[Congressional Record Volume 163, Number 112 (Thursday, June 29, 2017)]
[Senate]
[Page S3838]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]



                     Remembering Arthur J. Jackson

  Mr. COTTON. Mr. President, we lost another great American this month 
with the passing of Arthur J. Jackson. He received the Medal of Honor 
in 1945 for his service in the Pacific theater of World War II. His 
name may not be as familiar as it once was. In retirement, he lived a 
quiet life. I didn't want to let his death pass without paying tribute 
to him, his family, and the extraordinary acts of courage with which he 
defended our country. Although, to be sure, ``extraordinary'' doesn't 
really describe the half of it.
  It was September 1944, and Private Jackson, a 19-year-old Ohio 
native, was serving with the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine 
Division on the island of Peleliu. Their mission sounded simple enough: 
Take the island as quickly as possible, inch ever closer to retaking 
the Philippines, and ultimately defeat Japan.
  Simple it wasn't. His platoon was hailed by a steady stream of fire 
from a heavily fortified position. To charge forward would be to march 
toward certain death, and that is exactly what he did. He attacked a 
pillbox, holding about 35 enemy soldiers, and as his Medal of Honor 
citation reads, ``[P]ouring his automatic fire into the opening of the 
fixed installation to trap the occupying troops, he hurled white 
phosphorus grenades and explosive charges brought up by a fellow 
Marine, demolishing the pillbox and killing all of the enemy.''
  The enemy fire continued unabated, his cover was light at best, and 
yet Private Jackson proceeded to storm one position after another--
wiping out a total of 12 pillboxes and 50 enemy soldiers. It was a 
stunning act of bravery. I can only imagine the pride of President 
Truman when he pinned the Medal of Honor on Private Jackson's uniform. 
I can only imagine the awe of his fellow Americans as they showered him 
with ticker tape in a New York City parade to celebrate.
  Yes, Arthur Jackson was one of the greats, and like with many great 
men, his career had a somewhat tragic ending. After a stint in the 
Army, he rejoined the Marines and was stationed at Guantanamo Bay, 
Cuba, in September 1961. It was only months after the Bay of Pigs and 
just over a year from the Cuban Missile Crisis. Tensions were high; 
suspicions were too.
  On one night, then-Captain Jackson discovered a Cuban busdriver in a 
restricted part of the base. He wasn't supposed to be there, nor was he 
authorized to be there. The man had been identified as a spy for Fidel 
Castro's regime but was allowed to keep his job for the time being. 
Captain Jackson and a fellow officer escorted the man to a back gate to 
see him off the premises, only to discover the gate was locked. While 
the other officers went off to find tools, Captain Jackson pried the 
lock open, and, suddenly, the man lunged at him, aiming for a sidearm. 
Captain Jackson fired back in self-defense and killed the man on the 
spot.
  Instead of reporting the man's death, however, he and some of his 
fellow Marines buried the body on the base. Many decades later, he told 
a newspaper columnist he feared, if he reported the death, he would be 
tried in a Cuban court and possibly tortured.
  He had hoped no one would find out, but word got out, and he was 
forced to leave the Marine Corps. He ended life as a mail carrier in 
California. It was a disappointing end to an until-then brilliant 
career. This was a man who loved his country, who put everything on the 
line to defend it, and if one night that love blinded his judgment, it 
only shows the intensity of his commitment.
  Arthur Jackson went on to work for the Veterans' Administration in 
San Francisco before moving to Boise, ID, in 1973. He lived out the 
remainder of his life there, where he was beloved by the community. As 
a neighbor of his put it, ``He flies the U.S. flag and the Marine Corps 
flag every day. It bothers him if someone flies a dirty or tattered 
flag. He tells them to take it down and replace it.''
  A little thing with a big meaning: Arthur Jackson showed as much love 
for the flag as he did for our country, and now we lost him to the 
ages. We still have his memory, his example, his stories of derring-do, 
which will inspire future generations of Americans for decades to come.