“Marines keep me safe”

That’s what a 5-year old boy, Sean Ladwig, wrote on a card he made to place at a makeshift memorial in honor of Corporal Jason Dunham, US Marine Corps, a memorial made by his aunt and two friends. Dunham dove on a live grenade during a fight against hostile forces at a checkpoint near Karbala, Iraq. He saved two fellow Marines, but died days later from his wounds at Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland. The story of what Cpl. Dunham did has been told as well as it can be told by Mike Phillips of The Wall Street Journal. Our focus is, "From where do these men come?" One of Jason's friends said, "God made something special when He made Jason." Yes, that is true. But as you will see, there were many influences that helped build this man that reinforced God's work, from his closely knit town to his parents and relatives to his teachers and coaches to the US Marine Corps and the legacy of those who went before him in the 7th Marines, the "Magnificent Seventh," of the 1st Marine Division, "The Old Breed." This young man from Scio, New York lived up to the Corps’ largest legends and did what a lot of heroes of its past have done.

June 17, 2004, updated April 10, 2008

Coporal Dunham honored at Kings Bay, Georgia

Barracks dedication with Mr. Dan and Mrs. Deb Dunham, Corporal Dunham's parents, August 25, 2007. USMC photo.

The Marine Corps Security Force Company’s dedicated their barracks to Cpl. Jason Dunham in a ceremony in front of his family, friends and Marines who served with Dunham in Iraq on August 25, 2007. General Robert Magnus, the assistant commandant of the Marine Corps, was on hand for the ceremony. Deb Dunham, Jason's mother, said, “It’s an honor and it’s wonderful the Marines have the history they do to keep him alive. (The Marines) are his family just as we’re his family.”

Corporal Jason Dunham receives the Medal of Honor (Posthumous)

Deb Dunham, center, the mother of Marine Cpl. Jason Dunham of Scio, N.Y., wipes a tear away after President Bush, right, presented her with the Medal of Honor during a ceremony for her son, January 11, 2007, in the East Room of the White House in Washington. From left are, his father, Dan Dunham, brother, Kyle Dunham, Deb Dunham, brother Justin Dunham and the president. Photo credit: Ron Edmonds, AP

President Bush, right, bows his head with the family of Marine Cpl. Jason Dunham, left, as they take part in a Medal of Honor ceremony, January 11, 2007. From left are, father Dan Dunham, brother Kyle Dunham, mother Deb Dunham, brother Justin Dunham, sister Katlyn Dunham and the president. Photo credit: Ron Edmonds, AP

Editor's note: Corporal Jason Dunham will receive the Medal of Honor (Posthumous). President Bush announced the decision during the official opening of the National Museum of the Marine Corps at the 231st anniversary of the Marine Corps in Triangle, Virginia, November 10, 2006. Dunham will be the first Marine to receive the medal since Vietnam.

President Bush said this:

“Corporal Dunham's mom and dad are with us today on what would have been this brave young man's 25th birthday. We remember that the Marine who so freely gave his life was your beloved son. We ask a loving God to comfort you for a loss that can never be replaced. And on this special birthday, in the company of his fellow Marines, I'm proud to announce that our nation will recognize Corporal Jason Dunham's action with America's highest decoration for valor, the Medal of Honor. As long as we have Marines like Corporal Dunham. America will never fear for her liberty. And as long as we have this fine museum, America will never forget their sacrifice.”

Some photos are shown here. (111106)

Deb Dunham, right, and her husband Dan Dunham, from Scio, N.Y., stand up as President Bush announced he will award the Medal of Honor (Posthumous) to their son Marine Cpl. Jason Dunham, Thursday, Nov. 10, 2006. Photo credit: Pablo Martinez Monsivais, AP

President Bush wipes a tear from his eye after speaking at the dedication of the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Triangle, Virginia November 10, 2006 as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Peter Pace (L) and Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Michael Hagee (C) look on. Photo credit: Jason Reed, Reuters

On April 14, 2004, Corporal (Cpl) Jason Dunham, of Scio, New York, and 4th Platoon, K Company, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division, I Marine Expeditionary Force (MEF), jumped on a live grenade during a fight with Iraqis, saved several fellow Marines, and died at Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland on April 22 from the explosion that resulted. There are reports he is being looked at for the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Michael M. Phillips, reporting for the May 25 edition of The Wall Street Journal, tells the story as well as it can be told. We've posted it in the right column. There’s good reason Phillips has done such a good job. He was embedded with the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines in Karbala in August 2003 and again with that battalion in May 2004, at Husaybah, al Qa'im and, to a lesser degree, al Asad . His story about Jason Dunham is must reading. We cannot tell it any better. You need to know, no, you must know, what is told.

There are two aspects of Jason Dunham’s story that we wish to address, however, to complement Phillips’ work. One of the questions that almost always comes to mind when reading about Americans like Jason Dunham is:

“Where do these heroes come from? How do we keep producing them?”

To answer that, we tried to research Jason Dunham's boyhood, his family, his town and then trace the lineage of the 3rd Battalion, 7th US Marines. These are from where this hero came.

Lance Corporal Mark E. Dean of Owasso, Oklahoma, a mortar man in Jason’s company, said this:

“God made something special when He made Jason.”

Yes, that is so true. God sent us this young man. But as you will see, there were many influences that helped build this man that reinforced God's work. He was a lucky young man to have experienced these influences, and those he saved by his heroic actions benefitted from Jason's life's experiences and God's good graces.

Mike Phillips gets us started by telling us that Jason Dunham is the son of Deb and Dan Dunham and the product of Scio, New York, a town of about 2,000 people in Allegany County in Western New York, about 70 miles from Buffalo, in New York’s beautiful southern tier. Scio is a close-knit community. Mr. Dunham is an Air Force veteran and works in the shipping department of a company that makes industrial heaters. Mrs. Dunham is a home economics teacher. That's mom in the photo above hugging Jason, like only moms can do. The Dunhams had four sons. Jason was the eldest, so right off the bat, you can sense he had to fill a leadership by example role.

Evan Dawson, published in Rochester Today, Benning W. De La Mater, writing for the Democrat and Chronicle, and Daniel Leblanc for the Olean-Bradford-Wellsville Times Herald, give us some insights to Jason’s youth and family.

Jason was born November 10, 1981. He grew to 6 ft. 1 in. and was a three-sport athlete for the Scio Central Tigers: baseball, soccer and basketball, all of which honed his leadership and teamsmanship skills. Some say "Don't mess with Texas." Well, in Scio they say, "Don't mess with the Tigers." So there's a little of that fighting spirit.

Jason was voted best looking and best smile. He graduated from Scio Central School in 2000 and promptly joined the Marines in July. He had actually signed up for the Marines before graduation, in a delayed entry program.

His funeral was held in his school gymnasium. His casket sat beneath a basketball hoop. The gym was the largest place in the area that could hold the crowd that was expected, a crowd that turned out to be 1,500 strong.

Some 500 Marines, sailors and soldiers came to the funeral to honor Jason. Residents of the town lined the sidewalks and sat on their porches as the procession drove by. The town hung an American flag above the highway, and yellow ribbons were everywhere.

Jason’s high school basketball coach Matt Moretti was not surprised that Jason threw himself on a live grenade to protect his colleagues:

"To be honest with you, my first thought was, 'I wish he hadn't.' Because then we wouldn't have lost him. But knowing Jason, it wasn't even an option."

Scio Spanish teacher Darcy Fuller remembers him as a hero before he entered the Marines:

"He’s a hero to a lot of the kids. He was their hero even before he put on a uniform.”

Scio social studies teacher Judy Consedine remembers him when she visited his home:

"He was only about 5 years old. He came up from under the table and presented me with some chocolate chip cookies. He flashed a smile that I will never forget. It lit up the room.”

And, central to Jason's character, Scio teacher Chick Casagrand said this:

"He was very caring in the classroom. In the classroom, if someone was struggling, he was the first one to offer help.”

Vickey Layton is Jason’s aunt, shown in the foreground, lower left in this photo. She lives on Rochester, New York, to the north. She set up a memorial to Jason on the porch of her green home on Blossom Road. Jason’s photo was there above pink roses, below American and Marine Corps flags and between two yellow ribbons. People go by, some stare, and some honk their horns.

One 5-year old boy, Sean Ladwig, contributed a crayon drawing after seeing the memorial with his parents. On the front of the paper card he drew an American flag and wrote, in a 5-year old’s script:

“Marines keep me safe.”

Inside the card is a self-portrait of Sean with the words:

“Thank you for my freedom.”

Vickey put up the memorial as a form of therapy. Her two roommates, Lisa Cox and Brenda Brennan, shown in the photo above standing to the rear, helped her put up the memorial. Vickey has been quoted saying:

”It (the memorial) helps me … through the hard times. I had to honor him in some way … I want people to realize that freedom isn’t free.”

Vickey has some great memories of Jason and one of his brothers, Justin, coming to Rochester for periodic visits. Lisa Cox said Jason was a “fun-loving, great guy,” and took to everyone well. They all would skate at Cobbs Hill Reservoir, hit balls at batting cages, and jump into garbage cans at the zoo.

When Jason was still in high school, he would call his aunt and her roommates for advice on girls. Vickey still remembers changing his diapers when he was a baby.

Jason has an uncle named Tim, 45, and Tim is a race driver, mostly as a hobby (his car is in the photo above). Larry Ott, writing for Raceway Magazine, tells us that Jason served in the pit crew for his uncle along with his dad. Tim reflected on nephew Jason this way:

“He came home this past Christmas and made a point of trying to see everyone that he knew and he gave them all a big hug and smile. I'll sure remember that smile and hopefully I can also have a good racing season as I've dedicated this year to him.”

Breezy Point Campsite near Scio, New York

Bob Loonsberry, who operates his own web site at loonsberry.com, provides some reflections on the town of Scio. He wrote this:

“This is a small town, in the hills of Western New York, where most people work with their hands and their backs. Where the men chew tobacco and drive pick-ups, where the women make pies and babies and look after husbands who live large and loud. It’s a place so rural most Americans can’t imagine it, but a place so pure most Americans can’t forget it. It’s the place where we all grew up, or at least the place where we all dreamed of growing up, watching Mayberry or reading Huckleberry, skipping school to splash in the creek and run barefoot through the fields. It’s that kind of place. The land of the free and the home of the brave.”

Commenting on Jason, Loonsberry said this:

“From all accounts, he was a great kid. Nice to people, not stuck up about his good looks or athletic ability. He was popular in school, where his mother teaches, and knew most of the younger kids in town because he’d babysat them one time or another. And in a place like Scio – pronounced sigh-oh, with the accent on the first syllable – it seems everybody knows everybody. He wanted to go to college, but he didn’t have the grades for it. So he went in the Marine Corps.

That’s an easy thing to say – ‘He went in the Marine Corps’ – but people who’ve never done it can’t begin to understand what it means. To lie in bed at the position of attention and sing the Marines Hymn every night at boot camp, to wear arguably the most honored uniform in the world, to be part of something larger and more noble than yourself. It gets into you. And it got into him. At least that’s what you figure from what happened.”

Well, what about this Marine Corps Jason Dunham joined?

Why did he join the Marines? His mother is quoted by Tony Perry of the Los Angeles Times putting it this way:

“Because they were the toughest.”

His dad commented that it seemed like a good fit. Rick Davis, reporting for The Desert Sun, quoted Jason’s dad saying this:

“He’s a little more rugged than me and needed to go where the rugged went. We’re all very strong about the military being good for young kids, for teaching discipline and responsibility. Jason’s been my hero since he was born. All my kids are. They never had to do anything to prove that to me."

Jason Dunham entered the Marine Corps on July 31, 2000. He completed recruit training at Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, South Carolina. He trained to be a machine gunner and ended up with the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment based at the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in Twentynine Palms, California. He served his first hitch in Iraq with this outfit. He was transferred to another Twentynine Palms-based unit, the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines and deployed with it to Iraq for a second time in February 2004.

Let’s talk a little about this place called Twentynine Palms and the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines.

Twentynine Palms is the home of the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center (MCAGCC) – Marine Air Ground Task Force Training Command. The MCAGCC has a two fold mission: operate live fire combined arms training that promotes readiness of operating forces; and to provide facilities, services, and support, responsive to the needs of tenant commands, Marines, Sailors and their families. This photo, taken by Pfc. Lanessa J. Arthur, shows Marines navigating through Range 400 at the MCAGCC to find the quickest and safest route.

The town of Twentynine Palms is located in the California desert, on the north side of the Joshua Tree National Park, directly east of Los Angeles near I-10 and Palm Springs in southeast California. This is the home of the 1st Marine Division.

The 1st Marine Division, nicknamed "The Old Breed," is the oldest and most decorated division-sized unit in the US Marine Corps. It was activated aboard the battleship Texas February 1, 1941. Regiments of the 1st Marines were formed earlier at Guatanamo Bay, Cuba. The 1st Marine Division was formed by integrating the 5th Marines, created in Mexico in 1914; the 7th Marines activated in Philadelphia in 1917; and the 11th Marines formed at Quantico, Virginia in 1918. Jason's 3rd Battalion is part of the 7th Marines.

One of the motivators to form the 1st Marine Division was WWII in the Pacific, and the need to protect Australia from potential Japanese invasion. The US was the only nation with enough forces left to get to the South Pacific for that job. The Japanese had moved to within striking distance of Australia when a decision was made to capture Japanese held islands in the region and push the enemy back to Japan.

Early in 1942, the Army's 37th Infantry Division headed to the region and in late June and early July 1942 the 1st Marine Division landed at Wellington, New Zealand to participate. It was quickly decided that a stand was going to have to be made at Guadalcanal. It was most threatening island because it lay closest to Australia and to the South Pacific ferry route, and it was large enough to host a major airbase.

US Marines resting on field at Guadalcanal, 1942, US Navy Archives

As a result, the first major test for the United States, its Pacific allies, and the 1st Marine Division was in 1942 at Guadalcanal. The battle lasted six months. Admiral "Bull" Halsey was quoted saying:

"Before Guadalcanal the enemy advanced at his pleasure -- after Guadalcanal he retreated at ours."

The division also fought at Peleliu and Okinawa.

A Marine of the 1st Marine Division draws a bead on a Japanese sniper with his tommy-gun as his companion ducks for cover. The division was working to take Wana Ridge before the town of Shuri. Photo credit: S.Sgt. Walter F. Kleine, Okinawa, 1945.

Okinawa was the largest amphibious invasion of the Pacific campaign, a ferocious fight, the bloodiest battle of the war that left more dead than died from the A-bomb attacks against Japan years later.

U.S. Marines in landing crafts head for the seawall at Inchon, National Archives

The 1st and 5th Marines of the division landed at Inchon, Korea in 1950, and the 7th Marines, with its 3rd Battalion, came all the way from the Mediterranean to follow up and reinforce.

1st Marine Division receives the order to withdraw from their positions near the Chosin Reservoir in North Korea after repelling a surprise attack by three Chinese communist divisions. Photo was taken Nov. 29, 1950, two days after the Chinese entered the Korean War by throwing 200,000 shock troops against Allied forces. DoD Photo by Sgt. Frank C. Kerr, USMC.

The division also fought its way out of the Chosin River Reservoir against seven Communist Chinese divisions. Everyone thought the division would be lost, but instead, it achieved a victory during a retreat.

Element of 7th Marines on patrol in Vietnam

In 1965, division elements fought in the first major engagements in South Vietnam and by June 1966 the entire division was in Vietnam. The division fought there for six years and returned to Camp Pendleton in 1971.

Marines with India Co., 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division, provide cover fire as other Marines advance on the headquarters of the Fedayeen in Baghdad, April 9, 2003.

The division again saw battle in Desert Shield, serving in Saudi Arabia to defend it, and then participated in the first Iraq War, Desert Storm, by invading Iraq and destroying the Iraqi military. Elements of the division landed in Somalia in 1992. And, of course, the division is fighting in the second Iraq War that continues to this day.

The 7th Marines traces its legacy back to August 11, 1917, formed in Philadelphia. It has been known as the "Magnificent Seventh." Its history tracks with that of most of the 1st Division. It participated in the landing at Guadalcanal , Cape Gloucester New Britain, Peleliu, and Okinawa. Six members of the 7th were awarded the Medal of Honor for action in these battles. Twenty of its members were awarded that medal for their action in Korea, and nine for Vietnam.

Jason‘s battalion with the 7th Marines was the 3rd Battalion. It is known as 3/7, or “three of the seventh.” It was activated in January 1941 at Guatanamo Bay, Cuba, and was integrated as part of the formation of the 1st Marine Division in 1941.The battalion is known as “The Cutting Edge.”

For about the past year, the 3/7 has been operating in Karbala, which is where Jason Dunham met his fate. He was leading a 14-man patrol there. This is a city of about a half million residents, 50km southeast of Baghdad. It is one of the most holy cities in Islam, most especially for the Shi’is. It has been the scene this spring of intense fighting against combatants led by Shiite cleric Moqtada al-Sadr, who is wanted by the Iraq provisional government for murder. The Marines and US forces in general have done their best to preserve the holy city, but have had to destroy parts of it to fight against forces led by alleged Islamic holy men.

Jason’s battalion commander is Lt. Colonel Matthew Lopez of Chicago, shown in this change of command ceremony. Lopez was hit by gunfire but survived during the battle that ultimately decided Jason’s fate. The battalion’s sergeant major is Sergeant Major Daniel A. Huff. His K Company commander is Captain Trent A. Gibson.

Well, the lineage of the division, the 7th Marines, and the 3rd Battalion is filled with enormous sacrifice, courage, and honor. Marines are well aware of their military lineage, and they are most sensitive to living up to the standards set by those who came before them.

Cpl. Jason Dunham must have done that well. The Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Michael W. Hagee, and the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, Sergeant Major John L. Estrada, were at Jason Dunham’s bedside with Jason’s parents at Bethesda Naval Hospital when Jason passed on.

His battalion also must have thought that he served Marine legacy well. Cpl. Dunham's 3rd Battalion held a memorial for him at Camp Al Qaim, Iraq, on April 29. Sgt. Jose Garcia took these photos:

Marines from Company K, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment stand by for a memorial service held April 29 to honor Cpl. Jason L. Dunham. Dunham belonged to K Company.

Capt. Trent A. Gibson the commanding officer of Company K, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, renders a salute during the memorial ceremony

Marines from 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment bow their heads and recite a prayer during memorial service.

Cpl. Nicholas Fierro, an infantryman 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, kisses a helmet standing in honor of Cpl. Jason L. Dunham.

Marine Sgt. Jose L. Garcia, reporting for the Marines, said this about Cpl. Jason L. Dunham:

"(He) was a 22 year old Marine (who) lived up to the Corps’ largest legends.”

Sgt. Maj. Huff commented:

“This generation of Marines is as good as any generation we’ve ever had in the Corps.”

Sgt. Maj. Bell, the 1st Division’s sergeant major said it this way:

“What Corporal Dunham did equates to what a lot of heroes of our past have done to earn the nation's highest honor."

Now that we all understand the history and lineage of his outfit, those words say a lot about this young man, his family, his teachers, his friends, and his town.

God's speed Jason Dunham. May God shine the light of His presence on you forever.

We honor service and sacrifice. Please click the "Donate" button and contribute $20 or more to help keep this station alive. Thanks.

Michael M. Phillips, has written a book about this young man, entitled, The Gift of Valor. The publisher has said this: "Every day ordinary young Americans are fighting in Iraq, with the same bravery, honor, and sense of duty that have distinguished American troops throughout history. One of these is Jason Dunham, a twenty-two-year-old Marine corporal from the one-stoplight town of Scio, New York, whose stunning story reporter Michael M. Phillips discovered while he was embedded with a Marine infantry battalion in the Iraqi desert. Phillips's minute-by-minute chronicle of the chaotic fighting that raged throughout the area and culminated in Dunham's injury provides a grunt's-eye view of war as it's being fought today—fear, confusion, bravery, and suffering set against a brotherhood forged in combat. His account of Dunham's eight-day journey home and of his parents' heartrending reunion with their son powerfully illustrates the cold brutality of war and the fragile humanity of those who fight it. Dunham leaves an indelible mark upon all who know his story, from the doctors and nurses who treat him, to the readers of the original Wall Street Journal article that told of his singular act of valor."

In Combat, Marine Put Theory to Test, Comrades Believe

Cpl. Dunham's Quick Action In Face of a Grenade Saved 2 Lives, They Say

'No, No -- Watch His Hand!'

By Michael M. Phillips, Staff Reporter of The Wall Street Journal, May 25, 2004; Page A1

AL QA'IM, Iraq -- Early this spring, Cpl. Jason Dunham and two other Marines sat in an outpost in Iraq and traded theories on surviving a hand-grenade attack.

Second Lt. Brian "Bull" Robinson suggested that if a Marine lay face down on the grenade and held it between his forearms, the ceramic bulletproof plate in his flak vest might be strong enough to protect his vital organs. His arms would shatter, but he might live.

Cpl. Dunham had another idea: A Marine's Kevlar helmet held over the grenade might contain the blast. "I'll bet a Kevlar would stop it," he said, according to Second Lt. Robinson.

"No, it'll still mess you up," Staff Sgt. John Ferguson recalls saying.

It was a conversation the men would remember vividly a few weeks later, when they saw the shredded remains of Cpl. Dunham's helmet, apparently blown apart from the inside by a grenade. Fellow Marines believe Cpl. Dunham's actions saved the lives of two men and have recommended him for the Medal of Honor, an award that no act of heroism since 1993 has garnered.

A 6-foot-1 star high-school athlete from Scio, N.Y., Cpl. Dunham was chosen to become a squad leader shortly after he was assigned to Kilo Company, Third Battalion, Seventh Marine Regiment in September 2003. Just 22 years old, he showed "the kind of leadership where you're confident in your abilities and don't have to yell about it," says Staff Sgt. Ferguson, 30, of Aurora, Colo. Cpl. Dunham's reputation grew when he extended his enlistment, due to end in July, so he could stay with his squad throughout its tour in the war zone.

During the invasion of Iraq last year, the Third Battalion didn't suffer any combat casualties. But since March, 10 of its 900 Marines have died from hostile fire, and 89 have been wounded.

April 14 was an especially bad day. Cpl. Dunham was in the town of Karabilah, leading a 14-man foot patrol to scout sites for a new base, when radio reports came pouring in about a roadside bomb hitting another group of Marines not far away.

Insurgents, the reports said, had ambushed a convoy that included the battalion commander, 40-year-old Lt. Col. Matthew Lopez, of Chicago. One rifle shot penetrated the rear of the commander's Humvee, hitting him in the back, Lt. Col. Lopez says. His translator and bodyguard, Lance Cpl. Akram Falah, 23, of Anaheim, Calif., had taken a bullet to the bicep, severing an artery, according to medical reports filed later.

Cpl. Dunham's patrol jumped aboard some Humvees and raced toward the convoy. Near the double-arched gateway of the town of Husaybah, they heard the distinctive whizzing sound of a rocket-propelled grenade overhead. They left their vehicles and split into two teams to hunt for the shooters, according to interviews with two men who were there and written reports from two others.

Around 12:15 p.m., Cpl. Dunham's team came to an intersection and saw a line of seven Iraqi vehicles along a dirt alleyway, according to Staff Sgt. Ferguson and others there. At Staff Sgt. Ferguson's instruction, they started checking the vehicles for weapons.

Cpl. Dunham approached a run-down white Toyota Land Cruiser. The driver, an Iraqi in a black track suit and loafers, immediately lunged out and grabbed the corporal by the throat, according to men at the scene. Cpl. Dunham kneed the man in the chest, and the two tumbled to the ground.

Two other Marines rushed to the scene. Private First Class Kelly Miller, 21, of Eureka, Calif., ran from the passenger side of the vehicle and put a choke hold around the man's neck. But the Iraqi continued to struggle, according to a military report Pfc. Miller gave later. Lance Cpl. William B. Hampton, 22, of Woodinville, Wash., also ran to help.

A few yards away, Lance Cpl. Jason Sanders, 21, a radio operator from McAlester, Okla., says he heard Cpl. Dunham yell a warning: "No, no, no -- watch his hand!"

What was in the Iraqi's hand appears to have been a British-made "Mills Bomb" hand grenade. The Marines later found an unexploded Mills Bomb in the Toyota, along with AK-47 assault rifles and rocket-propelled-grenade launchers.

A Mills Bomb user pulls a ring pin out and squeezes the external lever -- called the spoon -- until he's ready to throw it. Then he releases the spoon, leaving the bomb armed. Typically, three to five seconds elapse between the time the spoon detaches and the grenade explodes. The Marines later found what they believe to have been the grenade's pin on the floor of the Toyota, suggesting that the Iraqi had the grenade in his hand -- on a hair trigger -- even as he wrestled with Cpl. Dunham.

None of the other Marines saw exactly what Cpl. Dunham did, or even saw the grenade. But they believe Cpl. Dunham spotted the grenade -- prompting his warning cry -- and, when it rolled loose, placed his helmet and body on top of it to protect his squadmates.

The scraps of Kevlar found later, scattered across the street, supported their conclusion. The grenade, they think, must have been inside the helmet when it exploded. His fellow Marines believe that Cpl. Dunham made an instantaneous decision to try out his theory that a helmet might blunt the grenade blast.

"I deeply believe that given the facts and evidence presented he clearly understood the situation and attempted to block the blast of the grenade from his squad members," Lt. Col. Lopez wrote in a May 13 letter recommending Cpl. Dunham for the Medal of Honor, the nation's highest award for military valor. "His personal action was far beyond the call of duty and saved the lives of his fellow Marines."

Recommendations for the Medal of Honor are rare. The Marines say they have no other candidates awaiting approval. Unlike other awards, the Medal of Honor must be approved by the president. The most recent act of heroism to earn the medal came 11 years ago, when two Army Delta Force soldiers gave their lives protecting a downed Blackhawk helicopter pilot in Somalia.

Staff Sgt. Ferguson was crossing the street to help when the grenade exploded. He recalls feeling a hollow punch in his chest that reminded him of being close to the starting line when dragsters gun their engines. Lance Cpl. Sanders, approaching the scene, was temporarily deafened, he says. He assumed all three Marines and the Iraqi must surely be dead.

In fact, the explosion left Cpl. Dunham unconscious and face down in his own blood, according to Lance Cpl. Sanders. He says the Iraqi lay on his back, bleeding from his midsection.

The fight wasn't over, however. To Lance Cpl. Sanders's surprise, the Iraqi got up and ran. Lance Cpl. Sanders says he raised his rifle and fired 25 shots at the man's back, killing him.

The other two Marines were injured, but alive. Lance Cpl. Hampton was spitting up blood and had shrapnel embedded in his left leg, knee, arm andface, according to a military transcript. Pfc. Miller's arms had been perforated by shrapnel. Yet both Marines struggled to their feet and staggered back toward the corner.

"Cpl. Dunham was in the middle of the explosion," Pfc. Miller told a Marine officer weeks later, after he and Lance Cpl. Hampton were evacuated to the U.S. to convalesce. "If it was not for him, none of us would be here. He took the impact of the explosion."

At first, Lance Cpl. Mark Edward Dean, a 22-year-old mortarman, didn't recognize the wounded Marine being loaded into the back of his Humvee.Blood from shrapnel wounds in the Marine's head and neck had covered his face. Then Lance Cpl. Dean spotted the tattoo on his chest -- an Ace of Spades and a skull -- and realized he was looking at one of his closest friends, Cpl. Dunham. A volunteer firefighter back home in Owasso, Okla., Lance Cpl. Dean says he knew from his experience with car wrecks that his friend had a better chance of surviving if he stayed calm.

"You're going to be all right," Lance Cpl. Dean remembers saying as the Humvee sped back to camp. "We're going to get you home."

When the battalion was at its base in Twentynine Palms, Calif., the two Marines had played pool and hung out with Lance Cpl. Dean's wife, Becky Jo, at the couple's nearby home. Once in a while, Lance Cpl. Dean says they'd round up friends, drive to Las Vegas and lose some money at the roulette tables. Shortly before the battalion left Kuwait for Iraq, Lance Cpl. Dean ran short of cash. He says Cpl. Dunham bought him a 550-minute phone card so he could call Becky Jo. He used every minute.

At battalion headquarters in al Qa'im, Chaplain David Slater was in his makeshift chapel -- in a stripped-down Iraqi train car with red plastic chairs as pews -- when he heard an Army Blackhawk helicopter take off. The 46-year-old Navy chaplain from Lincoln, Neb. knew that meant the shock-trauma platoon would soon receive fresh casualties.

Shortly afterward, the helicopter arrived. Navy corpsmen and Marines carried Cpl. Dunham's stretcher 200 feet to the medical tent, its green floor and white walls emitting a rubbery scent, clumps of stethoscopes hanging like bananas over olive-drab trunks of chest tubes, bandages and emergency airway tubes.

The bearers rested the corporal's stretcher on a pair of black metal sawhorses. A wounded Iraqi fighter was stripped naked on the next stretcher -- standard practice for all patients, according to the medical staff, to ensure no injury goes unnoticed. The Iraqi had plastic cuffs on his ankles and was on morphine to quiet him, according to medical personnel who were there.

When a wounded Marine is conscious, Chaplain Slater makes small talk -- asks his name and hometown -- to help keep the patient calm and alert even in the face of often-horrific wounds. Chaplain Slater says he talked to Cpl. Dunham, held his hand and prayed. But he saw no sign that the corporal heard a word. After five minutes or so, he says, he moved on to another Marine.

At the same time, the medical team worked to stabilize Cpl. Dunham. One grenade fragment had penetrated the left side of his skull not far behind his eye, says Navy Cmdr. Ed Hessel, who treated him. A second entered the brain slightly higher and further toward the back of his head. A third punctured his neck.

Cmdr. Hessel, a 44-year-old emergency-room doctor from Eugene, Ore., quickly concluded that the corporal was "unarousable." A calm, bespectacled man, he says he wanted to relieve the corporal's brain and body of the effort required to breathe. And he wanted to be sure the corporal had no violent physical reactions that might add to the pressure on his already swollen brain.

Navy Lt. Ted Hering, a 27-year-old critical-care nurse from San Diego, inserted an intravenous drip and fed in drugs to sedate the corporal, paralyze his muscles and blunt the gag response in his throat while a breathing tube was inserted and manual ventilator attached. The Marine's heart rate and blood pressure stabilized, according to Cmdr. Hessel. But a field hospital in the desert didn't have the resources to help him any further.

So Cpl. Dunham was put on another Blackhawk to take him to the Seventh Marines' base at Al Asad, a transfer point for casualties heading on to the military surgical hospital in Baghdad. During the flight, the corporal lay on the top stretcher. Beneath him was the Iraqi, with two tubes protruding from his chest to keep his lungs from collapsing. Lt. Hering stood next to the stretchers, squeezing a plastic bag every four to five seconds to press air into Cpl. Dunham's lungs.

The Iraqi, identified in battalion medical records only as POW#1, repeatedly asked for water until six or seven minutes before landing, when Cpl. Dunham's blood-drenched head bandage burst, sending a red cascade through the mesh stretcher and onto the Iraqi's face below. After that, the man remained quiet, and kept his eyes and mouth clenched shut, says the nurse, Lt. Hering.

The Army air crew made the trip in 25 minutes, their fastest run ever, according to the pilot, and skimmed no higher than 50 feet off the ground to avoid changes in air pressure that might put additional strain on Cpl. Dunham's brain.

When the Blackhawk touched down at Al Asad, Cpl. Dunham was turned over to new caretakers. The Blackhawk promptly headed back to al Qa'im. More patients were waiting; 10 Marines from the Third Battalion were wounded on April 14, along with a translator.

At 11:45 p.m. that day, Deb and Dan Dunham were at home in Scio, N.Y., a town of 1,900, when they got the phone call all military parents dread. It was a Marine lieutenant telling them their son had sustained shrapnel wounds to the head, was unconscious and in critical condition.

Mr. Dunham, 43, an Air Force veteran, works in the shipping department of a company that makes industrial heaters, and Mrs. Dunham, 44, teaches home economics. She remembers helping her athletic son, the oldest of four, learn to spell as a young boy by playing "PIG" and "HORSE" -- traditional basketball shooting games -- and expanding the games to include other words. He never left home or hung up the phone without telling his mother, "I love you," she says.

The days that followed were filled with uncertainty, fear and hope. The Dunhams knew their son was in a hospital in Baghdad, then in Germany, where surgeons removed part of his skull to relieve the swelling inside. At one point doctors upgraded his condition from critical to serious.

On April 21, the Marines gave the Dunhams plane tickets from Rochester to Washington, and put them up at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md., where their son was going to be transferred. Mrs. Dunham brought along the first Harry Potter novel, so she and her husband could take turns reading to their son, just to let him know they were there.

When Cpl. Dunham arrived that night, the doctors told the couple he had taken a turn for the worse, picking up a fever on the flight from Germany. After an hour by their son's side, Mr. Dunham says he had a "gut feeling" that the outlook was bleak. Mrs. Dunham searched for signs of hope, planning to ask relatives to bring two more Harry Potter books, in case they finished the first one. Doctors urged the Dunhams to get some rest.

They were getting dressed the next morning when the intensive-care unit called to say the hospital was sending a car for them. "Jason's condition is very, very grim," Mrs. Dunham remembers a doctor saying. "I have to tell you the outlook isn't very promising."

A Marine kisses a helmet standing in honor of Cpl. Jason L. Dunham during a service at Camp Al Qaim, Iraq.

She says doctors told her the shrapnel had traveled down the side of his brain, and the damage was irreversible. He would always be on a respirator. He would never hear his parents or know they were by his side. Another operation to relieve pressure on his brain had little chance of succeeding and a significant chance of killing him.

Once he joined the Marines, Cpl. Dunham put his father in charge of medical decisions and asked that he not be kept on life support if there was no hope of recovery, says Mr. Dunham. He says his son told him, "Please don't leave me like that."

The Dunhams went for a walk on the hospital grounds. When they returned to the room, Cpl. Dunham's condition had deteriorated, his mother says. Blood in his urine signaled failing kidneys, and one lung had collapsed as the other was filling with fluid. Mrs. Dunham says they took the worsening symptoms as their son's way of telling them they should follow through on his wishes,.

At the base in al Qa'im, Second Lt. Robinson, 24, of Kenosha, Wis., gathered the men of Cpl. Dunham's platoon in the sleeping area, a spread of cots, backpacks, CD players and rifles, its plywood walls papered with magazine shots of scantily clad women. The lieutenant says he told the Marines of the Dunhams' decision to remove their son's life support in two hours' time.

Lance Cpl. Dean wasn't the only Marine who cried. He says he prayed that some miracle would happen in the next 120 minutes. He prayed that God would touch his friend and wake him up so he could live the life he had wanted to lead.

In Bethesda, the Dunhams spent a couple more hours with their son. Marine Corps Commandant Michael Hagee arrived and pinned the Purple Heart, awarded to those wounded in battle, on his pillow. Mrs. Dunham cried on Gen. Hagee's shoulder. The Dunhams stepped out of the room while the doctors removed the ventilator.

At 4:43 p.m. on April 22, 2004, Marine Cpl. Jason L. Dunham died.

Six days later, Third Battalion gathered in the parking lot outside the al Qa'im command post for psalms and ceremony. In a traditional combat memorial, one Marine plunged a rifle, bayonet-first, into a sandbag. Another placed a pair of tan combat boots in front, and a third perched a helmet on the rifle's stock. Lance Cpl. Dean told those assembled about a trip to Las Vegas the two men and Becky Jo Dean had taken in January, not long before the battalion left for the Persian Gulf. Chatting in a hotel room, the corporal told his friends he was planning to extend his enlistment and stay in Iraq for the battalion's entire tour. "You're crazy for extending," Lance Cpl. Dean recalls saying. "Why?"

He says Cpl. Dunham responded: "I want to make sure everyone makes it home alive. I want to be sure you go home to your wife alive."