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He received the Congressional Medal of Honor for his valor in the Chosen Reservoir Battle of the Korean War. He remains one of the most decorated Marines of all times.

Remembering General Davis, by Skip Poindexter

During the night of February 25, 1969, at the Battle of LZ Russell, I managed to step in the way of two AK-47 bullets that nearly severed my right ankle and foot from my leg, and a third bullet that grazed my right shin bone. When the battle was over I was loaded, along with most of those who died that night, aboard a CH-53 to be flown to the hospital in the rear. As I was being carried off the helicopter, I was astonished to see many other helicopters off-loading injured and dead. Rushed in to triage, I was placed on one of the 50 tables in the room, all bearing wounded, with more being brought in behind me. Corpsmen, Doctors and Nurses rushed about in semi-panic, trying to separate the most critical cases from the enormous number of wounded and get them in to emergency surgery. As I watched the chaos, I realized that the battle on LZ Russell was only the tip of the iceberg. With the quantity of casualties entering that hospital, I knew we were only a part of a much larger battle that took place that night.

The Corpsman who tended me quickly gave me a shot of Morphine, cut my boot and pant leg off, sterilized my wounds, splint and bandaged them, had me carried to a hallway by stunned orderlies and laid on the floor. I looked down the hallway, and thought I recognized one of the officers from the LZ, when I saw a General approach him and take him by the shoulders. "What happened, Lieutenant," the General asked him. "How could there have been so many casualties?" The Lieutenant just stared back at the General, seemingly in a state of shock.

At that moment, the General looked down the hallway toward me and our eyes met. The General walked straight to me and squatted down next to my stretcher.

"Hello Son, how are you doing?"

"I'm OK. Just gunshot wounds to my leg. Most of the guys I was with were a lot worse off than me."

"Cigarette," the General asked, pulling a pack of Winstons from his shirt pocket.

"My brand," I thought. "Thanks General," I said, as he flipped one out and lit it for me. Then he laid the pack next to me.

"My name is General Davis. What's your name, Son?"

"Corporal Poindexter," I answered, without awe. "I know who you are. You came up to our hill yesterday, at LZ Russell, to warn us about the NVA in the area". I was bitter. I was angry and still in shock from seeing my friends die on Russell. Someone was to blame for all this and the General seemed like a likely target. Deep down I felt that he was partially responsible for the horrors I had witnessed. His rank seemed to be out of place and frivolous pomposity in a reality where everyone is equal… the reality of combat to the death that I had just survived. I knew his stars would be meaningless in the face of death. At that moment he would be exactly who he is, rather than what he pretends to be in order to dominate those who believe the illusion of superiority. I would soon learn how wrong I was.