It is probably the most famous picture in the history of warfare. You know the one. Six men, straining against the wind, hoisting an American flag atop a jagged, volcanic peak. It looks like a painting. It’s perfect. It basically won the war for the PR department back home. But the Battle of Iwo Jima photo—the real one, the one Joe Rosenthal snapped on February 23, 1945—is shrouded in more myths than almost any other moment in the 20th century.
People still think it was staged. They think it was the first flag. They think everyone in the photo became a celebrity and lived happily ever after.
Honestly? Most of that is wrong.
The story of the Battle of Iwo Jima photo is actually a bit of a mess. It’s a story of mistaken identity, bureaucratic scrambling, and a group of young men who were mostly just trying not to get shot while they did a job. To understand why this single frame of 35mm film still hits so hard eighty years later, you have to look past the bronze statues and the posters and see the grit underneath.
It Wasn’t Even the First Flag
Here is the thing that usually surprises people: the famous photo depicts the second flag raising of the day.
Early that morning, a smaller flag had been hoisted by Marines from the 2nd Battalion, 28th Regiment. They had fought their way up Mount Suribachi, a 554-foot shell-pocked nightmare of sulfur and ash. When that first flag went up, the ships offshore let out a collective roar of whistles and horns. It was a massive morale boost. But the commander of the battalion, Lieutenant Colonel Chandler Johnson, thought the flag was too small to be seen from the beaches. He reportedly said, "Some son of a bitch will want that flag for a souvenir."
So, he ordered it replaced with a much larger one.
Joe Rosenthal, an Associated Press photographer who had been trekking around the island, heard that a patrol was heading up with a second, bigger flag. He started climbing. He almost missed it. By the time he got to the summit, the Marines were already getting ready to swap the flags. Rosenthal didn't have time to look through his viewfinder. He literally piled up some rocks to stand on, swung his camera around, and clicked.
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That’s it. One 400th of a second.
Because he didn't see the result immediately—remember, this was film, not digital—he had no idea if he’d caught anything good. Later, when a reporter asked him if he had "posed" the shot, Rosenthal thought they were talking about a different, later photo he took of the Marines cheering (the "Gung Ho" shot). He said yes. That single misunderstanding sparked a decades-long rumor that the masterpiece was a fake. It wasn't. It was just lucky.
The Men in the Frame: A Case of Mistaken Identity
For over 70 years, the Marine Corps officially listed the same names for the six men in the Battle of Iwo Jima photo. You might recognize them from books like Flags of Our Fathers.
But they were wrong.
It’s kind of wild when you think about it. This is the most scrutinized image in military history, yet the identities were corrected as recently as 2016 and 2019. For decades, a man named John Bradley—the father of the author of Flags of Our Fathers—was identified as being in the photo. He wasn't. He was involved in the first flag raising, but not the second one captured by Rosenthal.
The actual men in the photo, as confirmed by the Marine Corps after forensic digital analysis of other photos taken that day, were:
- Harlon Block (Killed in action)
- Franklin Sousley (Killed in action)
- Michael Strank (Killed in action)
- Harold Schultz
- Rene Gagnon
- Ira Hayes
Three of these men never made it off the island. They died in the brutal, meat-grinder fighting that continued for weeks after the flag went up. The survivors were whisked back to the States to sell war bonds. It was a weird, jarring transition. One minute you're watching your friends die in the black sand, the next you're being paraded through Chicago and New York as a "hero" for a photo you didn't even know was being taken.
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The Heavy Burden of a Legend
Ira Hayes, a Pima Native American, struggled deeply with the fame the Battle of Iwo Jima photo brought him. He didn't feel like a hero. To him, the real heroes were the guys who didn't come home, like his "old man" Sergeant Mike Strank. Hayes famously spent the rest of his life battling alcoholism and the weight of a public persona he never asked for.
He once hitched a ride a thousand miles just to visit the family of Harlon Block, to tell them that their son was indeed in the photo, even though the government had misidentified him at the time as Henry Hansen.
Think about that. The photo was so powerful that it became a tool for the government, but for the men in it, it was often a ghost that followed them around.
Harold Schultz is another fascinating story. He knew he was in the photo. He lived an entire life, worked for the Postal Service, and barely ever mentioned it. He didn't want the spotlight. It wasn't until after he died in 1995 that researchers started putting the pieces together. There’s something profoundly humble—and a little heartbreaking—about that.
Why the Battle of Iwo Jima Photo Matters Now
Why do we care?
The battle itself was a tactical nightmare. It was the only battle in the Pacific where total American casualties exceeded those of the Japanese. 6,821 Americans died. Nearly 20,000 Japanese defenders died, mostly in tunnels and caves, refusing to surrender.
The Battle of Iwo Jima photo gave a grieving and exhausted American public a reason to believe the end was near. It became the face of the 7th War Loan Drive, which raised $26 billion for the war effort. That’s billions with a "B," in 1945 dollars.
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But beyond the money and the politics, the photo persists because of its composition. It’s a pyramid of effort. It doesn't show faces; it shows bodies in motion. It’s not about individuals; it’s about collective struggle. You can't see the exhaustion in their eyes, but you can see it in the lean of their shoulders.
It’s a reminder that history is often made in the margins. It’s made by 19-year-olds who are tired, scared, and just doing what they're told.
Actionable Insights for History Buffs and Researchers
If you're looking to dive deeper into the reality of this moment, don't just look at the statues. The truth is in the archives.
1. Study the "Unposed" Outtakes
Look for the footage shot by Sergeant Bill Genaust. He was standing right next to Rosenthal with a motion picture camera. Watching the flag actually go up in color film shatters the "staged" myth instantly. You can see the struggle, the wind, and the lack of ceremony.
2. Visit the National Museum of the Marine Corps
Located in Quantico, Virginia, the museum holds the actual second flag. It’s huge. Seeing the tattered edges—damaged by the high winds on the summit—puts the physical scale of the Battle of Iwo Jima photo into perspective.
3. Read the Correction Reports
If you’re a stickler for accuracy, look up the 2016 and 2019 Marine Corps identity announcements. They detail how researchers like Eric Krelle and Stephen Donaldson used forensic vest-pattern matching and equipment configurations to finally give credit to Harold Schultz and Harold "Pie" Keller.
4. Distinguish the Flags
When you see a photo of Iwo Jima, check the background. If there are men standing around looking casual, it’s probably the first flag. If it’s the iconic, straining upward motion, it’s the Rosenthal shot.
The Battle of Iwo Jima photo isn't just a piece of paper or a digital file. It’s a complicated, messy, beautiful, and tragic slice of human experience. It reminds us that even in the middle of the worst things humans do to each other, there are moments of accidental grace that define an entire generation.
Next time you see it on a stamp or a memorial, remember that the guy on the far left was a mailman who didn't want the credit, and the guy at the base was a kid from Texas who died six days later. That's the real history.