“We Were Just Trying to Stay Alive” The Story of Sgt. Joseph Caminiti, USMC and Guam Liberator

Joseph Caminiti is a 100 years old. He celebrated not with grandeur, but with grace—surrounded by family, friends, and a century’s worth of stories. A Marine, a husband, a father, and a war survivor, Caminiti represents a generation that gave everything—and asked for little in return.

Born on October 13, 1924, in the long-gone coal town of Jobeth, West Virginia, Caminiti’s roots were forged in sacrifice. His father, an Italian immigrant, had fought in World War I and was granted U.S. citizenship upon discharge. After reuniting with his wife in Italy, the elder Caminiti returned to the United States and moved the growing family to Bristol, Connecticut. There, Joe spent his formative years as the nation descended into the Great Depression.

“My father worked in just about every shop in Bristol,” Caminiti recalls. “We made it through.”

When the bombs fell on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Caminiti was just 17.

“I was playing cards in the cellar with neighborhood kids when we heard it on the radio. I knew I wanted to defend my country.”

He left high school in his senior year to enlist in the United States
Marine Corps. Though he signed up at 17, the Corps wouldn’t accept him until October 1942, after he officially turned 18.

Becoming a Marine
Training tested more than muscle. Caminiti suffered a bout of bronchitis, causing him to miss a week of basic and forcing a reassignment to a new unit. He never saw the friends he enlisted with again—at least, not until the war ended.

“All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and do your job. That’s where you learned discipline.”

Every Marine begins as a rifleman, and so did Caminiti. He trained at Camp LeJeune before moving on to Motor Transport School. He had hoped to become an aircraft mechanic, but the program was full. Instead, he learned how to drive, maintain, and fight aboard an amphibious tractor—an LVT (Landing Vehicle Tracked), used to land troops and supplies during amphibious assaults.

​Pacific Orders
In October 1943, he requested to deploy and was granted orders. He took a train to Camp Elliott in San Diego, and in December, boarded a troop transport to New Caledonia. The ship zigzagged across the Pacific, dodging submarines and fighting seasickness and storms.

“We ate twice a day. Did a little exercise. We even went through a typhoon.”

Once recovered from another round of bronchitis and reunited with his unit, Caminiti arrived at Guadalcanal, where the U.S. had already taken control. There, he joined an Amphibious Tractor Battalion and began preparing for combat.

Guam: First Blood
Caminiti’s first landing was the liberation of Guam. The Marines waited 66 days aboard an LST, staging at the Marshall Islands until sufficient bombing could soften Japanese defenses.

“We were in the fourth wave. Just before us, a buddy who had just rejoined the unit hit a kettle mine. Killed him and his crew. We couldn’t reach them for three days.”

The fighting was brutal. The night before the invasion, Japanese planes attacked the convoy. The next day, in a tragic error, a U.S. TBF torpedo bomber was shot down by American forces.

“The Navy captain was furious. He wanted the man who gave the order to fire.”

The terrain was harsh--steep, unforgiving hills—and Camp Mills, the base the Marines built after the landing, was carved out with sweat, shovels, and thousands of frogs that had to be cleared out before they could settle.

Their captain, for whom the camp was named, was killed on the first day—wounded during the landing and then struck by a mortar round that landed directly in his foxhole.

Caminiti didn’t have time to reflect. His job was to survive.
“We were just too busy. You think about it too much, you don’t make it.”

War is Fate
Caminiti’s memories of Guam aren’t defined by strategy or glory. They are defined by fate.

“Too many acts of courage to remember. Too many lost. You had to be there.”

He saw friends fall. One was shot through the helmet. Another accidentally set off a hidden aircraft bomb. Entire crews were wiped out in an instant.

But Caminiti never let fear consume him.

“We had training. We trusted each other. When someone went down, we worked harder.”

Home Again
When Caminiti finally returned home to Bristol, Connecticut, he bumped into childhood friends on the very first day. He landed a job at a local shoe store earning $45 a week. Soon after, he met Germaine La Fleur, a factory worker and friend of his sister.

“She wanted to meet the Marine. We went out for eight months and got married. Simple wedding. A good time.”

They were married at St. Ann’s Church and raised three children in a house on Willoughby Street, where they lived for 62 years.
Caminiti eventually left the shoe store to work for New Departure, a General Motors company producing aircraft ball bearings. He remained there for 23 years.

He was called back into the Marines during the Korean War and spent 13 months training recruits at Camp LeJeune before being honorably discharged as a Staff Sergeant.

Never a Hero
Caminiti has never considered himself a hero.
“I just did what I was told. The ones underground, who didn’t come home—they’re the heroes.”
Still, he remained active in the veteran community, attending reunions across the country until there were no more to attend.
“I think I might be the last one left.”

Return to Guam
In recent years, Caminiti returned to Guam for the 80th anniversary of Iwo Jima. He stayed on the island for a week, touring battle sites with military guides. While at the airport in Honolulu en route to Guam, a CHamoru man approached him and asked to speak with him.
“He thought my friend was my agent because I had a camera. He thanked me for saving his life. His family had been prisoners in a Japanese camp during the war. Without Marines like me, he said, they might not have survived.”

On Guam, Caminiti was greeted with open arms. Governor Lourdes “Lou” Leon Guerrero formally recognized him as a Guam Liberator. He shook hands with the Secretary of Defense and laid a wreath on Iwo Jima alongside the Prime Minister of Japan, in a ceremony sponsored by the John Wayne Foundation.

“I wanted to see Camp Mills again. But it was gone. That made me sad.”

The Guam he remembered—27,000 people and dense, wild jungle—had grown into a bustling island of 170,000, more like Hawaii than a battleground. Still, he feels a strong connection to the land and its people.

“I’m for the relationship between Guam and the U.S. military. I’ve seen what’s possible.”

Legacy
Today, Joseph Caminiti still attends church every week. He speaks at events, writes about his experiences, and honors those who didn’t return.
When asked what message he’d leave for the people of Guam and the generations that follow, his response is simple:

“War is hell.”
And if he could talk to his 18-year-old self, about to board that ship to the Pacific?
“Don’t change a thing. It will all work out.”

Joseph Caminiti’s story is more than a tale of war—it’s a portrait of humility, duty, and quiet endurance. A man who saw the world’s worst and returned to help build a better one. A Marine, a husband, a father, and perhaps the last living member of his unit.

But in the eyes of those he helped liberate—he is forever a hero.