The 4’8″ Titan: How Ben L. Salomon—The Underestimated Dentist—Wielded a Machine Gun and Defied All Odds to Save a Hospital and Silence a Century of Doubt

I. The Measure of a Man: Prejudice at the Recruiting Office

The U.S. Army of World War II was an institution built on regulation and standardization, where physical dimensions often served as a prerequisite for capability. When a man standing just four feet, eight inches tall walked into the recruiting office, the reaction was immediate, visceral, and laced with ridicule. Whispers followed him to the barracks; officers raised eyebrows during his physicals. This diminutive figure, whose unwavering determination was his only visible armor, was dismissed as an anomaly, an unsuitable candidate for the brutal conflict unfolding across the globe.

That man was Ben L. Salomon.

Salomon, a trained dentist who had volunteered for service, initially served as an officer in the Dental Corps. In a conflict defined by brutal, existential combat, his technical stature—a non-combat role—matched the world’s low expectations of his physical stature. Yet, Salomon possessed an iron will and a profound sense of duty that transcended all superficial measurements. He would, in time, become a legend, transforming the initial ridicule into unreserved admiration by demonstrating that true courage is not measured in height, but in the depth of commitment to one’s comrades.

II. The Hell of the Pacific: Saipan, July 1944

The Pacific Campaign was a meat grinder, demanding brutal, island-by-island assaults against an enemy indoctrinated to fight to the death. By the summer of 1944, the assault on Saipan was underway—a vital, heavily fortified island that served as a critical stepping stone toward the Japanese homeland.

The American forces, facing intense heat, unforgiving terrain, and an enemy entrenched in caves and pillboxes, paid a staggering price for every yard gained. Ben L. Salomon, temporarily reassigned to the 105th Infantry Regiment, 27th Infantry Division, found himself not on the sidelines, but serving as a surgeon/aid station officer on the front lines, a role he volunteered for when the regimental surgeon was wounded.

On July 7, 1944, the tactical situation shifted from dangerous to apocalyptic. The Japanese, in one final, desperate act, launched the largest Banzai charge of the entire Pacific War. Thousands of Japanese soldiers, screaming and wielding rifles, bayonets, and grenades, poured out of the jungle, overwhelming the forward American lines.

The charge crashed directly into the 105th Infantry’s first-echelon aid station, where Salomon was tending to over 30 wounded soldiers, many of whom were immobile.

III. The Dentist’s Final Stand: The Machine Gun

The aid station was not a combat position; it was a sanctuary, marked by a red cross, where non-combatant personnel offered medical care. When the Japanese wave swept over the perimeter, the medics and wounded were immediately exposed.

Salomon, exhibiting an immediate and breathtaking display of valor, ordered the litter bearers and other available personnel to quickly evacuate the wounded deeper into a bomb-proof shelter. He knew he had to buy them time.

His first action was to engage the enemy who had penetrated the perimeter. He personally shot and killed one Japanese soldier who was bayoneting an American patient at the entrance of the tent. He then took up a M1917 Browning heavy machine gun that had been abandoned by its crew due to casualties. This was the moment the dentist became the warrior.

Salomon was now a non-combatant officer violating every regulation of the Geneva Convention to defend a position of wounded men. His small size, which had drawn laughter months earlier, now seemed to vanish as he manned the heavy weapon.

He engaged the first wave, systematically cutting down the attackers. His aim was ferocious. When the weapon jammed, he stripped it down, cleared the jam, and returned fire. His position was momentarily overrun, and he was wounded, but he did not retreat. He threw his body over the machine gun, pulled out his pistol, and continued the defense.

He forced the first group of attackers back, but the Japanese returned in greater numbers, attempting to flank his position. Recognizing the need to break up the enemy formation, Salomon ordered the immediate evacuation of the aid station, ensuring all wounded and remaining medical personnel were safe inside the deep shelter.

As the last men retreated, Salomon, alone and already wounded, swung the machine gun to cover their movement. He began to deliver an overwhelming volume of fire, pinning the enemy down and sacrificing himself to save the thirty-plus men under his care.

IV. The Count of 98 and the Unprecedented Feat

The tide of the Banzai charge eventually broke, pushed back by the surviving American lines. When the battle subsided and American forces reclaimed the ground, they found the aid station perimeter eerily quiet.

They found Ben L. Salomon slumped over his machine gun.

He was dead.

The official assessment of the site confirmed the unimaginable.

The Gun: His M1917 machine gun was still functional, the barrel blackened from continuous firing. The ammunition boxes were empty.

The Body: Salomon had sustained 76 bullet wounds and multiple bayonet wounds, at least 24 of which were received while he was still alive.

The Carnage: Strewn in a semi-circle around his position were 98 dead Japanese soldiers.

The count of 98 confirmed enemy combatants eliminated by a single, non-combatant officer during one action remains one of the most staggering individual feats in American military history.

It was immediately clear what had happened: The 4’8″ dentist had killed the enemy in waves—not 53 as some sources inaccurately recall, but 98—until he was finally overwhelmed, dying with his finger still on the trigger. He had single-handedly stopped a massive assault that would have certainly massacred every wounded soldier in the aid station.

V. The Long Road to Recognition: Overcoming Bureaucracy

Word of Salomon’s unparalleled valor spread like wildfire, transforming the quiet dentist into a mythological figure. The recommendation for the Medal of Honor—the highest military decoration—was immediate.

However, Salomon’s story faced one last, cruel bureaucratic hurdle: the military establishment that had once laughed at his height now questioned the nature of his death.

The Dental Corps Rule: There was a standing regulation that prohibited a non-combatant medical officer from receiving the Medal of Honor for action while protecting his patients.

The Combat Status: His status as an unarmed medical officer was clear. He was not supposed to be engaging in combat.

The initial recommendation for the Medal of Honor was lost, submerged in the complexity of regulations. For decades, his actions were relegated to a Distinguished Service Cross, an award that simply did not capture the magnitude of his sacrifice.

It took years of persistent effort by veterans, military historians, and a devoted successor in the Dental Corps to overcome the bureaucratic inertia. Finally, in 2002, President George W. Bush presented the Medal of Honor to Ben L. Salomon, 58 years after his death. The citation formally recognized his act of saving the lives of the wounded men in his care by placing the entire machine gun on his shoulder and covering their escape.

VI. The Enduring Legacy

The story of Ben L. Salomon transcends the Medal of Honor; it is a profound lesson in the danger of prejudice and superficial judgment.

The soldier who was mocked for his short stature proved that true strength is not genetic, but psychological. His physical size, once a source of ridicule, became irrelevant the moment he picked up the machine gun. In fact, his small size and agility may have contributed to his tactical advantage, allowing him to move more quickly and present a smaller target on the treacherous island terrain.

His journey from being a non-combatant, underestimated dentist to a warrior who eliminated 98 enemy soldiers in defense of his comrades remains one of the most compelling narratives of World War II. Salomon’s legacy ensures that generations of soldiers and civilians understand a universal truth: Courage, determination, and combat effectiveness are measured by the iron will within, not by the inches on a measuring stick.

He did not wait for orders; he did not seek permission. He simply recognized a critical moment, picked up the heaviest available weapon, and made the ultimate sacrifice, cementing his place not just as a hero, but as a giant among the men he saved.