MCRD/ERR PARRIS ISLAND, S.C. -- In the spring of 1944, the United States was flexing its unstoppable military might during the island-hopping campaigns of the Pacific theater as thousands of young, seemingly fearless men committed themselves to the cause.
William J. Bryan was one of these men.
Now a volunteer with the Parris Island Museum, Bryan can be found there two days a week archiving new donations and artifacts into the museum's database, but more than six-decades ago, he was fighting for his life on the war-torn island of Iwo Jima.
He hails from the small, Midwestern town of Springfield, Ohio, and enlisted in the Marine Corps in April 1944.
"The war was going on and they were drafting people," said Bryan. "I had two older brothers who had gotten deferments and they were both married and had children. I was one of those gung-ho high school kids and I figured if went in and joined the Marine Corps, I could save them from getting drafted."
Though his mother was not really onboard with the whole idea, she still supported her 17-year-old son's decision. She signed his papers and he was off to MCRD Parris Island for recruit training.
After he had graduated from Parris Island, the green, new Marine was sent north to Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, N.C., for advanced infantry training, and it was there he learned he would soon be headed overseas.
"They formed a replacement draft to go overseas and had asked for volunteers," said Bryan. "They called us out in ranks and then told the first three ranks to take three paces forward. Those men would be going overseas in the replacement draft and they said for anyone who didn't want to do that to take three paces back. Naturally, no one did. They put me in the 31st Replacement Draft and I went over to Hawaii and joined the 5th Marine Division."
Once he arrived at his new duty-station, Bryan and a handful of other Marines were attached to 2nd Battalion and were split up among its three companies, where they would all serve as litter bearers. But, shortly thereafter, he was off to war.
"We landed in the fifth wave, which was just seventeen minutes after the first," said Bryan as he vividly recounted his experiences. "I was a cocky young kid ... I was eighteen then. When we were coming in on the Amtrak, some of the older fellas that had been in combat were pretty solemn and I said, 'What are you all so worried about? There's not going to be a live [Japanese soldier] on the island the way they have been bombing it. It's going to be a snap.'"
Bryan said it was at that moment that a piece of shrapnel or something hit the side of the boat and the danger he was in had become a reality.
"I thought, God, they're shooting at us, and I hunkered down a little bit," he said. "The Amtrak was supposed to take us to the far end of the island, and then we were supposed to start moving north. But then we hit the beach, the driver dropped the ramp and said, 'This is it boys. This is as far as we go.' We had to go into the lines and get the wounded and then bring them back to be evacuated. It was complete hell."
During his nine-day stay on Iwo Jima, Bryan said he had never seen so much devastation.
"We didn't see very many [Japanese], though," he said. "They were all in caves, and finally they started using demolition or flame throwers to seal up the caves. The most we saw were dead Marines."
With so much death and destruction, morale was running low, and by his fourth day, the misery could be seen in the faces of his brothers-in-arms. Then, they had all heard some of the most exciting news they could have hoped for. The flag was raised on Mount Suribachi.
"Everybody could turn around and look up there and see the flag ... I'll never forget it," said Bryan. "I think it was raining that day, we had our ponchos on and we were very miserable. We were moving north and our lieutenant told us they got the flag up Suribachi. It was quite a celebration. Every time I go to a football game or some kind of sporting event were they raise the flag, it's the first thing that comes to mind."
Another memory still vivid in his mind is the day he got hit. Bryan had been on the island for more than a week, braving enemy fire with his fellow litter bearers to rescue his fallen counterparts, when he himself was hit.
"I was hit on the 27th of February," he recalled. "A piece of shrapnel had hit my leg and became lodged into my knee. A corpsman came over and gave me a shot of morphine and then put a tourniquet on it, and my buddies carried me back to the aid station. A couple days later I was transferred to a hospital ship."
On his road to recovery, Bryan had spent the next several months at hospitals in Guam, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and San Diego. He spent his last months in the Corps at Great Lakes Naval Station, Ill., and was on leave at home in Springfield when they declared victory in Japan. After his leave, Bryan went back to Great Lakes, picked up his papers and ended his military service.
He spent the next 35 years as a plate-maker for his hometown newspaper, and after retiring, Bryan, along with his wife, settled in Hilton Head Island, S.C.
"We came down here for vacation and we just loved it ... and it's near Parris Island," said Bryan. "I thought I could come over here and volunteer ... be near the Marine Corps."
Bryan's feeling for the Corps seemed as strong as ever and his work aboard Parris Island keeps him a little closer to that young 17-year-old boy who came to boot camp here more than 60-years ago.
"I've told many people that the experience I had couldn't be bought," concluded Bryan. "You couldn't pay a million dollars to go through something like that."