View the service history of actor
MuS1c Billy De Wolfe
View his service history on TogetherWeServed.com
Short Bio: In 1942, at the age of 35, the character actor enlisted under his birth name of William Andrew Jones and served in the United States Navy as a musician in the entertainment department until he was discharged for medical reasons in July 1944.
By LtCol Michael Christy – Together We Served Dispatches
Audrey Hepburn is ranked as the third greatest female star of all time by the American Film Institute. New Women magazine called her the most beautiful woman of all time. She was among the few entertainers who had won Academy, Emmy, Grammy and Tony Awards. She is celebrated for her work in movies such as Sabrina, Funny Face, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, My Fair Lady and Roman Holiday, for which she won the Academy Award for Best Actress. She had the reputation of being a humble, kind and charming person, who lived the philosophy of putting others before herself.
She also became a part of the Dutch Resistance during World War II.
Hepburn was born on May 4, 1929 at number 48 Rue Keyenveld in Ixelles, a municipality in Brussels, Belgium. Her father was Joseph Victor Anthony Ruston, a British subject and Anglo-Irish banker. Her mother was Baroness Ella van Heemstra, a Dutch aristocrat and a descended from French and English kings. Ella’s father was Aarnoud Jan Anne Aleid, Baron van Heemstra. From 1910 to 1920, he was mayor of Arnhem and served as Governor of Dutch Suriname in northern South America from 1921 to1928. Ella’s mother was Elbrig Willemine Henriette, Baroness van Asbeck.
Hepburn’s mother and father married in the Dutch-Colonial Batavia (now Jakarta), Dutch East Indies in Sept. 1926. This was her mother’s second marriage. They moved back to Europe in 1926 and resettled in Ixelles in Belgium, where Hepburn was born in 1929, before moving to Linkebeek, a nearby Brussels municipality, in January 1932.
Because of her father’s work, she spent her childhood bouncing between Belgium, England and the Netherlands. Because of her multinational background and travelling with her family because of her father’s job, she learned to speak five languages: Dutch and English from her parents and later French, Spanish, and Italian.
She also began studying ballet when she was five years old, hoping one day to be a world-renowned ballet dancer.
In 1935, when she was six-years-old, the marriage between her parents hit a rocky bottom after her mother discovered her father in bed with the nanny of her children, resulting in her father leaving the family abruptly. Two years later in 1937, Ella and eight-year-old Audrey moved to Kent, South East England, where Hepburn was educated at a small school in Elham, run by two sisters known as the “The Mesdemoiselles Smith.” But in September 1939, Hitler invaded Poland. All at once, England was no longer a safe place for a little girl, as it had declared war on Germany. At her mother’s request, Audrey’s father scooped up Audrey from her school and put her on a plane to Holland, which intended to stay neutral in the war with Germany and was considered a safe place for riding out the conflict.
It was May 9, 1940, and Audrey Kathleen Hepburn had just turned eleven-years-old. She was living in Holland with her mother, her two older half-brothers, Ian and Alex, and other relatives. Her father lived in London. Her parents were now divorced.
To celebrate Audrey’s birthday, her mother, had bought tickets for her and Audrey to see a performance by the great English dance troupe, ‘The Sadler’s Wells Ballet.’ The company was touring Holland, France, and Belgium. Audrey’s town of Arnhem was to be one of their stops.
Audrey had not seen her dad since that day at the airport. Her parents’ divorce had left an aching hole in her heart. But on this day in May, Audrey was not sad. She was looking forward to the ballet. Her mother had given her more than one reason to smile: “My mother had our little dressmaker make me a long taffeta dress. The reason she got me this, at great expense, was that I was to present a bouquet of flowers at the end of the performance to the director of the company.”
The evening finally arrived. Audrey wore her beautiful new long dress and got to see the famous Margot Fonteyn dance in “Horoscope” and “Facade” by choreographer Frederick Ashton. Afterwards, Audrey’s mother took the stage and gave a formal thanks to the troupe first in Dutch, then in English. Next was Audrey’s big moment. To her surprise, her bouquet of tulips and roses was hurriedly accepted. A quick supper followed, as the dancers hustled about afterward, gathering up their props and costumes, to get on their bus to leave Arnhem that very evening. The dancers didn’t want to get stuck in Holland if the Germans did attack and closed off the borders.
That night, as Audrey slept, the Germans invaded Holland, Belgium, and Luxembourg. The Dutch were totally shocked. They never dreamed Hitler would attack them, his “Dutch cousins.” Just the night before, Hitler had made a radio broadcast, promising to all who listened that he had no plans whatsoever of attacking Holland. For five days, the Germans came down on the Dutch with the force of Hell. They never bothered issuing a formal declaration of war either.
Incendiary bombs were dropped on The Hague. Nazi troops tore through Audrey’s town of Arnhem, looting and despoiling as they pleased. The Germans threatened to bomb every Dutch city until they were demolished until Holland surrendered. The Dutch military, though terribly outnumbered, fought back anyway, but they were no match for the conquering horde, and were forced to surrender. After five days, Holland capitulated. It would be occupied by the Nazis for five very long years.
Young Audrey watched her Jewish neighbor being herded into trucks, men into one truck, women into another, babies into another. “We did not yet know that they were going to their death,” she remembered.
Over the next ten months, the van Heemstra bank accounts, securities, and jewelry would be confiscated by the Nazis. Rations were imposed on food and fuel which were soon in short supply for the suffering Dutch people. Food became completely nonexistent during the Hunger Winter of 1944 as the Germans cut off all imports of foods to punish the Dutch Resistance that fought back against the Nazis from inside Holland.
The German occupiers also spread anti-English sentiment, banning the import of British jams and biscuits and outlawing the Girl and Boy Scouts. The Germans hoped they could whip the Dutch into a hatred for the English and recruit them in the battle against Britain.
With the Nazis cracking down on the English, the Baroness was worried. Audrey Hepburn was an English name and Audrey spoke English. She carried a British passport. Quickly, Audrey’s mother gave her a new identity as a little Dutch girl. For the war years, the Baroness changed her daughter’s name to Edda van Heemstra. Audrey – now Edda – took Dutch language lessons so she could pass as Dutch and not be arrested for being English. Audrey did not risk speaking English for the rest of the war.
One early winter day, Audrey was walking along a city street when three truckloads full of German soldiers toting rifles stopped suddenly. The soldiers ordered all the girls in their sight to line up and get in the trucks. Audrey did as she was told knowing the girls were heading for military brothels. As the trucks drove off, Audrey kept saying the Lord’s Prayer to herself in Dutch. Then the convoy stopped unexpectedly. Some soldiers jumped out and began abusing some Jews. Audrey said: “I remember hearing the dull sound of a rifle butt hitting a man’s face. And I jumped down, dropped to my knees, and rolled under the truck. I then skittered out, hoping the driver would not notice me, and he didn’t.”
In 1942, Hepburn’s uncle, Otto van Limburg Stirum (husband of her mother’s older sister, Miesje), was executed in retaliation for an act of sabotage by the resistance movement, while Hepburn’s half-brother Ian was deported to Berlin to work in a German labor camp. Hepburn’s other half-brother Alex went into hiding to avoid the same fate. “We saw young men put against the wall and shot, and they’d close the street and then open it and you could pass by again. Don’t discount anything awful you hear or read about the Nazis. It’s worse than you could ever imagine,” Audrey recalled.
It was because of the sadistic and brutal way the Nazi occupiers treated the Dutch, that Audrey became determined to work with the Dutch Resistance. An accomplished ballerina by age 14, she danced in secret productions in underground places to help raise money for the resistance. To keep from being discovered, the audience did not clap. As she famously said, “The best audience I ever had made not a single sound at the end of my performances.”
It was at these “black performances” where the audiences gave the young performers money and folded message to be stuffed into the children’s shoes and transported the next day to resistance workers. There was little doubt in Audrey’s mind that had she been discovered doing either of these things, a swift execution would have followed.
And where was Audrey’s father all this time? He was arrested in England and accused of peddling Nazi propaganda for the notorious leader of the British Union of Fascists, Sir Oswald Mosley. He remained under house arrest for the duration of the war on the Isle of Man with other suspected Nazi sympathizers.
After the Allied landing on D-Day on June 6, 1944, living conditions grew worse. In mid-September 1944, it grew even worse during Operation Market Garden as British and American paratroopers and ground forces moved toward a heavily damaged Arnhem. Operation Market Garden was a failure and the allied forces withdrew from the city of Arnhem. The van Heemstra family was also seriously financially affected by the occupation, during which many of their properties, including their principal estate in Arnhem, were badly damaged or destroyed.
Baroness Ella, Miesje, and Hepburn left Arnhem and moved in with Baron Aarnoud van Heemstra in nearby Velp. Fifteen-year-old Audrey Hepburn had been hovering close to death for months, sick with jaundice, her legs and feet swollen from edema caused by malnutrition, so weak with hunger that she could barely climb the stairs in her grandfather’s home, just outside Arnhem.
But in April 1945 as the fighting came closer, she and her family took refuge in the cellar as the Germans and Allies fought from house to house. “Occasionally, you’d go up and see how much of your house was left, and then you’d go back under again,” she remembered.
Then on the morning of April 29, the shelling and shooting stopped. Audrey heard voices and singing, and smelt English cigarettes. She crept upstairs and opened the front door to find the house surrounded by English soldiers all aiming their guns at her. Hepburn said she screamed with happiness, seeing all these “cocky figures with dirty bright faces and shouted something in English, a cheer went up that they’d liberated an English girl.” That day, sixteen-year-old Audrey Hepburn only weighed 88 pounds.
When the Allies liberated the Netherlands in May 1945, United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration aid arrived providing much needed relief. Hepburn witnessed first-hand the transforming impact international aid agencies can have on suffering regions. As a result, she developed a life-long devotion to the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF).
Audrey served as Goodwill Ambassador for United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund (UNICEF), from 1988 until her untimely death in January 1993. Through her work with UNICEF, she used her image and the great interest people had in her to attract world attention to her cause, but also of repaying the United Nations for rescuing her from starvation in 1945 Holland. Audrey’s movie career took a back seat to her work for UNICEF which proved more meaningful to her than restarting her acting career. Audrey represented the agency in many capacities, not only appearing at public occasions to support the good cause of UNICEF but also traveling widely to the world’s trouble spots to assess the situation of children.
Upon returning from Somalia to Switzerland in late September 1992, Hepburn began suffering from abdominal pain. While initial medical tests in Switzerland had inconclusive results, a laparoscopy performed at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles in early November revealed a rare form of abdominal cancer belonging to a group of cancers known as pseudomyxoma peritonei. Hepburn and her family returned home to Switzerland to celebrate her last Christmas. She spent her last days in hospice care at her home in Tolochenaz, Vaud and was occasionally well enough to take walks in her garden, but gradually became more confined to bedrest.
On the evening of 20 January 1993, Hepburn died in her sleep at home. She was interred at the Tolochenaz Cemetery.
Audrey Hepburn’s legacy as an actress and a personality has endured long after her death. She stands as one of few entertainers who have won an Oscar, Emmy, Grammy and Tony Awards. She won a record three BAFTA Awards for Best British Actress in a Leading Role. In her last years, she remained a visible presence in the film world. She received a tribute from the Film Society of Lincoln Center in 1991 and was a frequent presenter at the Academy Awards. She received the BAFTA Lifetime Achievement Award in 1992. She was the recipient of numerous posthumous awards including the 1993 Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award and competitive Grammy and Emmy Awards. She has been the subject of many biographies since her death and the 2000 dramatization of her life titled “The Audrey Hepburn Story” which starred Jennifer Love Hewitt and Emmy Rossum as the older and younger Hepburn respectively. The film concludes with real photos of Audrey Hepburn, shot during one of her final missions for UNICEF.
View the service history of actor
PFC Robert Duvall
View his Service Profile on TogetherWeServed.com
Short Bio: One of Hollywood’s most distinguished, popular, and versatile actors, Robert Duvall possesses a rare gift for totally immersing himself in his roles. Born January 5, 1931 and raised by an admiral, Duvall served in the army for two years after graduating from Principia College.
Photo is of his role in “Apocalypse Now”.
By Michael P. Walsh
The Washington, D.C., Vietnam Veterans Memorial is inscribed with 58,272 names – each a story of lost opportunity and heartache; ultimate sacrifices that, with time, are known by and intimate to fewer. The New Guy is one of those small stories, perhaps now, 48 years later, important to only me – that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be told.
Long Island’s morning fog was dense and chilly as I turned onto the drive at Pinelawn National Cemetery. Driving forward, I familiarized myself with the numbering of the stones. Donning my overcoat as I got out of the car, I crossed the roadway to walk another 50 feet over wet grass to The New Guy’s permanent address: plot 31313A in section “N.”
A stunted, winter-bare tree stood watch over his grave – it looked like it shaded him nicely in the summertime. The headstone, identical to the thousands surrounding it, is engraved with bits of personal information: born 12 days after I was, on July 14, 1947, he died March 7, 1968. Below those dates are chiseled the word “Vietnam;” farther down are the two letters “PH” confirming the Purple Heart was awarded posthumously. Exactly 40 years later, March 7, 2008, I was here for a long overdue visit. Although today I know his name, for most of the intervening years, I didn’t. In my recollections, he has always been, simply, “The New Guy.”
New guys were easy to spot. Naturally, there was the rookie’s nervousness, but that clean helmet cover was the giveaway. A seasoned Marine’s helmet might have a heavy rubber band encircling it, holding bug repellant and a well-used plastic spoon, but always printed on the fabric covering his steel “pot” was a message. Sometimes a clever or rude manipulation of a biblical phrase; other times, it was a less-nuanced “Screw You” challenge to the enemy. The brazen tempted fate with a crude calendar counting down their remaining days in country. Attesting to the helmet’s use as protection, basin and stool, the messages were written on camouflage covers stained by rain, soil and sweat. In 1968, those young Marines with helmet covers awaiting a personal signature were known to the rest of us as “New Guys.”
I was a Marine forward observer scout. My helmet cover sported a faded green shamrock, surrounded by the words “All Irish F.O.’s.” Early March found Louis, my radio operator, and me attached to “Alpha” Company, one of two line companies of First Battalion, Third Marines, providing security up a backwater of the Cua Viet River.
It was a reprieve to patrol from a fixed location, allowing us to fortify positions, improve makeshift hutches and learn the lay of the land before, not during, ambushes. The few incoming sniper rounds were erratic – minor nuisances that were quickly suppressed – and the weather improved daily. Most importantly, we were alive. There wasn’t much not to like.
Suddenly, on March 7, 1968, our Vietnamese-speaking S-2 scout reported enemy combatants moving through Phu Tai, a neighboring village, after nightfall. Since it was our job to keep bad actors out of the neighborhood, Alpha Co was ordered on top of Amtrak’s in the predawn dark for a rough ride, over dry rice paddies to give this little village the once over. Maybe we’d find trouble, maybe not. Personally, I was thinking not.
With the bellowing of our Amtrak’s dual turbocharged exhausts announcing our pending arrival, all North Vietnamese Army (NVA) regulars working the area would surely be long gone before we showed up. For all intents and purposes, it looked like it would be an early morning cakewalk. Map and compass were close, radio communications checked; I was alert, not anxious. Turned out I should have been.
In the glow of a false dawn, we were rolling-up on Phu Tai’s western edge when suddenly a rocket propelled grenade flew out of the tree line, blowing a hole in our lead Amtrak. With it came a stupefying volume of incoming automatic weapons fire. Screams of the wounded and shouts for corpsman were coming from all quarters as Louis and I leapt off our Amtrak and scrambled to a nearby trench. So much for nobody being home. Dawn had arrived at Phu Tai with a promise of some serious mayhem.
A vestige of the French and Viet Minh conflict of an earlier time, our trench was typical of those surrounding villages near the Demilitarized Zone. Just to the north of it, outside the village, was an abandoned, French-era church. It didn’t show on my map, but there it was – two-stories tall and roofless, it was one of the few solid masonry structures in those parts. My view of it was blocked by a clump of bushes rimming our trench’s back edge, directly behind where Louis and I made our stand.
Looking over the forward edge of the trench, I located where Marines were digging in. Our near-instant heavy casualties and the sustained volume of incoming fire indicated a large, entrenched force – a motivated enemy that might mount a counterattack. The simultaneous firing of several batteries was initiated to provide a protective curtain of shrapnel while we got a handle on things.
Despite everyone’s best efforts, the day went badly fast. To my right, just beyond Louis, a Marine I had bummed a cigarette from a few minutes earlier was dead. To my left, in sequence, was another dead Marine, our wounded platoon commander and, scattered beyond them, a dozen, perhaps 15, Marines. Some dead, some wounded; those still capable struggled to keep our recently-issued M-16’s functioning.
During all this, I received a priority radio message advising me an NVA sniper had been spotted on the second floor of the church. The reason for the high number of casualties in my immediate area was now obvious: from his perch, the shooter could target men well below the trench’s rear lip. It was inevitable that Louis and I were going to find ourselves on that deadly score card if we didn’t put him out of business. Hoping to be quick enough to avert additional causalities, another artillery mission was worked up.
It was just then that I met The New Guy – part of a Marine company sent to reinforce our precarious position. As he dropped into the trench behind me, I turned to see by his clean helmet cover; the look on his face said that today was his introduction to the terrors of the fight. Still, he never wavered. Suppressing the fear, we all knew, he spoke the last words of his life: “What do you want me to do?” In the intervening years, neither our dire circumstances nor his response to them have been forgotten.
Quickly I pointed out the sniper’s position and explained the need to keep him down while artillery was brought on target; I don’t remember the precise number, but I can’t imagine that more than 15 words were exchanged. Turning toward the church without hesitation, he took a firing position at the base of the bushes. With my back now covered, I gave the final “fire for effect” that would eliminate that menace in the loft.
Moments later, six 105 mm artillery rounds landed in the church’s upper story, abruptly and decisively ending the shooter’s reign. Unfortunately, The New Guy missed our small victory. Seconds before his demise, the sniper fired his last round. It was on target, and it was fatal. The New Guy was dead.
Although aware that he had protected me, providing time to complete the task at hand, reflection was not an option as that March 7, 1968, engagement at Phu Tai still had plenty of promised mayhem to be played out. A brutal assault, with Marines engaging in close-quarters fighting, routed the NVA forces. Afterward, in the late afternoon’s fading light, we searched for our wounded and killed. I don’t recall there being any prisoners.
As darkness enveloped the field, “Puff,” the Gatling-armed C-130 flying transport, came on station, providing covering fire as needed and dropping huge illumination flares, lighting-up the dry rice paddy for the night’s remaining work.
With our men accounted for, the Marines withdrew from the village and linked up to form a perimeter where, from freshly dug fighting holes, weary eyes and lethal intent were focused into the evening’s menacing shadows. Inbound helicopter flights soon began landing with the necessities: munitions, food, water and, oh yes, more New Guys. Following triage protocol, our corpsmen backloaded the outgoing flights with our 94 wounded. It wasn’t until the next morning, March 8, 1968, that The New Guy and his 12 companions, each now cocooned in a body bag, were finally relieved of duty. Marines gently loaded them into Hueys for their trip back across the Cua Viet to the first stop on their rotation stateside: the morgue at Dong Ha.
Curiously, though few things have had such a profound and lasting imprint on my life, many years passed before I dared replay those long-ago violent days. When I did, prominent and persistent was the question: “Who was The New Guy?” With research, I found the answer.
Three days after the battle of Phu Tai, the Department of Defense issued its weekly count of Vietnam casualties. The following day, March 12, 1968, The New York Times published the names of those who claimed New York as home. Last on their list of 22 was a young Marine from Brooklyn: Esau Whitehead Jr.
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial website describes Esau at the time of his death as a 20-year-old African-American corporal from New York City. On “The Wall,” his name is found on Panel 43E, Line 49. The record states vaguely that he died from “ground, small arms fire, Quang Tri province.” Because of the chaos of battle, it is most likely I am the only person who knows the exact details. Wanting to share those, a letter was written describing Esau’s last moments; however, when unable to locate survivors, I rewrote it as the story of ‘The New Guy,’ hoping someday it would land where it belongs. Of course, after all this time, there may be no family left or, it’s also possible that no one cares.
But I do. I care. So, Esau, I’m writing your final story, hoping it will find its way to those who remember that 20-year-old kid from Brooklyn and wonder how it was for you at the end.
Cpl. Esau Whitehead Jr., you died living up to the Marine Corps motto – Semper Fidelis – while protecting a fellow Marine you knew for less than five minutes.
Thank you again, Esau. Your family should know.
The photo is left to right: Cpl Michael Walsh, Cpl James P. “Pat” Daly and PFC Roger McLain displaying the shamrocks they added to their helmet covers in Vietnam, 1968. Lt. George Norris is to the rear and between Cpl. Walsh and Cpl. Daly. He was killed in action while serving as a Company Commander.
Reprinted with permission from the Marine Corps Association & Foundation, Leatherneck Magazine, May 2017
View the service history of Actor/Director
PFC Bill Bixby
US Marine Corps
View his Service Profile on TogetherWeServed.com
Bio: Best remembered as the human side of “The Hulk” Dr. David Banner,Bixby signed up for the Marine Corps Reserve five days after his 18th birthday, he was a senior in high school. He was honorably discharged on April 8, 1957.
Together We Served is pleased to highlight the work of the USS Forrestal Association. The USS Forrestal Association is a non-profit veterans organization established in 1990, with a current membership of over 3000 members. The organization is committed to preserving the memory and spirit of the USS Forrestal and all who sailed on her. The Association’s main focus is on preserving old memories, to honor those members who have now passed on and to remember shipmates who made the ultimate sacrifice.
The Association is inviting its members to join Together We Served to help preserve their service history and record their legacy.
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