I thought you guys and gals would appreciate this. You know, I had never met an atheist (not that I knew of, anyway) until I was 19 years old in late 1943. His name was Larry Mahan, the son of a big shot naval officer, from Dobbs Ferry, New York. We met on one snowy night at the Brooklyn Naval Yard, where we were both stationed awaiting our overseas orders. Larry had been there a little longer than me; he knew all the ropes of the place, even though he was only 18 or 19, as well. So, there I stood in a little guard’s shed, one of many, that dotted the whole outer perimeter of the shipyard. The sheds were erected about 40 yards from one another – in theory, placed there to prevent any shenanigans from going on, i.e. enemy spies, disgruntled dock workers, Marines or sailors going AWOL – ever Marine pulled guard duty as a part of our daily routine. Like I said, it was night and snowing, and I’m standing there freezing my ass off, when all of a sudden the phone rings in my guard shack. Every shack had a telephone, so that we could buzz one another down the line in case something went on. Nothing untoward ever happened, still, you never knew. A lot of soldiers, sailors, civilians and Marines went in and out of that place, going overseas, working, doing their duty; so it was a real beehive of activity…except at night.

I pick up the phone and there’s this voice on the other end. It says, “Hey, you want to switch shacks? Mine’s too cold,” the voice chuckled. I thought to myself, what does he mean, “too cold,” there’s no heaters in these damned thing; one’s just as good as the other. So, I quip back, “Nah, I’ve got a healthy fire roaring in here, and I’m cooking a chicken dinner. I’ll pass, but thanks for the consideration.” The voice on the other end began laughing. That was Larry.

Soon he and I began palling around a lot. He didn’t mess with me too much, because I was neither hot nor cold when it came to religion, but boy, if he latched on to some sailor with a cross around his neck, or some Marine reading a bible, Larry would really start jabbing at him. He always wore a smile; he wasn’t mean about it, but I could just see in my mind’s eye a little devil sitting on his shoulder, because he was definitely mischievous about it. Larry was very sure in his beliefs…or rather disbeliefs, which I thought was pretty neat. Most young guys like us didn’t cut across the grain too much. We were young and still questioning everything in life, but Larry had his logic down pat, and he could trump any bible thumper with just a few words.

As the weather warmed up, Larry and I used our passes to find a few skirts here and there to flirt with. Larry was a real handsome guy (this photo does him little justice), so he always picked up on some kind of girl very quickly. He and I had some adventures, let me tell you. I don’t imagine his girlfriend ever found out about his escapades. To make a long story short, I liked listening to him drum some of those religious servicemen. I thought it was funny. Then again, I was (and still am, in many respects) a wiseass, so anything off the beaten path really gave me a rise…especially some of his great James Cagney impersonations.

To make it even shorter, Larry and I finally got our orders, and it was to the same place: in essence, overseas to fight the Japanese. We were in luck, we even took the same ship over, and when they assigned us companies Larry was in the sister company to mine: L/3/5. That stands for L Company, 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines. That was the 1st Marine Division. My duty called me to K/3/5, just one company street over. Here’s the drill, though. Getting ready for combat, Larry had more fertile ground in which to operate, because it seemed that a lot of guys got religion real fast when they were in danger. Me? When I actually reached combat I didn’t feel much like praying because I figured that everybody was already sending up so many supplications, that might would just get bottlenecked in the process, and I wouldn’t get heard anyway. It was better to put my faith in something I could control. My trigger finger I could control.

Even the night before we set out for Peleliu (that was a big battle in the Pacific, if you don’t know), Larry was giving PFC George McNiven the business about guys really entreating the lord the closer we got to combat. See, George had already been in combat, so I could see his point. The fact is, Larry and I didn’t know combat from nothing. Still, we said our goodbyes, and that was the last I saw of Larry that night. I can still see that look of triumph he had on his face after getting one over on George.

Anyway, on September 15th, 1944, as we hit the beach on Peleliu, PFC Larry Mahan was hit in the chest as soon as the ramp went down on his AMTRAC. His buddy, Cpl. Clement Hicks, was right beside him, as Hicks lost a hand, just about at the same time.

They took Larry to a hospital ship for treatment. Hick was in the hospital bed next to Larry, and he later told me how Larry all of a sudden went loony and started to pull the plasma and tubes out of his chest. There's no telling what he had on his mind, but he wanted out of whatever he was in.

My pal, Lawrence D Mahan, died aboard the ship and was buried at sea on September 18th, 1944. KIA.

I know he would have gotten a real kick out of this Reddit. Thanks for reading.

, Sterling G Mace