamous for being a short tempered lot. They not only expect  you to know your parking  location but also how to get there without any assistance from them.

So it was with some amusement that we (United 747) listened to the following exchange between Frankfurt ground control and the pilot of a British Airways 747 (call sign Speed bird 206).

Speed bird: "Good morning Frankfurt, Speed bird 206, clear of the active."

Ground: "Gut en Morgen, taxi to your gate."

The BA 747 pulls onto the main taxiway and stops.

Ground (brusquely): "Speed bird, do you not know where you are going?"

Speed bird: "Standby ground, I'm looking up the gate location now."

Ground (with typical German impatience): "Speed bird 206, have you never been to Frankfurt before?"

Speed bird (coolly): "Yes, several times in 1944, but I didn't stop."

Jimmy received a parrot for Christmas. The parrot was fully grown, with a very bad attitude and worse vocabulary.

Every other word was an expletive; those that weren't expletives were, to say the least, rude. Jimmy tried to change the bird's attitude by constantly saying polite words, playing soft music... anything he could think of.

Nothing worked.

He yelled at the bird, and the bird got worse. He shook the bird, and the bird got madder and more rude.

Finally, in a moment of desperation, Jimmy put the parrot in the freezer.

For a few moments he heard the bird swearing, squawking, kicking and screaming and then, suddenly, there was absolute quiet.

Jimmy was frightened that he might have actually hurt the bird, and quickly opened the freezer door.

The parrot calmly stepped out onto Jimmy's extended arm and said, "I'm sorry that I offended you with my language and my actions, and I ask your forgiveness. I will endeavor to correct my behavior".

Jimmy was astounded at the changes in the bird's attitude and was about to ask what had changed him, when the parrot continued, "May I ask what the turkey did?" 

One summer evening during a violent thunderstorm a mother was tucking her small boy into bed.

She was about to turn off the light when he asked with a tremor in his voice, "Mommy, will you sleep with me tonight?"

The mother smiled and gave him a reassuring hug.

"I can't, dear," she said. "I have to sleep in Daddy's room."

A long silence was broken at last by his shaky little voice: "The big sissy."

__________________________

A mother took her three-year-old daughter to church for the first time.

The church lights were lowered, and then the choir came down the aisle, carrying lighted candles.

All was quiet until the little one started to sing in a loud voice, "Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you..."

__________________________

Nine-year-old Joey was asked by his mother what he had learned in Sunday School.

Well, Mom, our teacher told us how God sent Moses behind enemy lines on a rescue mission to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. When he got to the Red Sea, he had his engineers build a pontoon bridge, and all the people walked across safely. He used his walkie-talkie to radio headquarters and call in an air strike. They sent in bombers to blow up the bridge and all the Israelites were saved.

"Now, Joey, is that REALLY what your teacher taught you?" his mother asked.

Well, no, Mom, but if I told it the way the teacher did, you'd never believe it!

_________________________

A child came home from Sunday School and told his mother that he had learned a new song about a cross-eyed bear named Gladly.

It took his mother a while before she realized that the hymn was really "Gladly The Cross I'd Bear,"

_________________________

It was that time during the Sunday morning service for "the children's sermon," and all the children were invited to come forward.

One little girl was wearing a particularly pretty dress and, as she sat down, the pastor leaned over and said to her, "That is a very pretty dress. Is it your Easter dress?"

The little girl replied, directly into the pastor's clip-on microphone, "Yes, and my Mom says it's a !#&*$! to iron."


_________________________

The Benefits of Growing Older
(and you thought there weren't any)

In a hostage situation you are likely to be released first.
No one expects you to run into a burning building.
Kidnappers are not very interested in you.
People call at 9 p.m. and ask, "Did I wake you?"
People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.

There's nothing left to learn the hard way.
Things you buy now won't wear out.
You can buy a compass for the dash of your car.
You can eat dinner at 4:00.
You can't remember the last time you laid
on the floor to watch television.

You consider coffee one of the most important things in life. 
You can constantly talk about the price of gasoline.
You enjoy hearing about other people's operations.
You get into a heated argument about pension plans.
You got cable for the weather channel.

You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it.
You no longer think of speed limits as a challenge.
You quit trying to hold your stomach in,
no matter who walks into the room.
You give lots of money to charities.
You sing along with the elevator music.

You have an age advantage whenever you need it.
Your Congressman pays attention to you.
You are not expected to keep up with technology or understand it. 
You get travel and entertainment discounts.
Your investment in health insurance is finally beginning to pay off.

You can dance to the oldest music and no one laughs at you.  
People come to you for help with their antique cars.
Your secrets are safe with your friends because
they can't remember them either.
You have great friends who think of you often
and send you lists like this.

Send this list to your young at heart friends!

Copyright © Bill Mauldin: 1945

MORE SALERNO BEACH TALES

Toward D-Day +5 the food supplies got so low that the Army cooks were faced with feeding the troops (including the Navy guys when we could break away) some standard Navy Beach Battalion fare ... yes, K-Rations and C-Rations.  The soldiers argued that they couldn't stomach such a low grade diet.  One of the loudest growling came from a Sgt. about the poor quality of the food. "Is this all the Army can afford to fed us?" Whereupon one of the cooks snapped back, "Perhaps you can do better!"

"Give me permission, " he snapped right back,"...and I'll do much better!" And with his officer's "Okay," he began a search of the nearby countryside.  In fact he had the problem solved about an hour later. Returning from a tour of the nearby farms, he presented the surprised cook with a rope, which was attached to a full-size cow.

The troops eyes lit up like Halloween lanterns.  And soon those hungry soldiers were banqueting on juicy steaks, etc.

The Sgt. answered the questions, "How did you manage that miracle?"  "I paid perfectly good lira to the farmer for that delicious food item for which he was more than amply reimbursed by the Lord of the Harvest by surviving the Invasion and the war.

4th Beach Battalion's Co. A-1 Hospital Corpsman Francis A. Boland relates an interesting personal experience at Salerno. We landed on Red Beach during the Salerno Italy Invasion shortly after H-Hour, Sept. 9, 1943 with the second, third or fourth wave and had been working on the beachhead five or six days.

The 540th Combat Engineers had landed along with us and we helped them with their assignment to set up equipment so that big trucks and tanks could cross the beach sand and reach the roads.

They brought in bulldozers and other equipment and a material like summerfelt matting (rolls similar to chicken wire entwined with strips of burlap and wider that a wide truck) which they would unroll for trucks and tanks to travel over so that they would not bog down in the sand.

Over the period of days the trucks and tanks by the hundreds had ridden over the summerfelt matting roads and had ground the sand into a consistency of confectioners sugar, or even finer.

At about 1000 hours I was walking toward the waterline of the beach when I noticed a small gathering near the waters edge. As I drew near, I recognized General Mark Clark, who had just landed and was talking to several officers.

The contrast was remarkable. Most of the officers and enlisted men present had been on the beach since D-Day and were grimy, sweaty and dirty. All had a few days growth of beard and belonged to "The Great Unwashed!"

Meanwhile General Clark, standing newly arrived on the beach, was (from what I could see) bone dry, sparkling clean with every item about his cap and uniform in immaculate shape.

His valet must have spent hours and hours on every aspect of his shoes and the creases in his pants and shirt. His collar stars and those on his hat just sparkled. general Mark Clark was "spit and polish" in every aspect.

The contrast between his attire and that of our Beach Party was so great as to be ludicrous ... absolutely absurd!

Well, General Clark walked up the beach, got into a Jeep and was driven away toward Naples.

The day went on with so many duties and other assignments to take care of on the beach that the General was forgotten.

It must have been after 1800 hours when the General arrived back on the beach. After having ridden through the dust that had been ground so fine by the Army trucks, DUKWs and tanks, he was a sight to look at. The sand was packed on his skin and was permeated throughout his uniform.

This time I saw him as he was passing, not as close as I had been this morning. Thank God for that, for seeing the General in his changed condition, I burst out laughing and hurriedly walked away so as not to attract his attention.

Even to this day, fifty years later, when I think of his arrival on Red Beach that day, and the condition he was in when he departed I still chuckle.