Tanya Lee Stone - Courage Has No Color, The True Story of the Triple Nickles: Americas First Black Paratroopers

Ashley Bryan, now an award-winning childrens book author and illustrator, found a way to paint and draw during his time as a stevedore in the Armys 502nd Port Battalion in World War II. This painting, done in France, shows a signalman in Ashleys company.

Perhaps you may have read a book, a true account of an event that parallels your own experience. Tanya Lee Stones story of the Triple Nickles, a story I did not know, does this for me. This story evokes so deeply what I have lived that the emotional passage for me was at times overwhelming. You see, I am a black veteran of World War II. I was drafted at the age of nineteen, out of art college in New York City, into a port battalion. I found my way of insisting on my desire to grow as an artist despite the exhausting work of a stevedore in the Army. From basic training to work on the docks of Boston and then Glasgow, Scotland, and into the surprise invasion of Normandy at Omaha Beach, I survived with a sketch pad in my gas mask and helped by the warm support of the men in my company. Reading this story moved me to take out some of the artwork I had done during the war and share it with Tanya.

As I read the story of First Sergeant Walter Morris and these black paratroopers, my steps and my mood kept me as one of them. All that you will read in this account is what we experienced. How does one survive and outlast the racism that was our daily fare at that time? You will read of how Morris led the men in his company to tap the essential humanity within, transcend discrimination, and overcome the odds. It is an inspiring story of how one fights to assure that decency and pride survive.

Through her telling of the Triple Nickles story, Tanya Lee Stone presents an all-inclusive picture of our struggle to realize the democracy we as Americans are still working toward. You will be caught up in the rhythmic pacing of events that underscore how the Triple Nickles served as a beautiful symbol of what we are as humans, not just as Americans. Despite the indecencies directed toward them because of color, the black paratroopers held rather to the decencies of people who honored their gifts of service to the nation despite color.

This is a moving story, touching, extraordinary. It is an important book.

Ashley Bryan

A student from The Parachute School jumps near the Drop Zone that was later used by the Triple Nickles test platoon. July 24, 1943.

What is it like to jump out of an airplane?

Imagine.

You are a paratrooper suiting up for a jump. Guys on either side of you are doing the same. One jokes about having a dream that the chutes didnt open. Another one says hes glad everyone paid their insurance.

You stand strong, even though you are loaded down with a hundred pounds of equipment strapped to your body main chute, reserve chute, and combat gear.

The jumpmaster walks down the line, inspecting each of you, making sure you are properly fitted. Your life depends on it.

The joking stops.

The jumpmaster commands, Load.

In jump order, your line of troopers your stick climbs into the plane. You follow the trooper in front of you to your spot and sit.

Now you are in the air, on the way to the Drop Zone. Youre chatting with your buddies above the noise of the plane. Puke buckets are always on board, but you dont need one today.

Twenty minutes from the Drop Zone, its time to get serious.

The red warning light near the door turns on.

The jumpmaster stands and shouts, Get ready!

He walks down the line, alerting each jumper with a word in the ear and a touch on the shoulder, making sure each and every man hears him.

You shuffle forward, sticking close to the man in front of you. The man in back of you does the same.

You watch as the troopers in front of you follow each command, quickly disappearing one by one out the open door of the plane.

And now its your turn.

Stand in the door!

Nothing separates you from the sky but one last sliver of floor. The tip of your left boot hangs slightly over the edge.

The wind whips. The white is blinding, bright.

Adrenaline pulses through you.

You look down at a brown and green patchwork quilt of open fields and thickets of trees.

The roar of the engine pulses with the pounding of your heart.

You are over the Drop Zone. Its time.

The jumpmaster bellows, GO!

You jump.

You force yourself to focus. Count.

One thousand, two thousand, three thousand...

Your hand is on the reserve chute, ready if you need it.

Thwap! Your main chute opens, and the line snaps tight. You are floating

down...

down...

down...

Stills from a video of the 555th on
a training jump in 1944.

1) Jumper exits and next jumper prepares to follow

2) Static line pulls the parachute from the pack tray on jumpers back

3) Parachute begins to take shape

4) Parachutes are fully deployed

The rumble of the plane and the jumpmasters shouts are gone.

Your ears fill with a hush unlike any other.

Extreme quiet.

Looking down, feet together, you see the ground through the tiny v space where the toes of your boots almost touch.

Looking up, you see the reassuring inside of your open chute.

Looking out, you see the other jumpers chutes falling with yours like jellyfish swimming through a sea of sky.

A jumper tugs the front side of his chute to move forward as the wind pushes him back. This is called pulling a front slip. Soon, he will put his feet together for a safe landing.

The ground gets closer, rushing toward you as if wanting to swallow you whole.

For an instant, your billowy chute seems like it might cradle you on impact.

Then you hit the ground. Hard. Thud!

Even a perfect landing sends shock waves rolling up through the soles of your feet all the way to your jaw, clapping it shut.