“Caught in ambush lay a company of riflemen. Just grenades against machine guns in the gloom. Caught in ambush ‘til this one of 20 riflemen ... volunteered, volunteered to meet his doom.” — Ballad of Rodger Young
Today I want to tell you a story ...
A Memorial Day story ...
A hero’s story ...
And the story of a ballad that tells this hero’s special tale.
It’s also a story that summons the warmest memories of my late Dad, William Patalon Jr., who introduced me to this story … and this ballad … and who will forever and always be a personal hero of mine.
The tune that I’m referring to is called “The Ballad of Rodger Young.” It tells the story of a U.S. Army soldier – and former National Guardsman – who gave his life to save his buddies. Even among Congressional Medal of Honor winners, Rodger Young’s story is one of several tales of heroism that I learned from my Dad as a boy — and that have stayed with me my entire life ...
And today — on Memorial Day — I’d like to share this story with you ...
Even if you don’t know Rodger Young’s story, you may know his name – especially if you’re a fan of science-fiction stories or movies.
There’s a brief mention of the man in the 1949 Robert A. Heinlein short story “The Long Watch.” And in Heinlein’s much loved (and award-winning) 1959 novel Starship Troopers, the troop transport TFCT Rodger Young carries the late soldier’s name.
(In fact, the ballad itself is repeatedly featured throughout the book, which also contains a “historical note” that details Young’s Medal of Honor citation.)
The starship – the No. 176 Rodger Young – is also featured in the 1997 film version of the book, also titled Starship Troopers.
But the real story is entrancing — and needs no embellishment.
Like a lot of true American heroes — those minted in wartime, and those whose exploits emerge from everyday life — Young was a regular guy … who came through in remarkable fashion in the face of extraordinary circumstances.
A Tough Break
Young was born in Tiffin, Ohio, on April 28, 1918, one of five children in the family of Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Young. He liked to hunt and fish and was known as a pretty fair marksman.
He also liked music. And later took up photography — with scenery, his buddies and pretty girls his favorite subjects.
Young was a keen athlete — with a competitive drive that overcame his 5-foot-2 stature.
During his freshman year of high school, something happened that set the stage for his life to come.
During a basketball game — his coach often played him, because of his drive — Young was fouled, struck his head on the hardwood floor and was knocked unconscious. It was a serious and lasting injury, for it led to a steady degradation of his hearing and his eyesight.
That decline became so severe, in fact, that Young realized he could no longer read the lessons on the blackboard or hear what his teachers were saying.
The following year — his sophomore session — Young dropped out of school.
He thought about joining the Army. But he knew that his medical problems would keep him from passing the required physical.
Young needed income. And he wanted to feel like he “belonged” somewhere.
So in 1938, after he’d turned 20, Young joined the Ohio National Guard. He was accepted and posted to Company B of the 148th Infantry Regiment, attached to the 37th Infantry Division. The regiment was later federalized, making Young a regular soldier.
With his slight stature — he only weighed 125 pounds — Young was one of the smallest guys in the Army. But there’s a picture of him in uniform — standing with his father and two brothers — and his pride is clear
An Odd Request
By all accounts, even with his declining health, Rodger Young was a good soldier. By this point, he was forced to wear thick glasses to see at all. Even so, his personal resolve made sure he trained hard and was a high achiever. He was soon wearing the three “chevrons” that marked him as a sergeant in the U.S. Army.
None of this happened in a vacuum, of course. By this point, America was embroiled in World War II.
And while Young and his brother Webster were training at Camp Shelby in Mississippi, the U.S. Marines were launching their first major Pacific Theater assault – on an island called Guadalcanal.
The assault, which started Aug. 6, 1942, quickly devolved into a bitter and bloody campaign. On Veterans Day 1942, members of the Army’s 182nd Infantry Division began landing on the island to provide relief for the Marines.
By early 1943, U.S. forces had gained control of Guadalcanal, and U.S. strategists turned their attention to the Solomon Islands, a chain arranged in a corridor-like fashion strategically referred to as “The Slot.”
One of those islands was known as New Georgia.
Young was part of a group of fresh troops – including many former Ohio Guardsmen – who arrived on Guadalcanal and began training for the Solomon Islands campaign. Staff Sgt. Young pushed his guys hard, knowing their lives depended on their proficiency.
He understood something else: As a leader, his worsening health could put his guys at risk.
In June 1943 – while emphasizing that he wanted to stay and fight – Young told his commanders that he wanted to be reduced to the rank of private. That way, he wouldn’t be a squad leader.
At first, the commander thought Young was trying to avoid combat. But a medical exam determined that Young, by now, was almost deaf. In fact, he recommended the soldier be sent to a field hospital for treatment.
Young, however, didn’t want to miss the New Georgia landing. Unlike the regular Army, a National Guard was comprised of young guys who all came from the same area — and had maybe grown up together. Young’s group included Sgt. Walter Rigby, his closest Army friend.
So Rodger Young asked to stay with his squad — the men he’d trained with.
He didn't want to leave his pals behind.
He got his wish.
A Heavy Price
Not long after, Young and his fellow soldiers were on their way to New Georgia, which was about 200 miles from Henderson Field, the airstrip that had been the focus of so much bloody fighting on Guadalcanal.
A week later, on July 31, 1943, near the Munda airstrip on New Georgia, Young was part of a 20-man patrol sent out to reconnoiter enemy territory. It was about 4 in the afternoon, and the group that included Sgt. Rigby was moving along a trail — back toward the American lines.
They were ambushed.
Just 75 yards away — and on higher ground, which gave them a superior field of fire — five Japanese soldiers manned a machine-gun pit.
Two members of the squad were killed almost immediately. And Young was wounded, too.
The Americans tried to flank the pit, and two more soldiers were killed. The squad commander ordered a withdrawal.
Young had other ideas.
As the draft Medal of Honor citation would initially read, “Disregarding the orders of his platoon leader to come back, Rodger Young moved forward into the face of enemy fire.”
As another account stated, when Young began to crawl toward the machine-gun nest, his lieutenant grabbed at Young’s leg to stop him — but a shrapnel wound forced the leader to pull his arm back.
Instead, the lieutenant barked an order for Young to return to safety — which is when is when the young Ohioan allegedly retorted: “You know, sir, I don’t hear very well.”
His commander remembers that Young turned away — and continued to crawl toward the enemy position.
Hoping to protect their friend, the other 15 Americans cut loose with “covering fire,” but it wasn’t enough: Young was hit once in the left shoulder. And that same round also shattered the stock of his rifle.
He was hit again — in his left side.
His squad leader urged Young to stay where he was, promising they’d come to his rescue, but the former Guardsman kept moving toward the enemy. Fifteen feet from the machine-gun position, Young dropped into a depression in the ground.
He pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it — just as a burst of fire caught him in the face.
Rodger Young was dead.
But the tossed grenade did its job: It wiped out the enemy position. Thanks to Young’s selflessness, his surviving squad members — his friends — made good their escape.
Young’s actions triggered a Medal of Honor recommendation:
“Ignoring the orders of his platoon leader to come back, Rodger Young moved forward into the face of enemy fire.”
When the commander of the 148th Regiment reviewed the writeup, he approved it — with one subtle change: He excised the “ignored orders” reference, recasting it to say: “Not hearing the orders of his platoon leader to come back, Rodger Young moved forward into the face of enemy fire.”
In the U.S. Army, you see, no one “disobeys” orders.
Not even a hero.
Birth of a Ballad
About a month after Young’s parents received the letters of condolence, his mother sent his commander a “thank you” letter – with a special request.
“Rodger was proud of being a staff sergeant,” she wrote. “Since his body won’t be returned to us until after the War [it wouldn’t come back until 1949, in fact], we would like to put up a little monument in our Clyde, Ohio, cemetery. Would it be permissible to write ‘Staff Sgt. Rodger Young’ on the tombstone?”
The request was put through military channels – and was denied.
The Army cited a bevy of regulations. Unable to do anything more, the regiment commander wrote back to say that “for the time being, your wonderful son will have to remain a private.”
Ironically, it was that seemingly callous Army decision that led to the ballad and Young’s enduring fame.
You see, the “Ballad of Rodger Young” was written by Frank Loesser, the Tony Award-winning songwriter who wrote the lyrics and music for such Broadway hits as “Guys and Dolls” and “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.” Loessesr also wrote the hit 1942 war tune: “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.”
Loesser was serving as a private in the U.S. Army Radio Production Unit, a group stuffed with top Hollywood talent whose charge it was to produce two radio-recruiting shows a day.
Loesser either decided to write an infantry song or was asked to by E.J. Kahn Jr., a public-relations officer and friend of the songwriter.
Whatever the catalyst, Loesser decided he wanted to focus on a Medal of Honor winner.
And because it was supposed to be “a proper infantry song,” he wanted it to be about a private.
Had Young been promoted back to staff sergeant, he wouldn’t have been considered.
Loesser obtained a list of awardees and searched for a name that would “scan.” After dismissing many “wonderfully unwieldy melting-pot names,” Loesser found “the perfect WASP name” at the end of the list: Rodger Young.
(When the Army later mounted its publicity campaign for the song, and Loesser was asked for background material, the songwriter realized it would be impolite to admit he chose his subject because his name “sounded good.” So he agreed to publish a fictitious story about how noted harmonica player Larry Adler told him of Young’s musical experience.)
The “Ballad,” sung by Earl Wrightson and with guitar as the only accompaniment, was first broadcast in 1945 on Meredith Willson’s radio program.
It became a huge hit – with a surprising reach.
Lasting Impact
The song was recorded by such artists as Burl Ives, Nelson Eddy and John Charles Thomas.
And, like the biggest tunes of the era, graphically pleasing sheet music was printed and distributed. We still have our copy.
As Loesser noted, the melody emulates a folk song, a genre that’s usually pacifist in nature. But this tune glorifies valor in war – and does so without apology.
“You give [the folks at home] hope without facts; glory without blood,” Loesser said. “You give them a legend with the rough edges neatly trimmed.”
Other writers have lauded the ballad for its “narrative detachment and absence of sentimentality,” as well as its “poignant urgency,” says John Bush Jones, an author and retired theater critic who is a noted expert on wartime music. Indeed, Jones described it as a “singularly moving” and a “simple-but-affecting song.”
World War II historian M. Paul Holsinger said that the original Wrightson recording became one of the most requested songs of the war years. And Frank F. Mathias, an Army bandsman of the time, said the ballad became “the best-loved theme” for American infantrymen.
The tune got a big boost in popularity when Life magazine devoted pages 111 to 117 of its March 5, 1945, issue to Rodger Young and Loesser’s ballad. The Army created the Combat Infantry Band to play the ballad. And the return of Young’s body to the United States (and Ohio) in 1949 put the tune back in the limelight again.
Why I’m Grateful
On Memorial Day, a holiday created to remember the armed-service members who died in the service of this country — who died for us — a story like Rodger Young’s should be remembered.
He’s the kind of “regular-person-turns-hero” that has always defined what makes America (despite its flaws) such a wonderful place to live.
I’ve lived and worked abroad … so I’ve seen … I know. In those other countries, I couldn’t have spent 20 years as a newspaper reporter, working where I want … and writing what I want.
In those other places, Substack wouldn’t exist — heck, wouldn’t be permitted to exist — meaning I wouldn’t be able to write this either.
That makes this personal.
This story is personal — for me — in another way: “The Ballad of Rodger Young” was a favorite of my Dad’s. He was an engineer — with two physics degrees — who loved music. He could play the guitar, violin, bass horn, bass fiddle and more. In 1954, performing on TV at Madison Square Garden on the Ted Mack Amateur Hour (think of the 1950s version of America’s Got Talent) the band my Dad played in won the national championship. As a boy growing up north of Baltimore, whenever my family was heading out somewhere, Dad would sit at the piano and play while he waited for us to get ready. And the “Ballad” was one of the tunes he often played.
Thanks Dad. We all miss you. But your influence never wanes. I spend each day trying to make you proud.
(Your son); Willy
P.S. Whatever you folks end up doing today … take some time to remember …
A special note from The Coal Trader's Matt Warder.
I'm grateful, Matt. Bill P.
https://substack.com/@seawolfresearch/note/c-57466054?utm_source=notes-share-action&r=3ftiph
Rodger Young was one of my Dad's favorite tales ... and the "Ballad" a favorite song ... which he often played on the piano while he was waiting for the rest of us to get ready to go out on errands ...
My Dad was a truly great person ... a great father ... and a brilliant guy .. miss you, Dad.