2nd Lieutenant Joseph J. Sexton, USMCR

 2nd Lieutenant Joseph J. Sexton was born in Brooklyn, NY. When he enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1942 he was sent to Platoon Leaders Course where he was commissioned upon graduation. he joined C Co. 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment as a post Guadalcanal replacement and was assigned as 2nd Platoon Leader. Sexton landed his platoon on Betio Island of the Tarawa chain and was wounded early in the fighting. He continued to push forward with his Marines, refusing to withdrawal. Early the next day, Lt. Sexton fell by the gunfire of a Japanese sniper. His body was buried on the Island, and like so many others who died there, the location of his burial was lost and he was not able to be returned home to his widow and three year old daughter. For his gallantry during his two days of combat, Lt. Sexton was Posthumously awarded the Silver Star Medal for heroism. His official citation is below.

 The President of the United States of America takes pride in presenting the Silver Star (Posthumously) to Second Lieutenant Joseph J. Sexton (MCSN: 0-19587), United States Marine Corps Reserve, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action as platoon leader attached to the First Battalion, Second Marines, SECOND Marine Division, during the assault on Tarawa Atoll, Gilbert Islands, 20 and 21 November 1943. Despite painful wounds received after leaving the boat as he battled his way toward the beach, Second Lieutenant Sexton, coolly and courageously organized his platoon, pushed his way inland in the face of intense enemy resistance. Having successfully established a line, Second Lieutenant Sexton, after hazardous operations, took note of his injuries. The next day, while preparing for an assault against the strongly entrenched enemy, he was killed by Japanese fire. Second Lieutenant Sexton's heroic leadership and indomitable fighting spirit were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.

The below account is from one of the officers that served alongside sexton:
"One of the things I tried to do in wandering about on my own was to find the place where Joe Sexton had been killed. He had been on my mind from the time I had undertaken this journey. In war few can make it psychologically without the buddy system. This is the basic unit of survival—one, two, or three comrades drawn together by factors quite beyond explanation and wholly unrelated to the common interests, ideas, and backgrounds that bring people together in peacetime. This comradeship does not often last when the war is over, but the memory of its deep, mysterious sense of identification is never lost or diminished.

Joe, Bill, Brownie, and I had been thrown together on the voyage out as replacements. On arrival in New Zealand the replacement officers were all crowded together in a hot, stuffy room for assignment to the various units of the division. In the confusion I became separated from the other three. When the captain in charge finished making the assignments, he discovered he had left me out. What am I going to do with you? his expression asked. I simply pointed across the room and, trembling inside with anxiety, told him, I want to go with them. He understood, and with them I went.

JOE WAS THE ONLY one of us to die at Tarawa. I hadn’t seen it happen myself and only had Bill Howell’s account vaguely in the back of my mind. I finally settled for what I thought ought to be the place and stood there for a long time, feeling curiously empty of emotion. Our reaction to his death had set in after we were sent to rest camp in Hawaii a few weeks later. Up to that time none of us had talked about it. Then, late one afternoon, our baggage from New Zealand caught up with us. Someone had two or three bottles of whiskey in his trunk, and in the midst of unpacking we began to drink. The binge, a collective rage really, lasted several hours and ended with our smashing what little furniture we had managed to scrounge or build, hurling books, clothing, and equipment all over the tent, and fighting one another with staves drawn from the ends of our cots, as though we were medieval ascetics scouring the devil from our bodies.


One of us was missing.

Joseph J. Sexton, 2d lieutenant, U.S. Marine Corps Reserves. Wife, Veronica. Three-year-old daughter, Tinker. He had died trying to get what was left of his platoon across the airstrip. I tried at least twenty times to write to his widow and had torn up every letter. His death didn’t seem just unnecessary or wrong, but unreal. We staggered and crawled out into the night to get him back. It was raining heavily and very dark. We wept, we cried out, and there on our knees in the muck, we pleaded for him to come back.

And we never mentioned him again."