Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters' WWI Heroism

Nov 14 , 2025

Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters' WWI Heroism

Bullets tore the night like thunder. Henry Johnson, alone against a raiding party, bore the burden of survival for his entire unit. Blood streaked his face. His ribs shattered. Yet, still he fought. Still he stood. In that moment, bravery traded no quarter.

The Roots of a Warrior

Born in 1892, Putnam, New York, Henry Johnson grew strong in the shadows of racial prejudice and relentless struggle. A sharecropper’s son, he took work wherever he could, carrying the weight of expectation and defiance in equal measure. When the country called, segregation did not deter him.

Johnson was a man of quiet faith—humble, resilient, shaped by a code forged in hardship. He believed in standing for something larger than himself, a principle that would carry him through hell. His church taught the worth of sacrifice, and his soul carried psalms into war:

“Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9

The Battle That Defined Him

Late May 1918, near the village of Maisons de Champagne, France. Johnson served in the 369th Infantry Regiment, famously known as the Harlem Hellfighters. The night was dark, the advance cold, the air thick with the sting of death.

A German raiding party struck hard and fast, slicing into Johnson’s position. With no one but his service dog standing beside him, he faced over a dozen enemy soldiers attempting to wipe out his unit’s forward trenches.

The reports show what happened next: despite multiple wounds—stabbed more than a dozen times, shot twice—Johnson fought a desperate, ferocious battle. He used every weapon at hand: rifle butt, bolo knife, and raw grit. His dog bit and tore at enemy ankles. Every strike from Johnson stopped the raid in its tracks, buying precious time for reinforcements to arrive.

Courage under fire does not come in tidy packages.

It’s bloodied hands gripping a knife, ribs cracked, a face soaked with your own and enemy’s blood and still refusing to fall back.

Johnson’s actions in that brutal clash saved countless lives and halted the enemy advance, embodying combat’s brutal calculus: fight or die.

“He was a one-man army,” said Major William Hayward, commander of the 369th Infantry. “If Sergeant Johnson hadn’t stood his ground, all our men could have died.”

Recognition Long Overdue

For his valor, Johnson was awarded the Croix de Guerre by the French government—France’s highest WWII honor—with a silver star for gallantry. But across the Atlantic in Jim Crow America, recognition was slow, buried beneath the heavy soil of racist indifference.

It wasn’t until 2015—almost a century later—that the Medal of Honor was finally bestowed upon Henry Johnson by President Barack Obama. A hard-fought victory of truth, long overdue but hard-earned.

The official citation reads:

“For extraordinary heroism in action… Sergeant Johnson’s fearless defense and numerous injuries demonstrate conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty.”

This was a man who went to war as a soldier but came back as a legend.

A Legacy Written in Blood and Honor

Henry Johnson’s story is more than a battle tale. It is the story of a man who endured the war’s darkest hours and carried scars—physical and societal—that never fully healed. He wrestled with demons, but he never broke his code: fight the good fight, protect your brothers, refuse to yield.

His legacy echoes truth in a world too quick to forget.

He teaches us that valor doesn’t wear a clean uniform nor seek applause. It lives in the shadows of sacrifice, in the grit of a man gasping through crackling bullets, in the desperate resolve to stand when every instinct screams to fall.

For combat veterans, he is the storm weathered and the calm that follows.

For civilians, he is a mirror—a challenge to reckon with history’s truths and honor the fallen with the respect they deserve.

Paul’s words ring true through Johnson’s bloodied tale:

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” — 2 Timothy 4:7

Henry Johnson stood tall when the world wanted him down. His story carves through time like a bolo knife through flesh—a redemptive, relentless testament to courage and sacrifice. Let no man’s heroism be forgotten, especially those who bled so fiercely for a country slow to recognize their worth. Remember him. Honor him. Let his faith and fight inspire you to carry your own scars with unyielding pride.