Editor’s note: During the last week of each month, the Times publishes a column by local historians Dr. Harry C. Silcox and Jack McCarthy, who examine the little-known historical facts, people and events that have shaped the history of Northeast Philadelphia.
Dr. Silcox and Mr. McCarthy are preparing these articles in conjunction with the recently organized Center for Northeast Philadelphia History and the Historical Society of Frankford.
By Dr. Harry C. Silcox
and Jack McCarthy
For the Times
One of the most famous Marines of World War II was a native of Northeast Philadelphia. Albert Schmid fought in the battle of Guadalcanal, killing 200 enemy soldiers during a five-hour attack, many after he had been blinded by a hand grenade.
During an offensive by the Japanese on Aug. 21, 1942, Sgt. Schmid manned a .30-caliber machine gun when its operator died in a barrage of gunfire. Schmid relentlessly fired 300-round belts of ammunition, reloading with the aid of another soldier, at waves of Japanese soldiers crossing a stream until one got close enough to heave a grenade in Schmid’s direction.
His wounds caused the removal of one eye and blindness in the other. Presented with the Navy Cross in February 1943, an honor that saluted his "extraordinary heroism and outstanding courage," Al Schmid became a national hero.
In Philadelphia, a parade was staged in his honor; the Philadelphia Inquirer presented him with its Hero Award and $1,000. New Orleans officials gave Schmid the keys to their city. Articles published in Life and Cosmopolitan magazines described his bravery in Guadalcanal.
Al Schmid’s stature as a war hero gained even more notice when author Roger Butterfield wrote Schmid’s story in book form, Al Schmid – Marine, and Warner Bros. Studios purchased the movie rights in 1944.
A year later, the country was cheering the movie Pride of the Marines, featuring John Garfield and Eleanor Parker.
The movie was an instant hit — not because of its combat scenes, which comprised only 10 minutes of the film, but because of the determination of Ruth Hartley to help her fiancé rebuild a normal life. People responded to this moving, honest portrayal of Schmid’s long recuperation and his efforts to adjust to life as a visually impaired man.
Americans found inspiration in Ruth’s love and willingness to accept the man she was to marry, despite what the war had done to him.
Albert A. Schmid was a typical Northeast Philadelphia boy in the 1930s and ’40s. Raised in Burholme from the time he was 2, Schmid consid-
ered Five Points, the World War I memorial and Oxford Avenue his home turf. His mother died when he was 10, a tragedy that left him in the care of his father.
It made Schmid very independent at an early age. He loved to hunt birds, rabbits and mice with his BB gun, an activity he pursued in the open farm region near his home. He was a good student in school, majoring in mechanical drawing at Wilson Junior High School. But he also was known as a class clown, a kid who preferred a good laugh over a good grade.
He liked to leave a box with a snake in it on the teacher’s desk, always pleased to see her startled. No one in the class would tell on him, so all the kids had to stay after school for punishment.
Schmid eventually left school to work on a farm in Lancaster County. He proved to be a good worker, often doing the work of two men, and the farm jobs lasted for a year, at which point he moved back home with his father.
In 1940, Schmid heard of an opening as an apprentice burner at the Dodge Steel Co. in Tacony. Since he couldn’t afford his own place, Schmid lived with fellow worker Jim Merchant and his wife, Ella Mae, in a rowhome on the 6500 block of Tulip St. That’s when he met Ruth Hartley, a friend of Ella Mae’s, and they dated steadily during that year before the war.
Nine days after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, on Dec. 7, 1941, Schmid enlisted in the Marines and headed to Parris Island, S.C., for training. Before leaving for active duty in the Pacific, Schmid asked Ruth to marry him, producing a wedding ring that he had purchased with a $60 bonus check from Dodge Steel.
Ruth Hartley was a Frankford girl who lived with her aunt at 1025 Fillmore St. Ruth and Al spent much of their time in Frankford and Tacony, and he’d always considered himself a Frankford boy primarily because of those days he’d spent courting Ruth.
They enjoyed movies at the Liberty Theater on Torresdale Avenue; they picnicked in Pennypack Park. The last movie they saw before Al headed off to war was Sergeant York, starring Gary Cooper as the nation’s most decorated soldier, Alvin York, during World War I. Ruth recalled how Al commented that he’d kill more of the enemy than York did in the movie.
After he was felled by the grenade explosion, Schmid’s shrapnel wounds and eye injuries were treated at an Army hospital in San Diego, Calif., in 1942. It was then that the 22-year-old soldier wrote to Ruth to break his somber news: He’d lost one eye and had no sight in the other.
"I don’t want to be a burden to you," he wrote, explaining he’d understand if Ruth felt she had to move on with her life.
But Ruth refused to move on without him, telling her friend Edna Dietrich, "I can’t let him go because I love him too much."
Eventually she convinced Al of that; they married in April 1943. That inspired the Hollywood studio to consider calling the impending Schmid movie This Love of Ours, but war movies seemed to be selling better than love stories. That period coincided with the couple’s move to Vista Street in Mayfair, just east of Frankford Avenue, and the Schmids had their only child — Al Schmid Jr. — in 1944.
Schmid’s postwar life in Philadelphia is well-remembered by Ted Bohn of Mayfair. He’d met Schmid through an uncle who hung out with "the gang" at the Frankford American Legion Post 211, at Leiper and Overington streets. Bohn remembered what a thrill it was to meet Schmid, who told him, "Don’t ever call me a hero," insisting that the real heroes were the men who gave their lives "over there."
Relying on rides from his wife or friends, Al went to Frankford Post 211 almost daily to be with his buddies, sharing good times as they talked about the "gophers" (the nickname for Marines on Guadalcanal) or actor John Garfield, who had lived with Schmid for a short time to study the nuances of his blindness for the upcoming movie. Al often recounted the story of the crowds who’d come to Tulip Street in Tacony, as well as Fillmore Street in Frankford, to watch scenes being filmed for the movie.
Always a fellow who loved a little mischief, Al and his friends enjoyed one trick in particular that they’d play on visitors at Post 211, a prank involving his ability to count paper money. His wife would fold each denomination differently so Schmid knew how much money he had. He’d place the bills across the bar, knowing the denominations in each small pile.
One newcomer became fascinated by Al’s ability to pay his bar tab without help and asked, "How do you do that?"
"I feel the money," Al replied.
Being a bit of a smart aleck, the stranger reached in his own wallet for a $10 bill and gave it to Al.
"How much is this?" the guy asked him.
Schmid began feeling the bill. One of his buddies, a World War I vet named Bill Bradley, saw what was happening and moved close to Al, tapping him 10 times away from the stranger’s view.
Al paused for effect and announced, "It’s a ten-dollar bill."
The stranger was befuddled. Al Schmid’s Post 211 buddies couldn’t stop laughing.
By 1957, the cold winters had begun to affect Al’s health. His glass eye would freeze to the eye socket, endangering its tissue. Staying indoors was not the solution. Doctors recommended that he and Ruth move to Florida, near the Bay Pines Veterans Hospital in St. Petersburg. He learned to enjoy fishing there; he also became a ham radio operator.
But his happiness was short-lived. His only child, 18-year-old Al Jr., died in a 1962 auto accident while coming home from his military school.
Edna Dietrich remembers well Ruth’s call from Florida to tell her old friend of her son’s death and her husband’s despondency.
Ruth and Al Schmid stayed in St. Petersburg until his death on Dec. 2, 1982. He was 62.
He was buried with full military honors in Arlington National Cemetery, recognized as one of America’s heroes of World War II. ••
To reach Harry C. Silcox, send e-mail to silcoxh@axs2000.net