Fort Benning soldier received Medal of Honor for heroism in WWII. But where are his remains?
Georgia-born Alexander R. Nininger Jr., who trained at Fort Benning before shipping off to fight the Japanese on Bataan in late 1941, received World War II’s first Medal of Honor.
Just commissioned as a second lieutenant, Nininger was among hundreds of members of the 57th Infantry – commanding the Philippine Scouts – who defended Bataan in the first land battle of the Pacific, following the Japanese invasion at Pearl Harbor.
At a decisive moment, Nininger charged Japanese snipers lodged in the trees, firing a machine gun and tossing grenades. Nininger died of multiple wounds, found later by his platoon among a pile of dead Japanese.
Fort Benning named a gunnery range for Nininger. It was one of dozens of ways his heroics were recognized across the U.S. and the Philippines. But that range no longer exists — what Fort Benning officials today say is “something of a mystery.”
An even bigger mystery is what happened to Nininger’s body.
Nininger was buried with others in a Bataan churchyard, and those graves were later moved to the Manila American Cemetery. In the haste and confusion of war and its aftermath, remains were intermingled and buried in poorly marked, unrecorded plots.
Today, the Army lists him as “unrecoverable,” but his family disagrees, insisting it knows where Nininger is buried, and has now brought a federal lawsuit to exhume, examine and repatriate the remains.
Many forget the Philippines
The nation remembers the Japanese Navy attacking Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941.
But many forget that Japan’s Army simultaneously invaded Hong Kong, Singapore, Guam – and the Philippines. A joint U.S. Filipino Army, under the command of Gen. Douglas MacArthur, was embedded in the Philippines, arguably prepared for the assault.
It wasn’t.
The first land battle of World War II was set up poorly for the Americans, according to military historians. Japan forced the joint force into “a hurried and haphazard retreat” south along the east and west coasts of Luzon, and its capital, Manila.
By Jan. 9, the joint force was backed onto Bataan, a rugged, mountainous peninsula on the west side of Manila Bay. It was the best-possible defensive position, according to military historians, for the last defense of the Philippines.
“We have run far enough,” a U.S. Army colonel said. “We’ll stand now and take ‘em on.”
But there were problems, owing to faulty tactics and failed supply efforts:
Lack of food left the joint force on half-rations, 2,000 calories per man, per day. New weapons, including a 60 mm mortar, held great promise, but there was no ammunition. Malaria was the chief health risk, but there was no mosquito netting. Fuel, too, was short. And, MacArthur’s promise of air cover — “the skies would be black with American planes” — proved hollow.
Among the 80,000-man joint force were the Philippine Scouts, a U.S. Army regiment composed of 2,000 Filipino enlisted men, led by U.S. Army officers. “No finer soldier could be found anywhere in the Philippines,” according to one military historian. “Everyone who was to serve with the well-disciplined Scouts felt themselves privileged.”
But, at this moment on Bataan, the officers leading them were inexperienced, untested.
Lieutenant Nininger goes to war
Second Lt. Alexander R. Nininger Jr. was one of those inexperienced, untested officers. Nininger graduated from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in June 1941. After a few months of infantry officer training at Fort Benning, Nininger shipped out to the Philippines.
No one expected much from Nininger. Though whip smart —he graduated 24th in a West Point class of 426 — Nininger wasn’t a warrior type. He was fluent in French, organized musicals and listened to classical music.
“He was quiet and deeply sensitive in nature,” wrote Franklin M. Reck.
All that changed when the Japanese attacked Jan. 9.
For three nights, the Japanese charged the main line of resistance, taking heavy casualties and making some gains. By Jan. 12, the main risk were Japanese snipers who made it through the Scout lines, lodged themselves in trees and attacked from behind.
According to many accounts:
Nininger and a few of his men twice pushed into Japanese-infested trees, killing many snipers, but suffering heavily themselves. Though twice-wounded, Nininger refused medical treatment.
“Now enraged,” according to one account, Nininger “attacked once more, this time alone. Hit once again, he grenaded an enemy position and killed several Japanese. Then he collapsed and died.”
What happened next is the mystery: What became of Nininger’s body?
Debating about Nininger’s remains
Nininger’s family, beginning with his father, think they know what happened to Niniger’s body.
Nininger, they believe, was buried near the yard of St. Dominic Parish Church in nearby Abucay, presided over by a chaplain, and observed by fellow officers. After the war, they believe, his body and others were disinterred and shipped to what’s become the American Cemetery in Manila.
The U.S. government agrees it moved bodies from Abucay to Manila, but the remains were identified only by number. Those identified as “X-1130” were examined four times for identity, then buried in plot “J 20 7.”
The examiners, according to Army documents, concluded that the remains identified as “X-1130” were Nininger’s. They examined time, place and cause of death, the burial site, and a dental chart that “compares favorably.”
That was in late 1948, almost three years after “X-1130” was exhumed from Abucay.
But officials in Washington were not convinced. A leg bone was too short. The burial site didn’t agree with drawings. The dental comparison, “while not unfavorable,” according to Army documents, “is inconclusive.”
The examiners in the Philippines and officials in Washington went back and forth for two more years before Washington decided “X-1130” was “unidentifiable.” Almost a year went by before Nininger’s father received a final judgment.
“Having considered all the factors in this case,” the letter reads, “it has been determined that his remains are unrecoverable.” Nininger’s name was engraved on the Wall of Missing, joining 36,286 others, and the cross on grave “J 7 20” was engraved: “ … known but to God.”
The Nininger family has spent the last 35 years trying to convince the U.S. government that “X-1130” is, in fact, Nininger. They want the remains disinterred, confirmed by DNA analysis, and returned to them for burial in the U.S.
This is their right under U.S. law. But the U.S. government refuses.
A nephew lead’s family effort
Today, the family effort is led by John A. Patterson, Nininger’s 81-year-old nephew. Patterson met Nininger once, when he was 5 years old at a family gathering after Nininger graduated from West Point.
“He opened his suitcase,” Patterson remembers. On top was Nininger’s blue uniform. A lasting impression, Patterson remembers. It was in the 1980s, more than 40 years after Nininger’s death, that Patterson would take charge of the family effort.
Patterson unearthed nearly 100 pages of Army documents, written between 1946 and 1950, documenting the back-and-forth between examiners in the Philippines and officials in Washington. The documents disclose conflict and inconsistencies.
The most troubling, Patterson contends, was Washington’s reliance on the recollection of Nininger’s commanding officer, George C. Clarke. Clarke was relieved of command due to a mental breakdown during the battle, according to military historians, and was in no condition to remember anything.
“Regrettably, even tragically,” Patterson says, “the Army was misled by an individual who was not in a position to know any of the relevant details.”
Worse, Patterson contends, the Army failed to contact Garnet P. Francis, the deputy commanding officer of the medical detachment that handled all regimental casualties at the time of Nininger’s death.
Francis agrees with Patterson, according to a letter he wrote in 1985.
Surely, the record is sufficient for the government to do what the Nininger family requests. Turns out, the government is reluctant, in the extreme, to do this. An investigation by journalists associated with ProPublica, the nonprofit investigative journalism organization, found a disinterment policy so “risk-adverse” it approves just “4 percent of requests to dig up remains.”
So, the Niningers and others have turned to the courts. The case will be heard in 2019.
Meanwhile, the ProPublica investigation prompted the Department of Defense to overhaul efforts to find and identify service members from past wars. And, some progress is reported.
The government recently identified the remains of a Tuskegee Airman listed as “missing” since World War II, and last month agreed to disinter remains of three soldiers who died in a Bataan prisoner of war camp.
Maybe Nininger is next.
John F. Greenman is Professor and Carter Chair in Journalism Emeritus at the University of Georgia Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communication, and former president and publisher of the Ledger-Enquirer.
Sources
In addition to the interviews, visits in Abucay and Manila in the Philippines and other sources cited, this story relied on the following:
▪ John W. Whitman’s “Bataan: Our Last Ditch,” Hippocrene Books, (1990), the only independent campaign study of the first land battle of World War II.
▪ John E. Olson’s “The Operations of the 57th Infantry (P.S.) Regimental Combat Team,” General Subjects Section, Academic Department, The Infantry School, Fort Benning, (1948).
▪ Louis Morton’s “The Fall of the Philippines,” Center of Military History, U.S. Army, (1993).’
▪ Franklin M. Reck’s “Beyond the Call of Duty,” Uncommon Valor Press, (2015).
▪ John Eakin’s website www.bataanmissing.com.
This story was originally published December 16, 2018 at 12:00 AM.