The Our Colored Heroes lithograph, published by E.G. Renesch in 1918,
depicts the German raid foiled by then-Pvt. Henry Johnson and Pvt. Needham
Roberts during World War I.
He
was the only American enlisted man
to have a battle named for him
during World War I. All right, maybe it was more of a nasty skirmish, but you can look up the
Battle of Henry Johnson and lo and
behold there it is. Sgt. Johnson and his
comrade Pvt. Needham Roberts were
the first members of the American
Expeditionary Force (AEF)
awarded the Croix de Guerre (Palm
and Star) by French. Subsequently his whole unit was cited by them.
Johnson’s
own U. S. Army, however, refused to
give the soldier any award for combat
bravery. I wonder if it could have
had anything to do with the fact that Johnson was Black and a member of an all-Black
regiment.
Henry Lincoln Johnson was born
sometime, exact date unknown, in 1897 in Alexandria,
Virginia. As a teenager his family moved to Albany, New York where he eventually found work as a Red Cap at the city’s Union
Station. Older readers will recall
that Red Caps were baggage handlers
at railway station who were paid in tips
by travelers. Depending on how busy the
station was and how deferential and friendly the service, Black men could make
a fairly decent living, even after the usual kick-backs to station
masters for the privilege of working.
But
patriotism seized the diminutive young man—he stood only 5’6” and weighed 130
pounds-- when the United States
seemed near to entering the war raging in Europe. Despite having a wife and small children
he enlisted in the all-Black National
Guard 15th New York Infantry. When
war broke out the regiment was mustered
into service as the 369th Infantry
Regiment who earned the name Harlem
Hellfighters. It was among the first
units to arrive in France, landing there on New Year’s Day 1918,
Black troops of the 369th Regiment served along side French troops and under French command because American units had refused to share trenches with them. Seen here with French helmets like.
General John J. Pershing, commander of
the AEF, fiercely resisted calls to rotate
American units into the line under French and British command. He insisted that Americans fight under
American command and in charge of their own sector of the Front. But for
some reason, Pershing, who earned his nick name Black Jack when he commanded Black
Buffalo Soldier Cavalry in Texas
and during the futile chase of Pancho
Villa in Mexico, allowed the
369th to go into the French line under French command.
The
unit was relieved of their American Springfield
rifles, and issued longer French rifles designed mainly for bayonet charges as well as French
helmets and in most cases French uniforms
On
night of May 15, 1918 Johnson and Roberts were posted to sentry duty in advance of the main French trenches when they detected a force of 20 German raiders advancing, hoping to find a weak spot in the French
line. They engaged the Germans in a brief fire fight during which both men
were wounded. Johnson’s fire killed one
and injured two others, but the enemy quickly advanced and one tried to seize
the wounded Roberts.
Throwing
down his rifle, Johnson drew a French bolo
knife—a weapon similar to a short, narrow bladed machete—that he carried and slashed and stabbed the soldier
attempting to grab his friend. He then
turned on the others in fierce hand-to-hand
combat. Three more Germans fell dead
and more were wounded. Meanwhile Roberts
recovered enough to begin lobbing hand
grenades. The raiders were forced to
retreat with heavy casualties. They certainly had not found a week spot in
the line.
Sgt. Henry Johnson with his Croix de Guerre medal.
In
the brief action, Johnson was wounded by grenade
fragments, and blasts from a trench
shot gun. The French were
impressed. They knew élan
when they saw it. When the two soldiers
were sufficiently recovered from their wounds, a French general pinned the Croix de Guerre on each man’s
chest. They were the first American
soldiers so decorated.
The
white officers of their own
regiment, however, saw no reason for awards to either man. Johnson returned to front line duty and was
wounded again in action. In all he was
treated for 21 combat wounds in
1918—yet was not even awarded the Purple
Heart which had already begun to be routinely awarded to all soldiers
injured in combat.
Johnson’s
achievements, however, were noted at home, where the Albany newspapers heralded him as hero and by
the rapidly expanding black press
across the nation. That press reported
that he had earned the nickname Black
Death, but frankly it strikes me more as press hype than anything anyone would ever call him to his face.
Sgt. Johnson riding in a New York City parade.
At
war’s end Johnson did have a moment or two in the sun, despite the Army’s
continued refusal to honor him. He
marched with his regiment in the grand welcome
home review parade down in New York
City, although some high ranking officers and city officials had opposed the inclusion of Black units. He was also among war heroes to ride in open cars for an early ticker-tape parade. His story and image were used in the last War Bond campaign to raise money in the
Black community.
Back
home in Albany he was one of the featured
speakers at a local Hear Our War
Heroes program. Perhaps it was the
success of that 1919 talk that led to a lecture
tour contract. After several
appearances in which he told his story, recited patriotic boiler plate, and painted a picture of racial harmony in the trenches, Johnson
mounted a stage in St. Louis and threw away the script.
A World War II era cartoon used to encourage Black enlistment depicted Johnson as a hero even though he had not been officially honored by the Army.
Instead
he detailed the routine humiliations
of black troops, including the refusal of white units to even share trenches
with them. The local press was
outraged. Johnson lost his speaking
contract. He was even arrested and brought up on charges of illegally wearing his uniform past his
enlistment—a common practice among veterans, including members of the newly
organized American Legion.
Humiliated,
Johnson returned to Albany. He seemed to
suffer all the symptoms we now identify as post-traumatic
stress syndrome. Previously
industrious and hardworking, he could not hold a job. He began drinking
heavily. By the early 20’s he was
completely estranged from his wife
and children.
On
July 5, 1929 Johnson died of complications of alcoholism at a Veteran’s
Hospital in New Lenox, Illinois. He died a penniless. His family was told that he was interred in an
unmarked pauper’s grave.
Johnson’s
son Herman A. Johnson went on to his
own distinguished military service as a pilot
in the legendary Tuskegee Airmen.
After
World War II Herman Johnson and other supporters began a decade’s long campaign to have Henry awarded the Medal of Honor. After almost profligate awards of the Medal
during the Civil War, Indian campaigns, and Spanish American War requirements for
the Medal had been severely tightened during World War I. But comparisons to others who received the award
made a good case for a posthumous award
to Johnson. The Army refused to review
his case.
Interest
in his case was revived by Black Vietnam
veterans and the family in the ‘80’s and ‘90’s. In 1991 the City of Albany erected a monument to Johnson in Washington Park. President
Bill Clinton finally ordered a Purple Hart be awarded the oft wounded
Johnson in 1996.
In
2001 researchers into his case “discovered” his grave at Arlington National Cemetery.
The burial there was evidently arranged by someone at the VA Hospital
who knew his story, but his family was never informed. Publicity around that also caused the Army to
finally review his case.
Although
they continued to refuse a recommendation for the Medal of Honor, in February
2003 86 year old Herman Johnson received the Distinguished Service Cross, the second highest Army medal for
bravery in combat, on behalf of his father at a special ceremony in
Albany. The action came after a mandated review of the cases of
African-American troops, who the Army finally acknowledged had been systematically slighted.
President Barack Obama bestows the Medal of Honor to Sgt. Henry
Johnson, accepting on his behalf is Command Sgt. Maj. Louis Wilson, of the New
York National Guard, in the East Room of the White House, June 2, 2015.
Finally
on June 2, 2015 President Barack Obama presented
Johnson’s posthumous Medal of Honor to a senior Non-Commissioned Officer of the
New York National Guard.
All
of that is wonderful for the family and a just correction of a grievous
injustice. But it all comes way too late
for Sgt. Johnson.
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