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Retired Lt. Col. Louis F. Martin has seen and experienced a lot
over his nearly 100 years of life.
The former Army
logistician and Colonial Heights resident overcame tough
life-changing obstacles like the lack of educational opportunities
for African-Americans of the early 20th century, the Great
Depression and the segregation of colored troops serving their
country during World War II.
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Oct. 4, 2016 - U.S. Army Ret. Lt. Col. Louis Martin, 99, holds a
photograph that was taken while he served as an Army quartermaster
officer during World War II. (U.S. Army photo by Lesley Atkinson,
Garrison Fort Lee PA)
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It's not those types of moments he chooses to dwell on
these days, however. The spry nonagenarian focuses on the
positive things he can do for his community like promoting
patriotism, educating youth and giving back through
volunteer service.
“Negative thinking does not move
you forward,” Martin observed. “I don't feel like anybody
owes me anything. Over my lifetime I took advantage of every
opportunity I could. I worked hard, slept well, and ate and
drank in moderation. I followed my parents in their
religious beliefs. My father built a cubicle under the step
for his Bible study. He took the family to church and sang
in the choir. He was a leader at home and in his profession.
I can't sing, but I never miss church or Bible study. I like
to think I'm a reflection of my dad.”
Born July 3,
1917, in Princess Anne on Maryland's Eastern Shore, Martin
and his twin sister were the eldest of 12 siblings, six of
whom have since passed away. His parents were
college-educated, a rare achievement among African
-Americans at that point in history. They met at Virginia's
Hampton Institute where his father majored in Agriculture
Education and his mother studied home economics.
“My
father was raised in a Quaker orphanage and was sent to
college by the Quakers who encouraged minorities to improve
themselves through education,” Martin recalled. “My mother,
the oldest of 12 children, wanted a college education so she
would not be a domestic servant like her mother.”
His
dad later served as the first black agriculture extension
agent in Maryland. His mom stayed home to raise the children
and did part-time work typing her husband's year-end
reports.
Raising a large family on basically one
salary was not easy, Martin noted. The children pitched in
as soon as they were old enough. “We worked as ‘domestic
migrants,' harvesting crops by the bushel or by the hour,”
he said. “We walked the fields by day and hulled beans at
night.”
Only 15 percent of African-Americans in
rural communities had formal schooling at that point in
history. The “lucky ones,” like Martin, attended segregated
learning institutions with substandard curriculums. Advanced
education was practically non-existent. Sixteen states did
not have government-sanctioned colleges or universities for
black individuals.
In 1935, Martin found his way
into a five-year work-study program at his parent's alma
mater. Like his father, he chose agriculture – one of the
few college majors available to black male students.
At Hampton, Martin drove a wagon around campus selling
fruit, vegetables and peanuts to students and faculty. “I
made 15 cents an hour during the school year and worked
through summer break making 25 cents an hour, which was
actually a lot of money at that time,” he said.
For
clarification, “that time” was the recovery years of the
Great Depression, a period when the unemployment rate in
America topped 25 percent.
“My brother Walter came to
Hampton the year after me,” Martin said. “At the end of my
sophomore year, the college treasurer told us if we did not
have $150 each for the fall semester, we couldn't come back.
We decided to transfer to a college near home so we could
finish our schooling and make it possible for our younger
siblings to have the same opportunity.”
Graduating in
1940, Martin took a job at Cooksville High School, the first
African-American learning institution of its kind in Howard
County, Md. Teaching vocational agriculture, he was the only
male on the six-member staff, and thus earned the additional
title “dean of men” for the 32 farm-boy students. He had to
review their farm projects after school and on Saturdays.
“In my mind, I had made it,” Martin said. “I was
serving as a role model to my students and community. My
parent's vision was now mine.”
Until the outside
world stepped in.
In March of 1941, Martin, 23, was
drafted. It started a lineage of military service in his
family. All five of his younger brothers eventually joined
various branches of the armed forces. Twin sister Lourene
completed a 22-year hitch as an Army nurse.
Martin
was sent to Camp Lee for basic training. He was assigned to
the all-black 9th Regiment where the drillmaster specialized
in “giving college students and teachers a hard time.” After
that, the Army ignored his advanced schooling and tagged him
as a lower-enlisted Soldier with orders to the 48th Truck
Regiment at Fort Benning, Ga. There, he served as a file
clerk working with military orders. The subservient role was
one he chose not to accept as the only college graduate in
the regiment.
“One day at a meeting, the colonel
asked if anyone wanted to go to (officer candidate school),”
Martin recalled. “The people I worked with knew I wanted to
go, and mentioned my name. The colonel said, ‘have him put
in the application,' so I did. I thought I was finally going
to make use of my advanced education.”
The dream was
interrupted by a declaration of war on Dec. 7, 1941. Three
weeks later, his regiment was transferred to California with
follow-on orders to the Pacific Theater. Martin was
reassigned to a service unit at Camp Gruber, Okla., an Army
cantonment born in much the same way as Camp Lee. Their call
for recruits with “strong backs and weak minds,” was not
something he particularly cared for, but he focused his
attention on the duties assigned.
“They gave us 200
laborers who had been in the Army for five days,” he said.
“You were supposed to go to basic for 13 weeks, but because
of the war, they were trying to get them in quick. I had to
help train them and give them their orders.”
Martin's
stalled attempt to become an officer was jumpstarted by an
unusual favor. A shy officer in his unit asked him to invite
“a pretty lady” to a dance. She accepted and Martin seized
the opportunity to “put a bug in his ear” about the
unprocessed packet. One social event and a well-placed word
to the personnel officer later, he was on his way.
“(In 1943), the Quartermaster School at Camp Lee started a
new class every other week,” Martin said. “The school house
was in the old Army barracks back then. The initial class
size was around 750 but only 500 or less reached graduation.
The attrition rate was fairly high, and those who didn't
make it were usually shipped off to combat units.”
Successful in his OCS studies, Martin acquired brass on his
collar but it didn't translate to greater respect from other
white Soldiers or the American public. That became clear
when he and other black officers headed for Alabama to join
truck companies for the Air Service Command. Nobody arranged
for them to be picked up at the rail station.
“There
was no transportation for us, so we had to walk to the bus
station carrying our bags and other belongings,” Martin
said. “On the road, some kids saw us and ran ahead knocking
on doors yelling, ‘here come a bunch of monkeys.' There's no
describing how something like that makes you feel. Sad, yes.
Angry, definitely, because you know it's out of pure hatred
even though we were wearing the Army uniform.”
Even
Martin's first assignment as a company commander lacked
luster. In the waning days of World War II, General Patton
was “grabbing every Soldier he could get” for his advance
across Northern France and stateside units were typically
undermanned and ineffective.
“Black officers were
basically floaters who didn't really have much authority,”
he said.
Martin played a more direct role in the
allies' defeat of Nazi Germany while assigned to the 8th
Army Air Force in England. There, he served in a unit that
moved manpower, munitions and general supplies to the
airdrome supporting troops downrange. When he discovered
illiterate drivers in his organization, he adjusted convoy
schedules to ensure someone capable of reading a map was
with each group so they could find their way back to camp if
they got lost.
“I'm also proud of the fact I never
broke the rules,” Martin noted, and added with a hint of
embarrassment, “The only gig I ever got on an inspection was
for not lacing my boots to the top. I have a high in-step
and to lace my shoe to the last hole can be a problem. Why
that still bothers me, I have no idea.”
After the
war, the 30,000 officers from three star on down who were
serving “for the convenience of the government” were given a
choice to stay another year or get out, according to Martin.
“Like most, my decision was based on work prospects back
home,” he said. “Where would I find an agriculture job in
November? So, I asked to stay for the extra year but my
request was denied.”
He was relieved from active
duty in 1946, but continued to serve off and on in the Army
Reserve.
“I found work in a federal program that
taught agricultural skills to military veterans,” Martin
said. “My wife and I had our only child, Sheila, at that
time. When the program ended, I used the GI Bill to pursue a
master's degree at the University of Illinois. Upon
graduation, I accepted a faculty position at Florida A&M
University. My wife earned her master's degree while we
lived in Florida. In 1959, we moved to Virginia where I
accepted a position with Virginia State University.”
By the time he retired from the military in 1972, Martin had
achieved the rank of lieutenant colonel with credit for six
years of active duty and 22 years of reserve service.
“My daughter continued the family tradition by attending
Hampton Institute,” Martin said. “She paid further homage to
family associations by getting married on Fort Lee.”
Now widowed, Sheila lives with her father and jokingly
refers to herself as “his social secretary and housekeeper.”
Recently, Martin was able to visit the World War II
memorial with other veterans through a nonprofit program
called the Honor Flight Network. The pride he said he felt
during that visit, and the sense of acceptance as a member
of America's Greatest Generation, served as “the fitting
closing chapter” to a career of honorable military service.
By Lesley Atkinson, U.S. Army Garrison Fort Lee Public Affairs
Provided
through DVIDS
Copyright 2016
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