Honoring Sergeant Carter (2 page)

That it fell to me to make the trip made sense in terms of family dynamics. When the initial call came from Gloria Long, I took it and dealt with it. I had to—Buddha and Mildred were too distraught over of William's stroke and Iris's death. The family was in crisis. If there was one thing I knew from my five years of experience as a 911 dispatcher and fourteen years as a supervisor, it was to remain calm and take things one step at a time. First, help Buddha and Mildred deal with their grief and worry. Then, gather information for the White House as best I could. Once I started the research, Buddha and Mildred, and later William, encouraged me to follow through, although with all of them there seemed to be a lingering reticence, an almost palpable uneasiness. They wanted Eddie to get the Medal of Honor, but they seemed apprehensive about where my research might lead. Mildred
could no longer tell me what had happened. Buddha and Redd never really knew; they only knew the bad feelings that Eddie's military experience had left in the family. The feelings were painful and they didn't want to talk about them. Their inner conflict made it impossible for them to probe, to uncover what might be hidden in trunks or archives.

I was met at the National Archives by Kenneth Schles-singer, an archivist. I told him of the upcoming Medal of Honor event and explained that I was trying to get information for the family and for public dissemination. I wanted to see anything that might be helpful in understanding Sergeant Carter's experiences and the general situation of black soldiers in the Army during the war and any problems they might have encountered there. Mr. Schlessinger directed me to the materials used by the Shaw University researchers and other important record groups. These included several sets of records and memos from Eddie's unit, the Fifty-sixth Armored Infantry Battalion, that detailed the battalion's movements in March 1945 at the time of the attack on the German town of Speyer. Sergeant Carter was not mentioned, but the maps, handwritten notes, and memos made the whole thing more real for me. Here were firsthand documents that recorded actions where Sergeant Carter was present. I leafed through the fading papers and tried to imagine what it was like for him. I realized that I could never know what he went through, but holding notes and messages
that had been written while the fighting was actually going on made me feel close to Eddie.

I also found War Department press releases that praised the bravery and fighting spirit of black troops in the all-black Ninety-second Infantry Division in Europe, the Ninety-third in the Pacific, the 761st Tank Battalion, and the 332d Army Air Force Fighter Group—the famed Tuskegee Airmen—stationed in Italy. One press release applauded the hundreds of black troops originally assigned to service units who, like Eddie, had volunteered for combat duty as riflemen.

The other documents I found with Schlessinger's help were more disturbing. For example, there was a series of reports assessing the use of Negro rifle platoons in the Army during the war. Although the reports generally concluded that the black infantry units, composed of volunteers, performed well in combat, almost all of the authors recommended against forming racially integrated fighting units. Instead they recommended continuation of the policy at that time of limited use of all-black units under white (or possibly black) officers within larger white combat units. In other words, black troops might be allowed into combat, but only in segregated units.

Evidence of discrimination against and mistreatment of black soldiers was plentiful in a file of letters and reports that had been sent to William M. Hastie, a respected black judge who was dean of the Howard University Law School. In 1940 he was appointed Civilian
Aide on Negro Affairs by Secretary of War Henry Stimson. Among other things, Hastie tracked racial incidents in the military. The material in the file was chilling. It included a report of the lynching in 1941 of a young black soldier, Felix Hall, at Fort Benning, Georgia. There was also a report of what Hastie called the “wanton slaying” of an unarmed black soldier, Albert King, by a military policeman at Fort Benning in the same year. The military policeman was acquitted; Hall's slayers were apparently not found. In June 1942, Eddie was a sergeant in a service battalion at Fort Benning. Did he know of these killings?

Schlessinger recommended that I review some additional files that proved to be equally troubling. These were military weekly intelligence reports for 1944–1946. I was surprised to see that the Army collected detailed information on the involvement of black soldiers in so-called racial situations around the country, and special attention was given to the reaction of the Negro press to these incidents. The situations commonly involved acts of racial discrimination, mistreatment, or violence against black soldiers, including incidents on military bases, or black citizens in general. The activities of the NAACP and other civil rights groups were also closely monitored. The reports were organized under headings such as “Organizations Fomenting Racial Agitation” and “Potential Racial Disturbances.” Black soldiers or sailors observed speaking out against or actively resisting discrimination were described as “attempting to create racial unrest.”

No part of the country seemed exempt from the prying eyes of military intelligence. Some areas, however, were described as “sensitive.” Los Angeles, where Eddie and his family lived before and after the war, was often high on the list of “sensitive” areas because, as a report on January 5, 1946, stated, “of the heavy concentration of Negro workers, unrest in the Los Angeles Harbor Area and current government cutbacks.” Other cities in California, and sometimes Washington state, were occasionally identified as sensitive for similar reasons.

Some of the weekly intelligence reports included sections on “communists and fellow travelers.” Reading these I came across a reference to the
Daily World,
the Communist Party's newspaper. I remembered that one of the news clippings about Eddie's heroism that I found in Mildred's trunk came from the
Daily World.
Now, a few pages further on in the intelligence report, I found a reference to a “Welcome Home, Joe” dinner held in Los Angeles and sponsored by an organization called American Youth for Democracy. A parenthetical comment in the report described this group as a “CP [Communist Party] organization.” I felt a cold shiver: this dinner was mentioned in the same
Daily World
clipping I had found in Mildred's trunk. The intelligence report went on to quote an unidentified Negro newspaper as writing that “embittered” World War II veterans honored at the dinner denounced the “so-called democracy for which they fought.” These veterans said that they returned “to find
America more prejudiced than before and intolerance at an all-time new high.” Having just read of the “racial situations” encountered by black soldiers and civilians, I didn't find the views expressed by the veterans at the dinner very surprising. But it was disturbing to find an event that Eddie attended alluded to in these intelligence reports. His name was not mentioned specifically, but I knew his attendance had been mentioned in the newspaper coverage.

An FBI report I examined did not relieve my worry. Entitled “Foreign Inspired Agitation Among American Negroes in the Los Angeles Field Division,” the November 21, 1944, report stated that white homeowners protective associations were “becoming more active against negro encroachment” and were trying to establish restrictive covenants to prevent blacks from buying homes. Anonymous literature was being circulated, it continued, advocating the boycotting and disenfranchisement of Negroes. The U.S. Attorney in Los Angeles had advised that circulation of such literature did not constitute a violation of civil rights. However, the black press and civil rights groups had “expressed considerable concern over the circulation of such literature.”

As I browsed through the seventy-eight-page report, a subhead that read “Eastside Chamber of Commerce—Negro” caught my eye. The name rang a bell. Again I remembered clippings from Mildred's trunk, articles published in May 1946 reporting some upheaval in the leader
ship of the Eastside Chamber of Commerce in Los Angeles, resulting in Eddie being appointed director of public relations for the organization and chairman of its veterans committee. The FBI account seemed innocuous enough. An informant described the organization as “vitally interested in improving health conditions among the negroes, especially wiping out venereal disease, which, according to military and naval authorities, was showing an alarming increase among the servicemen.” Then I came to the lines: “There are certain members of the organization which might be considered ‘striped.' By striped he [the FBI informant] meant radicals whom some people might consider as Communists. These members, however, kept their activity on such a plane so as not to reflect on the chamber or the community as a whole and were therefore allowed to maintain their membership.” Of course, Eddie was in the war in 1944, but was the Eastside Chamber of Commerce still under surveillance in 1946? Was Eddie suspected of Communist Party involvement?

 

I
returned from the National Archives with more questions than when I left. I worried that perhaps Eddie did have some connection with communists, and that this was the source of his problems. There seemed to be a fear in the family that Eddie's problems with the Army might have been his own doing. Could those problems rise again to be his undoing now? For the most part all that the gov
ernment's extensive spying on black soldiers and the black community turned up was a determined refusal by African Americans to any longer accept segregation, discrimination, and mistreatment. The government was treating civil rights activism as criminal. Anytime black people voiced or acted out their objections to racism, both the military and the FBI saw this as subversive. Eddie was not the kind of man to meekly accept mistreatment. He was not belligerent, but he would have voiced his objections. He would have said that the country needed some serious improvement, as he did in the
Ebony
magazine article. Was this what they had against him? I didn't know. I had questions, but I hadn't found any answers.

 

E
arlier in the spring of 1996 a scandal broke in Los Angeles about cemeteries. Remains reportedly were being dug up and other bodies buried in the graves. We heard a news report about it, and Mildred started pressing me to go to the cemetery to make sure Eddie's body hadn't been dug up. To my surprise, she described exactly where the grave was located in the cemetery, in a corner by a big tree. She said, “I know this because I used to go there after work, and I'd lay on his grave and cry. I would say ‘Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me?' I did that many a night.”

When I visited the place, it turned out to be an old veterans cemetery and not very well maintained. I found
the gravesite where Mildred said it would be. The place was somewhat unkempt but Eddie's headstone was there and the grave appeared to be undisturbed…except for what looked like a plastic bag lying next to the headstone. Thinking it was trash, I picked it up. Inside I discovered a newspaper article about Eddie being nominated for the Medal of Honor. Who had put this here? There was no note or name, only the clipping. I was mystified. I tucked the clipping in my purse. I had brought a camera so I took a photo of the grave and the headstone to reassure Mildred. The headstone read: “Edward A. Carter, Jr. SFC, U.S. Army, World War II, DSC, BSM, PH & 2 OLC. May 26, 1916–January 30, 1963.”

I made my way out of the cemetery, occasionally nearly tripping over gopher holes, and feeling increasingly annoyed that this neglected site was Eddie's final resting place. As the grave of a soldier about to be honored with the highest award his nation could give, it seemed sadly inappropriate. It was not a hero's burial place. For weeks I couldn't get the image of Eddie's grave out of my mind.

Then, suddenly, I had an epiphany. I knew about the National Cemetery at Arlington and that many soldiers and national leaders were buried there. Eddie didn't get the hero's burial he deserved when he died, but now maybe he could.

Once again I made a phone call to Gloria Long. She didn't know what could be done, and she passed me along to an office at Arlington National Cemetery. The officials
at Arlington were not happy about my proposal. Why did I want to do this? They said they were going to come to Los Angeles and put a new headstone on his grave. If they did what I wanted for him, they would have to do it for others, they argued. They had buried him once and they weren't going to bury him again. I stayed calm. “My question to you is,” I said, “does winning the Medal of Honor qualify him to be in Arlington?” A reluctant “yes” was the reply. “Then we want him moved there,” I said. “We can't pay for it,” they countered. “Would you allow his body to be transported on a military flight?” “No.” They were not giving up anything, but they couldn't deny that Eddie was qualified to be buried at Arlington.

It was time for another family council. I talked with Mildred and Buddha and explained that this was something Eddie was qualified to have and he deserved it as a Medal of Honor winner. Mildred, especially, was thrilled. “I think it's wonderful,” she said. “Let's do it.” Buddha and the rest of the family agreed enthusiastically.

Money was tight, because we had had to bury Iris. But we had a sense of changing history. The family told me there had been no press coverage and no fanfare when Eddie was buried in 1963, only a small, quiet ceremony. All they had left to remember him was the flag the government provided for his casket. If we're going to do this, I said, then let's do it in a way that involves the community. I felt that people should know that a hero from our community was getting the Medal of Honor and that he was going to buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

After the
U.S. News & World Report
piece, we started getting lots of calls and correspondence from the media and people curious about Eddie. One day a letter came from a man named Joe Wilson Jr. He said his father had served in the military with Sergeant Carter in Germany, and later at Fort Lewis, Washington. Wilson's father had served in the all-black 761st Tank Battalion, a heroic unit nicknamed the “Black Panthers” that endured 183 days of continuous frontline duty in the war. The 761st had been attached to both the Third Army and the Seventh Army, and Sergeant Carter had also served in both. Joe was writing a book about the 761st Black Panther Tank Battalion. He was completing his research and wanted a picture of Eddie, whom he planned to cite in his book since Eddie was to receive the Medal of Honor. I eventually learned that he was the person who had placed the newspaper clipping at Eddie's grave. “I wanted the world to know that Sergeant Carter was getting the medal,” he told me.