A tribute to an exceptional Philadelphian who fought bravely against global fascism
In honor of Veteran’s Day this Monday, we remember not just the sacrifices of individual soldiers, sailors, and Marines but also the values they defended. Here’s the story of Al Schmid, a Philly-born Marine who earned the Navy Cross for his extraordinary heroism at Guadalcanal during World War II — a war that was, at its heart, a fight to preserve democracy and freedom against the forces of authoritarianism.
In the 1940s, as nations across the globe faced a dark tide of fascism and aggression, the United States rose to lead a world determined to defend the rights of free people. Al Schmid’s story, like that of so many Americans who answered the call, reminds us that standing up against oppression and tyranny is not just a historical duty, but an enduring responsibility. This Veteran’s Day, his courage and dedication to a greater cause serve as a powerful reminder that the fight for democratic ideals — against the threats posed by bad faith actors — is ongoing and that America’s role in upholding those ideals remains as vital as ever.
A Hero’s Journey Begins
Albert Andrew Schmid was born in Kensington on October 20, 1920, the third of four children to Adolph and Marian Greenwald Schmid. Adolph supported his family by working as a truck driver for Hornung’s Brewery at 22nd and Clearfield. Work was steady, as their flavorful “near beer” was very popular during Prohibition. In 1924, the family moved up to the greener pastures of the Burlhome neighborhood in NE Philly.
When Al was 10 years old, he got a BB gun for Christmas and quickly became an excellent shot. When he was 12, his mom died of a sudden illness, and then two years later his dad remarried a woman that did not fit well into the family. Like a lot of sad kids, Al became the class clown, known for pulling pranks and scrapping with other students. He wasn’t the best student, and when he graduated at age 15, he left for Middletown CT for a job in a lumber camp.
He soon bounced back to the area, finding work and lodging on a farm in Ambler, where his day was spent milking cows, cleaning the barn, and keeping crows and other critters out of the cornfields. He stayed on two seasons, then secured an apprenticeship at the big Dodge Steel Plant in Tacony, where he would learn to be a “burner.” This highly-skilled trade involves cutting and shaping metal with an extremely hot blowtorch. He made $27/week, which is about $44k per year in today’s money.
He boarded nearby on Tulip Street with the family of Jim Merchant, a fellow Dodge worker. One Saturday night, Jim and his wife Ella Mae had a holiday party where one of the guests was a nerdy young Sears clerk named Ruth Hartley. She struck him as unremarkable then, but the next time he saw her, they both felt a connection. They’d been dating for a few months when, on December 7, 1941, Al heard the radio news bulletin that Pearl Harbor had been attacked.
Answering the Call
Two days later, Al was standing in line at the U.S. Customs House on 2nd and Chestnut, enlisting in the Marines. When it was time for Al to ship out to Basic Training, Ruth took him to 30th Street Station and assured him she would wait for him always. Al mailed her an engagement ring from North Carolina where he was stationed, with a note “Til I come home, Al.” Soon, he shipped out to Guadalcanal with the 1st Marine Division.
Guadalcanal is an island in the southwest Pacific, part of the Solomon Islands. During the war, it was occupied by the British until about five months after Pearl Harbor, when the Japanese successfully took it. Allied intelligence reported they seemed to be building a base that would put their planes within striking distance to Australia. Not so fast! On August 7, 1942, the US Marines conducted the first amphibious landing of the war, and quickly captured the airfield from the unsuspecting enemy, who fled into the surrounding jungles where they posed a new threat to the Americans.
Al was assigned to a machine gun post about a mile from the perimeter. Al’s best friend, Johnny Rivers, was the gunner and Al’s job was to feed ammunition as needed to defend their position. On August 21, 1942, as Japanese forces mounted a fierce pre-dawn assault across the Tenaru River, Al and Johnny faced relentless waves of enemy soldiers trying to overrun them. When Johnny was fatally shot, Al took over the gun, cutting down attackers as they advanced in the jungle shadows. With squad leader Lee Diamond feeding him ammo, Schmid took over as gunner, fiercely and relentlessly mowing down enemy soldiers.
Schmid’s assault continued for three hours, while the pair remained indefatigable. At one point, a sniper’s bullet pierced the gun’s cooling jacket, and the weapon grew dangerously hot. Then a grenade exploded nearby, wounding Schmid and blinding him. In agony but undeterred, he called out to Lee, “Just tell me where they are, and I’ll get ’em.” Guided by Lee’s directions, he continued firing into the dark until dawn. Of the 1,100 Japanese soldiers who attempted the crossing, only 20 survived. Their commander committed suicide in disgrace.
A New Life Ahead
Following some time recuperating at San Diego Naval Hospital, Al returned home to Philly in January 1943 to participate in a trail-blazing rehabilitation program for blinded Sailors and Marines at The Philadelphia Naval Hospital on Pattison Avenue. When his train pulled into 30th Street Station, Ruth (true to her word) was there waiting for him. They would marry at City Hall that spring, a few months after Al was awarded the Navy Cross for “extraordinary heroism and conspicuous devotion to duty” (Lee and Buddy would also be so honored).
Time Magazine ran an article about Al, as did Life Magazine. When Roger Butterfield wrote a whole book entitled “Al Schmid, Marine,” it was so popular that Warner Brothers bought the movie rights and hired Al to advise the production on military accuracy. The film, “Pride of the Marines” premiered in Philly, at the Mastbaum Theater (where One Commerce Square is today). Al was quite the celebrity, which he used to stump for the war effort, selling war bonds at movie theaters, shipyards, business luncheons, and ladies’ auxiliary groups.
After the war, Al settled into another good industrial job, working as a parts assembler for the Philadelphia Metal Stamping Company and moving with Ruth to Mayfair, where they raised their son and daughter. But he never forgot the battle of Guadalcanal. Each year on the anniversary of that fateful night on the Tenaru River, he would sit home in silent observation, and would often remain preoccupied for days after. As time went on, his military fame would sadly spark backlash from anti-war protesters who’d come out to demonstrate wherever his movie was shown.
By 1957, Al had parlayed his movie money into early retirement at age 37; he and his family moved to Florida, leaving his past behind. He would regain partial sight in his remaining eye and go on to lead an active life, even taking up hobbies like fishing and playing the organ before his death from bone cancer in 1982, at age 62. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery with full honors. Ruth joined him at Arlington on August 15, 2002.
READ MORE! 👀 Get the full story in Bob McNulty’s original narrative that brings his history to life with names, locations, and additional context (printed in November’s LOCAL newspaper).
📖 For more great history, follow @PhiladelphiaStoriesbyBobMcNulty on Facebook. And check out Bob’s previous Local column HERE, a story about a deathly friendship in old Oak Lane.
Editor’s Note: This story includes archival images & video that includes the word “Japs” which is offensive and no longer acceptable today. We have chosen to include these materials to represent historic authenticity — not to disparage or offend. We recognize that language evolves and hope this piece honors the courage and sacrifices of all who were affected by the profound global conflict of this time.
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