Grant Frederick Timmerman
Sergeant Grant Frederick Timmerman was born on 14 February 1919, in Americus, Kansas. “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as Tank Commander serving with the Second Battalion, Sixth Marines, Second Marine Division, during action against enemy Japanese forces on Saipan, Marianas Islands, on 8 July 1944. Advancing with his tank a few yards ahead of the infantry in support of a vigorous attack on hostile positions, Sergeant Timmerman maintained steady fire from his antiaircraft sky mount machine gun until progress was impeded by a series of enemy trenches and pillboxes. Observing a target of opportunity, he immediately ordered the tank stopped and, mindful of the danger from the muzzle blast as he prepared to open fire with the 75mm, fearlessly stood up in the exposed turret and ordered the infantry to hit the deck. Quick to act as a grenade, hurled by the Japanese, was about to drop into the open turret hatch, Sergeant Timmerman unhesitatingly blocked the opening with his body, holding the grenade against his chest and taking the brunt of the explosion. His exceptional valor and loyalty in saving his men at the cost of his own life reflect the highest credit upon Sergeant Timmerman and the United States Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.”
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Navy Chaplains
Two types of non-combatants are attached to Marine units: members of the Navy Medical Corps and Navy Chaplain Corps. Whenever the Marines are in combat, they are well tended to in body and soul on the front lines. Navy Lieutenant John H. Craven, Chaplain Corps, earned the Bronze Star for his actions under fire on Saipan. Later he summarized activities:
“In combat our main action was to go from place to place, unit to unit, and start out early in the morning and go till dark, just visiting one unit after the other and many times just have a very brief service. We had some very small hymn books ... and some Testaments I could carry in my map case, and we would just gather a few men together in a bomb crater or defilade ... and I would have one service after the other. Sometimes we had twelve, thirteen, or fourteen of those in one day, especially on Sunday....
“Then we had to take our turn at the cemetery. Each chaplain from different units would go down and take his turn for burial. We had a brief committal service for each one as they brought the bodies in. And I set myself up to try to keep up with all of the men of our units: where they were, whether they were in the hospital. I worked closely with a sergeant major and it was amazing how we were able to keep up with men, and when they were killed and when and where they were buried.”
Craven kept a notebook listing all the casualties, and he would keep that current from day to day. Each evening he would compare notes with the regimental sergeant major. It was a help to any chaplain to know who were casualties and where, and to report and work with their friends, and it was also a help to the sergeant major because it verified reports he got.
When Chaplain Craven and the other chaplains returned to the rear areas with their units, they started writing letters to the families of everyone who was killed in the regiment, and added their letters to those the commanding officers were required to write.
One other regimental chaplain used a special type of ministration. He had a canvas gas-mask carrier slung over each shoulder. In one carrier he had Scotch whiskey, in the other fried chicken. As he knelt by each young, frightened, wounded Marine, he was invariably asked, “Am I going to be O.K.?” “Sure you are!” was the cheerful answer. “While you are waiting to be evacuated, would you rather have a drumstick or a wing?” The young Marine would be so surprised he would forget about himself. Then, when the chaplain asked if he wanted to wash it down with a swig of Scotch, he couldn’t believe he was hearing correctly amidst all the confusion, noise, and death all around him.