S. M. Holland

S. M. Holland

We are searching data for your request:

Forums and discussions:
Manuals and reference books:
Data from registers:
Wait the end of the search in all databases.
Upon completion, a link will appear to access the found materials.

S. (Skinny) Holland was born in 1906. When he was 32 years old he began working for the Union Terminal Railroad. Holland, who lived in Irving, Texas, eventually became a supervisor for railroad track and track signals for the company.

On 22nd November, 1963, Holland watched the motorcade of President John F. Kennedy from the overpass in Dealey Plaza. He said that when Kennedy was shot he saw a puff of gunsmoke under the branches of a tree on the grassy knoll.

Holland later gave evidence to the Warren Commission, who reported: "According to S. Holland, there were four shots which sounded as though they came from the trees on the north side of Elm Street where he saw a puff of smoke... No one saw anyone with a rifle. As he ran through the railroad yards to the Depository, Patrolman Foster saw no suspicious activity. The same was true of the other bystanders, many of whom made an effort after the shooting to observe any unusual activity. Holland, for example, immediately after the shots, ran off the underpass to see if there was anyone behind the picket fence on the north side of Elm Street, but he did not see anyone among the parked cars."

He told the television programme, CBS: The Warren Report: "Just about the time that the parade turned on Elm Street, about where that truck is - that bus is now, there was a shot came from up-the upper end of the street. I couldn't say then, at that time, that it came from the Book Depository book store. But I knew that it came from the other end of the street, and the President slumped over forward like that and tried to raise his hand up. And Governor Connally, sitting in front of him on the right side of the car, tried to turn to his right and he was sitting so close to the door that he couldn't make it that-a-way, and he turned back like that with his arm out to the left. And about that time, the second shot was fired and it knocked him over forward and he slumped to the right, and I guess his wife pulled him over in her lap because he fell over in her lap. And about that time, there was a third report that wasn't nearly as loud as the two previous reports. It came from that picket fence, and then there was a fourth report. The third and the fourth reports was almost simultaneously. But, the third report wasn't nearly as loud as the two previous reports or the fourth report. And I glanced over underneath that green tree and you see a - a little puff of smoke. It looked like a puff of steam or cigarette smoke. And the smoke was about - oh, eight or ten feet off the ground, and about fifteen feet this side of that tree."

S. (Skinny) Holland died in 1975.

Samuel A. Stern: Now, on Friday, November 22, will you describe what you did concerning the President's visit and where you were.

S. Holland: Well, about 11:00 o'clock, a couple of policemen and a plainclothesman, came up on top of the triple underpass and we had some men working up there, and I knew that they was going to have a parade, and I left my office and walked up to the underpass to talk to the policemen. And they asked me during the parade if I would come back up there and identify people that was supposed to be on that overpass. That is, the railroad people.

Samuel A. Stern: Where are your offices, Mr. Holland?

S. Holland: At the Union Terminal Station.

Samuel A. Stern: Is that within walking distance of the triple overpass?

S. Holland: Yes, it is. About - less than a quarter of a mile a very short distance.

Samuel A. Stern: And these policemen that you spoke to, there were 3 altogether?

S. Holland: Two - there were 2 city policemen and 1 man in plainclothes. I didn't talk to him. I talked to the city policemen.

Samuel A. Stern: You don't know what his affiliation was?

S. Holland: I know he was a plainclothes detective, or FBI agent or something like that, but I don't know, and I told him I would be back and after lunch I would go up there.

Samuel A. Stern: Approximately what time did you arrive up there?

S. Holland: Oh, I arrived up there, I guess, about a quarter until 12, and I would identify each person that came up there that he worked at the Union Terminal and department so-and-so...

Samuel A. Stern: Yes; and did you participate in identifying people as being terminal or railroad employees?

S. Holland: When they first started arriving, yes; it was my purpose for going up there.

Samuel A. Stern: So, that it is fair to say that at the time the President's motorcade turned into this area, there was no one on the overpass that you didn't know either as Terminal Co. employees, or railroad employees, or as a policeman?

S. Holland: Wouldn't be fair to say that, because there was quite a few came up there right in the last moments.

Samuel A. Stern: There were? Tell us about that.

S. Holland: That I couldn't recognize. There wasn't too many people up there, but there were a few that came up there the last few minutes, but the policemen were questioning them and getting their identification, and...

Samuel A. Stern: Is this just about the time of the motorcade?

S. Holland: Just about the time, or just prior to it, because there was a few up there that I didn't - that I didn't recognize myself.

Samuel A. Stern: Had they been, as far as you could tell, checked by the police?

S. Holland: He was checking them as they came on top of the underpass.

Samuel A. Stern: Did it seem to you that everybody up there had been checked by this policeman for identification?

S. Holland: I think everyone was checked by some person.

Samuel A. Stern: Yes. Can you estimate the number of people that were on the overpass immediately as the motorcade came into view?

S. Holland: Well, I would estimate that there was between 14 to 18 people.

Samuel A. Stern: Now, where was the motorcade when you first saw it?

S. Holland: Turned off the Main Street - in front of the county jail...

Samuel A. Stern: Now, what did you observe from that point on, Mr. Holland: Well, I observed the motorcade when it turned off of Main Street onto Houston Street and back on Elm Street... and the President was waving to the people on this side (indicating)... And about that time he went over like that (indicating), and put his hand up, and she was still looking off, as well as I could tell.

Samuel A. Stern: Now, when you say, "he went like that," you leaned forward and raised your right hand?

S. Holland: Pulled forward and hand just stood like that momentarily.

Samuel A. Stern: With his right hand?

S. Holland: His right hand; and that was the first report that I heard.

Samuel A. Stern: What did it sound like?

S. Holland: Well, it was pretty loud, and naturally, underneath this underpass here it would be a little louder, the concussion from underneath it, it was a pretty loud report, and the car traveled a few yards, and Governor Connally turned in this fashion, like that (indicating) with his hand out, and another report.

Samuel A. Stern: With his right hand out?

S. Holland: Turning to his right.

Samuel A. Stern: To his right?

S. Holland: And another report rang out and he slumped down in his seat, and about that time Mrs. Kennedy was looking at these girls over here (indicating). The girls standing - now one of them was taking a picture, and the other one was just standing there, and she turned around facing the President and Governor Connally. In other words, she realized what was happening, I guess. Now, I mean, that was apparently that - she turned back around, and by the time she could get turned around he was hit again along in - I'd say along in here (indicating).

Samuel A. Stern: How do you know that? Did you observe that?

S. Holland: I observed it. It knocked him completely down on the floor. Over, just slumped completely over. That second...

Samuel A. Stern: Did you hear a third report?

S. Holland: I heard a third report and I counted four shots and about the same time all this was happening, and in this group of trees (indicating).

Samuel A. Stern: Now, you are indicating trees on the north side of Elm Street?

S. Holland: These trees right along here (indicating).

Samuel A. Stern: Let's mark this Exhibit C and draw a circle around the trees you are referring to.

S. Holland: Right in there (indicating). There was a shot, a report, I don't know whether it was a shot. I can't say that. And a puff of smoke came out about 6 or 8 feet above the ground right out from under those trees. And at just about this location from where I was standing you could see that puff of smoke, like someone had thrown a firecracker, or something out, and that is just about the way it sounded. It wasn't as loud as the previous reports or shots.

Samuel A. Stern: What number would that have been in the...

S. Holland: Well, that would - they were so close together.

Samuel A. Stern: The second and third or the third and fourth?

S. Holland: The third and fourth. The third and the fourth.

Samuel A. Stern: So, that it might have been the third or the fourth?

S. Holland: It could have been the third or fourth, but there were definitely four reports.

Samuel A. Stern: You have no doubt about that?

S. Holland: I have no doubt about it. I have no doubt about seeing that puff of smoke come out from under those trees either.

S. Holland, signal supervisor for Union Terminal Company, came to the railroad bridge at about 11.45 a.m. and remained to identify those persons who were railroad employees....

According to S. Holland, there were four shots which sounded as though they came from the trees on the north side of Elm Street where he saw a puff of smoke...

No one saw anyone with a rifle. Holland, for example, immediately after the shots, ran off the underpass to see if there was anyone behind the picket fence on the north side of Elm Street, but he did not see anyone among the parked cars.

Just about the time that the parade turned on Elm Street, about where that truck is - that bus is now, there was a shot came from up-the upper end of the street. And about that time, the second shot was fired and it knocked him over forward and he slumped to the right, and I guess his wife pulled him over in her lap because he fell over in her lap.

And about that time, there was a third report that wasn't nearly as loud as the two previous reports. And the smoke was about - oh, eight or ten feet off the ground, and about fifteen feet this side of that tree.

Maasdam features a teak promenade deck and her interior motifs pay homage to the Dutch East India Company and the Dutch West India Company. The centerpiece of the ship's atrium is a sculpture crafted by Luciano Vistosi and features over 2,000 pieces of glass. Other pieces of ancient artifacts and art pieces are also spread throughout the ship. [6]

Maasdam is a member of the line's Statendam class, otherwise known as S class. She was ordered in November 1989 alongside two sister ships of her class, and was designated hull number 5882. [1] Her keel was laid by Fincantieri in early 1992. [7] Throughout 1992 and 1993, the ship was completed and underwent sea trials, and on 3 December 1993, Maasdam was christened by actress June Allyson at Port Everglades, Florida. Upon her maiden voyage into the Caribbean Sea, she became the fifth Holland America Line ship to bear the name Maasdam. [6]

During her early planning and architectural design phases, there were concerns that Maasdam and the S class would not be in compliance with specific vessel stability requirements mandated by SOLAS 90. The hull design of Maasdam and her sister ships are largely based on Costa Classica, a ship operated by sister brand Costa Cruises. These fears were alleviated, however, following the successful sea trials of the class's lead ship, MS Statendam. [1]

Maasdam serves different regions of the world based on the seasons. During winter months, she cruises to the Caribbean from Port Everglades. During the summer season, she sails from Boston, Massachusetts to Europe, Atlantic Canada and New England.

In 2006, Maasdam underwent dry dock renovations at Grand Bahama Shipyard in Freeport, Grand Bahama. In 2011, Maasdam underwent dry dock renovations at Grand Bahama Shipyard in Freeport, Grand Bahama which increased her passenger capacity. [8]

In December 2016, she visited Oceania, where she undertook voyages from New Zealand. [9]

On 7 November 2018, during a 'Polynesian & South Seas Sampler' cruise, a 70-year-old female American passenger fell between the ship's Deck 3 tender platform and one of the ship's tenders. She was crushed, and she fell into the waters off of Rarotonga, Cook Islands and was later pronounced dead on board the same day. Maasdam returned to Rarotonga a few days later, but despite much calmer seas, Captain Ryan Whitaker canceled all tender operations. [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

Coronavirus pandemic

On 19 March 2020, 842 guests and 542 crew members on board Maasdam were barred from disembarkation in Honolulu, Hawaii due to fears surrounding COVID-19. [15] The ship was allowed to take on appropriate provisions and supplies, however, and began a return journey to the Port of San Diego for debarkation. [16]

Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Holland America suspended its cruise operations through 30 June, and sailings aboard Maasdam were cancelled. [17] In July 2020 it was announced that the ship was sold to an undisclosed buyer with a planned delivery in August 2020. [18] [19]

Visit Holland Museum

The best way to get acquainted with Holland is to take a crash course in its fascinating history-and there's no better place for this than the Holland Museum. Here you'll learn about the arrival of the Dutch in 1847, their struggle for access to Lake Michigan, the devastating fire of 1871, and the amazing story of Holland's rise from the ashes. Also featured are Holland's ties to the furniture industry, the birth of Tulip Time, the war years, and the burgeoning economic growth that continues today. For nearly three-quarters of a century, the Holland Museum has received impressive gifts of Dutch culture from donors here and around the world! With an extensive collection of Dutch fine and decorative arts, there are over 55 seventeenth to twentieth century Dutch paintings, and more than 170 cultural objects such as: Delftware, silver, Dutch costumes and fine furniture. These artifacts tell the story of over 400 years of Dutch History.

The main level hosts both the permanent exhibitions (Permanent Gallery/Holland History) and the temporary exhibitions ( Wichers Gallery and Focus Gallery), as well as the gift shop. The second floor contains only Dutch Galleries. Located on the lower level are the museum's collection of books, papers, and photographs in the Archives and Reserach Library.

For information on the Spark!Lab Smithsonian exhibit, click here!

A few blocks to the West are The Cappon and Settlers Houses, which tell the authentic stories of Holland's earliest settlers. Built in 1874, The Capppon House is a beautifully restored Italianate Victorian and was home to the local tannery proprietor and first mayor of Holland, Isaac Cappon and his 16 children. A few doors down is the Settlers House, a quaint cottage and example of the everyday working-class settler. The Settlers House offers a stark contrast to the granduer of the Victorian styled Cappon House and gives historical perspective to the economic class of the early 1900's.

Follow us on social media , order a Visitors Guide , or sign up for our e-Newsletter !

Holland, William H. (1841&ndash1907)

William H. Holland, soldier, legislator, and teacher, was born a slave in Marshall in 1841. He and his brothers James and Milton were probably the sons of Capt. Bird Holland, a White man who bought their freedom in the late 1850s and took them to Ohio. William and Milton attended the Albany Enterprise Academy, a school owned and operated by Blacks. On October 22, 1864, Holland enlisted in the Union Army's Sixteenth United States Colored Troops, which was organized in Nashville, Tennessee, but included enlisted men from Ohio. Holland participated in the battles of Nashville and Overton Hill and in the pursuit of John Bell Hood to the Tennessee River. He also did garrison duty in Chattanooga and eastern and middle Tennessee. His brother Milton enlisted in the Fifth United States Colored Troops, organized in Ohio, and won the Medal of Honor for his role in the battle of New Market Heights on September 29, 1864.

Holland entered Oberlin College in Oberlin, Ohio, in 1867 and attended for at least two years before returning to Texas, where he taught in various counties and in the city schools of Austin. He also received an appointment to a position at the Austin post office. When he later resigned he had one of his pupils appointed as his successor. In 1873 Holland served as a member of the committee on address at the Colored Men's Convention (see BLACK STATE CONVENTIONS) that met at Brenham.

The date of his move to Waller County is unknown, but in 1876 he won election to the Fifteenth Legislature as a representative from that county. In the legislature he sponsored the bill providing for Prairie View Normal College (now Prairie View A&M University). In 1876 and 1880 he was chosen as a delegate to the Republican national convention. He later submitted a memorial to the Texas legislature for the establishment of a school for the deaf, mute, and blind in the state. The Deaf, Dumb, and Blind Institute for Colored Youth (see TEXAS BLIND, DEAF, AND ORPHAN SCHOOL) was established by law on April 5, 1887. Holland was appointed by Governor Lawrence S. Ross to be its first superintendent on August 15, 1887. His wife, Eliza H. (James), joined the staff in 1890 as an instructor for the deaf. Holland served for ten years before being succeeded by S. J. Jenkins, who served until he died in 1904. Holland then resumed the position and served until his death. He also founded a charitable organization known as the Friend in Need. He and his wife had two daughters. Holland died in Mineral Wells on May 27, 1907.

J. Mason Brewer, Negro Legislators of Texas and Their Descendants (Dallas: Mathis, 1935 2d ed., Austin: Jenkins, 1970). Rayford W. Logan and Michael R. Winston, eds., Dictionary of American Negro Biography (New York: Norton, 1982).


The following, adapted from the Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition, is the preferred citation for this entry.

Paul M. Lucko Revised by Omar Carrizales, &ldquoHolland, Milton M.,&rdquo Handbook of Texas Online, accessed June 29, 2021,

Published by the Texas State Historical Association.

All copyrighted materials included within the Handbook of Texas Online are in accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107 related to Copyright and &ldquoFair Use&rdquo for Non-Profit educational institutions, which permits the Texas State Historical Association (TSHA), to utilize copyrighted materials to further scholarship, education, and inform the public. The TSHA makes every effort to conform to the principles of fair use and to comply with copyright law.

If you wish to use copyrighted material from this site for purposes of your own that go beyond fair use, you must obtain permission from the copyright owner.

‘Howlin’ Mad’ WWII Marine General Goes to War with Army

O n the afternoon of June 24, 1944, a messenger from the Marines’ V Amphibious Corps headquarters entered the frontline command post of the Army’s 27th Infantry Division on Saipan and handed a message to Major General Ralph C. Smith. Smith read the message, pocketed it without comment, and returned to the task at hand—the battle raging just outside his tent. For several days, two of his regiments had conducted fruitless frontal assaults on Japanese positions along areas the soldiers had christened Purple Heart Ridge and Death Valley, with little to show for their efforts besides casualties. The delay was holding up the larger corps attack, a fact that had been pointed out to Smith—a tall, quiet man of 50 with the demeanor of the academic he later became—in a terse telegram from the corps commander earlier that day. To get his division moving again, Smith planned to halt the frontal attacks and start launching aggressive flanking actions the next morning.

He visited his forward positions and returned to his division headquarters to find Major General Sanderford Jarman waiting for him. Smith gave Jarman a detailed briefing of the current situation and went over his plans for the flanking attacks in minute detail. He then called his officers together and told them what he’d known since receiving the message earlier that afternoon: he had been relieved of command, and Jarman was taking over.

Smith and Jarman continued their conversation well into the night, breaking off only when a second message arrived ordering Smith to pack his personal belongings and be on a Hawaii-bound plane before daybreak. He left Saipan without being allowed to say goodbye to the officers and men he had led for over 18 months through three bloody battles.

During that time, Ralph Smith had had a strained relationship with the Marine V Corps’ commander, Lieutenant General Holland Smith. Almost from the beginning of their acquaintance, Holland Smith, a jowly bulldog of a man in his early 60s, was openly contemptuous of the abilities of the Army in general—and of the 27th Division and Ralph Smith in particular.

The tensions that erupted at Saipan didn’t originate there, but resulted from the opening of wounds the two services had barely patched over since World War I. Many Army officers, for example, still resented the Marines for receiving what seemed like an outsized share of praise after the 1918 Battle of Belleau Wood. As for the Marines, there was a perpetual—and well-founded—fear that the Army was scheming to absorb the Corps into its own structure.

Nonetheless, all involved assumed that Ralph Smith’s relief from duty would be accepted as little more than a routine wartime shuffling of commanders. After all, three other Army division commanders had been relieved in the Pacific Theater—two of them by naval commanders—without threatening service relations. Instead, Smith’s relief became the opening salvo of a battle that raged through the remainder of the war and beyond.

T he two men at the center of the controversy were a study in contrasts.

Lieutenant General Holland McTyeire Smith prided himself on his ability to relate to the common Marine. Despite a privileged upbringing in Alabama, he eschewed the trappings of rank, preferring to wear a combat uniform rather than dress whites.

As had been expected of him, Holland followed his father, a prominent lawyer, into law, joining his firm immediately after law school. But the venture was short-lived by his own admission he was a terrible lawyer and lost the few cases he handled. After a year he decided to follow his true love: the military, joining the Alabama National Guard, then winning a commission in the Marine Corps in 1904.

His Marine career took him all over the world. Although he was often under fire, it was as a staff officer, not as a commander—something that ate at him as the years passed. Along the way, Holland picked up the nickname “Howlin’ Mad” for his short temper, which exploded regularly, especially when he perceived any slight against “his” Marines.

Certainly his greatest strength—and weakness—was his complete inability to compromise where his Marines were concerned. While rank-and-file Marines appreciated his efforts, many of his contemporaries viewed his combativeness as misguided and counterproductive. But while some were surprised at his rise through the ranks, his superiors apparently were not among them. Holland was chosen as one of only six Marines to attend the Army Staff College, then the Naval War College, and finally became the first Marine on the Joint Army-Navy Planning Committee. By 1939 he was the Deputy Commandant of the Marine Corps. But his most important contributions were yet to come.

In late 1939 he took command of the 1st Marine Brigade, which eventually became the 1st Marine Division, at Quantico, Virginia. Soon he would be given command of the Amphibious Force, Atlantic Fleet, followed by the Amphibious Corps, Pacific Fleet. Under his exacting eye, the Marines developed and perfected their amphibious doctrine—the Marines’ main raison d’être since the end of World War I. Not only was Holland instrumental in developing this doctrine and the supporting equipment, he personally oversaw the training of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Marine Divisions as well as the 1st, 7th, 9th, 77th, 81st, and 96th Army Divisions.

But he still lacked the thing he desired most: a combat command. He was devastated when command of the 1st Marine Division for the Guadalcanal Campaign, the first great offensive of the Pacific War, went to Major General Alexander Vandergrift. One after another he was passed over for command of each deploying combat division. He began to suspect that he had enemies in high places, but the simple matter was that Holland was almost 60 years old and division commands were going to younger men. Even when Admiral Ernest King placed him in command of the new V Amphibious Corps, the amphibious landing force in the Central Pacific, he continued to believe that the Army and Navy were conspiring to keep him and his Marines from their rightful share of glory.

Less is known about his antagonist, Ralph Smith, simply because he was not one to talk about himself. Unlike Holland Smith, Ralph was known for his calm demeanor. His operations officer once said of him, “I have never, ever seen him angry….As a matter of fact, I don’t recall the Old Man ever saying even a ‘god damn.’”

Ralph Smith’s quiet demeanor belied an adventurous life. He had been taught to fly by Orville Wright himself, and received the 13th pilot’s license ever issued. After a stint in the Colorado National Guard, Lieutenant Smith joined General John Pershing’s punitive expedition against Pancho Villa on the Mexican border and then served under Pershing again in World War I, where he received two silver stars for bravery and was wounded at the Battle of Meuse-Argonne.

Ralph Smith was also an intellectual. He spoke fluent French and was a graduate of the Sorbonne as well as the American War College and the French École de Guerre. In fact, a report he wrote on the École caught the attention of General George Marshall, who personally picked him to serve on the G-2 intelligence staff, where he assisted in the rapid expansion of intelligence services.

It would seem logical that an officer regarded as one of the foremost experts on France and the French military would get command of a division destined for the European Theater. Instead, the Army placed him in command of the 27th National Guard division, then in Hawaii—and directly on the path to controversy.

As the 27th began training for the invasion of the Gilbert Islands—the first leg of the island-hopping campaign through the Central Pacific, set for November 1943—Ralph became concerned about the competence of his subordinate commanders. On top of that, it quickly became apparent that months of manning defensive positions in Hawaii had dulled his division’s fighting edge. Fixing these problems proved a slow process. Many of the unit’s officers resented an outsider being given command of “their” division. Furthermore, it was Ralph’s practice to never dismiss subordinates without ample cause, feeling it was unfair to prejudge his officers without giving them a chance to prove themselves in combat. This trait was at the root of problems to come Ralph’s “extreme consideration for all other mortals,” as a lifelong friend observed, “would keep him from being rated among the great captains.”

T he two Smiths first encountered one another during the planning for the invasion of the Gilberts, soon after Ralph Smith took command. The 2nd Marine Division, under another General Smith—Major General Julian Smith—was to attack Tarawa, while the 27th Division’s 165th Regiment would attack the more lightly defended Makin Atoll, with both invasions scheduled to take place simultaneously on November 20, 1943. Holland Smith’s role was limited to training and administration despite the title of corps commander, he never actually commanded anything during the Gilbert operations. Instead, orders passed directly from Admiral Richmond Kelly Turner, the commander of the naval transport and support element of the operation, to the respective landing force commanders—Julian Smith and Ralph Smith.

To add to the perceived insult, since Holland Smith was not in the tactical chain of command, he was relegated to a ship off the coast of Makin. Left impotent while his beloved Marines were being slaughtered on Tarawa, and unable to strike at any of his superiors, he turned his frustration and anger on the 27th Division and Major General Ralph Smith.

Although it took the same amount of time to secure Makin as it did Tarawa—three days—in Holland’s mind, this was far too long for an island he considered barely defended. In fact, he later claimed, based on the Marine operations on Eniwetok, that the Army should have been able to secure the island in seven hours. It was a charge he would repeat throughout the war and beyond. While it was true that Makin was a much easier nut to crack than Tarawa, there were several important facts Holland failed to consider.

First, many of the Marines on Tarawa were Guadalcanal veterans, while the soldiers of the 165th were facing combat for the first time and thus naturally more cautious. Second, the number of enemy on Makin was far higher than the 250 Holland had assumed in fact, there were some 750. Additionally, Makin was covered in thick jungle, unlike the sparser terrain of Tarawa, making movement much slower.

Most significantly, Holland failed to take into account that the Army approach to warfare was very different from that of the Marines. Army ground forces were accustomed to much slower, deliberate operations utilizing all aspects of combined arms and avoiding frontal assaults. That made sense since the Army’s mission included lengthy ground campaigns. The Marines, on the other hand, were created as an assault force. Their mission was to land, smash the enemy’s defenses, and get out. The Marine theory was that a unit might take more casualties in the early stages of the fight, but by avoiding a protracted campaign, where the enemy might regroup and counterattack, losses could be contained to an acceptable level.

Neither approach was superior they just reflected different service cultures and the different circumstances under which the two forces were meant to be deployed. This tension had been reflected in Holland’s initial criticism of the Army’s plan, which he had derided as needlessly complicated. While the Marines planned to go straight across Tarawa’s beach into the enemy stronghold, the Army planned a two-pronged landing on Makin to pinch the enemy flanks.

Holland Smith vented to his staff and to reporters that the Army’s slowness had kept him from going to Tarawa—conveniently overlooking the fact that Admiral Turner had not given him permission to land there. Holland’s rage at the Army for its perceived missteps reached a boiling point the morning after the last day of the battle—November 24, 1943—when a Japanese submarine just off Makin sank the escort carrier Liscome Bay, killing more than 700 sailors. In his mind, the 27th had the sailors’ blood on their hands: if the division had moved more quickly, the Liscome Bay would have been long gone and safe. A more extreme example of the bitterness with which he had come to regard Ralph Smith’s unit came in an accusation he made shortly afterward to his staff: that the 165th allowed the body of its commander, Colonel Gardiner Conroy, to lie within view of the enemy for three days because the men were too scared to recover it. (He continued to perpetuate this story after the war, although the unit diary and an affidavit by the division chaplain clearly indicate that the body was recovered within an hour and buried within 24 hours.)

If ever there was a time for Ralph Smith to rise in a loud and vociferous defense of his men, this was it. But being disrespectful was not in his nature. Besides, as he later said, Holland’s rantings did not affect the mission, so he saw no need to respond in kind.

The undercurrent of interservice differences—and the fury they provoked in Holland—was mitigated somewhat during the operations in the Gilbert Islands, and the operations in the Marshalls that followed. In those campaigns, the Army and Marine Corps were deployed in parallel operations on separate islands, the battles were over in a matter of days, and Holland Smith did not have operational command after the landings. All that changed on Saipan.

O n Saipan, the size of both the island and the Japanese garrison meant that operations would last for weeks rather than days and involve several divisions. For that reason, Holland would land on the island and, for the first time, function as a true tactical commander. Saipan would also mark the first time since Guadalcanal that Army and Marine forces would conduct operations on the same terrain. This time, the 27th Division would be in reserve, with two Marine divisions (2nd and 4th) conducting the initial landings on June 15.

The 27th landed the next day, and immediately went into action, capturing the Aslito Airfield and joining an eastward sweep, with the 4th Marine Division in the north, the 27th in the center, and the 2nd Marine Division in the south. But as the advance moved steadily across to Nafutan Point, the 27th fell behind—the result of more difficult terrain, higher-than-anticipated enemy resistance, and an unwillingness to bypass enemy strongholds as the Marines did. This caused the line to bow into a U, forcing the Marines to wait until the Army caught up. Holland fumed about the Army’s slow pace, exclaiming to his staff, “The 27th won’t fight and Ralph Smith will not make them fight!”

Things came to a head starting on June 21, when Holland ordered Ralph Smith to leave a battalion to mop up the remaining Japanese at Nafutan Point, while using the rest of the division in a northward sweep. Holland did not specify where the battalion should come from, but because he and Ralph had previously discussed using the 105th Regimental Combat Team for mopping up operations, Ralph ordered its 2nd Battalion to undertake the mission, even though it was in the corps’ reserve and therefore under Holland Smith’s command. Then, as if to underscore the slow pace of the 27th, the unit was an hour late in launching an attack on June 23, which in turn kept the Marine units on either side from attacking on time.

Holland had had enough. He visited Admirals Turner and Raymond Spruance seeking permission to relieve Ralph Smith from command. Thinking a change of leadership would get the 27th Division moving again, Spruance approved the request.

At the time, no one was angrier about Ralph Smith getting sacked than Lieutenant General Robert Richardson, the commander of Army forces in the Pacific. Like Holland Smith, he was hyper-partisan, obsessed with ensuring the Army received its proper share of recognition in the Central Pacific. In fact, it was Richardson who campaigned vigorously against the Marines getting any command above division level early in the war. And it was Richardson who threw fuel on the fire of the Smith vs. Smith controversy.

On July 4, while Americans were still fighting on Saipan, Richardson convened a board of inquiry into Ralph Smith’s relief. The board was headed by Lieutenant General Simon Bolivar Buckner, who limited testimony to only Army officers and official records. Unsurprisingly, the board found that although Holland had the authority to relieve Ralph Smith, the relief was not justified and should not adversely affect Ralph Smith’s career.

Then, a week after hostilities on Saipan ended, Richardson landed on Saipan and—without authority or permission—presented commendations to the 27th Division. This was a breathtaking breach of military etiquette. His actions were clearly designed to send a message to Holland about how the Army viewed the 27th’s performance. It was a blatant enough insult that Admirals Turner and Spruance both complained to Admiral Nimitz about Richardson’s actions.

None of this diminished the Army’s anger over Ralph Smith’s relief from duty. Service relations became so strained that several Army commanders (Ralph Smith’s replacements, Major Generals Sanderford Jarman and—after him—George Griner included) wrote letters to the Buckner Board stating that Army units should never serve under Holland Smith again. It was especially significant that Jarman, who initially agreed with Holland about the lack of aggressiveness in the 27th, soon believed that Holland was too prejudiced to make an impartial assessment of any Army unit.

Back in Washington, General George Marshall and Admiral Ernest King expressed concern that relations between the two services had deteriorated beyond normal rivalry. They decided not to take official action, hoping the controversy would die on its own.

It was left to the media to pick up the fight, which it did almost as soon as the battle on Saipan finished. On July 8, 1944, the San Francisco Examiner, a Hearst publication, castigated Holland Smith as a butcher who measured fighting spirit by casualty numbers. In response, Time and Life magazines—led by correspondent Robert Sherrod, who had landed with the Marines at Tarawa and Saipan (and later Iwo Jima)—took the Marines’ side. Sherrod claimed that the 27th had “frozen in their foxholes” and had to be rescued by the Marines. Moreover, he asserted that the final Japanese banzai attack on July 7, during which 3,000–4,000 Japanese had attacked two Army battalions, had only been stopped by a Marine artillery battalion.

But the reality was the battle had raged for a full day and, in the end, the 27th suffered more than 400 killed and 500 wounded against a confirmed 4,311 enemy dead. Only about 300 Japanese casualties were in the Marine sector.

When Admiral Nimitz, in response to his articles, recommended that Sherrod’s credentials as a war correspondent be revoked, Holland’s long friendship with the admiral began to crumble. Holland saw it as a personal betrayal and a rebuke of his actions—a belief reinforced when Nimitz marked Holland as only “fair” in the loyalty section of his fitness report. Perhaps most galling, when planning began for the landings at Okinawa, Tenth Army was given to the man who had exonerated Ralph Smith—Simon Bolivar Buckner—while Holland was moved out of the combat zone. Afterward, Holland blamed Marine casualties on poor Navy support and accused Nimitz of riding to fame on the shoulders of the Marines. The crowning insult—and a sure sign that Holland Smith was on the outs with those who counted most—came when Douglas MacArthur, with Nimitz’s consent, refused to invite Holland to witness the surrender of the Japanese—a surrender that was Holland’s victory as much as MacArthur’s.

S till, the conflict surrounding Ralph Smith’s relief from duty might have been relegated to the past more quickly if not for one man: Holland Smith.

Holland began his memoirs, Coral and Brass, in 1946—after he retired and received his fourth star—intending to settle scores. Published in 1949, the book took aim at everyone who had ever crossed him or his beloved Marines. His version of events was so twisted that after reviewing a draft of it, Marine Commandant Clifton Cates, Secretary of Defense James Forrestal, and Secretary of the Navy John Sullivan had urged him not to publish it. These men had just completed the acrimonious unification battle following the war, during which the Army had proposed curtailing or outright eliminating the Marine Corps. They had no desire to fire up a cooling controversy. Even Holland’s most vociferous defender, Robert Sherrod, had refused to coauthor the book, and attempted to get Holland to tone down some of his accusations and correct historical inaccuracies before publication.

The Army’s leadership was unsurprised by Holland’s version of events, but senior Navy officers felt betrayed, especially by Holland’s claims that he had fought against the Tarawa landings from the beginning, when, in fact, he not only helped plan the operation, but defended it as necessary at the time. They issued public statements denying his claims, without making any direct attacks on the man. In private letters, however, several admirals questioned Holland’s stability and his motives for publishing a book filled with such easily disproved fallacies. Admiral Harry Hill, who had worked closely with Holland on many landings, threatened to sue him if certain statements attributed to him were not removed from the book before it went to press. He also sent a note to Admiral Turner lamenting, “Poor old Holland…I hate to see him throw away what he gained in his whole career just for the sake of getting all of this off of his chest…he was a very bitter individual.” Ed Love, the 27th Division historian, took such offense to the book that he wrote a point-by-point rebuttal, published in the Saturday Evening Post and Infantry Journal.

The only person who refrained from commenting was Ralph Smith. Happily retired and settled into a second career in academe as a fellow at Stanford University’s Hoover Institution on War, Revolution and Peace, he never once publicly commented on Holland Smith or on being relieved of command. Even when Holland died in 1967, Ralph remained silent. It was not until 1986 that he agreed to speak to historian Harry Gailey—not to exonerate himself, but to defend the courage and competence of his soldiers.

Until his death in 1998 at the age of 104, Ralph remained the stoic he had always been, believing that his actions would speak for themselves. While some have admired his ability to remain above the fray, his silence allowed Holland’s version of events to stand unchallenged long enough to become accepted as the truth by many.

It is hard to imagine that an event that barely registers today as more than a footnote to the Pacific War actually dominated the news and threatened the success of operations at the time. But its influence went well beyond World War II. The incident continued to taint Army-Marine relations through Korea and even Vietnam, as the young men of World War II rose to command in their respective services. In both of these conflicts, the Army went to great lengths to avoid having Army soldiers serve under Marine commanders, and to prohibit Marines from commanding above division level. It was not until the 1986 Goldwater-Nichols Act mandated the creation of joint commands and doctrine, with leadership of the major commands now moving between the services, that interservice rivalries began to abate—assisted by the rise of a new set of senior commanders who had no vested interest in a dispute 40 years in the past. Further proof of the end of this controversy is the almost 10 years of war in Afghanistan and Iraq, during which combatants have served seamlessly under both Army and Marine commanders with few issues. More than 60 years later, this ghost of Saipan has finally been laid to rest.

Holland Island Preservation

Holland Island would sit abandoned and neglected until 1995 when Stephen White (right), a Methodist minister and former waterman who grew up on the island, would purchase it for $70,000 and try to preserve its legacy by creating the Holland Island Preservation Foundation.

For 15 years Mr. White spent time and money attempting to stave off the water, but he had little success.

Stephen built breakwaters out of wood, but the waves devoured them. He and his wife feverishly laid sandbags only to watch them split open in the hot summer sun and dissolve in the high tides. They carried 23 tons of rocks to the island and dropped them at the shoreline, to no avail.

They brought an excavating machine and a small bulldozer to dig makeshift levees and replace shoreline, but the silt would not stand up to the waves. As a last resort Stephen even sunk a barge just off the house to break the waves, but the water could not be stopped.

White estimated he spent nearly $150,000 in his efforts to save the island, and he figured the island shrank by about 20 acres during his fifteen years of ownership.

Top: satellite view of the old house before collapse. Orange rectangle NW of house is sunken barge meant to act as a breaker. Bottom: the only remaining trace of man on the main island.

S. M. Holland - History

Cook County, 20 miles S of the Loop. South Holland evolved from a nineteenth-century agricultural community of Dutch immigrants into a twentieth-century commuter suburb. Founded in 1846 and incorporated as a village in 1894, the community retained much of its ethnic and agricultural heritage for over one hundred years. As farmlands were converted to housing developments and industrial parks, and as the population grew larger and more diverse, South Holland assumed a new role as a racially and ethnically diverse residential suburb.

South Holland, Illinois (cover)
The community began as an enclave of Dutch farmers. Attracted to the flat stretches of prairie in the Calumet region, these settlers at first pursued self-sufficient farming, then soon moved into market gardening, supplying the burgeoning city of Chicago with fresh produce. In 1892, Dutch and German farmers began raising onion sets (small bulb onions ready for planting), and came to dominate the commercial production and distribution of this crop. Their efforts earned for South Holland the title “Onion Set Capital of the World.” This crop and truck farming provided the economic base for the community through the 1940s. Though diminishing in importance after this point, agriculture continued to provide income for Dutch farmers and Mexican migrant workers into the 1960s.

After World War II, South Holland&aposs role in the metropolitan system began to change. Chicagoans hoping to escape the troubles of urban life and developers wanting to satisfy their housing needs found the suburb a desirable location. Once again the open lands proved attractive as farms and farmers gave way to subdivisions and families. Interstate Highways 57 and 94, which made the downtown easily accessible, further encouraged the transformation. The final assault on agriculture came as the local government turned to industrial parks as a tax base.

South Holland Farm Houses, n.d.
Though developers and former city dwellers altered the rural economy of South Holland, they did little to change the conservative character given to the community by its Dutch founders. Blue laws prohibiting certain businesses from opening on Sundays (first introduced in 1959), a ban on liquor sales, and zoning restrictions that disallow apartment buildings and condominiums have all helped to shape and maintain a religious, family-oriented lifestyle. This conservatism was most notably challenged in 1969 when elementary School District 151, a part of which resided in South Holland, was ordered by federal authorities to desegregate, the first school district in the north to be ordered to do so. Though the order roused some protest from South Hollanders, the issue passed without violence. The school district integrated later that year.

No longer reliant on agriculture and no longer predominantly Dutch, South Holland nevertheless holds onto its ethnic past. Tulip festivals capitalize on it and Dutch-denominated churches remind us of it.

Holland History, Family Crest & Coats of Arms

The ancestors of the name Holland date back to the days of the Anglo-Saxon tribes of Britain. The name is derived from their residence in an enclosed region. The surname Holland originally derived from the Old English word hough which referred to a small protected space. [1]

We enclose this quotation in its entirety: "It has been stated on the authority of George of Croyland, who wrote an account of the family in 1550, that the noble and knightly race of this name could trace themselves backwards thirteen generations beyond the Norman Conquest! For 13 we should probably read 3 and there is a more credible genealogy which makes the fundator gentis one Otho, whose son Stephen flourished under Edward the Confessor, as lord of Stevington, co. Lincoln, and his son, Ralph de Holand, it is said, continued to hold his lands by the permission of William the Conqueror. These lands were in the district of Lincolnshire still known as Holland, but there is also a Holland in Lancashire which belonged to the family. They were ennobled by Edward I., and their blood mingled with that of royalty itself by the marriage of Thomas de Holland with the lovely Joane Plantagenet, the Fair Maid of Kent, and granddaughter of King Edward III." [2]

Set of 4 Coffee Mugs and Keychains

$69.95 $48.95

Early Origins of the Holland family

The surname Holland was first found in Essex, where the Saxon Begmundus de Holande was listed c. 975. Lancashire would prove to be a strong homeland in early years as the Assize Rolls of 1246 record William de Holaund at that time. [3]

Some were found at Thingwall, a detached hamlet, in the township of Little Woolton, parish of Childwall, union and hundred of West Derby.

"Thyngwall was given in exchange by King John to an individual whose name is not now on record. In the following reign, Richard, son of Thurston de Holland, held a carucate of land here 'of our lord the king,' for one mark, in exchange for his inheritance in Snodden (Smithden), 'which the king placed in his own forest.'" [4]

"During the thirteenth century the descent of the manor [of West Derby] followed that of the wapentake and land between Ribble and Mersey, but in 1316 Thomas, earl of Lancaster, gave the manor, with 300 acres of wood, to Robert de Holand, and about four years later confirmed the grant with large additions, viz., the manor of West Derby. [5]

Another branch was found at Dalbury in Derbyshire in early times. "In the reign of Edward II. Dalbury and Lees were the property of Sir Robert Holland." [4]

In Scotland, "there are several places named Houlland in Shetland and there are Hollands in Orkney. Hollandbush is in Stirlingshire, and Holland-Hirst is in the parish of Kirkintilloch. Willelmus de Holland, was a witness in the reign of Alexander II. Richard Holande, vicar of Ronaldsay, 1467 derived his surname from one of the three places so named in Orkney. " [6]


The USS Holland (AS-32) keel was laid on 5 MAR 1962 at Ingalls Shipbuilding Company in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Designed as the first submarine Tender to support Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarines, Holland was commissioned on 7 SEP 1963, just one year, four months and four days after being laid down. Holland's first commanding officer was Captain Charles W. Styer, Jr.

After fit out and shake down, Holland sailed to Guantanamo Bay for training then took up station in her home port of Charleston, SC in November 1963. USS Holland spent April to November 1964 in Rota, Spain tending the "Boomers", then returned to Charleston.

USS Holland spent the next 12 years home ported in Charleston with brief voyages along the East Coast and an occasional deployment to Rota to relive a Sub Tender needing maintenance or dry docking.

In 1975 USS Holland moved her home port to Holy Loch, Scotland. She remained there until January 1982 supporting the Cold War "Boomers" operating in the North Atlantic.

After overhaul in Charleston SC, USS Holland sailed for Diego Garcia via the Suez Canal. Spending June to September 1983 supporting the US Fleet in the Indian Ocean, Holland returned to Charleston via the Panama Canal completing an around the world voyage.

After spending 1984 to 1992 home ported in Charleston SC, USS Holland steamed for Apra, Guam, her new home port, arriving 12 Jun 1992. Holland then passed nearly four years supporting the "Boomers", and any other fleet unit as needed, from her Guamanian station.

USS Holland was decommissioned in Apra, Gaum on 13 APR 1996. She was subsequently laid up at the Naval Inactive ship Facility in Suisun Bay, California.

The USS Holland (AS-32) operational history and significant events of her service career follow:

Watch the video: The Witnesses:. Holland (September 2022).

Video, Sitemap-Video, Sitemap-Videos