Anthony Peter Malanowski, Jr.
Platoon Sergeant Anthony P. “Andy” Malanowski, Jr. served with Able Company, First Battalion, 7th Marines.
He was killed in action at Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands, on 27 September 1942.
Branch
Marine Corps Regular
Service Number 238894
Current Status
Remains Not Recovered
Pursuit Category
The DPAA has not publicized this information.
History
In the year 1900, a nineteen-year-old Polish shoemaker named Antoni Malanowski left his home in Przedpelce and traveled to the United States. He settled in Baltimore, where he married Rosalina Polanowsi in 1909; despite the long hours they worked as a shoe repairman and saleslady, they began building a large family. Three boys had been born by the time Antoni and Rosalia became naturalized American citizens, and their fourth – Anthony Junior – was born on 31 January 1915.
“Andy” Malanowski grew up surrounded by brothers in a crowded townhouse at 234 South Chester Street, Baltimore.[1] Despite the hardships of the Depression, most of the Malanowski boys were quite well educated, completing most if not all of their high school educations before entering the work force to help support the family. Andy attended Holy Rosary Parochial School and Baltimore City College with the class of 1932; he showed an interest in banking, played football, and earned the nickname “Mal” during his school years.
After graduating from City, Andy spent a year working out a career path. He decided on military service and enlisted in the Marine Corps on 25 July 1933 to serve a four-year hitch. The first stop was Parris Island for two months of boot training, then assignment to Naval Operating Base, Norfolk, Virginia. Private Malanowski then sailed for California aboard the USS Henderson, arriving at San Diego in early October 1933. His stature and aptitude earned him an appointment to Sea School and an eventual post aboard the carrier USS Saratoga. Junior members of the Marine detachment drew the least glamorous jobs, and Malanowski spent most of his first cruise on mess detail in the Marine galley. He was a hard worker, and when the “Sister Sara” put in at Norfolk in July 1934, Andy graduated to regular duties. He earned his first stripe that September and proudly wore his dress blues home on furlough that fall, impressing neighbors like young Joseph Seborowksi.
For Joe, there was a singular event... which ordained him to his journey. He looked up one day from his boyish games, and saw striding toward him down Chester Street a rare Being of blue and gold and shining brass. A United States Marine.
Marines do not simply walk. They march. They might even strut, or even swagger, but they never merely walk. This one strode in Dress Blues, coming home to the old neighborhood where he was born. Women turned their heads to see him better. Ordinary men watched with pretended disinterest, and envied him in their hearts.
Joe knew him. He was Anthony P. Malanowski Jr., who had become in the eyes of a ten year old boy, a god of battle. Maybe Joe was not entirely sure what marines did, but he resolved to someday wear that excellent uniform.[2]
Malanowski would remain aboard the carrier until 21 October 1935, at which time he joined Guard Company #1, Puget Sound Navy Yard, in Bremerton, Washington. This duty, consisting mostly of guarding ammunition and other military installations in the infamous Northwestern weather, was a far cry from the glamour of life aboard a capital ship at sea. No wonder that he soon put in for a transfer, traveling down to California in July, 1936 and then boarding the venerable USS Henderson for another voyage. This time he would not land on American shores, but rather in one of the most legendary locales where a Marine of the 1930s could serve – the American embassy in Peiping (now Beijing), China.
“China Marines” gained a great deal of “salt” – the currency of experience in the Marine Corps – very quickly; Malanowski reenlisted for a second hitch and made corporal on 23 August 1937. Embassy duty was largely a routine of guard mounts and escort details, but Beijing promised a world of unfamiliar and exotic diversions for a young American with money to spend. It was not unusual for a Marine to get carried away on liberty, and Malanowski was no exception: he spent four days in the post brig for “being under the influence of intoxicating liquor and thereby incapacitated for the proper performance of his duty” on 21 February 1938 and placed on twelve months probation. Malanowski kept his nose clean until September, when another incident of drunkenness resulted in his reduction all the way to private.
In the end, this disciplinary action had little effect on Malanowski’s career – indeed, it was probably regarded as something of a rite of passage into the ranks of the “old salts.” Though he was sent back to the States in January, 1939, Malanowski’s time spent at sea and at an “Asiatic station” made him an object of admiration among the enlisted men at Mare Island, California; he regained his PFC stripe in May at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and by mid-October was a corporal once again. This was no doubt due in part to the opinion of his commanding officer, Colonel Harry L. Smith. “Malanowski is an excellent man and is re-enlisting” he wrote in July, 1940, while recommending the corporal for a Good Conduct Medal despite his former indiscretions.[3] Malanowski was placed in charge of the yard’s fire department, and was soon sporting the stripes of a sergeant.
In the spring of 1941, Anthony Malanowski was transferred to Company A, First Battalion, Seventh Marines. With his long experience, he was quickly advanced to Acting Platoon Sergeant of the company’s First Platoon, the right hand man of Second Lieutenant Zach Davis Cox.. He would hold this position for the remaining months of peacetime. When Pearl Harbor was attacked and the United States entered the war, Malanowski’s rank became permanent. Any celebration was tempered by tragic news from home: Antoni Malanowski Senior died unexpectedly on 18 February 1942. Anthony was granted an emergency furlough for the funeral at Holy Rosary Church, where he attended Mass as a child.
Andy returned to New River, North Carolina with a big job to do: organize his platoon of new recruits and peacetime Marines into an efficient fighting force. Working alongside Second Lieutenant Regan Fuller, Malanowski quickly earned a reputation as a tough, no-nosense NCO who alternately impressed and antagonized his subordinates. Private Charles M. Jacobs declared Malanowski “one of my worst enemies…. He was my platoon sergeant. He didn’t like me because of my religion, and I didn’t like him because he didn’t like me. So I got all the “good” details – digging trenches, desk duty, everything bad he could give me.”[4] PFC Leland DeRocher, Malinowski’s runner, offered a completely different picture. “I can honestly say that my platoon sergeant was the finest man’s Marine I ever met during my four years in the Corps,” he recalled.
I never heard him swear; he did not smoke or chew. He had one close friend, the company’s 1st Sgt. [Joe B.] Ford. They had both served together in China. Sarge was always neat in appearance, setting a fine example for us all. The best I can recall is that he was 180 pounds, 5’8’’, barrel-chested with very strong arms and legs, and without any facial hair on his round face, and none on his head. He always wore a cap or helmet. His carriage was that of a military man. He was not inclined to talk unless there was a need to. While I am not sure, I think he went to Mass when available.[5]
In the spring of 1942, the 7th Marines deployed to the defense of Samoa. After the initial rush to arrive and build fortifications – the threat of Japanese invasion was very real – duty took on a more relaxed aspect of garrison life. DeRocher recalled their camp on a former polo ground – “Pineapples and coconuts were plentiful and also fresh water to bathe in. We played baseball and were allowed two cans of beer a day. The friendly natives spoke fluent English and we got along well.”[6] This suited some of the old salts just fine – it was reminiscent of pre-war days in China or the Philippines – but there was one Marine above all that was anxious to get into the fight. His name was Lewis Puller, and he commanded the First Battalion. Called “Chesty” as much for his bellicose manner as for his stature, Lt. Colonel Puller was a decorated veteran of Central America who believed that light duty was a Marine’s worst enemy. His feelings were exacerbated by the news of the landings on Guadalcanal, which had been effected by the 5th and 1st Marines in 1942 – these were sister regiments to his own 7th Marines; together they made up the newly-formed First Marine Division. It was much to Puller’s relief when orders came down for the 7th Marines to prepare to move to Guadalcanal, and the sentiment was shared by many (if not all) of the men of his command. PFC DeRocher was one who long remembered the elaborate farewell luau hosted by the Samoans on the eve of the Americans’ departure.[7]
The 7th Marines arrived on Guadalcanal on 18 September 1942, and endured their first naval shelling that night. Puller quickly had his men out on a series of combat patrols which served to highlight the battalion’s lack of experience. After a few days of acclimatization, 1/7 set out on its first serious operation in pursuit of Japanese forces retreating from the recent battle of Edson’s Ridge. Company A, under command of Captain Tom Cross, led the way along a well-traveled Japanese trail through the boondocks towards the Matanikau River.
The Marines slogged through the jungle from dawn on 24 Setember until, exhausted, thirsty, and irritable, they began to search for a suitable bivouac spot. Fuller and Malanowski’s First Platoon sent their point squad to investigate a likely-looking ridge, where they surprised a pair of Japanese soldiers hunched over a cook fire. The flurry of gunfire brought Puller hustling to the scene, where he congratulated Fuller’s men on dispatching the enemy.
As Puller made a show of sampling the Japanese rice, hidden machine guns opened fire on the platoon. Several Marines went down killed or wounded in the first burst of fire, including Malanowski’s runner PFC DeRocher. Cross and Fuller quickly deployed their men to provide cover for other Marines trapped in a dry streambed. The fracas lasted half an hour before darkness settled in; gratefully, the Marines retired to defensive positions leaving seven dead on the field. Three more would die of wounds during the night, while several dozen more were incapacitated. It was hardly an auspicious start to a campaign. The next morning, Puller detailed Companies A and B to escort the wounded men back to the perimeter.
September 27 was a Sunday; the Marines at the perimeter were looking forward to a day of laundry and lounging by the Lunga River. Attendance at morning services was up, and Malanowski – a devout Catholic – was probably at morning Mass. The peace was broken by an order summoning platoon leaders and NCOs: the battalion was to prepare to move out immediately, if not sooner. Putting on his best parade-ground voice, Malanowski called out the names of his squad leaders, sending them hustling after their men. Breakfast was abandoned, church services interrupted, weapons and ammo hastily packed. Soon, the 500 troops of Companies A and B, plus some machine gunners and a mortar team from Company D, were assembled on a beach near the Kukum boat pool.
Major Otho L. Rogers – the battalion executive officer and temporary commander in Puller’s absence – addressed his combat-loaded men while still dressed in his clean church-going uniform. He concluded his brief speech with “I hope every man here gets the Navy Cross.” The battalion then boarded a small fleet of Higgins which took them out to sea. During the brief journey, Fuller and Malanowski reviewed the few details of the plan to which they had been made privy – follow B Company inland, regroup, and wait for the signal to attack a lightly-held Japanese position from the rear. It sounded easy enough in theory, and the men were eager to hit back – they believed they would be attacking the same enemy unit that had killed and wounded their friends earlier in the week.
The operation quickly became a fiasco. Company B landed first, as planned, and moved about 500 yards inland before halting on a low ridge designated as Hill 84. Rogers summoned the company officers; Captain Zach Cox had just reached the major when a Japanese mortar shell dropped directly on the command post, killing Rogers instantly and incapacitating many of the Marines around him.
Company A had just started to ascend the hill when columns of fast-moving Japanese troops appeared on the road to their rear. The Marines held their positions as long as possible, but with limited ammunition for their single mortar and no radio to reach friendly forces, they quickly realized the precariousness of their position. A signalman semaphored to the destroyer USS Monssen with Puller aboard; the ship began laying down supporting fire and clearing a narrow route for the Marines to withdraw to the beach. “On the way down, we were all scared now,” said Charles Jacobs of Company A. “Not scared to the point of panic, but we were trapped, we were going to get annihilated. There were just too many of them.”[8]
Between the hill and the beach lay an open clearing, bisected by the Government Trail. Marines lay down covering fire and tried to cross in small groups of two or three. Those who survived the race covered the next set, while the wounded were helped to the waterline to await evacuation. Japanese troops were everywhere – chasing Marines with bayonets, leaping out of cover to fire, or pitching grenades. It was near this point that Platoon Sergeant Andy Malanowski collared his platoon leader. “Take Doc Schuster and the wounded on down,” he yelled to Fuller. “I’ll handle the rear and be with you in a few minutes.”[9] As Platoon Sergeant Stan McLeod of Company B reached the clearing, he saw Malanowski settling in behind a log with an abandoned Browning Automatic Rifle. “You okay, Ski?” asked McLeod. “Yes, Mac, you go on down! I’ll just be a few minutes.” McLeod didn’t need to be told twice; Japanese bullets were buzzing through the air around him and he ran down the hill as Malanowski turned and began shooting back.[10] McLeod and Fuller both heard the steady, controlled bursts as the veteran Marine calmly picked his shots, making every round count. As they hit the beach, they heard a last, sustained burst which ended abruptly.
Private Charles Jacobs caught sight of his enemy Malanowski. Despite the deep-seated animosity, Jacobs declared Malanowski “one of the best soldiers I ever knew…. I would follow him into Hell because he was a good soldier. He came down to the beach with a Browning… he was shooting that, fighting the Japanese, and he got hit in the chest near the heart.” Jacobs saw Malanowski hand over the BAR before collapsing.[11] Other Marines put up a determined rear guard action, keeping the Japanese at bay until the Higgins boats returned.
Malanowski never emerged from the clearing. “I was the last marine to see [Malanowski] at Point Cruz,” wrote Corporal Donald Dillard of D/1/7. “He was slumped across a log. I rolled him over, took what was left of his ammo, and ran for it.”[12]
Andy Malanowski was awarded a posthumous Navy Cross for his actions at the Little Dunkirk battle.
The Marines, hard-pressed to evacuate their wounded, were forced to leave the bodies of the fallen on the field. “Not recovered due to battle conditions” was entered on the muster roll. At a later date, the notation “Buried in common grave with 16 others on west bank, mouth of Matanikau River” was added to the casualty cards of fourteen men. Andy Malanowski was not among them.
The area around Point Cruz was the scene of heavy fighting for months after “Little Dunkirk,” and became an important military base once Guadalcanal was secured. Construction and chance turned up several sets of remains, including two eventually identified as Ralph Harless and Kenneth Quist – both members of A/1/7th Marines. Post-war search efforts focused on the reported mass grave near the Matanikau, but locals reported that the river mouth “covered an area almost twice the size it was originally,” and no clues were found.
Today, the King Solomon Hotel marks the site where Anthony Malanowski made his last stand. He is memorialized at the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial and Holy Rosary Cemetery, Dundalk, Maryland
[1] The Malanowski boys were Benedict, Edward (died in a car accident in 1924), Leon, Anthony, Clemens, Alphonse, Stephen, Edmund, and twins Clifford and Joseph. Andy, Alphonse, Cliff, and Joe served in the Marine Corps; Leon and Edmund with the Army.
[2] Jamie Malanowski, “Andy Malanowski, USMC,” blog entry dated 9 March 2010, last accessed 29 August 2021, http://jamiemalanowski.com/andy-malanowski-usmc/ Seborowski would indeed go on to join the Marines when he came of age, and went on to have a distinguished career.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Charles M. Jacobs, interviewed by Michael Aikey, 8 August 2001, video, New York State Military Museum.
[5] “Andy Malanowski, USMC”
[6] Ibid.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Jacobs interview.
[9] “Andy Malanowski, USMC”
[10] Ibid.
[11] Jacobs interview.
[12] “Andy Malanowski, USMC”
Decorations
Purple Heart
For wounds resulting in his death in action, 27 September 1942.
Next Of Kin Address
Address of mother, Mrs. Rozalia Malanowski
Location Of Loss
Platoon Sergeant Malanowski was last seen in the vicinity of Hill 84, Guadalcanal.
I pay my respects to Sgt. Malananowski after reading of his bravery in Marine The Chesty Puller story. RIP sir. I am in your debt.