Henderson Field is one of those place names that still resonates with most Americans who lived through World War II.
And even with some of their descendants.
U.S. Marines seized the airfield Aug. 7, 1942, when they invaded Guadalcanal in our first offensive of the Pacific War. They finished the construction the Japanese had started and named the airfield for Lofton Henderson, a Medal of Honor aviator killed in June at the battle of Midway.
It was one of the war's most significant airfields. Whoever held Henderson pretty much controlled all of Guadalcanal and had a likely shot at controlling all of the Solomon Islands, plus the sea lanes to Australia.
Small wonder, then, that on Sept. 13 the Japanese began a drive to take it back. Just south of the airport, they assaulted a height that would become known as Bloody Ridge or Edson's Ridge for Col. Merritt "Red Mike' Edson, who commanded the 800 Marines atop the elevation.
For two days, and once within 1,000 yards of the airfield, the Japanese attacked and were beaten back in a "fix-bayonets' defense.
Henderson was saved.
It became a storied place, made so by people such as air ace Joe Foss, who once escaped from his fighter plane by forcing open its stuck canopy underwater. And Gregory "Pappy' Boyington, who recorded his exploits, sometimes generously, in a famous autobiography, "Baa Baa Black Sheep.' And the legendary "Cactus Air Force,' which kept enemy aircraft from bringing in reinforcements while U.S. forces slugged it out on the ground and at sea.
When the battle for Guadalcanal was won, six months after it began, America's stamp was forever imprinted on Henderson. Years later, in fact, it became Henderson International Airport.
But now, to the consternation of American veterans, there is a movement afoot to replace Henderson with a new name.
A Japanese name.
The idea for the name change is said to have been put forward by a Japanese consulting firm advising the Solomon Islands government on the modernization of the airport. Giving the facility a Japanese name will boost tourism, consultants say.
The country's Department of Infrastructure agrees. It has issued a statement saying that Henderson is "too old a name to use' and that a new name would "reflect the latest developments at the airport where Japan has played a key role.'
However much such statements rankle U.S. veterans, there is a measure of truth to them. In recent years, as Tokyo has improved relations with the Solomons, the United States has reduced its ties. In 1993, it closed its embassy in Honiara, the country's capital.
Still, the vets are livid over the proposed change. They have an Internet Web site www.petitiononline.com/ guad/petition.html for signatures and messages of opposition. More than 6,500 veterans and supporters have added their names and messages. The petition is directed to Sir Allan Kemakeza, the Solomons' prime minister.
A sampling of the comments:
"Don't change the name. I fought on that island and my best buddy died on it as a teen-age Marine ... I don't know why you would allow a defeated foe to dictate to you a change in the name. Don't betray the young warriors who freed you now that they are old and their ranks are getting thin.' (Robert L. George)
"My grandfather, Sam Johnson, landed on Guadalcanal on Aug. 7, 1942. He was a Marine and my hero. I served in the Corps as well. My grandfather died in the Veterans hospital in Loma Linda, Ca., in 1999. Do not change the name of the airfield that he fought so hard to hold.' (Tom Bernius)
"Changing the name of Henderson Field would be a slap in the face for those who fought there ... .The name should remain in histo ry.' (Lt. Col. Hap Langstaff, USMC-Ret.)
Not all the protests are from America. Writes Alan E. Brain, "Removing the name would go down very badly here in Australia. Leaving ethics aside, it would certainly hurt the Solomons economically ... But it's your country thanks to the U.S. Marine Corps.'
Not to worry
In New York, at the Solomon Islands mission to the United Nations, charge d'affaires Beraki Jino says the American veterans and their supporters may be overreacting. He does not think the name will be changed.
"Yes, a change is under consideration,' he says, "but the overwhelming sentiment of the Solomon Islands is to not change the name. Under a poll that has been taken, there is no support for doing this. The vast majority (of Solomon Islanders) do not want it.'
Jino admits that the change has support from officials in the country's Infrastructure Department and Ministry of Construction. But he insists that "good feeling toward the United States' still exists in the Solomons, and that the people there have not forgotten the role American played during the war.'
Kemakeza is also said to oppose the change.
There is a chance, in fact, that the name change may be stymied by more pressing matters. Composed of multiple tribal factions, the country is currently embroiled in civil unrest so severe that Australia is considering armed intervention to prevent collapse of the Solomon Islands government.
Alexander Downer, foreign minister for the Solomons' 500,000 people, has told Radio Australia:
"There are high numbers of unemployed young people wandering the streets. Children are not receiving the education they need. Without donor help, there would be no health service in the provinces at all. Economic activity will not revive without a substantial improvement in the law and order situation.'
U.S. admirers
In 1985, while doing a series of articles on Pacific War battle sites, P-T photographer Leo Hetzel and I visited Guadalcanal. There we Kona met a barrel-chested Islander named Fred Kona. In a beguiling blend of English and pidgen, he spoke of what the United States meant to him and to his country:
"The American people sacrificed themselves, as Jesus sacrificed himself for us. ... After the war, they never say, 'This island belong to us now.' That is big something. Big miracle. You give island back to me, and then I live free. ... That's why Americans give me reason to remember them.'
It was not idle talk. Kona's Vilu Village War Museum, consisting mostly of aircraft and artillery pieces dragged from the jungle, was dedicated by him to the American people. He changed the name of his adopted daughter from Elizabeth to Americana.
We also met the wife and daughter of Jacob Vouza, who had scouted for American troops. Captured by the enemy, he was tied to a tree, repeatedly stabbed, and left for dead. Chewing through his ropes, he reached U.S. lines and refused aid until he had given Marines an updated report of Japanese positions.
After the war, Vouza, a constable and tribal leader, renamed his community California Village. In front of it, he erected a flag pole from which, last I heard, Old Glory is flown daily. In his living room, there was a facsimile of the Declaration of Independence, and, on one wall, what I thought at first was a strategic battle map from the war. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a map of Disneyland.
Fred Kona died a few years ago. Jacob Vouza passed away just before our visit to Guadalcanal. These two grand old Solomon Islanders loved the United States as much as any American I know.
Final note: While finishing this column, I received word of the proposed new name for Henderson Field. It is not exactly Japanese. Yet, in another sense, it could not be more Japanese. The proposed new name is Chrysanthemum Airport.
The chrysanthemum is the national flower of Japan.
Trite as it sounds, it would not surprise me to know that Fred Kona and Jacob Vouza are spinning in their graves.
As are thousands of America's departed Guadalcanal veterans. Tom Hennessy's viewpoint appears Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. He can be reached at (562) 499-1270 or by e-mail at Scribe17@aol.com