Stitched into Service: The Story of the Harlem Hellfighters

A story of unseen Valor. They fought for a country that barely recognized them. But they left a legacy no one could erase.

Left to right. Front row: Pvt. Ed Williams, Herbert Taylor, Pvt. Leon Fraitor, Pvt. Ralph Hawkins. Back Row: Sgt. H. D. Prinas, Sgt. Dan Strorms, Pvt. Joe Williams, Pvt. Alfred Hanley, and Cpl. T. W. Taylor. Records of the War Department General and Special. Staffs. (165-WW-127-8)

It began with drums and uniforms, with promise and pride.

In 1917, as America entered the Great War, Black men lined up in Harlem to enlist — not just for the fight in Europe, but for a different kind of battle: the fight for dignity, for visibility, for the full rights of citizenship. They joined the 15th New York National Guard Regiment, which would later become known as the 369th Infantry Regiment.

But the nation they fought for refused to fight alongside them.

Shuffled aside, humiliated, denied basic equipment and combat assignments by white American officers, they were finally transferred to serve under French command — the only military force willing to let them prove themselves on the battlefield.

And prove themselves they did.

“We would rather die facing the enemy than live in shame.”

Nicknamed the Harlem Hellfighters by the Germans who couldn’t break them, these soldiers served longer in combat than any other American unit — 191 days on the front lines.

They faced mustard gas. Endless shelling. Brutal trench warfare. And racism at every turn — from both enemies and supposed allies.

Yet their valor never cracked.

Private Henry Johnson, armed only with a knife and rifle, fought off over a dozen German soldiers in hand-to-hand combat to save his comrade. Bleeding and broken, he became one of the first Americans to earn France’s Croix de Guerre — but the U.S. Army ignored his heroism for nearly a century. He returned home to no fanfare. No pension. No medical care.

He died poor and largely forgotten.

He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor in 2015.

They marched home to cheers — and closed doors.

After the war, the Hellfighters paraded up Fifth Avenue, hailed by their own community as heroes. But the wider country returned to form. Racism remained entrenched. Jim Crow still reigned. Few of them were given the jobs, respect, or recognition they had earned in blood.

The Hellfighters’ band, led by James Reese Europe, brought jazz to France. Their music changed the world — but their story remained unheard.

Their service didn’t end segregation. But it planted a seed — a legacy of strength, resistance, and excellence under fire.

A Thread in the Tapestry

History often reserves its spotlight for the victors, the generals, the presidents. But the Harlem Hellfighters teach us that courage doesn’t require applause. True patriotism is sometimes forged in silence — by those who serve even when their country forgets their name.

Their story is not just Black history. It is American history. Woven in trenches, carried on parade routes, and stitched with every uniform thread that bore the weight of being both a soldier and a second-class citizen.

Lesson:

Valor has no color — but injustice always does.

Call to Action:

As you share stories at your family table, ask who in your lineage served quietly, unseen. Visit a local military archive. Listen to a veteran’s story. Or simply speak their name aloud. Every legacy — like the Hellfighters’ — deserves to be remembered, not just for what they did, but for what they endured.