Henry Johnson, Medal of Honor Hero of the Harlem Hellfighters

Dec 19 , 2025

Henry Johnson, Medal of Honor Hero of the Harlem Hellfighters

Blood soaked, breath ragged, one man stood alone against the night. Bullets whipped like hell’s own locusts, shadows surged with violence, and Sgt. Henry Johnson carried more than his rifle—he carried the lives of his entire unit on his back. His hands bore the grit of Harlem and the grime of trenches soaked in French mud. This wasn’t just a fight for survival. This was a war to reclaim dignity, defy prejudice, and etch a legacy of valor where none expected it.

The Forge of a Fighter

Henry Johnson was born in 1892 in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, to a world that already tried to break him before he ever carried a rifle. The son of former slaves, he grew up steeped in a faith that was both lifeline and shield. Raised in a devout family, Johnson learned early that true strength came from something beyond muscle or might.

“The Lord’s my shepherd; I shall not want.”—Psalm 23 echoed in his thoughts during the worst nights. His faith anchored him but did not soften the steel beneath. Moving to Albany, New York, Johnson worked as a postal carrier until war called, slipping into the segregated 15th New York National Guard, soon federalized as the 369th Infantry Regiment—better known as the Harlem Hellfighters.

This regiment carried a burden heavier than enemy fire: racial contempt from allies and enemies alike. Yet Henry Johnson’s grit burned hotter than bitterness. He bound himself to a code forged by survival, sacrifice, and a warrior’s honor.

The Battle That Defined Him

May 15, 1918. France’s Aisne-Marne region. The night wrapped like a shroud over the trenches. Henri Johnson and Private Needham Roberts were on sentry duty along a quiet sector of the front. Quiet would not last.

A patrol of at least 24 German soldiers slipped through the darkness, intent on raiding and capturing Allied soldiers. Johnson and Roberts were alone, but they were far from helpless.

Johnson’s account, pieced together from eyewitnesses and Roberts’ later testimony, reads like a testament to relentless fury and survival. When the enemy charged, Johnson gripped his rifle, then grabbed grenades and a bolo knife. Wounded multiple times by bayonets and bullets, he fought back with savage intensity. He shielded Roberts, who’d been gravely wounded, dragging him from harm while slashing through attackers.

Through hours of brutal hand-to-hand combat, Johnson fought with no thought for his own pain—he refused to surrender. At dawn, patrol reinforcements found Johnson bloodied, wounded by at least 21 bayonet and bullet wounds, but alive and victorious. He had single-handedly beaten back an entire raiding party.

There are no glories in scars, only evidence of sacrifice.

Recognition Denied and Finally Given

Johnson’s valor should have rewritten history in the immediate aftermath. Instead, he received only the French Croix de Guerre with palm—the first African American so honored. The U.S. Army awarded him the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Service Cross. But the highest honor, the Medal of Honor, eluded him in life.

It wasn’t until 2015, almost a century after that night in the trenches, that Sgt. Henry Johnson was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor by President Barack Obama. The delay—marked by racial prejudice and neglect—reflected a bitter half-truth about America’s grasp of heroism.

“He single-handedly held off a raid of at least two dozen German soldiers, saving the lives of fellow soldiers and becoming a beacon of courage for all Americans.” — Obama, July 2015.

His comrades called him “Black Death” to their enemies, not because of malice, but because of fear he inspired by sheer will to live and protect others. Roberts, who survived thanks to Johnson, said years later:

“Without Sgt. Johnson, there would have been no need for a Purple Heart.”

Legacy Written in Blood and Honor

Henry Johnson’s story is far from just a historical footnote. It is a testament to the cost of valor in a world too often blind to it. His courage carved a path through prejudice and gave countless veterans a hand to hold in their darkest hours.

His life reminds us—courage is not absence of fear, but a battle against it. It also warns us: recognition delayed is justice denied. Johnson’s wounds were more than physical; they were emblematic of a nation wrestling with its conscience.

“The righteous man may fall seven times and rise again.” — Proverbs 24:16

Johnson rose. His scars bleed into the story of every veteran who fights to be seen and heard, who battles both the enemy abroad and discrimination at home. When darkness closes in, Sgt. Henry Johnson’s fierce spirit lights the way.

In every warrior’s heartbeat, his legacy pulses—unyielding, unforgiving, and unforgotten. He reminds us that true heroism carries no color, only courage. That sacrifice is never silent. And that redemption waits for no man, but honors those who stand when all hope seems lost.

Remember Henry Johnson—not just as a soldier, but as a living testament that valor knows no boundaries, and legacy is forged in the crucible of unbreakable will.

# Sources

1. Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of African American History and Culture — Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters 2. U.S. Army Center of Military History — Medal of Honor Recipients: World War I 3. Barack Obama, Medal of Honor Ceremony Speech, July 2015 4. Harlem Hellfighters Unit History, WWI: The Black Fighting 369th Infantry (Gary D. Foster)