A quiet hero
[I wrote this story – the first of many -- for Soldiers magazine in 1997. Jim Logan died, at the age of 78, two years later. Logan was the first of two Medal of Honor recipients (Richard Rocco was the other) I came to know. Both gentlemen impressed me with their humility, their … in many ways “averageness.” It kind of makes you wonder just what is the essence of extraordinary courage, and where does it come from?]
He's an ordinary man, a blue jeans and boots kind of fellow. His faded eyes, framed between a sweat-stained straw hat and a cheap cheroot, seem to regard those around him frankly, kindly. They betray perhaps just a hint of amusement at all the fuss.
He's an old man. The years have bowed his shoulders, if not his spirit, and he moves slowly now. He keeps a few head of cattle on a modest East Texas spread. He says they're eating him out of house and home.
He's a humble man. His manners are courtly in that old Texas way. When strangers approach to shake his hand and praise him in extravagant terms, he simply thanks them -- invariably adding "sir," or "ma'am."
He's a hero. The wreathed star dangling from a scrap of blue cloth around his neck makes that clear enough.
But today, half a century after fighting in the war in Europe, James M. Logan is becoming a different kind of hero at home.
Logan was a 23-year-old sergeant when he was awarded the Medal of Honor for "conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty."
It's typical of the man that he says he didn't do anything all that special.
"The boats dumped us out there, and we had to get off the beach and find a place to rest," he said while visiting Texas Army National Guard troops during annual training at Fort Hood, Texas. "I heard later that the barges came back to the beach to take us off, but no one told me about it at the time."
The beach was near Salerno, Italy. When the 36th Infantry Division from Texas spearheaded the Allied invasion of Italy on Sept. 9, 1943, Logan was one of the first off the landing craft. His company advanced 800 yards before being pinned down by
German soldiers entrenched behind a rock wall.
Someone had to open the way for the Americans to get off the beach, so Logan took the initiative. According to his Medal of Honor citation:
"Voluntarily exposing himself to the fire of a machine gun located along the rock wall, which sprayed the ground so close to him that he was splattered with dirt and rock splinters from the impact of the bullets, Sgt. Logan killed the first three Germans as they came through a gap in the wall. He then attacked the machine gun."
A withering stream of fire followed his advance as he dashed across the 200 yards of exposed terrain. Reaching the wall, he crawled along its base, within easy reach of the enemy crouched along the opposite side, until he reached the machine gun. Jumping up, he shot the two gunners, and hurdled the wall.
Then he seized the gun, swung it around and opened fire, killing several more of the enemy and capturing two others.
Later the same morning, Logan again left his company when a sniper began firing at the Americans from a house some 150 yards away. According to the citation, he ran a gauntlet of fire to reach the house, shot the lock off the door, kicked it in and shot the sniper.
But he was no Rambo. He didn't enjoy war; the misery, the killing, the terror. He turned down a battlefield commission, afraid that if he accepted, the Army would keep him in Europe longer.
Friends say that now he regrets that decision. They say he feels bad about coming home before the war ended. As if, contrary to the abundant evidence, he didn't do his part.
When Logan returned to Texas in 1944, he was subjected to a lot of fanfare and hoopla. Parades, dinners and an immensely successful statewide war bonds drive kept him in the limelight for a while.
When it was all over, he went to work in the oil fields. For more than four decades he lived quietly near the small East Texas town of Kilgore, working hard and raising a family.
But he wasn't forgotten.
Sgt 1st Class David L. Squires said he first read about Logan's exploits back when he was a brand-new private. Much later, after becoming the full-time readiness NCO for the Texas Army National Guard's Company D, 3rd Battalion, 144th Inf., at Kilgore, he realized the quiet hero lived just a few miles away.
"A lot of guys in Kilgore didn't even know he had the medal," Squires said. "I started to get to know him, and realized what a great guy he is. And there are so few Medal of Honor winners left … I just wanted to do something to honor him."
Squires saw an opportunity to do just that when the National Guard decided to build an addition to the Kilgore armory. When the addition was dedicated on May 17, it was named for Technical Sgt. James M. Logan.
Then on Memorial Day, the 76-year-old Logan became the first person in history to receive the Texas Legislative Medal of Honor. At a Texas Rangers baseball game in late May, the old sergeant was introduced to a packed stadium and received a standing ovation. Capt. Dennis Spillman, who keeps tabs on such things, said recruiting figures in the battalion immediately went up when local residents learned of Logan's tie to the unit.
Now Logan has taken to visiting area schools to talk about patriotism, service and respect for the flag.
"He's really starting to enjoy talking to the kids; he's really coming to life," said Richard Fuhrman, a retired combat veteran of the Air Force and Logan's friend and neighbor.
"He does so much good for the children. They just love him."
Others agree.
"At first, as a group, they were a little bit in awe of him," said Leslie Listenbee, a second-grade teacher at Kilgore's Chandler Elementary School. "The day after his visit, when we stood at attention to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, I told the kids: 'You know, Sgt. Logan is one of the reasons we do this.' They all stood a little straighter after that."
Listenbee said Logan's visit has given her 7- and 8-year-olds a lot to think about. "One of my pupils told his mother on the way home from school: 'Mom, a lot of people think stars like Michael Jordan are heroes, but Sgt. Logan is really a hero.'"
According to Listenbee, Logan cried when his friend Fuhrman told the children how he won the Medal of Honor. Other people who know him say he often does that when the story is recited.
"He's so humble. That really made an impression on the kids, and they reacted so well," said Listenbee. "The girls went up to him and held his hand. It was a wonderful experience; I really hope he can come back next year."
"I've tried real hard not to remember the war," Logan said quietly. "But here lately, a lot of people seem to want to remind me about it."
He admitted that the memories upset him. But he also said he wants to visit every school that invites him to speak.
No one would disagree that it's hard. It's hard for an old man to relive brutal events that happened on another continent 54 years ago. No doubt it's also difficult at times to bear the blunt and energetic adulation of children.
But then, no one who knows him expects Jim Logan to shrink from the challenge.
He's an ordinary man, a blue jeans and boots kind of fellow. His faded eyes, framed between a sweat-stained straw hat and a cheap cheroot, seem to regard those around him frankly, kindly. They betray perhaps just a hint of amusement at all the fuss.
He's an old man. The years have bowed his shoulders, if not his spirit, and he moves slowly now. He keeps a few head of cattle on a modest East Texas spread. He says they're eating him out of house and home.
He's a humble man. His manners are courtly in that old Texas way. When strangers approach to shake his hand and praise him in extravagant terms, he simply thanks them -- invariably adding "sir," or "ma'am."
He's a hero. The wreathed star dangling from a scrap of blue cloth around his neck makes that clear enough.
But today, half a century after fighting in the war in Europe, James M. Logan is becoming a different kind of hero at home.
Logan was a 23-year-old sergeant when he was awarded the Medal of Honor for "conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty."
It's typical of the man that he says he didn't do anything all that special."The boats dumped us out there, and we had to get off the beach and find a place to rest," he said while visiting Texas Army National Guard troops during annual training at Fort Hood, Texas. "I heard later that the barges came back to the beach to take us off, but no one told me about it at the time."
The beach was near Salerno, Italy. When the 36th Infantry Division from Texas spearheaded the Allied invasion of Italy on Sept. 9, 1943, Logan was one of the first off the landing craft. His company advanced 800 yards before being pinned down by
German soldiers entrenched behind a rock wall.
Someone had to open the way for the Americans to get off the beach, so Logan took the initiative. According to his Medal of Honor citation:
"Voluntarily exposing himself to the fire of a machine gun located along the rock wall, which sprayed the ground so close to him that he was splattered with dirt and rock splinters from the impact of the bullets, Sgt. Logan killed the first three Germans as they came through a gap in the wall. He then attacked the machine gun."
A withering stream of fire followed his advance as he dashed across the 200 yards of exposed terrain. Reaching the wall, he crawled along its base, within easy reach of the enemy crouched along the opposite side, until he reached the machine gun. Jumping up, he shot the two gunners, and hurdled the wall.
Then he seized the gun, swung it around and opened fire, killing several more of the enemy and capturing two others.
Later the same morning, Logan again left his company when a sniper began firing at the Americans from a house some 150 yards away. According to the citation, he ran a gauntlet of fire to reach the house, shot the lock off the door, kicked it in and shot the sniper.
But he was no Rambo. He didn't enjoy war; the misery, the killing, the terror. He turned down a battlefield commission, afraid that if he accepted, the Army would keep him in Europe longer.
Friends say that now he regrets that decision. They say he feels bad about coming home before the war ended. As if, contrary to the abundant evidence, he didn't do his part.
When Logan returned to Texas in 1944, he was subjected to a lot of fanfare and hoopla. Parades, dinners and an immensely successful statewide war bonds drive kept him in the limelight for a while.
When it was all over, he went to work in the oil fields. For more than four decades he lived quietly near the small East Texas town of Kilgore, working hard and raising a family.
But he wasn't forgotten.
Sgt 1st Class David L. Squires said he first read about Logan's exploits back when he was a brand-new private. Much later, after becoming the full-time readiness NCO for the Texas Army National Guard's Company D, 3rd Battalion, 144th Inf., at Kilgore, he realized the quiet hero lived just a few miles away.
"A lot of guys in Kilgore didn't even know he had the medal," Squires said. "I started to get to know him, and realized what a great guy he is. And there are so few Medal of Honor winners left … I just wanted to do something to honor him."
Squires saw an opportunity to do just that when the National Guard decided to build an addition to the Kilgore armory. When the addition was dedicated on May 17, it was named for Technical Sgt. James M. Logan.
Then on Memorial Day, the 76-year-old Logan became the first person in history to receive the Texas Legislative Medal of Honor. At a Texas Rangers baseball game in late May, the old sergeant was introduced to a packed stadium and received a standing ovation. Capt. Dennis Spillman, who keeps tabs on such things, said recruiting figures in the battalion immediately went up when local residents learned of Logan's tie to the unit.
Now Logan has taken to visiting area schools to talk about patriotism, service and respect for the flag.
"He's really starting to enjoy talking to the kids; he's really coming to life," said Richard Fuhrman, a retired combat veteran of the Air Force and Logan's friend and neighbor.
"He does so much good for the children. They just love him."
Others agree.
"At first, as a group, they were a little bit in awe of him," said Leslie Listenbee, a second-grade teacher at Kilgore's Chandler Elementary School. "The day after his visit, when we stood at attention to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, I told the kids: 'You know, Sgt. Logan is one of the reasons we do this.' They all stood a little straighter after that."
Listenbee said Logan's visit has given her 7- and 8-year-olds a lot to think about. "One of my pupils told his mother on the way home from school: 'Mom, a lot of people think stars like Michael Jordan are heroes, but Sgt. Logan is really a hero.'"
According to Listenbee, Logan cried when his friend Fuhrman told the children how he won the Medal of Honor. Other people who know him say he often does that when the story is recited.
"He's so humble. That really made an impression on the kids, and they reacted so well," said Listenbee. "The girls went up to him and held his hand. It was a wonderful experience; I really hope he can come back next year."
"I've tried real hard not to remember the war," Logan said quietly. "But here lately, a lot of people seem to want to remind me about it."
He admitted that the memories upset him. But he also said he wants to visit every school that invites him to speak.
No one would disagree that it's hard. It's hard for an old man to relive brutal events that happened on another continent 54 years ago. No doubt it's also difficult at times to bear the blunt and energetic adulation of children.
But then, no one who knows him expects Jim Logan to shrink from the challenge.
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