How the Story Began
In April 1945, CPL Ken Ingleby, a member of the Army Air Corps, flew through the recently captured battlefield of Iwo Jima. There he picked up a Marine camouflage helmet cover from a discarded equipment pile, stuffing it in his pocket to bring home among his souvenirs from the war. Stored away in a tool shed for the decades that followed, one day Ken handed the helmet cover to a grandson for safekeeping. Little did either of them know that the name on the side belonged to a Marine from K Company – one of the most distinguished Marine combat units of the entire war.
Home on Christmas leave in December 2016, the author one day decided to research a little more into the helmet cover. Previous internet searches had revealed that the Marine whose name was stenciled on its side had been killed in action on March 11, 1945, drawing enemy fire upon himself so that others could maneuver to destroy the position. He was awarded the Silver Star for the act, posthumously. That was all that was available however.
Again, for some unknown reason, he decided to use the holiday spare time to build Magoon’s family tree on ancestry.com, learning that he had one brother who had survived the war, who went on to marry and have children. Somehow in that search, he came across an old phone number listing. Nervous, it took a few days to decide to try it, but it was a unique name in (he thought) a small town – maybe whoever answered knew of a relative nearby. The initial call went unanswered.
The disappointment only lasted a brief moment however, when his phone started to ring a few seconds later, the number on the screen the same as the one just dialed.
Speaking first on the other end was the voice of an elderly woman with a strong New England dialect, asking bluntly, “did you just try to call me?” Her tone was direct, no nonsense, even a little intimidating to these more casual Western ears.
“Yes ma’am. My name is Rich. A long time ago my grandfather gave me a helmet cover that he brought back from Iwo Jima – it has the name ‘Magoon C.G.’ stenciled on the side…”
“Oh!” she replied back before he could even finish the sentence, her voice now excited. “That must be Calvin’s. I’m Shirley, his sister in law.”
The conversation was fairly short, he not knowing what to even say… In the weeks that followed, Shirley and her family generously sent copies of photos and other information they had. It was fun, and exciting. It also made him think of his deeply-missed grandfather more, and knowing that this was a way given to few people to connect with him once again, he asked Shirley if he could come by in person.
A few weeks later he was in New Hampshire, stopping at Ford’s Flower Shop on the way in for some flowers for Shirley and for Calvin’s grave nearby. When he told the worker there what they were for, she handed them over, “no charge.”
Not long after he found himself in her very living room, face to face with someone who had known this same person. Shirley and her family were warm and welcoming, you didn’t feel like a stranger there. An accountant in her professional life, her mind was as sharp as it ever had been, recalling names, dates, addresses, etc. at an instant. She told stories of Calvin, to include how she came to check on his mother Anna one day, finding her collapsed in her chair, a telegram on the floor beneath her hand.
Her daughters were astounded at what all she was telling us. At one point, one of them said, “you never told us that ma!” Shirley shrugged and responded, “you never asked.”
At the beginning of the conversation, they had brought an old shoebox down, a box that had been stored away on a closet shelf for decades. Inside was a Silver Star and Purple Heart. Inscribed on the back was the same name he had seen on that helmet cover his entire life, now held in his hands. He stared at it for a long time, and never forgot that moment.
Finally departing, he left and placed one of the bouquets on Calvin’s grave, then headed back to Boston for his flight home. The roughly hour long drive was done in silence, trying to process the surreal experience that had just happened.
About halfway through this drive, something hit him like never before: “you need to tell this story.”
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