Compton Post Office Named After Hero Who Saved the Lives of His Fellow Marines

There was a grenade and the most important decision of his life had to be made in an instant.

The decision Private First Class James Anderson Jr. made in the Vietnamese jungle on Feb. 28, 1967, is why a ship, a barracks, a mess hall, a park and a street are named after him. And, as of Wednesday, a post office in his hometown of Compton.

Anderson, the first black Marine to receive the Medal of Honor, was recognized at a ceremony Wednesday at the old Hub City Post Office.

“Private First Class Anderson did something that every human being must ask themselves: ‘Would he have had the courage to do what James did?’” said Rep. Maxine Waters (D-Los Angeles), whose district includes Compton.

Marine Private First Class James Anderson Jr. was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions during the Vietnam War.

(United States Department of Defense)

It took several years for the name change for the Willowbrook Avenue property to be accomplished. The effort began under the leadership of Rep. Nanette Diaz Barragan (D-San Pedro), whose district previously included Compton until redistricting took effect in 2023. In her remarks, Barragan recalled a 2021 conversation with then-Rep. Kevin McCarthy (R-Bakersfield) in which she had to convince him to vote in favor of a bill she had first introduced a year earlier that would bring about the name change.

“I told him the story … and Kevin at that point said, ‘I agree,’” said Barragán, whose bill was signed into law by President Biden in December 2022.

Representative Nanette Diaz Barragan congratulates Valencia Vallery, right, and Melissa Tate

Anderson, who attended Centennial High School, has been honored by a number of names around the world. In 1985, for example, a Military Sealift Command ship was dedicated to him in Sparrows Point, Maryland. It was used to support a Marine brigade in the Indian Ocean until 2009.

Sometime after the nearly 50-ton ship was decommissioned, Barragán said he remembered thinking: “We have to introduce a bill to make sure we continue its legacy.”

Denise Cross, one of Anderson's nieces, recalled how her uncle, before his deployment, would drive her to elementary school on the way to Los Angeles Harbor College.

What was most striking was his car: a 1965 Chevrolet Impala painted in Evening Orchid, a rare color available for only one year.

“He let me sit behind the wheel while he washed and polished it,” Cross said in an interview.

In February 1966, as the Vietnam War was underway, Anderson enlisted in the Marine Corps. After training at Camp Pendleton, he was sent to Vietnam in December 1966.

Representative Maxine Waters speaks at a lectern

“He made that decision,” said Cross, who was 5 at the time. “What surprises me now that I’m a grandmother is that he was only 19.”

Shortly after Anderson left for Southeast Asia, he said, his beloved Chevy was stolen. He never found out what happened.

Trained as a rifleman, Anderson found himself in Vietnam’s Quang Tri province. On that day in February 1967, he and his platoon went on a rescue mission to save a reconnaissance patrol that had been besieged by North Vietnamese forces. Anderson and his comrades were in dense jungle when they came under attack. Soon afterward, Anderson was on the ground with a “tight group of Marines,” according to a U.S. Department of Defense account of the episode. The enemy was about 20 yards away.

Then, a grenade thrown at the Marines landed near Anderson's head. Without hesitation, he grabbed the explosive and brought it close, wrapping his body around it just before the device detonated.

“Anderson’s body absorbed the blast,” the department said. “He died immediately.”

Anderson had just turned 20.

Because of his selfless actions, no other Marines near him were killed.

“If James Anderson were with us today,” Waters said, “he would be 77 years old.”

Private James Anderson Jr.'s post office was built in 1935 in the civic center at Willowbrook Avenue and Compton Boulevard. It is a low-slung, Spanish Revival-style structure with a red-tiled roof framed by tall palm trees.

Following Anderson's death, the institution likely contributed to the flood of letters being sent to his family. The story of his bravery was widely spread a year after his death, when Anderson was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor. That led to tons of letters from people across the country wanting to offer their condolences.

But, said Cross, who lived with the Anderson family, there was a problem: “They didn't know our address.”

“They actually sent letters to the ‘mother of the Medal of Honor recipient,’ and they were delivered,” he said. “It’s quite possible those letters went through that post office.”

Now it bears his name.

Melissa Tate, left, Valencia Vallery and Denise Cross sit at a ceremony for their uncle.

Much of Wednesday's event focused on Anderson's brave sacrifice, and rightly so. But, a day earlier, Cross shared a happier story about his uncle, one he loves to tell.

One day in the 1960s, he said, his uncle was washing his prized Impala when an ice cream truck pulled up nearby. All the neighborhood kids came to place orders, except for one, a boy who sat on the fence because he didn't have money for a piece of candy. Anderson noticed the boy, called him over and “told him to take whatever he wanted,” Cross said.

The boy just wanted a pack of baseball cards, but Anderson offered him ice cream so he could eat with the others. Cross said she only learned that story a decade ago, when the boy with the baseball cards, now a grown man, approached her to share the story.

“What James did for him that day meant so much to him that he still gets emotional when he remembers it,” she said. “James was always a helpful person.”

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