The following collection of personal memories was submitted by squadron members.  This collection describes events in various locations while the contributors were serving with Marine Bombing Squadron Four Thirty-Three.

My Tour with VMB-433: In September of 1944, I was trained as a radio-radar operator prior to going overseas.  I traveled by boat and arrived on Emirau in January of 1945 and was assigned to a VMB-433 flight crew headed by Lieutenant Colonel Miller and Captain Fialcowitz.  Later, I was reassigned to the Major Whitney and First Lieutenant Weidenkeller's crew. 

After several missions, I visited Sydney, Australia, in July of 1945 for rest leave.  In late July, I was assigned to a crew to fly to Hilo, Hawaii, and pick up a new plane.  During this trip, Japan surrendered. Prior to the surrender, VMB-433 moved from Emirau to the Philippines.  As a result, I joined the unit in Malabang.  From there, I was given orders to return to the United States by boat and arrived in San Diego in December, one day before my 21st birthday, and was given leave.  At the end of December, Mary and I were married. After my leave, I returned to San Diego, was awarded an Air Medal and given discharge papers.  Contributed by Charles W. Noble

Eaton K. Goldthwaite—Top Sergeant:  My first encounter with Sergeant Major Goldthwaite was in the late summer of 1943.  He was an "old" man of 36 and I was a 21 year old Second Lieutenant fresh out of Pensacola wearing shining gold bars and Navy wings.  In those days, Marine Corps pilots were transfers from the Naval Cadet Program and I had not worn a Marine Corps uniform until graduation from flight school.  About all I knew about the Marine Corps was what I had seen in the movies... and in the movies, everyone jumped when a sergeant spoke! 

Upon reporting to the Marine Corps Air Station at Cherry Point, I was assigned to the newly formed Marine Bombing Squadron 433.  When I walked into the squadron office and handed my orders to a huge man with six stripes, my knees were shaking as I stood in awe before this rugged Marine.  When he called me "Sir," I actually turned around to see who he was speaking to.  Even though his words came out like thunder, he was polite, gentle, and soft-spoken.  That "tough" Marine was Sergeant Major Goldthwaite and I was sure he was ten feet tall!  For the next two years, we were both assigned to the same Squadron and my respect for him never waned. 

At the end of World War II, we went our separate ways and I did not see or hear of Goldthwaite until almost 45 years later.  It was then that we became friends.  After all those years it was a shock to find out that our First Sergeant was not a huge man, but 5 foot, 10 inches.  He was not a career Marine as I assumed but enlisted in the Corps as the war started.  Because of his age, 35 at the time, he was told he would never be assigned to an operating unit but would be on permanent stateside guard duty with no chance for promotion.  Being a real patriot, he accepted that fate and was shipped off to Parris Island.  Later, he was assigned to a guard detachment at an east coast installation. 

Unknown to his superiors, Goldthwaite had been a newspaper reporter prior to the War.  When off duty, he continued with his primary interest—writing.  His Commanding Officer soon learned that he could operate a typewriter, a rare talent in those days, and he was promoted and assigned to the company office.  Soon, higher ranking officers learned of his talents and his promotions continued.  In only a few months out of Parris Island, he became a Sergeant Major and was transferred to our combat squadron at Cherry Point. 

Later, while operating from a small Pacific island, Goldthwaite wrote his first novel.  During his lifetime, he authored 10 suspense novels, numerous short stories and magazine articles, and was the editor and publisher of several newspapers.  But to the end, his proudest accomplishment was being a Marine. 

On January 15, 1994, Sergeant Major Eaton Kenneth Goldthwaite died in Seattle at age 86.  And in my mind, he will always be 10 feet tall. Contributed by Bill Parks