“That bold buckaroo with the cold green eyes.”
— General Douglas MacArthur, describing his savior John Bulkeley —
In March 1942, facing imminent capture by the Japanese, America’s commander in the Far East was ordered to slip away to safety in Australia. The Empire of the Sun controlled both air and sea, and only a precious few Allied planes and ships remained in-theater, skulking through the night fog like pirates to avoid capture and running on little more than spit and baling wire. “Overhauling those motors without any replacement parts was a terrible job,” one of the few to escape that nightmare later remembered. “For instance. Any tank-town garage which overhauls a flivver back in the States always replaces the gaskets with new ones. Only we didn’t have any. Or any sealing compound. So those old gaskets had to be carefully removed, handled as gently as though they were precious lace, and laid back in place when the motors were reassembled.”
When MacArthur arrived at the dock with his family and key commanders, he found waiting for him a trio of tiny, dilapidated motor torpedo boats crewed by dirty, emaciated men with long, unkempt beards and wild eyes. Their skipper was a thirty-year-old U.S. Navy Lieutenant named John Bulkeley, who for months had held his disintegrating squadron together by scrounging like a rat among the islands for gasoline, torpedoes, and other basic supplies. His boats were little more than plywood matchboxes, but Bulkeley had kept them active long after the rest of America’s Navy and Air Force had been destroyed or driven off. He made sneak assaults against transports, cruisers, destroyers, airplanes, landing parties — anything to frustrate the pace of the overwhelming Japanese invasion. Every time he attacked it was a fearsome David-versus-Goliath mismatch, but Bulkeley had done so time and again, sinking many enemy vessels.
Now he faced his most important task yet: use his last sputtering, wheezing boats to ferret precious human cargo across enemy-infested waters to the southern island of Mindanao, where MacArthur and his contingent could then be safely flown to Melbourne. To do this, he rocketed his boats across hundreds of miles under cover of night, navigating in the impenetrable darkness by instinct alone while deftly avoiding Japanese patrols. It was a spectacular feat of derring-do. As MacArthur told him when he disembarked several days later, waterlogged and exhausted but safe to fight another day: “You have taken me out of the jaws of death. I shall never forget it.”
For all of this, Bulkeley was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and received the Medal of Honor. His citation reads:
For extraordinary heroism, distinguished service, and conspicuous gallantry above and beyond the call of duty as commander of Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron 3, in Philippine waters during the period 7 December 1941 to 10 April 1942. The remarkable achievement of LCDR Bulkeley’s command in damaging or destroying a notable number of Japanese enemy planes, surface combatant and merchant ships, and in dispersing landing parties and land-based enemy forces during the 4 months and 8 days of operation without benefit of repairs, overhaul, or maintenance facilities for his squadron, is believed to be without precedent in this type of warfare. His dynamic forcefulness and daring in offensive action, his brilliantly planned and skillfully executed attacks, supplemented by a unique resourcefulness and ingenuity, characterize him as an outstanding leader of men and a gallant and intrepid seaman. These qualities coupled with a complete disregard for his own personal safety reflect great credit upon him and the Naval Service.
These exploits provided the basis for W. L. White’s 1942 bestseller They Were Expendable. It is a story of heroism, but a particularly grim one. Bulkeley remembered later that he “was very bitter about the thing. We went over there with 111 men and only 9 men came back alive. . . the war plan was totally, utterly hopeless. . . But we had to put up a fight.” An Admiral in John Ford’s 1945 film version of the story explains the brutal rationale for allowing so many Americans to be defeated and captured: “Pearl Harbor was a disaster, like the Spanish Armada. Listen, son — you and I are professionals. If the manager says, ‘Sacrifice,’ we lay down a bunt, and let somebody else hit the home runs.”
The book itself is still a fine read, filled with hard-nosed, first-person reportage and telling anecdotes. Some choice quotes:
“They were burying the dead — which consisted of collecting heads and arms and legs and putting them into the nearest bomb crater and shoveling debris over it. The smell was terrible. The Filipino yard workers didn’t have much stomach for the job, but it had to be done and done quick because of disease. To make them work, they filled the Filipinos up with grain alcohol. . . those staggering Filipinos, maybe dragging a trunk toward a crater, pulling it by its one remaining leg, or else maybe rolling a head along like on a putting green. The Japs must have killed at least a thousand. . . .”
“It seemed to be a Jap reconnaissance patrol. . . one group stopped and ate chow on the road bank opposite us; we were scared stiff they would come over and find us. It was hard for the wounded to lie quiet. Our tank driver had a rivet stuck in his throat — every time he took a drink, the water would come leaking out. . . .”
“Here in Newport maybe you wouldn’t think it was much of a party. But it was a swell night, with a big moon hanging over Manila Bay — peaceful — and best of all, all the girls had broken out with their civilian dresses. That doesn’t sound like much, but one look at them after seeing nothing but uniforms for months was like a trip back home. Make-up too — they looked so goddamned nice you could eat them with a spoon. . . .”
“How slow everybody learns in a war. Nobody knows anything about a war until it begins. Just two years before, the Polish air force had been blown to hell on the ground. The French caught it the following spring. In spite of that, the same things happened to our planes at Pearl Harbor. And yet two days later, in spite of all of it, the Japs catch our air corps on Luzon with its pants down. Only that wasn’t the end. Months later, on my way out through Australia, I pass a big American field, and there they are, bombers and fighters parked in orderly rows, wing tip to wing tip. ‘Hell,’ they told me, ‘The Japs are hundreds of miles away.’ Except that’s where they’re always supposed to be when they catch you with your pants down, and I thought to myself, Jesus Christ, won’t these guys ever learn?”
“The whole crowd started pulling money out of their pockets and piling it on the table. They’d had no pay since the start of the war, but since they’d been down here in Mindanao, they’d had shore leave and a chance to play poker with the army. The government could cut the cost of the war by just paying the army and then giving the sailors a chance to play poker with them.”
“But here were all these brave people on Bataan and the Rock, Peggy among them, realizing more clearly every day that they would never get out. Doomed, but bracing themselves to look fate in the face as it drew nearer, knowing that they were expendable like ammunition, and that it was part of the war plan that they should sell themselves as dearly as possible before they were killed or captured by the Japs. . .”
You would think that John Ford would have jumped at the chance to make a movie about Bulkeley, but it took several years of cajoling to get him to agree to direct Expendable. Unlike many, he was actually enjoying the war in a perverse way: globetrotting around the world, feeling the exhilaration of being shot at and having bombs dropped on you, and getting rigorous exercise at fifty years of age. He relished being a part of the armed services he had admired for so long, and heading back home to make a movie would take him away from it all, perhaps forever. It could also be the case that Ford needed time to think about the movie, to dwell on how important it was to get right, and to plan exactly what he wanted to focus on.
Bulkeley had already lived through the harrowing events depicted in Expendable — and been one of the lucky few to escape — when between missions he went to Ford’s Washington DC hotel room to say hello. As Bulkeley later admitted to Ford biographer Joseph McBride, his first encounter with his country’s greatest film director was memorable, to say the least:
I went to see him and he was bare-tail, absolutely naked in that damn bed. He loved to do that for shock effect, he had men in there and he had women in there, hangers-on trying to get a job or something, he had a big plate of food, eating with his fingers like a Roman emperor.
The opening statement [from Ford] was, “See that closet?” “Yup.” “Open it up.” I opened it up and there was a captain’s uniform with four stripes. He said, “You see that? I’m a captain.” I said [sarcastically], “Yes. What are you captain of?” He picked up that big plate of food and threw it at me, and I just ran out the door! He didn’t even bother getting out of bed, he just reared up and whammo!
It was a match made in heaven. They eventually bonded during some shared days aboard ship during the D-Day invasion, and in October 1944, with the war heavily in our favor and civilian life staring him in the face once again, John Ford changed his status to inactive and went to film the movie while his war experiences (and his impressions of Bulkeley) were all still fresh in his mind.
As for Bulkeley himself, he continued serving in the Navy in various capacities for the rest of his life, eventually rising to the rank of Vice Admiral. Among his chestful of awards were the Navy Cross, two Silver Stars, two Distinguished Service Crosses, two Distinguished Service Medals, and two Legion of Merit Awards.
On April 6, 1996, John Duncan Bulkeley died at the age of 84, and was buried with full military honors at Arlington. All told, the “bold buckaroo with the cold green eyes” had served his country faithfully for some fifty-five years. In June of 2000, a new Navy destroyer was christened USS Bulkeley. May that ship bring as much honor to the name Bulkeley as Bulkeley brought to his country.
Next Saturday in For Conservative Movie Lovers: a look at They Were Expendable‘s luminous cinematography and graceful direction.
Previous posts in the series “John Ford, John Wayne, and They Were Expendable“:
FURTHER READING AND VIEWING
An interesting article reprinted from a postwar issue of Mechanix Illustrated, which focuses on how Bulkeley’s beloved PT Boats were made to roar off the assembly line in unprecedented numbers.
A nice piece describing the real-life tale behind the events of They Were Expendable.
Buy the book They Were Expendable at Amazon. Over sixty-five years later, it is still in print and still a valuable, exciting read. Better yet, hunt down an old used copy from the 1940s, where you can see the advertisements for war bonds on the back cover.
Read a little post-Expendable nugget about how Beulah Greenwalt, the real-life nurse brought to fictional life by Donna Reed in the movie, used her noggin and her nerve to protect and preserve the regimental flag of her unit.
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