Ralph Cory

Merle Ralph Cory was born in Napavine, Washington on 8 November 1897. He was the oldest of four boys raised by David and Jennie Keady Cory, and spent his earliest days on the family farm in Lewis County. The family eventually relocated to Tacoma, and the Cory boys grew up at 617 North Oakes Street. Merle proved to be a studious youth, and graduated from Tacoma’s Stadium High School in 1918. He also decided to stop using “Merle” in favor of his middle name, and went by “Ralph Cory” for most of his life.

Ralph worked a few odd jobs after school, including general labor and running messages, before entering the University of Washington. He majored in journalism with the class of 1925, but discovered a true passion for Asian languages and culture. After earning his degree, he applied to the Department of State and was hired on almost at once. He departed Tacoma in August 1925, “sailing for the Orient…. with the consulate general’s corps of workers in the American colony at Seoul, Korea.” Cory intended to stay away for two years, but wound up spending a decade working at consulates in Korea, China, and Japan.

Cory was fascinated by every country he visited, but Japan seemed to have a special hold on him. He studied Japanese language at Yenching University, and later spent time working in Tokyo and Nagasaki. During his service aboard, Cory not only learned to read, write, and speak fluent Japanese but developed a nuanced understanding of a culture which, to most Americans at the time, seemed totally alien. By 1938, he was working as the vice consul in Nagasaki – and had an inside view of Japan’s military progress in their war with China.

At some point during his assignment in Nagasaki, Cory was informed of a top-secret project underway in Washington. Relations between Japan and the United States were deteriorating, and the military was working on a device to crack Tokyo’s diplomatic code. Cory returned to the United States, settled in Rockville, Maryland, and joined an organization known as OP-20-GZ in 1940. Having broken the code – the decoding process was give the appropriate codename MAGIC – the analysts in Washington needed an expert in interpreting not only the language, but the meaning of individual syllables and phrases, and it was here that Ralph Cory could really shine.

Working in decryption was grueling – the men in the office often worked from dawn until late at night – and was both physically and mentally exhausting. Cory took up sailing on the Chesapeake Bay to unwind, and married his wife Carolyn in a ceremony at St. Paul’s Church. By late November 1941, he was growing tired of the desk job, the long hours, and his 24-hour on-call status. So when he was handed a message by one of the office clerks, he casually scanned the code at first before realizing what he was reading.

The message was not a declaration of war, but came pretty close – Tokyo was informing its delegates of a secret warning which, when heard, meant they were to destroy their confidential code papers. This could only mean that the Japanese expected a total breakdown in diplomatic relations, leading to war. Cory’s translation made its way up to President Roosevelt, and the military began searching for the order in all of its interceptions, to give the country enough time to prepare. The full message was delivered to Roosevelt at 0945 on December 7, 1941. Within hours, the fleet at Pearl Harbor was in shambles and the countries were at war.

The workload at GZ tripled, with many translators staying on 24-hour shifts. Ralph Cory, frustrated that his warning had come too late and fed up with his desk job, made a sudden decision. “I’m going to join the Marines!” he announced to a colleague. “I’m sick of pencil pushing.” His coworker was taken aback. Joining Cory and his wife for dinner shortly before his friend’s departure, he noted:

It was a strangely somber evening. I met his wife, and we had some drinks before dinner, but no one had much to say. Conversation lagged. We sat down for dinner in a gloomily lit dining room. Cory pulled himself together and talked a little about sailing on Chesapeake Bay, after which he lapsed into silence. His wife stared intently at him and only occasionally acknowledged my presence. As soon as a decent interval had passed, I thanked them for their hospitality and took my leave. Cory left OP-20-GZ not long after to enter the Marine Corps, and I never saw him again.

Ralph Cory made good on his decision. Although he was far too old to enlist or apply for officer training, the Marine Corps was in dire need of anyone who could speak Japanese. They offered Cory a commission, which he accepted on 26 May 1942.

Lieutenant Cory joined the 1st Marine Division in North Carolina shortly before they departed for the west coast. After a brief spell with division headquarters, where he served as the assistant intelligence officer to Colonel Frank Goettge, Cory transferred to the 5th Marines as a language officer. If anything, his workload was even more intense than codebreaking – in the entire Division, only four men were fluent Japanese speakers, and just two could read and write the language with any degree of familiarity.

Cory’s social circle included combat correspondent Richard Tregaskis (whose book Guadalcanal Diary would become a bestseller and the basis for an award-winning film.) Tregaskis records Cory as being nostalgic and somewhat apprehensive on his way to battle, as were most of the Americans. “I’d like to be back sailing a boat on Chesapeake Bay,” he said at breakfast one morning. “Hell, if I was back there I wouldn’t be out in any boat,” growled a Navy warrant officer, to which Cory replied “That’s right – I’d settle for the White Mountains or Cape Cod.” By 5 August, Cory’s breakfast conversation had been reduced to a terse “Two days” – the landings were only 48 hours away.

On 7 August, Cory and Tregaskis embarked in landing craft in the second wave and paddled towards the beach. They cautiously raised their heads to peek at the returning boats of the first wave – none of which seemed to have been damaged. Cory shouted to Tregaskis that “perhaps there were no Japs” – he turned out to be correct, at least as far as the landing was concerned, and the intelligence section got ashore without incident.

Within hours of setting foot on Guadalcanal, Cory was hard at work translating everything in sight – from Japanese documents to labels on bottles. Tregaskis wrenched a sign off a hut they passed on the march and brought it to Cory. “It says Unit No. 3, in charge of so-and-so,” Cory told him. Shortly after noon, the first three Japanese prisoners taken on the island were brought to the lieutenant for interrogation. “The Japs were a measly lot,” reported Tregaskis. “[They] blinked their eyes like curious birds as they looked at me. The first in line gaped, a gold tooth very prominent in the center of his open mouth. Lieut. Cory said that he had just interviewed the Japs , and that they had told him they were members of a navy labor battalion. They had been captured in a labor camp which lay just ahead.” When the Americans reached the camp, Cory discovered a fourth prisoner, who was suffering from malaria.

As the regiment’s headquarters settled in to something resembling a permanent camp, Lieutenant Cory set up a tent with Tregaskis and LTCDR Malcolm Pratt, the regimental surgeon. He spent his days translating pieces of paper and talking to prisoners, but never learned much of value – until he met Warrant Officer Tsuneto Sakado.

Sakado had been captured by a patrol from the 5th Marines. As armed guards hovered around, Cory sat next to Sakado and tried to encourage him to talk. When words failed, a helping of brandy made great headway. Sakado told Cory that a group of rikusentai were just a few miles away, they were leaderless, demoralized, and might be willing to surrender.

When Cory reported his findings to Goettge, the colonel flew into a fit of activity, hastily planning a patrol to capture the enemy troops. Instead of a combat patrol, Goettge insisted on bringing specialists – both from the D-2 (Division Intelligence) and the R-2 section of the 5th Marines. Dr. Pratt volunteered to come along as well. In all, 25 Americans and one reluctant Japanese were loaded into a boat for an overnight mission into uncharted territory.

The patrol was a disaster from the outset. After departing Kukum in total darkness, the Marines landed in the wrong place – and after grounding their boat on a sandbar, came ashore just west of the Matanikau River. A determined Japanese guard force pinned the patrol on the beach near Horahi Village, and picked off the Marines one by one. Only three managed to escape to the safety of American lines.

Ralph Cory – who had no combat training – was one of the first to fall with a bullet in his stomach. He endured hours of agony with no medical treatment: his friend Malcolm Pratt, the only doctor on the patrol, was also mortally wounded. It can only be hoped that he expired before the sun rose, for the Japanese troops rushed the fallen Marines with swords and bayonets, mutilating the wounded and dead alike.

Numerous veterans and historians have pointed out the irresponsibility of including Ralph Cory on such a dangerous mission – indeed, it seems inexcusable that he was sent to combat duty at all. Not only did his death deprive the 1st Marine Division of an irreplaceable talent, but Cory also knew the secrets of American codebreaking efforts. Had he fallen into Japanese hands alive, the entire operation might have been compromised.

Cory was reported as missing in action when the patrol failed to return to safety. Officially, nothing more was ever learned of Goettge’s men, and all were eventually declared dead as of 14 August 1943.

CENOTAPHS
Manila American Cemetery and Memorial
New Tacoma Cemetery, University Place, Washington