The surveillance of Sergeant Carter continued. Eddie wrote later that he was constantly shadowed by two CIC (Army Counterintelligence Corps) agents wherever he went. At one point he was questioned by the agents. They asked about his attendance at the Welcome Home, Joe dinner. Eddie said he attended but he had no idea that the Communist Party was involved with the sponsoring organization.
Then, without warning, in July 1948, Eddie was abruptly removed from the National Guard and transferred to Fort Lewis in Washington state. Eddie said later that he was told by Colonel L. R. Boyd, the senior Army instructor and Eddie’s immediate superior officer, that Boyd tried to keep him as an instructor with the Guard, but was rebuffed. General Mark Clark, commander of Sixth Army headquarters at San Francisco’s Presidio and the top commander for the regular Army instructors, responded to Boyd’s attempt at intervention by stating, “Whenever you are in doubt as to the loyalty of an individual, that individual must suffer.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
STONEWALLED
From interviews with veterans I had learned much of the story of Eddie’s experience in the National Guard, but my efforts to find documentation had been unsuccessful. The regular Army’s records were in the National Archives, but not the records of the National Guard. Joe Wilson, a military historian whom I had met, referred me to a citizen-soldiers museum in Sacramento. In the museum’s library I found a copy of the biennial report of the adjutant general of the state of California for the period from July 1, 1946, to June 30, 1948, the time frame during which Eddie was an instructor. Browsing through the report I grew excited when I came across a section dealing with the history of the 1401st and 1402d Engineers, battalions in the Sixth Engineer Combat Group with which Eddie had been an instructor.
At the end of the history of these units I found an appendix with lists of names. Jordan’s name caught my eye first, then I saw Richardson and Pulliams. Eddie’s name must be here somewhere, I thought, but I couldn’t find it. I visited the California State Library and pored over more records, but still I found no mention of Sergeant Carter. It was as though Eddie had never been associated with the California National Guard. Had his name been deliberately purged?
My puzzlement led me to search for clues in Mildred’s memorabilia. I had already sorted through everything in her trunk, but there were other boxes that had not been opened. In early March 1998, I once again found myself going through various boxes when I stumbled upon a letter from the American Civil Liberties Union addressed to a Dr. Nicholas Cunningham at an address in New York City. Dated December 9, 1958, the first sentence read: “I have given careful consideration to your letter addressed to Mr. Levy, who is now in private practice, and I have carefully reviewed our files on the Edward Allen Carter case.” When I saw Eddie’s name, I stopped cold. I didn’t know anyone named Nicholas Cunningham or anything about an ACLU case.
The letter was from Rowland Watts, staff counsel of the ACLU. It read in part:
As you know we were very interested in the matter when it first came to our attention at the end of 1949. We carried on extensive negotiations with the War Department over several years, both directly and through several Congressmen. We also took the matter up with the White House. We were completely unsuccessful then and I am very much afraid that we would be equally unsuccessful now.
My mind was spinning as I read this. The references to the War Department and the White House were especially intriguing, and there was also mention of whether Eddie might be permitted to reenlist in the Army. When Buddha came home from work I asked him if he knew anything about an ACLU case. He didn’t, but he did remember a person named Cunningham, a young white doctor who was a friend of Mildred’s. He said Cunningham and Mildred worked at the same hospital in Los Angeles in the 1950s, and he remembered Cunningham coming to the house to hang out with Mildred and her friends. Eddie knew Cunningham, Buddha said, but they didn’t seem to be close.
My guess was that Cunningham had learned about the 1949 ACLU involvement from Mildred and had decided to write to the ACLU about it. He must have given Mildred this letter so she would know the response.
The next day I called the ACLU and arranged to have the seventy-one-page case file sent to me. After reading the file I felt certain that Eddie had not knowingly done anything that could be considered disloyal or subversive. I knew it because he was fighting the Army with everything he had. And they were not giving him any reason or explanation as to why he was denied reenlistment. They refused to give him a hearing and they refused to give him any explanation. They were stonewalling him. The ACLU, in the person of Herbert Levy, who was then the organization’s staff counsel, tried for more than five years to get something out of the Army, but all they got was bureaucratic bluster. Reading that case made me angry, but it also gave me the confidence to press ahead. I was no longer afraid of what I might find.
After Eddie was abruptly removed from the instructor group of the National Guard, he was assigned to the Military Police, Provost Detachment in Fort Lewis, Washington. The Provost Detachment was composed of about one hundred men, black and white, a large percentage of whom were combat veterans. Ironically, Eddie soon found himself working on drug cases that involved coordinating with military intelligence, the FBI, and local police in Tacoma. Apparently, the top brass at Fort Lewis did not know he was under suspicion; in any event, they assigned him to tasks as they saw fit. As usual, Eddie went at it with gusto and total commitment. On July 19, 1948, after working on a dangerous drug bust, he wrote to Mildred: “We have been working night and day on a dope case (marijuana). We captured the ring leader and all the small fry. We have been working with the CID [Army criminal investigation division], FBI, and civilian police. Last night I captured four men by myself with no gun play, although for a minute I almost was about to gun them down. I was working by myself, and I guess they thought I must be crazy being on the lone. The people up here gave us a writeup in the paper. If I can get the paper, I will send it along.”
He was already thinking about having Mildred and the children come join him. He said that he could find an apartment, drive down to Roscoe, a Los Angeles suburb where the family was now living, and bring them all to Washington. Once again strapped for money—he earned $100 a month, almost all of which went to pay family bills—he suggested Mildred ask her aunt for a loan to help them make the move.
Money worries were not all that troubled Eddie and Mildred. Military counterintelligence was still snooping around, to Mildred’s dismay. At the end of July he wrote to soothe Mildred: “Please do not let the CIC worry your pretty head. After all, my record is clean and I or you have nothing to fear. To me they seem to be a bunch of crazy loons. It’s impossible. As for myself, I don’t even attempt to try and understand them…. Regardless of their under-handed methods I will always be loyal and faithful to the United States government and Army. I am first and last an American soldier. And a darn good soldier.”
Although the Counterintelligence Corps was still worrisome, Eddie was winning praise from the base commander. “General Colins, the post commander, told all of the soldiers, both white and colored, that I was the only damn man that dressed, marched, and looked like a soldier,” Eddie boasted to Mildred in August.
Interestingly, in this letter Eddie also mentioned that General Mark Clark, the Sixth Army commander, was coming to Fort Lewis. Remembering how Mildred loved parades, he wrote with boyish glee that he wished Mildred could be there to see the show they would be putting on for the occasion. He assured her she would get her fill of parades once she moved to Washington. Of course, General Clark was the man who had expressed doubts about Eddie’s loyalty when Eddie’s commander in the National Guard protested his removal.
Perhaps Eddie had decided to forget the general’s remark. He may have thought that he could leave his troubles in California. Things were going well for him at Fort Lewis. After only one month his skills as an instructor were recognized. “As of tomorrow,” he wrote Mildred on August 13, 194
8, “I will start training military police recruits. That means I will not have to pull town patrol.”
Eddie’s feelings for Mildred remained as strong as ever. “Darling, I love you so darn much that it frightens the hell out of myself,” he told her in the same letter. “We have been a long time together, Mil. Let’s grow old together. Okay darling? Okay. You will always be my girl.”
Mildred was not only Eddie’s great love, she was also his teacher. She showed him that love could be constant, no matter how much physical separation there might be between them. In a letter dated September 7, he wrote: “Each time we are forced apart only verifies my great need and love for you. These few years that we have been together [have] gradually softened this flint heart of mine. I have always been so afraid of love. You have given me your love so unselfishly—your love is what I need forever…. Please love me always darling. I need the two of you. I need you and I need love. And I promise to love also, to be so very much more thoughtful than I have been…. Let us always stay man and wife. Let us always continue to be lovers.”
A few days later, on September 10, Eddie signed a lease with the Housing Authority of Tacoma for a three-bedroom apartment on Portland Avenue. Later he arranged for thirty-four items of household furniture, including a refrigerator, washing machine, two beds, two bicycles, a violin case, and several trunks, footlockers, and cartons of goods to be shipped to him at the military police station at Fort Lewis.
Eddie was tremendously excited about having his family join him. He requested a furlough so that he could return to Los Angeles to help with the move. He had more good news to report. In a letter dated September 24, he wrote, “I was ordered off the field today and told that I was to be the commanding general’s bodyguard for Sunday. I believe that I have written before telling you that twice the general has picked me out as a soldier’s soldier. I am considered to be the best-dressed soldier in the Military Police and the Second Infantry Division. I am well respected here on the post. I really believe that I will win out in the end. After all, you believe in me. So I couldn’t very well let my sweetheart down, could I?” Eddie enjoyed the attention he was getting, which he regarded as reflecting his dedication as a soldier. He also understood the value of making a positive impression. “I have loads of equipment to take care of. Plenty of leather and brass to keep polished. I spend about one and a half to two hours a day just on the care of equipment…. Now my dear, I must prepare for tomorrow morning’s inspection. I couldn’t let my unit down or my commander.”
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By the spring of 1949, Eddie had settled his family in Tacoma and he was engaged in training infantry soldiers much as he had done in the California National Guard. Now promoted to sergeant first class and assigned to L Company, Ninth Infantry Regiment, he was a platoon sergeant. As part of their training, thousands of soldiers from Fort Lewis were sent to the Yakima Firing Center, located in a remote, dusty, mountainous area, for two weeks of training exercises. The hazards of training ranged from avoiding rattlesnakes to demolition of unexploded artillery shells.
As the base artillery division returned to Fort Lewis from Yakima maneuvers in early May 1949, some 3,200 men of the Ninth Infantry arrived at Yakima to start two weeks of intensive field training. Reporting on these events in its Friday, May 13, issue, the base newspaper The Flame-Spearhead noted that the Ninth Infantry was one of the oldest regiments in the Army, having fought in the wars against the Indians before the Civil War.
In the same issue of the newspaper was a laudatory story on Sergeant Carter. The headline on the article declared, “Soldiering Natural Thing to Sgt. Who Served with Three Armies,” and below it was a photo of an unsmiling Sergeant Carter in dress uniform looking at a swastika-emblazoned Nazi German flag. “A veteran of three armies and winner of the Distinguished Service Cross,” the piece began, “the Ninth Infantry hails Sergeant Edward A. Carter as its most decorated Negro soldier.”
The article summarized Eddie’s background and his combat experiences in Asia and Europe. “Carter’s war wounds have all healed now,” the article ended. “Strangely enough the DSC winner isn’t ready to quit yet. After fighting Japs, Spaniards and Jerries, he still remains in the Army. He plans to retire in about eleven years.” This was the first disclosure I had found that Eddie intended to reenlist and pursue a career in the Army.
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Interestingly, in the very same issue of The Flame-Spearhead, there was also a brief article announcing that an inspection team from the Sixth Army had arrived at Fort Lewis on May 8. “The inspection, conducted semiannually, includes an inspection of the General Reserve Units at Fort Lewis, Yakima, and Fort Worden,” the article said. “The team is composed of four inspection groups: training, intelligence, administrative and logistics.”
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Since the Sixth Army commander was General Mark Clark, who had questioned Eddie’s loyalty, and given that Army counterintelligence was still actively interested in Eddie’s doings, it’s clear with hindsight that this wasn’t an ideal time for Eddie to announce his intention of reenlisting. But Eddie thought things were looking up.
In the fall of 1949, when his second tour of duty ended, Eddie found that he was not going to be welcomed back with open arms. The story of his dismissal was revealed in a seven-page letter dated December 5, 1949, that Eddie wrote to Herbert Levy of the ACLU asking for help.
Sir, two days prior to my discharge a letter arrived [at Fort Lewis headquarters] from the Department of the Army, with the signature of Edward F. Witsell, Major General, the Adjutant General. One of my very good friends, an officer, called me into his office and I was shown this directive. This directive stated, ‘Upon discharge of Edward A. Carter, Jr…. of your organization [he] is not to be reenlisted. Notation to be included on discharge: ‘Not eligible for reentry into the Army unless authorized by the Adjutant General.’ ‘No interrogation authorized.’ Sir, this officer explained that this directive was classified as confidential and that I was not to know about the above orders until my discharge September 21, 1949, two days later. Also, that whatever questions that I asked were to go unanswered.
Eddie must have left this meeting feeling great anger and confusion. The Fort Lewis officers apparently wanted Eddie to know that this was not their doing, but that fact provided little consolation.
I try to imagine a distraught Eddie coming home that day to Mildred. She would have tried to comfort him, but I’m sure that Eddie was inconsolable. They both knew that Eddie didn’t deserve this unjust dismissal. On the contrary, Eddie was held in high regard by every officer who had ever had Eddie in his unit. Sitting at the kitchen table together, they would have resolved to fight this underhanded action by the Army’s high command. Mildred, I’m sure, offered to do whatever she could to help Eddie get Witsell’s directive reversed.
As befits a man of action, Eddie decided to go straight to the top, and to make his case in person. The day his discharge was formally issued Eddie purchased a round-trip ticket to Washington, D.C. He left the next day from Tacoma.
Eddie presented himself at the Pentagon and asked for the opportunity to defend himself. He asked the Inspector General for a hearing. This was refused. Adjutant General Witsell refused to see him, as did Army intelligence. As a last resort he went to Clarence Mitchell, labor secretary of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.
Mitchell was encouraging, saying that he would look into the matter. He also suggested that Eddie write to the NAACP Legal Defense Fund in New York. The LDF was experienced in handling cases of mistreatment of black soldiers in the military. Still, Eddie left Washington feeling that he had not accomplished his mission. He had filed a written complaint with the Inspector General’s office stating his wil
lingness to undergo any test and to submit sworn statements to clear up any suspicion of alleged disloyalty, but in the end he felt that his trip to the Pentagon had been in vain. Eddie’s son Redd remembered his father’s return from Washington. “He had gone there to talk to the generals,” Redd recalled, “but they wouldn’t see him. That broke my father’s heart. They were killing him slowly.”
For his part Mitchell, immediately fired off a telegram to Secretary of Defense Louis Johnson inquiring about Sergeant Carter’s case. Mitchell’s telegram was passed through channels, eventually arriving on the desk of Adjutant General Witsell, whom Sergeant Carter had been unsuccessful in seeing during his visit. Witsell replied to Mitchell on November 4, stating his position that Carter’s records had been carefully reviewed by competent Department of the Army agencies, and it was determined that his reenlistment could not be authorized.
The same nonexplanation was made in a separate letter from Witsell to Eddie. In October, Eddie had written to President Harry Truman about his plight, affirming his loyalty and willingness to defend the United States. He wrote that the Army had left him and his family stranded in Tacoma, and he asked for prompt action, as the family’s small funds were growing smaller. The White House passed the letter to the Army, where it came to Witsell’s desk for acknowledgment. Witsell’s reply might as well have been a form letter. Apparently, all inquiries about Eddie were being forwarded routinely to Witsell for reply.
Honoring Sergeant Carter Page 10
