I recently returned from speaking engagements to mark International Holocaust Remembrance Day. A good friend and her dedicated staff hosted my talk at the Holocaust Center for Hope and Humanity in Orlando. Liberator son Frank Towers Jr. was in attendance and even was invited to light one of the six candles in our International Holocaust Remembrance Day ceremony with honored survivors and guests. It was quite a meaningful day, with a lot of thought and dedication put into its planning.

The next day I was at a local high school. The kids, for the most part, were great. I held their attention for 80 minutes. Been a while since I did that.

Now, the first new thing for me in the ‘school talk circuit world’ was that the administration, through my original hosts, asked to see my presentation in advance, in the expectation of flagging any Florida defined partial ‘woke’ or triggering content that might upset the young adults I would be speaking to. (I’m speaking about the Holocaust, people. Everyone should be disturbed about it, but I bring a message of hope for humanity, too.)

Turns out they were ok with 99% of it. They didn’t care for some of the WWII soldier-slang lingo I had used in previously recorded presentations for adult audiences, but I wasn’t going to use that anyway.

SIDEBAR: In this ‘hot news cycle’, the local NPR affiliate was excited to do a telephone interview with me, I guess mainly to show support for teachers besieged with this new state legislation that is terrifying many of them in the classroom. (You can look it up, if you are not familiar. ‘Missteps’, parent complaints, can cost you your job-or worse.) I spoke to the reporter for fifteen minutes about my project, my work, but she seemed to want to get to if I would like to comment on the new legislation. In her rush she got some of my important background facts wrong, and my twenty second comment on my take on the legislation was the only focus she included in her soundbite.

Paraphrasing, I said I just wasn’t all that familiar with the laws but that I also thought I might be getting into ‘trouble’ if I was a teacher in that state. She took that comment for her agenda, so I gave my Florida Holocaust education outreach sponsors a head’s up, after the reporter sent me the link to her story; I didn’t want to embarrass their efforts to reach out to their local educators. When they asked me if I wanted to do it, they had thought the interview was supposed to be about honoring the victims of the Holocaust-instead the word of my appearance was reduced to somehow another soundbite in the culture wars of the day.

For sure, I have no problem with supporting my fellow educators. Our host liaison Stephen did a fantastic job of arranging the speaking engagement with the coordinating Advanced Placement and IB instructor. The auditorium filled with maybe 600 advanced high schoolers, aged grade 10 through 12. I think it went well; I asked a lot of questions, as many as I ‘answered’, and I got some good questions back, and ‘knuckles’, high fives from kids near the front row. The technologist and the booking teacher were impressed and just wonderfully welcoming and later profuse in their thanks. They saw it all. My education liaison Stephen was also very happy with the talk. I appeared to have reached my target audience, which after all was the students, and that felt good. I still ‘got it’, after five years away from daily student contact. And I am grateful for the opportunity to engage with them.

What didn’t feel so good, though, was the lack of response, or even overt presence, of my fellow educators and/or the administration that granted permission for the talk in the first place. There were maybe a handful of adults in the back of the auditorium, and I don’t even have any idea who they were. I didn’t notice any teachers sitting with their students. I was the one who had to gently remind the less mature kids to put the cellphones away. Not one teacher came up to meet me afterwards, to greet me or chat or offer feedback, outside of the gracious host teacher and tech guy.

Later, I mentioned that for me, this was seemingly a more-often-than-not pattern to a new acquaintance/colleague with similar school performance experience. He commented, “Without fail – absolutely 100% of the time – the teachers used the performances as a break. They never attended, not once.” I’m not saying teachers did not attend the presentation, but darned if I could pick them out.

Okay, so I didn’t write this to knock the teaching profession. I’m a champion of you, was one of you for thirty-plus years. I get the part where teachers resent having instructional time pulled, being told once again they have to attend an out of classroom happening not of their own making or choice. But come on. You’re supposed to be setting an example here. At least make the effort to sit though it with your kids. Attentive. Especially given the topic.

And what to make of no-show administrators? Since I’ve retired, with the exception of my own former school district and university, “without fail”, I can’t recall any administrator greeting my appearance with a show of ‘welcome to our school’ or taking the time to introduce me at the podium.

Not one.

What are we supposed to be teaching to our students? It’s ironic because I added this slide specifically for that target audience.

Maybe it’s my ego, or I’m overreacting, but it seems to me if you’re going to have a speaker or performer at your school to inspire young minds, maybe remember that your kids look to you to set the example. Dignify the subject and the message you vetted out of your concern with job security with the respect it deserves.

We’re all busy. But maybe just show up for the next person who takes hours out of their life to bring an important message to your kids, a warning to humanity, but also of hope. Introduce yourself. Stay for a while.

And let the kids see it.

We walked in the snow, squinting against the early winter sun, moving past the headstones in one of the older cemeteries in our town. Small talk wound down as we approached our destination. We stopped, and greeted the reporter who met us there for the event. Austin opened the small bag of black river stones, and each student picked one to write a message onto.

We approached the grave. Well, it is not really a grave, you see—a nineteen year old kid’s body lies somewhere back in Hawaii, at a place called Pearl Harbor. His parents lay just to the south of this marker, passing on 14 and 18 years later. The kid’s body was never properly identified. He lies in a mass grave somewhere else, far, far away.

And here in his hometown, there is not even a flag on his marker. Why should there be? As far as I know, there is no immediate close family left here to tend to his stone, and he is not even here.

But we buy a flag, and Paige affixes it to the holder.

Paige holds the 1942 yearbook senior class dedication, and I pull out a copy of his photograph, and say a few words.

Seventy-five years after his death, after his parents’ pain and anguish at the telegram announcing he was ‘missing in action’, after his classmates’ angst that following June at graduating without him into the new world of 1942, where so many of them would go on to fight and die along with him, a bunch of kids from his high school return. The 17 and 18 year olds are on the cusp of entering a new world themselves.

We come to remember, and to set down our memorial stones.

The kids speak to the reporter, and we pose for one last picture.

We are here for all of 15 minutes before the bus has to return to the school to make another run, due to parent-teacher conferences at the elementary level. It is quick, a surgical tactical strike in an overly crowded and rushed school day; some might say, hardly worth the effort.

You wonder if the lesson will stay with them.

They leave this cemetery, some certainly forever, to go out into the world, having paid their respects to the boy from Hudson Falls whose future ended on December 7th, 1941.

‘One of Their Own’

Local sailor who died at Pearl Harbor remembered by teacher, students

From the Remembering Pearl Harbor, 75 years later series

by BILL TOSCANO

HUDSON FALLS — On a windy Tuesday morning, in a snow-covered cemetery, Matt Rozell’s history class took a somber turn.

Rozell and about 25 Hudson Falls High School seniors stood in the fresh snow at a memorial stone that read, “H. Randolph Holmes,” followed by the words, “Died in action at Pearl Harbor,” “Age 19 yrs” and “U.S. Navy.”

Holmes had been a student in Hudson Falls’ Class of 1942 but left school early, joined the Navy and was killed in the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941.

“We wanted to make sure we didn’t forget Randy,” Rozell told the group, which had taken a quick bus ride on Route 4 to the Moss Street Cemetery. “Especially you in the Class of 2017 because it’s the 75th anniversary of the year he should have graduated.”

Holmes was aboard the battleship USS Oklahoma during the attack and was one of 429 men killed when the ship was struck and capsized. Like many of the sailors on the Oklahoma, his body was not recovered for 18 months and has never been identified. Holmes was buried, with the other “unknown” Oklahoma sailors, in the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific, also known as the “Punchbowl.”

Several years ago, one of Rozell’s students located Holmes’ name on the memorial to those who died on the Oklahoma.

Two of Rozell’s students said Tuesday they had no idea a former Hudson Falls student had died at Pearl Harbor.

“I had no clue,” said Alex Prouty, who went on to talk about what she and her classmates had

learned about the attack. “We learned that there was a loss of a lot of lives and that a lot of people went missing. No one was prepared for it, and our military did the best they could to protect us.”

Jacob Fabian said he learned about Holmes in class as well.

“Before class, no, I didn’t know anything, but now, yes, because of Mr. Rozell’s book,” Fabian said. “We learned a lot about Pearl Harbor, what its effects were, why and how it happened and how monumental it was.”

 During the brief ceremony Tuesday morning, one of the students held up a picture of Holmes from the Class of 1942 yearbook and another held the yearbook itself as they stood by the memorial stone. Rozell had a student hand out black stones, and the students wrote on them and left them on the stone.

“This year’s yearbook is also going to have a page for Randy,” said Rozell, who has written two books on World War II and is working on several more. “It’s important for us to remember him.”

Identification ongoing

Holmes may yet come home.

Five formerly “unknown” sailors from the USS Oklahoma were identified in January, using medical records. The identifications are the first to come from a project that began in April 2015 when the Defense Department announced plans to exhume an estimated 388 of the Oklahoma’s unknowns.

The first exhumations took place June 8, 2015, and the last four caskets were dug up Nov. 9, 2015.

Sixty-one caskets were retrieved from 45 graves. The caskets were heavily corroded and had to be forced open.

The remains were removed and cleaned and photographed. The skeletons were flown to the lab in Nebraska for further analysis, but skulls were retained in Hawaii, where the Defense Department’s forensic dentists are based. [http://poststar.com/news/local/local-sailor-who-died-at-pearl-harbor-remembered-by-teacher/article_8b7006ad-ba5f-5544-85a4-131a5a0b9430.html Material from the Associated Press was included in this report.]

UPDATE:  Randy Holmes has been identified. Now to get him home near his parents…

 A highly recommended PBS video is below.http://www.pbs.org/program/pearl-harbor-uss-oklahoma-final-story/

I did a local talk last week to about 150 local veterans. I spoke about my latest book on the Pacific, the sacrifices, the fact that it was a war that many Americans did not, and do not, know much about, outside of Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima.

My friend Ron took out a full page ad on Veterans Day to honor his father, a World War II veteran and survivor of the Bataan Death March. It was a reprint of a 1946 local newspaper article. John is in my first book, which was also on the Pacific.

THE POST-STAR, GLENS FALLS, N.Y.
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 30, 1946
John Parsons, Local GI, Recounts Jap Tortures
Left for Year’s Hitch; Ended in Manchuria With Gen. Wainwright

By BURR PATTEN

“Just a year’s hitch in Uncle Sam’s army.”

That was the outlook March 24, 1941, when John E. Parsons, 22 Everetts Avenue, local hero, left Glens Falls with a quota of 17 draftees. But it was a far cry from just the year’s hitch. Instead, it included nearly three and one-half years as a prisoner under the Imperial Japanese Army, sharing with General Wainwright the rigors and tortures of Jap prison camps.
For Parsons it was just Army routine up until Dec. 8, 1941, when on a Sunday morning at Clark Field in the Philippines he sat on the steps of a barracks with some fellow soldiers watching an approaching flight of 56 planes which a passing officer described as a “Navy formation.” In a few minutes a thunderous crash of bombs began a nightmare of horror for Parsons which was to run from Japanese barbarism in the “Death March” through prison camps in an itinerary though Formosa, the Japanese homeland, Korea and into Manchuria.
On Christmas day in 1941 it became necessary to evacuate Clark field, and parsons, who was with the 803rd Aviation Engineers, tells of wasted energy put forth in the building of two airstrips in the retreat toward the tip of Bataan in the blind hope that American planes would someday come. Up until March the men who were building and trying to keep strip in repair in the day were doing guard duty on beach at night. By early April they were being used as infantry replacements in the line and soon went to line for full duty where they remained until the surrender.
Rations as such did not exist after the middle of February, even the Calvary horses having been eaten. A rice mill was being operated behind the lines and the food consisted almost entirely of plain boiled rice, small portions twice a day. Whole kernels of dried corn were sometimes boiled, but they were so hard as to be almost inedible. Finally malaria, dysentery and fatigue took their toll of troops running out of ammunition in the face of a foe growing stronger daily, and Bataan fell.

The “Death March”
Of the “Death March” Parsons says, “It just can’t be imagined.” The march was a distance of about 75 miles which was covered in around six days. For healthy troops that would not be exceptional, but for the sick and weak, as nearly all were, it was a cruel ordeal. It was not a continuous march, parade fashion, but rather continued over a period of about a week with groups of 500 being sent out each day. Parsons says they were forbidden to help anyone in any manner, even if he fell. To do so was to invite a rifle butt in the back. He saw three men bayoneted in the back at a rest period when they walked a few feet from their group and knelt over a puddle splashing water on their faces.
The Japanese way of feeding the prisoners, on those days when they did, was to place a bag of about 150 pounds of cooked rice at the head of the column and let them scramble for it. Those at the rear usually got nothing. More food was always promised “tomorrow.”
The termination of the march was at Camp O’Donnell where the most sadistic practices were routine. Prisoners were put in groups of ten, a policy which was in effect from then on, and in the event anyone man attempted to escape or made any move which might be construed as such, the other nine were put to death with him. When this did happen the ten condemned were made to dig their own graves the afternoon prior to their deaths. Then four stakes were driven around the pit and the man was tied hand and foot spread-eagle over the hole so he was forced to stare at his own grave all night. In the morning the entire camp was turned out to witness the executions and the condemned were offered a cigarette and a blindfold, the latter of which was usually refused.
A standing rule of the camp was that all prisoners bow to the guards. The guards would amuse themselves by hiding and jumping out unexpectedly when a prisoner came near. He would then be called to attention and slapped for not bowing. In the three years and five months that he was a prisoner Parsons does not know how many times he had been slapped or beaten but he states “30 would be a light guess.”

In a few days Parsons was transferred from Camp McDonnell to Bilibid Prison in Manila as part of a 12 man detail to work on the docks unloading ships. By this time his weight was down to 116 pounds from a normal of around 175 and his joints had begun to swell and sores were breaking out on him. After he was found too weak to carry even small cases he was he was allowed to report to American medical officers who though under close supervision, had a fairly free hand supervision at the prison. The fact that most of the prisoners there were used as laborers, explain this fairly decent treatment, Parsons reasons.
A combination of medical care and a diet supplanted by smuggled purchases from Filipinos did much toward restoring his health and he was considerably stronger when on Sept. 23 he was shipped to Formosa in a group made up largest of high ranking American, British, Australian and Dutch officers.
At Formosa, or Taiwan as the Japanese called it, he was sent to a Camp Korenko where he spent the next nine months. It was here that he met General Jonathan Wainwright and they remained in the same group until just prior to V-J Day. The Japanese wanted General Wainwright to sign a statement to the effect that they had volunteered to work for their captors. The general refused and forbid anyone else to sign such a statement. As a result the food ration was cut from a bowl of rice twice a day with an occasional bowl of seaweed soup.
It was here that their shoes were taken away from them, including General Wainwright. The fact that they refused to sign up for work did not mean that they were not worked. At this camp and Camp Shara Kowa, also on Formosa where the group spent 16 months, duties consisted of working in rice fields, growing sweet potatoes and making rope.

Before going out of work and before returning to the camp formations were held at the Americans were made to count off in Japanese, usually in groups of ten. To hesitate when it came time to see who would have charge of the groups present was more complicated and thus easier muff. In order to supplement the meager diet whenever possible, PW’s stole food. One day Parsons hid some sweet potatoes with the intention of taking them back to camp. A guard observed him and told him not to touch them. At the end of the day when he thought no one was watching him he again tried to pick them up. The same guard appeared from seemingly nowhere, and parsons today carries the scar of the bayonet wound in his right arm as a reminder of this incident.
The Japanese believed that Formosa would be invaded by our force so on Oct. 9, 1944 the group that Parsons was with was put aboard the Oyruko Maru, which was sunk in the Philippines on a later “voyage” 1600 American PWs. Only a few survived. The Oyruko Maru had considerable difficulty getting out of the Formosa harbor, in fact made three attempts but was driven back twice. Even before the first attempt, the harbor was bombed on Oct. 13, 14, and 15 by American planes with a result that it was about a week before any attempt was made to leave. When the bombing raids came the prisoners were locked in their compartment and timbers were wedged against the door, the hatches were all closed and the ventilation was shut off. One bomb struck so close that it killed 17 Jap soldiers on deck. The 286 men in the compartment had a double row of bare boards to sleep on as bunks which afforded everyone a place to lie down, though they would be shoulder to shoulder.
The first attempt to leave the harbor terminated when the Japs apparently detected a submarine the first night out and turned back laying over in the harbor for five more days. On the second attempt the PWs heard a terrific explosion which they later learned was caused by a torpedo missing the ship and exploding on the shoreline to which they were sailing parallel.
The third and successful attempt was made with an escort of two destroyers. The Japanese took a work detail on deck to wash dishes so these men kept the others in the hold informed of events. There was also a talkative interpreter from whom some information could be gained.

The ship successfully reached the seaport of Moji, on Kyushu, southernmost of the Japanese home islands. By this time the Japanese seemed to see the handwriting on the wall and treatment was generally better. At one time they were quartered for a time in a hotel where hot baths were available daily, something unheard of before.
After a comparatively short stay in the Japanese homeland they were transported to Korea where they went by rail to a camp North of Mukden in Manchuria. Later they were moved back to Mukden where they were when the war ended. The first inkling they had that the war was over was when they saw a B-29 flying low near the prison camp and saw 10 objects parachute out. Later they learned that there were four men and six bundles of supplies dropped. The four Americans were given a rough reception, according to Parsons, and thrown in the prison camp. The following day, August 16, they were liberated by the Russians who had arrived in the vicinity the previous day but because of some technicality had not liberated them.

Free At Last

Parson says that there was not a great deal of demonstrating when they at last learned that they were free. One of the first things they did was to put the japs personnel, from colonel down to guards in the stockade and soon a reversal of procedure took place.
Despite his experiences, if Parson had a burring hatred for the Japanese, he conceals it well. He shows a bitterness towards those of the enemy who participated in the “Death March” and for those responsible for one of the practices at a Formosa camp. That was when on rainy days, the camp would be called out and made to sit in a group on the wet ground facing mounted machine guns. They were told that in the event of an allied invasion 0f Formosa, this would be their fate. This took place about once a week, and having no source of news they never knew if it was the real thing or another rehearsal.
For some of his guards he has a good word. Some of them he says even stuck their necks out to help the prisoners. Oddly enough, the Jap who bayoneted him is one of these. He says, “After that, he acted as if he couldn’t do enough for me.” But, he adds, “For every good one, there were 20 that weren’t.”

Wainwright “Great Guy”
Parsons describes General Wainwright as “a great old guy.” He says that he kept up the morale of the men by talking to them. He told Parsons that he was familiar with the Glens Falls area, having at one time been a colonel at Plattsburg Barracks. Asked if the reports were true about the general having been slapped once by guards, Parsons smiles and answers, “Once?” One time the general was said to have cut his hand on a dish, at least that is what he reported when he sought medical aid. But the story got around camp that a guard had pointed a bayonet at him and the spunky general had pushed it aside with his bare hand.
General Sharp, the adjutant under General MacArthur in the Philippines who was also a prisoner, gave John a card in Formosa reading: “My thanks and regards to you Parsons- William F. Sharp, Major General.” Brigadier General Carl H. Seals wrote a letter to Parson’s mother last September from Walter Reid General Hospital reading in part, “For the past three years I have been a `prison mate’ of your son, John. We left the Philippines together on a Jap ship in September, 1942, and have been together in various prison camps ever since. Throughout prison life he has been a big help to me, doing chores that I was little able to do. In fact, he was always most kind and considerate of my wants, which I shall always appreciate.”

Parsons is the son of Mrs. Edward Parsons, 22 Everetts Avenue, is married, and lives with his wife and two children, a daughter, Gail, and a son, Royal, at that address. He held the rank of staff sergeant at the time of his discharge and is entitled to wear the American Defense Service Medal, American Service Medal, Asiatic-Pacific Medal, Distinguished Unit Badge, with two clusters, Good Conduct Medal, Philippine Liberation Medal, World War II Victory Medal. He was discharged at Fort Dix, N.J., last month after having been a patient at Rhoads General Hospital in Utica for a few weeks.

EPILOGUE

Here is more information from Mr. Parsons’ son.
3-1-2015
“The article from the Post Star’s interview of my dad is 100% true. Few of the men received purple hearts, medals for heroism, and had no medical records. It came back to haunt us years later when dad was denied VA benefits time after time.
Even if money were offered us it is a poor substitute. There was no fishing or camping with dad. My mom and I took care of him, he didn’t provide for us. He was destroyed because of it. There was no honor for him because his country abandoned him when he needed it.”

We have to do better.

Ron tracing his dad’s steps in the Philippines.

I spoke yesterday to the 30th Infantry Division Association at the invitation of Col. Wes Morrison, after a two year pandemic delay. It was wonderful to meet with the veterans, active duty soldiers, and their families and other invited guests, including a Gold Star family who just learned of their father’s association with the 30th, which, as you know, went on to save the train with their attached armored battalions.

I love the graphic above, designed for this 76th annual gathering. Yesterday they learned more about their legacy, and I’m sure it will inspire.