[Congressional Record Volume 165, Number 168 (Wednesday, October 23, 2019)]
[House]
[Pages H8452-H8453]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                        TRIBUTE TO LEON G. FELT

  The SPEAKER pro tempore. Under the Speaker's announced policy of 
January 3, 2019, the Chair recognizes the gentleman from California 
(Mr. McClintock) for 30 minutes.
  Mr. McCLINTOCK. Mr. Speaker, I rise tonight to tell a remarkable 
story of the unacknowledged patriotism and heroism of a 23-year-old 
Army scout, who, on December 3, 1944, was immersed in the horror and 
peril of some of the worst of the fighting in the bloody nightmare of 
the Philippines campaign. At Mount Cabunganan, Technician 5th Class 
Leon G. Felt heroically engaged the enemy.
  His family keeps the steel helmet he wore that day. The back half of 
that helmet is riddled with shrapnel holes from the inside out. A 
grenade exploded beneath him, and the deadly shrapnel blew up his left 
side, blowing off his helmet from below with enough force to pierce it.
  Now, Leon never talked much about what happened that day. The war 
ended, and he came home after months in Army hospitals dealing with his 
grave injuries. The only thing his family really knew, years later, was 
a brief entry in his journal. It said, ``Lieutenant Hanna told me he 
put me in for a Silver Star for what I did in the attack,'' but nothing 
came of it.
  His wife told me that the Army's final orders to Leon and his 
comrades were: go home, get a job, look after your families. Well, that 
is exactly what Leon Felt did. He joined the Southern Pacific Railroad, 
ultimately retiring as a shop foreman. He became deeply involved in his 
church. He married Lois Wade, his wife of 32 years, until she died in 
1976. He then married Nola Pulsipher, who survives him after 42 years 
of marriage. He raised eight children and today has 41 grandchildren, 
110 great-grandchildren with three more on the way, and seven great-
great-grandchildren.
  The war never left him. Nola says she would often rescue him from his 
frequent nightmares, and all he could say through his tears was, ``It's 
either kill or be killed.'' His children only knew that he was in the 
thick of the war, that he had come home wounded, and that those days in 
the Philippines still haunted him.
  In recent years, Leon's family began looking into his service record. 
Having read his journal, his daughter, Lydean, began searching for what 
he did that day that would have rated a recommendation for the Silver 
Star. They had ordered copies of his medals, but there was no mention 
of a Silver Star in them. He had received the Bronze Star and the 
Purple Heart, among other decorations.
  But Lydean remained curious about that entry in his diary, and what 
seemed to be a confusing note on one Army form that suggested there 
might be something more, though there was no official record of it. 
Now, Lydean, who has all of the timidity of a heat-seeking missile, 
wouldn't give up. She wrote the National Personnel and Record Center of 
the National Archives. The Archives could find no record of other 
medals, including the Silver Star. A fire in 1973, they feared, would 
have destroyed any record if he had. But Lydean persisted.
  The archives kept digging, and then they stumbled upon a curious 
thing: a collection of citations of the most heroic deeds of World War 
II. In it, they found the citation for Leon G. Felt and what he did 
that December day in 1944. They were right about one thing: he was 
never awarded the Silver Star.
  On February 12, 1945, as he lay recovering from his wounds in an Army 
hospital, Leon Felt had been awarded the Nation's second highest honor, 
the Distinguished Service Cross, revered more than any other medal, but 
the Medal of Honor itself. But somewhere along the way, probably 
because of a clerical error, his service record was never updated, and 
word never reached him.
  Now, here are the words that were supposed to have been spoken as he 
received our Nation's second highest military honor:
  ``Technician Fifth Grade Leon G. Felt, Serial Number 39902244, 
Cavalry, United States Army. For extraordinary heroism against the 
enemy at Mount Cabunganan, Leyte, Philippine Islands, on 3 December 
1944.
  ``Advancing through very rugged terrain, his troop encountered the 
enemy entrenched in a strong position astride a narrow ridge. The enemy 
were well dug in, their rifle pits being concealed with top coverings 
of brush and grass. During an attack by our troops, the advance of the 
right platoon was temporarily diverted by heavy enemy fire, but upon 
receiving reinforcing fire from the left platoon, the intensity of the 
enemy fire slackened. Seizing this opportunity, Technician Felt, a 
scout for his platoon, voluntarily rushed the nearest enemy rifle pit, 
and grasping the top cover, stripped it off, exposing three occupants 
whom he killed. Continuing his advance, he reached and uncovered a 
second pit and killed three more enemy. He then advanced toward a third 
pit but was struck and wounded by the fragments from an exploding hand 
grenade.

                              {time}  2000

  ``Despite his wound and the warning shouts of his comrades, he 
continued to push his attack, and reaching the foxhole, killed its two 
occupants. Unable to advance farther because of his wounds, he from his 
advanced position directed the attack of his platoon upon remaining 
enemy within the position. This attack was successful, and the enemy 
were driven from the position with heavy losses.
  ``Technician Felt's prompt, heroic actions in voluntarily attacking 
the enemy single-handedly were an inspiration to his comrades and 
reflect the highest traditions of the United States Army. By command of 
General MacArthur.''
  Long ago, soldiers coined the term ``snafu'' to describe the military 
bureaucracy. It is an acronym that, roughly translated, means, 
``Situation Normal--All Fouled Up.''
  Well, in a terrible snafu, the medal was never given to Technician 
Felt. He was never told of how grateful his country was for the 
sacrifices he made, for the bravery that saved the soldiers in his 
unit, and for the exemplary heroism and leadership that turned the tide 
of battle.
  His family arranged to surprise him with this long-overdue 
presentation about 3 weeks ago on October 5. This was the Saturday 
before his 98th birthday. They gathered from across the country. They 
decorated the house and made a cake.
  I have never been more honored or more moved than to have been asked 
to fulfill that long-overdue presentation that General MacArthur had 
ordered so long ago.
  On my way to meet this gentle giant, as his family called him, I 
received word that Leon Felt had passed away in the early hours of that 
morning, surrounded by his loving family. But they were still gathered 
at the house, in grief now as well as pride, and so I made the 
presentation posthumously to his widow, an extraordinary woman in her 
own right.
  There is some consolation in this story. As his health began slipping 
in the days before he died, his family told him that he had been 
awarded the Nation's second-highest military honor and that he was 
about to receive it at his birthday celebration.
  Mrs. Felt told me that his face brightened up, and he said, ``So, I 
really am your hero.'' And his wife replied, ``That is what I have been 
telling you all these years.''
  The tragedy is that this honor should have followed Leon Felt 
throughout his life, as Shakespeare said, to ``remember, with 
advantage, what feats he did that day.'' He should have been feasted 
and feted, and thanked every day of his life, as this honor spoke of 
his courageous deeds.
  Instead of feeling guilt, he should have felt pride. For every 
nightmare he suffered alone, he should have enjoyed the gratitude of 
his fellow citizens. Instead, Technician Leon Felt, a recipient of the 
Distinguished Service Cross that he never received, did what he was 
told, quietly went home, got a job, and looked after his family.
  His memorial service will be held in Dixon, California, tomorrow, and 
he will be buried with full military honors

[[Page H8453]]

at the Sacramento Valley National Cemetery. He will take to his grave 
pieces of shrapnel from the injuries he sustained at Mount Cabunganan. 
He will also take the Distinguished Service Cross that he was supposed 
to have been awarded 74 years ago.
  I want to say to his family on behalf of our country that this long-
missing medal now attests that the American people finally know what 
the Felt family has known all along, that he really was and is our 
Nation's hero, too.
  Mr. Speaker, I wanted to tell this story tonight, not for Leon Felt's 
sake, but for our country's sake, to remind us what we owe heroes like 
him for the sacrifices often unrecognized and unrequited that they have 
made, to answer James Michener's haunting question: ``Where do we get 
such men?''--and also to place in the Record in these hallowed Halls an 
apology, really, for a 74-year-old clerical mistake, a snafu that 
prevented him from knowing in life the gratitude and respect that our 
Nation can now express only after his death.
  Mr. Speaker, I ask that the House observe a moment of silence to 
honor the memory of Technician Fifth Grade Leon Gustave Felt, United 
States Army, recipient of the Distinguished Service Cross.
  Mr. Speaker, I yield back the balance of my time.

                          ____________________