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NAME William Francis Buchman |
NICKNAME — |
SERVICE NUMBER 224 00 15 |
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UNIT Company H Second Battalion 1st Marines Corpsman |
HOME OF RECORD 102 East 176th Street, Bronx, NY |
NEXT OF KIN NEAREST RELATION |
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DATE OF BIRTH August 23, 1923 (actual) April 19, 1921 (military) |
ENTERED SERVICE December 19, 1940 |
DATE OF LOSS August 7, 1942 |
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REGION Solomon Islands |
CAMPAIGN / AREA Guadalcanal |
CASUALTY TYPE Accidental Death (friendly fire incident) |
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CIRCUMSTANCES OF LOSS Hospital Apprentice William Buchman was a Navy corpsman assigned to the Second Battalion, 1st Marines for the Guadalcanal campaign. He was attached to his battalion’s Company H. On the night of 7 August 1942, the first night ashore, Buchman was assigned to guard duty at his battalion’s position. In the confusion, he challenged a fellow Marine, who in turn shot the corpsman in the chest. Buchman died of his wounds within minutes – the first American to die on the island of Guadalcanal. The next morning, Buchman was buried in the field. The location of his grave was not recorded. |
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INDIVIDUAL DECORATIONS Purple Heart |
LAST KNOWN RANK Hospital Apprentice, First Class |
STATUS OF REMAINS Not recovered “Buried in the hills with no record of location of grave.” |
MEMORIALS Manila American Cemetery |
Note: Buchman was portrayed as “Corpsman Lewis” in Episode One of The Pacific. The role was played by Brynn Loosemore.
Biography:
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Once there came a burst of gunfire. It shattered the night. We leaned over our guns, mouths agape in the darkness. But then the night closed in again. Darkness. The trees dripping. The jungle whispering. No one came.
At dawn we learned the import of the gunfire. A medical corpsman had been killed. He had been shot by his own men.
When the sentry had challenged him as he returned from relieving himself, he had boggled over the password “Lilliputian” and so met death: eternity at the mercy of a liquid consonant.
I shall never forget the sad faces of the friends who buried him. In that dismal dawn, the scraping of their entrenching tools was as plaintive as the scratching of a mouse.
– Robert Leckie, Helmet For My Pillow
Articles & Records: