Medal of Honor Monday: Leonard Foster Mason

One Marine reached out, trying to stop Mason from sacrificing himself.

On this day in 1944, a hero engages in an action that would earn him the Medal of Honor. Pfc. Leonard “Foster” Mason grew up in a large family, with 12 siblings. One of his sisters would later muse that the big family prepared him to jump into action on this day so long ago.

“We all had responsibilities,” she said, noting that “[we all] took care of each other.”

Mason’s heroism came on July 22, as our Marines sought to retake Guam from the Japanese. His platoon had been working to clear out a beachhead, but unfortunately entered a narrow gully that was well-defended by two enemy machine gun nests.

The platoon was trapped, pinned down by enemy fire.

Mason’s Medal of Honor citation is straightforward about what happened next: “Pfc. Mason, alone and entirely on his own initiative, climbed out of the gully and moved parallel to it toward the rear of the enemy position.”  He was fired upon and wounded, but “grimly pressed forward . . . . he persevered, clearing out the hostile position.”

For years, his family knew only this “dry official version” of his death, but then one of his nieces decided to investigate.

“[A]fter years of contacting officials and following leads, [his niece, Phyllis Shupperd,] has found out just about everything there is to find out,” one local journalist explained. “She talked to men who survived the war . . . .”

Leon Slicner was one of these survivors, and he fought alongside Foster Mason. When the enemy machine gun nests opened fire, he says, the Marines immediately took cover. Mason became determined to do something, and he told the others that he planned to circle around behind the enemy nests.

Slicner reached out to hold him back, but to no avail. Mason was already on his way.

“The way I understood, when they were pinned down, it was like there was no way they were going to get out. Foster took it on himself that they weren’t going to die there, like that. He was going to do something about it,” Mason’s sister, Joyce Johnson, said.

The Marines quit firing at the enemy nests while Mason made his move. With bated breath, they waited. A few minutes later, the machine guns were silenced. Soon afterwards, Mason emerged.  He was staggering, holding on to a rifle that was shattered. He’d been badly wounded in the arm and shoulder, and his jaw had been blown off. 

Obviously, he couldn’t talk, so the platoon leader asked him to blink if the machine guns had been taken out. Mason blinked in confirmation. He was quickly evacuated and treated, but his wounds would prove mortal. He died the next day.

Mason’s family received his Medal of Honor on his behalf. In the end, Mason was credited with killing five of the enemy, wounding another, and saving his platoon from destruction. 

Those who know him best were unsurprised to learn that he’d acted with such fortitude.

“He didn’t want anyone to get the best of him,” his sister, Ada Martin, said. “He would go forward no matter what.”

Just another member of the Greatest Generation, doing what had to be done.  Rest in peace, Sir.

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