ne pitfall. Toward the growth of esprit, the attitude,
"My organization first, and the rest nowhere," never pays off. It
begins with the idea, "_The service first, and my unit the best in the
service._" In all human enterprise, the whole is greater than the sum
of the parts. The citizen who thinks most deeply about his country
will be the first to share the burdens of his community and
neighborhood. The man who feels the greatest affection for the
service in which he bears arms will work most loyally to make his own
unit know a rightful pride in its own worth. Among all of the military
services from out of the present and past, none has been more faithful
to this principle than the United States Marine Corps. Among its
members, being a Marine is the thing that counts mainly; after that
comes service to the Regiment or Battalion. Even the other services
marvel at the result. Though they take due pride in their own virtues
and accomplishments, they still regard the esprit of the Marine with
admiration, and more than a little envy. What is the secret? Perhaps
it is this, that the Corps emphasizes the rugged outlet for men's
energies, and never permits its members to forget that the example of
courage is their most precious heritage.

Six years after his defeat at Wake Island, the things that remained
uppermost in the mind of Col. James P. S. Devereux, as he put together
the story of the most tragic hours of his life, were the heroisms of
the individuals who had been trained in a tradition to which he had
fully committed his own purpose. One incident of that day, typical of
many, is best related in Devereux's own words.

"Master Sergeant J. Paszkiewicz, a Marine for 20 years, was caught in
the first blast at the airfield. Bombs shattered his right leg. He
started crawling off, dragging his smashed leg limply behind him. The
second wave of bombers came in. Paszkiewicz reached a little pile of
wreckage and found what he wanted, a piece of wood. With a little
fixing it could serve as a crutch. The bombs were dropping again.
Paszkiewicz started hobbling off. He seemed to be going the wrong way.
Somebody tried to help him, but he wasn't having any. Lieutenant David
D. Kliewer saw him stumbling along on his makeshift crutch, giving
first aid to the wounded or trying to make a dying man a little
easier."

Could a man give that much, and could his superior, Devereux, have
remembered it so vividly from amid his own personal trial