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Welcome to 2025, a momentous year for World War II remembrance and history. So glad that you can join us for these updates, the ‘octogintennial’ anniversary of the end of the war, and of the greatest crime in the history of the world, the Holocaust. 
Iwo Jima,1945. National Archives.
As we look back on this week in history, we reflect on two defining moments of World War II that occurred in March of 1945, each marked by incredible human bravery and sacrifice: the end of the Battle of Iwo Jima and the crossing of the Rhine River by U.S. forces. Both events shaped the course of history, and their stories remind us of the extraordinary courage and resilience of those who fought.
The End of the Battle of Iwo Jima
In my last post, I wrote about my friend Art LaPorte, the 17-year-old Marine who was puzzled by the flag raising on Iwo four days into the campaign, since the battle was far from over with. 80 years ago, on March 26, the Battle of Iwo Jima was declared completed, though some defenders were surrendering as late as 1949! For the U.S. Marines, after weeks of intense fighting, the toll was overwhelming. The famous photograph of the flag raising atop Mount Suribachi on Feb. 23 finally symbolized not just military triumph, but the deep human cost—nearly 7,000 American lives were lost, over 19,000 wounded, and the toll on the Japanese defenders was far worse.
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The Crossing of the Rhine River
Meanwhile, on the European front, U.S. forces were preparing for their own major breakthrough: crossing the Rhine River. By March 1945, Allied forces were closing in on Germany, and the crossing of this natural barrier was a decisive move toward victory. On the night of March 23, 1945, treadway rafts were launched and pontoon bridges were under construction. The stakes were high: As one writer put it, “The Rhine was more than a river. It was a sacred waterway to the Germans, the source of most of their legends and myths. And at this stage in the war, crossing the Rhine was the last barrier between the advancing Allied armies and the conquest of Germany. If the Germans could hold their beloved river, they might be able to stand off the Allies.”

The cost was also high. Albert Tarbell, a paratrooper with the 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division, recalled:

“The 505th made the river crossing first, and when we got there, just as we got off the pontoon onto the dry land, we see this tank hit a mine on the road, and took this 40-ton tank and it just flipped it right over! That’s how powerful the mine was. The Germans had planted the mines, and they had put detonators in there so that after maybe the 10th of each vehicle went over, it would set it off, so you didn’t know when it was going to blow up, or where it was.

And so they said, ‘Go over on the side, go over around it, and go alongside the road.’ We had no sooner gone about 20 feet up ahead when a truck hit another mine, and it blew the guys right out. I could see one guy, he looked like he must have been sitting in the back of the truck, it looked like if you threw a hat up in the air, you know, just flopping up in the air, and the truck went way up in the air! Boy, that was awful!”

Yet as the spring progressed, it was clear that the war in Europe might end soon.

“Now, we really were [moving fast], and we started getting more prisoners giving up to us; groups, maybe platoon-sized. We started getting jeeps up there to ride in. I said, ‘God, this is the way to fight a war.’ It was walking and running, and we were riding in jeeps across this open field; there was a whole line of us, we got to the end of this open field and there was a little bit of woods, and behind the woods there was three Tiger tanks sitting there! That’s when I knew, I said, ‘Hey, this war’s winding down.’ Those guys could have had a field day with us. They could have just wiped us right out.

So we went from one town to the other. One place there was a whole company, their platoon all lined up, ready to surrender to us. And then another time we kept on going, the truck traffic kept getting heavier, and heavier, and heavier. At one point, I don’t know whether it was that same day, I think it was, or it might have been the day after, we got to this one point where it got so bad, we put outposts out to direct traffic. Zimmerman, myself, and George Height was with me again, it seems like everywhere I went he was with me, following me, so we directed traffic. ‘Vehicles to your right, walk on foot to your left.’ Those German guys were throwing their weapons away, and this and that, and oh man. And they even had a calvary ride through [to surrender], God, beautiful horses. But some of these solders were pathetic, you know, worn out, clothes worn and torn, beat up, you know, tired, battle worn.

Towards about dark, a staff car pulled up and out got, you know how you see in movies, German officers, got shiny boots on, got shiny long leather jackets on, the whole nine yards of it—that’s the way these guys were dressed. One said, in perfect English, he said, ‘Where is your general’s command post? This is the commanding general here!’

From what I gathered after, it must’ve been the commanding general of that 21st German Army that surrendered to us. They wanted to surrender to us instead of to the Russians, to get out of the path of the Russians as they were coming in.

So I said, ‘What do you want to see our general for?’
He said, ‘This is the commanding general here, we’re going back there with your general, and we’re going to regroup and fight the Russians!’

I looked at Zimmerman, then I looked at Height, and I said, ‘Well, I’ll tell you what you do, you just go right down this road here, to my right, there’s some MPs down the road, they’ll show you right where to go.’ And I think that was the commanding general of the 21st German Army! They looked like they were in pretty good shape. We laughed, but they were serious. They probably were put in prison; our general wouldn’t have had anything to do with them.”

For those who survived the final push into Germany, the crossing marked a turning point in the war in Europe. They were pushing toward the heart of Nazi Germany, with the prospect of victory finally within reach—but then they encountered the evidence of the greatest crime in the history of the world—the Holocaust. For battle hardened soldiers, it was almost too much.

The Human Cost of War

Both of these events—though separated by vast oceans—remind us today of the price of freedom. These soldiers, almost all of whom were young men just beginning their adult lives, faced insurmountable odds. Their experiences, full of courage, sacrifice, and determination, offer us powerful lessons in resilience and hope.

Welcome to 2025, a momentous year for World War II remembrance and history. So glad that you can join us for these updates, the ‘octogintennial’ anniversary of the end of the war, and of the greatest crime in the history of the world, the Holocaust.Today is special for several reasons, two of which I will outline below.

Road to St. Vith, January 24, 1945. National Archives.

On December 16, 1944, the Battle of the Bulge began as Hitler’s last ditch effort to drive a wedge between the advancing American and British forces with a quarter million man German counteroffensive following D-Day and the Normandy breakouts of the summer and fall. Today, January 25, eighty years ago, all German forces had been pushed back to their original starting points; while the fight was not over for a long shot, today marked a turning point in the war in Europe.  Nineteen thousand American boys were killed in the bloodiest US battle of WWII, over the course of six weeks, in the coldest winter in European memory. Average age, 19. 80 years?  Was it really that long ago?





USHMM via Reuters.

Also on this day in 1945, the German SS dynamited the building of gas chamber and crematorium V in Auschwitz-Birkenau to destroy the evidence of their crimes as the Red Army approached from the east. The liberation of Auschwitz, the most notorious killing center of World War II, was at hand, the eightieth anniversary of which will be commemorated on Monday, January 27; one of my good Holocaust educator friends is co-leading a delegation of 50 or so survivors for this occasion. Talli and I were there together in an emotional journey I wrote about in my book, A Train Near Magdeburg.

This gas chamber operated from April 1943 to January 1945; Zyklon B was dumped in through openings after people were inside. 1.1 million people were murdered here, in a VERY short amount of time.

So what does it all mean, eighty years on? Time marches on, but as you may have read in my books, it’s not so much ‘how soon we forget’, as it is, ‘did we take the time to listen‘ the first time around, to our teachers, to our veterans? Do we as Americans even know our history? You know, in my books, I let the veterans and survivors speak for themselves, and for their friends and family who were killed or murdered. [I’m preaching to the choir now, and that’s the last thing I want to do-but hopefully we don’t move on until we pause and say their names.] 

And I’ll leave you with an upbeat note- I went into the classroom again in December to talk about Pearl Harbor and a local kid who died there, as I discussed in my first book, The Things Our Fathers Saw, Vol. 1, Voices of the Pacific. First time since retirement, and I’m happy to report the old man still has it, and the teenagers were HUNGRY for this knowledge, just like they were when I taught them at this high school in upstate NY. I left them all with free copies of that book with 19 year old Randy Holmes remembered in it. I’ll leave you with some books mentioned in this email below for further reading, and report back soon with some updates as 2025 moves on, with the anniversaries, and with our upcoming mini-series.Exciting!

~Matthew Rozell, Author/Educator

Nineteen thousand American boys were killed in the bloodiest US battle of WWII, over the course of six weeks, in the coldest winter in European memory. Average age, 19. Here is one 19-year-old’s story. 80 years? Was it really that long ago?

Talking about Randy on my Youtube channel. Maybe you’ve heard it before, but I’ll keep reminding people until the day I die.

Just a quick note: I’m at my old holiday haunt at the Shirt Factory, 21 Cooper Street, Glens Falls, NY., 11 to 5, Friday, Saturday, Sunday in the tea shop first floor 106, 11 to 5, to accommodate my fans for in person meet and greet and signings, and see my local friends!
Don’t forget, I will have the new book OVER THE HUMP, now 11 in total (3600 pages and a million words, no fooling), with bundle Black Friday savings. I retired my shop space there on the 3rd floor focus on my creative endeavors. There’s only one of me… thanks always for the love and support. Mini-series news soon!

25 or 30 years ago, during a symposium with Pacific veterans in the Hudson Falls High School library, I overheard local Pacific veterans discussing among themselves during a break about a kid, Randy Holmes, from Hudson Falls who was killed at Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. I asked them more, and snuck down to the ‘vault’, and dug out the 1942 yearbook. His classmates had dedicated it to him as he had left school early to join the Navy. He was killed on the Oklahoma. Yesterday, his finally identified remains were interred at Arlington 83 years later.
Trishna Begam, local Albany anchor and reporter, knew of my connections to WW2 and HF, and told me after getting a press release from the navy, and found Randy’s great niece. Then she took the time to come up to Moss St. Cemetery to interview me, and Randy’s great-niece, also in the story below, contacted me. Though my lifelong mission was to bring him back to HF to lay next to his parents, Arlington will do! I am glad he is remembered, but my students and I never forgot. No one called him Harry, by their way. He was Randy to his friends and family in our hometown of Hudson Falls. He opens and closes my first [2015] book.


Pearl Harbor sailor from Hudson Falls buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

HUDSON FALLS, N.Y. (NEWS10) — The remains of a local Navy sailor who died 82 years ago were laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery Thursday afternoon. The U.S. Navy says Harry R. Holmes was aboard the USS Oklahoma during the attack on Pearl Harbor. His local connection is still cemented in his hometown of Hudson Falls and well documented by retired high school history teacher Matthew Rozell.


At the Moss Street Cemetery in Hudson Falls, Rozell showed NEWS10 the marker that sits in place for the hometown hero who was almost lost to time.


Rozell explained, “His grave is right here. He left school early. He would’ve graduated with the class of 1942.”

The young sailor died in action at Pearl Harbor. “My big question was ‘Where is his body? Where is he?’” Rozell wondered for years.

The Navy answered that this year. According to Capt. Jeff Druade, the director of the Navy Casualty Office, Project Oklahoma was started in 2015 to identify service members lost on the Oklahoma during the attack. Three hundred eighty-eight service members were unaccounted for — among them Fireman 3rd Class Harry Randolph Holmes. On December 7, 1941, Holmes was aboard the USS Oklahoma when Japanese torpedoes hit the hull and capsized the battleship in less than 12 minutes. His remains were identified eight decades later through DNA profiling.


“He was loved. He had a mother, father who are over there behind us. And they were never able to bring their son back,” Rozell added.

Letter reveals what soldier who inspired ‘Saving Private Ryan’ left at Normandy
This October, 82 years after his death, his country was determined not to forget the young sailor’s sacrifice. He was brought to his final resting place at Arlington National Cemetery.

“A young boy at 19 years old, set foot out to protect our country,” said Rachael Bubbs, a great niece to Holmes.

Bubbs was present, along with her father, to honor her great uncle’s bravery and service. Through DNA profiling and matching samples with surviving family members, the Navy tracked down Bubbs in Florida.

“He was buried in the Punch Bowl for so many years, but now he’s going to one of the greatest cemeteries,” she said. “When everything was presented to me, it was an honor to be truly connected back to that true piece of history.”


It’s history that’s been etched into the stone in his hometown.
Rozell explained, “It’s an important moment in the North Country because he was one of the first killed in WWII from New York. He was only 19. He didn’t get to graduate with his classmates.”

Those classmates knew Holmes by his middle name, Randy, as Rozell would learn from members of the class of 1942. “Listening to his friends, WWII vets, all gone now, they are no longer with us — it was Randy, Randy, Randy. H Randolph Holmes.”

They helped keep his life of service alive. “I dug through the archives, found the yearbook. That’s when I saw the picture of him taken in the backyard of his family home in Hudson Falls.

It’s the only photo of Holmes from a full page from the high school yearbook. He was known as a popular student with a sterling character. Bubbs said, “He went to war for our country, to fight for it. Pearl Harbor is the start of where we are today.”


His country ensuring that Holmes is revered for the generations to follow.

Project Oklahoma has individually identified 356 crew members of the Oklahoma through DNA and matched with surviving family members.

Mr. Hudson Falls.

We lost a good, good friend in our community this week.

I really don’t remember the first time I made the acquaintance of Kendall McKernon, but it doesn’t really matter. I know it was relatively late in life, and we got to know each other at the Sandy Hill Farmers Market in Juckett Park. Here’s this guy, poking around with his camera taking shots wide and long, but also up close and candid, engaging in conversation with the vendors and just reveling and eating up the back and forth. I was sitting there hawking my first book, and he would come by the table to chat me up, and take photos of me and book subject WWII veteran and fellow former HFHS history teacher Alvin Peachman, which somehow wound up in the local weekly The Chronicle. Alvin was our own embodiment of Hudson Falls and Kingsbury, but Kendall was becoming one as well.

Matthew Rozell and WWII veteran Alvin Peachman, Juckett Park, September 2015, by Kendall.

Later, he came to Juckett Park for the dedication of a tree in my name, and wrote up a succinct summary of the event, complete with his candid photos—he just had the knack, the artist’s eye, for framing his subjects, no matter what the subject—and conveying the emotion, the beauty to the viewer, as all in the community who witnessed his work can attest. I recognized the inherent uniqueness in his work, and helped him learn how to watermark the images that he was posting out to the world. In the article, he deflected attention from himself as a ‘chronicler of all things Hudson Falls’—but you were, Kendall. You just were.

I was happy for him when he opened his shop at the Sandy Hill Arts Center at the former Masonic Temple, a vision he helped Bill realize with his own love and faith of our community. Naturally, he wanted to carry my history books. My regret right now, as with many of us, is that maybe we didn’t just drop in and sit with him for a while in our busy worlds. As a former shopkeeper myself, sometimes it can get a bit lonely in slow times, though a few times when I slowed my truck driving past, to see an opening, he was definitely holding court with the ladies or some customers. It made me smile, because the times when I did stop, I got some good stories with a twinkle, and caught up on the local happenings, of course.

I’m sad for Kathleen, his daughter, my former student (sorry Kat, but you were Kathleen to me!) for his friends and former classmates who really knew him better, especially Joyce, Bill, and Tom—but he was ours for a moment; he certainly was a kindred soul.

The memory of Kendall is just a warm bath moment for me. Kendall McKernon was ‘Mr. Hudson Falls’ in my book, for our era, and his work will live on, like his memory and his legacy.

The Man, by one of his friends.

You have made your mark; go forward, sweet sir and gentle prince of Hudson Falls and Washington County, and be free with your beloved and all the ancestors greeting you right now. ~MR

Over The Hump.

I recently finished my 10th book in The Things Our Fathers Saw series. It covers a pretty much unknown aspect of American involvement in World War II, the China/Burma/India arena of the war.

In the writing of this series, I have been approached by people, generally children of combatants, and sometimes in slightly indignant fashion, wanting to know ‘why there is no CBI Theater’ focus in my books, as if I considered these men and women who served in that arena somehow less worthy of recognition and study. The ordinary unfortunate explanation was simply that comparatively few Americans served there, a complex and confusing pocket of activity that technically is not even classified a ‘theater’ of operations in the sense of, let’s say, the European or Pacific Theaters. It did not have a unified combat command per se; there weren’t any conventional U.S. infantry divisions slogging it out in China, Burma, or India—most of the ground fighting was done by British, Indian, and Chinese troops. Only about a percent and a half of Americans in uniform during World War II were engaged here, most in supporting roles; less than 3,000 U.S. ground troop volunteers made up legendary long-range fighting forces known as Merrill’s Marauders and others, who were pushed to the brink of extinction after just five months of combat.

Yet I found some amazing stories, from a nurse who was just one of two accompanying Claire Chennault’s famed mercenary ‘Flying Tigers’ taking out Japanese bombers over China and Burma, to the men who flew dangerous high altitude cargo missions from India to China over the Himalayas, to the Marauders on the ground and the fighter pilots who supported them from the sky. It clocked in at 362 pages of narrative oral history, and I hope it closes this gap in the knowledge of World War II; the last Marauder died just as I began writing it in January. You can get it at my direct store above in the SHOP MY BOOKS tab, or look it up at that behemoth, Amazon. The TOC is pasted below. Thanks for reading and your support.


In VOLUME 10 of The Things Our Fathers Saw® series, ‘Over The Hump/China, Burma, India’, we will visit with the veterans of most overlooked theater of World War II as they prepare to fly over and march through the most inhospitable terrain on the planet, from the Himalaya Mountains to the jungles and mountains of Burma, battling elite Japanese forces, sickness and tropical disease. Ride with the cargo pilots as they are buffeted by 200 MPH+ winds over some of the highest mountains in the world; join fighter pilots taking to the skies to attack Japanese bombers and other aircraft as the enemy tries to disrupt the flow of supplies from India to China. Accompany the long range American penetration forces as they go deep into the heart of enemy held territory to stem the Japanese onslaught. Gain a better understanding of why these forgotten men need to be remembered and celebrated today.


AUTHOR’S NOTE
INTRODUCTION
COMMUNISTS AND NATIONALISTS
WORLD WAR II BEGINS IN ASIA
‘VINEGAR JOE’ STILWELL
‘WE GOT A HELL OF A BEATING’
THE AVG STATIONMASTER
‘WE WRECKED A LOT OF PLANES’
NO REPLACEMENTS
CHENNAULT’S EARLY WARNING SYSTEM
THE BURMA SALWEEN GORGE MISSION
CONDITIONS
OTHER MISSIONS
‘I WENT AROUND THE WORLD’
THE MARINES
BOOZE FOR SPARE PARTS
THE SLIT TRENCH ENCOUNTER
HOME
THE FLYING TIGERS NURSE
‘I FELT LIKE ALICE IN WONDERLAND’
A ‘FOREIGN DEVIL’
GETTING BACK TO CHINA
‘THESE KIDS, THEY’RE GOING TO FIGHT?’
SPENDING TIME WITH CHENNAULT
WAR
THE WARNING SYSTEM
MARRIED WITH A BLACK EYE
‘WHEN THEY CAME BACK, THEY WERE MEN’
‘THAT’S WHEN I LOST HIM’
HOME
‘WOMEN DIDN’T TALK ABOUT THOSE THINGS’
THE CARGO PILOT
THE LIFELINE OF CHINA
HAZARDOUS DUTY
MEDALS
THE COMMUNIST CHINESE
THE GRAND PIANO
THE CHINESE PEOPLE
GOING HOME
THE HOSPITAL SHIP
THE RESERVES
KEEPING IN TOUCH
CIVILIAN LIFE
THE B-24 RADIOMAN
SHIPPING OUT
TO INDIA
MISSIONS
WEIGHTLESS
ANOXIA
DETACHED SERVICE
COMING HOME
THE B-29 RADARMAN
THE B-29S
RADAR
MISSIONS
SINGAPORE
BOMBING JAPAN
‘WE LOST OUR PILOT’
A SECRET WEAPON
AFTER THE WAR
THE ACE
PILOT TRAINING
INDIA
FIRST KILL
‘I BELIEVE I’M GOING TO GET KILLED TOMORROW’
PURPLE HEART
‘PETE, DON’T SHOOT!’
87 MISSIONS
THE CHINESE
WAR’S END
JAPAN OCCUPATION DUTY
THE THUNDERBOLT PILOT
THE TEST
CALLED UP
PILOT TRAINING
THE THUNDERBOLT
TO THE CBI
BURMA
MARAUDERS’ SUPPORT
THE NATIVE PEOPLE
WAR’S END
HOME
‘THEY WERE SOLDIERS’
THE VIRGINIA FARMBOY
‘I LIED LIKE A RUG’
FORCED MARCHES AT HIGH SPEED
STILWELL’S GOALS
WINNING SUPPORT OF THE INDIGENOUS PEOPLES
INSPIRED TO LEARN
THE HEAVY WEAPONS COMMANDER
‘I’M NOT ASKING YOU’
‘A MINIMUM OF 90% CASUALTIES’
LIVING CONDITIONS
THE IMPERIAL MARINES
FIGHT AT WALAWBUM
WOUNDED
HOME
‘GENERAL STILWELL JUST LAUGHED’
GOING BACK
‘YOU VOLUNTEERED FOR THIS MISSION’
‘I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT’
REUNIONS
THE ENGINEER
DEPRESSION DAYS
‘YOU’LL GO WHERE I TELL YOU TO GO’
INDIA
COMBAT TEAMS
THE RIVER CROSSING
‘WE WERE THROUGH’
THE END OF THE WAR
‘HE BELONGS TO ME’
SOUVENIRS
STILL ALIVE
THE 4-F VOLUNTEER
UNIT ‘GALAHAD’
‘EVERYBODY WAS A MARAUDER’
THE NATIVES
GENERAL MERRILL
‘WE HAD NO DANCING GIRLS’
GOING HOME
OBSERVATIONS
THE RADIO WIZARD
‘I WANTED TO DO MY PART’
THE ‘SONG OF INDIA’
MULES
SHOOTING
‘THEY WOULD GO WILD’
MARCHING PAST THE HOSPITAL
FOOD AND SICKNESS ON THE MOVE
HOME
LAST WORDS
THE IMMIGRANT
‘YOU BECOME A FATALIST’
POINT MAN
‘WE DIDN’T GET DECORATED’
‘KILLED IN ACTION’
THE CHIEF
THE LEDO ROAD
‘A VERY TOUGH THING’
HOME
THE COMBAT CAMERAMAN I
DEPRESSION DAYS
BECOMING A CAMERAMAN
‘WE NEED THE FIVE DOLLARS’
‘THE WAR WAS ON TOP OF US’
‘I WON WORLD WAR II’
GOING OVERSEAS
THE VOLUNTEER
‘YOU HAVE TO STAY HOME AND FARM’
‘YOU’RE THE SON OF A GUN THAT WENT AWOL’
IN THE BRIG
‘MY GOD, A TORPEDO!”
PICKING UP THE DEAD
‘ONE DAY THE SALVATION CAME’
‘MY SQUAD LEADER WAS A CONVICTED FELON’
‘POOREST GODDAM EXCUSE FOR A MULE SKINNER’
THE LETTER
‘WE CAN DISAPPEAR IN THE JUNGLE’
COMBAT
WOUNDED
‘I CAN SAVE THAT LEG’
THE NISEI INTERPRETER
‘THE MEN WHO ALTERED MY LIFE’
RECONNECTING WITH TRUCK
‘I DON’T KNOW WHAT A HERO IS’
THE COMBAT CAMERAMAN II
GETTING TO INDIA
GETTING TO STILWELL’S HEADQUARTERS
THE CHINESE
NEWSREEL WONG
GOING AWOL
TRAVERSING THE MOUNTAINS
‘I’M NO DAMNED VOLUNTEER’
‘THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THIS OUTFIT’
HIT BY A C-47 AIR DROP
‘I HAD NEVER CRIED IN MY LIFE’
“YOU’RE THE GUY I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR’
THE LAST WORD

Just finished my 10th book in the Things Our Fathers Saw series, on the CBI theater of the war. I wrote this at the end, thinking about my time with the veterans of World War II.

“It is my earnest hope, and indeed the hope of all mankind, that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past—a world founded upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance, and justice.”

—Remarks By General Douglas MacArthur, Surrender Ceremony Ending The War With Japan And World War II, September 2, 1945

“Can’t we just let go of this war? My father spent four years in, [and] my uncles four years; they NEVER talked about it! Long dead soldiers, long ago war!”

-American commenter on one of the author’s social media posts, highlighting the series, The Things Our Fathers Saw, September 2024


Was it really that long ago?

Seventy-nine years ago last month, Admiral ‘Bull’ Halsey’s flagship USS Missouri was in Tokyo Bay awaiting the arrival of the Japanese delegation with General MacArthur and Admiral Nimitz aboard, positioned near the spot where Commodore Matthew C. Perry had anchored his ‘Black Ships’ on his first visit to Japan in 1853. On display aboard the battleship that morning was the flag that flew on December 7, 1941, over Hickam Field at Pearl Harbor, and the 31-starred Old Glory standard of Perry’s flagship from nearly a century before, now accompanied by hundreds of American warships. The Japanese delegation was escorted promptly aboard at 9:00 a.m., and at MacArthur’s invitation, signed the terms of surrender. As if on cue, four hundred gleaming B-29 bombers roared slowly by in the skies overhead, escorted by fifteen hundred fighters.[i]

Surrender ceremonies, 2,000 plane flyover, USS MISSOURI left foreground.
National Archives. Public domain.

In the United States and Europe, it was six years to the day that the bloodiest conflict in human history had begun; after those six years of savage fighting, the devastation was unprecedented and incalculable. Between sixty and eighty-five million people—the exact figure will never be known—would be dead. Overseas, the victors would be forced to deal with rubble-choked cities and tens of millions of people on the move, their every step dogged with desperation, famine, and moral confusion. American servicemen, battle-hardened but weary, would be forced to deal with the collapse of civilization and brutally confronted with the evidence of industrial-scale genocide. Old empires were torn asunder, new ones were on the ascent. The Chinese Communists were victorious in China before the end of the decade; the British and other colonial powers began shedding their colonies in South Asia and elsewhere. In 1952, American occupation ended, lasting nearly twice as long as the war with America itself.

Now, the ‘American Century’ was well underway. American power and leadership of the free world was unparalleled and unprecedented. The Marshall Plan literally saved Europe. Enemies became allies. Former allies became adversaries. The Atomic Age began. And the United States of America rebuilt, reconstructed, and remodeled Japan. Of course, this ‘American Century’ was not free from hubris, error, and tragic mistakes, but all of this is part of the legacy that shapes us to this day.


In regards to the end of World War II, I can recall, in the early 1980s as a young history teacher in training, observing a veteran teacher describing the end of the war with Japan by making an analogy to his eighth graders:

‘It’s like two brothers who had a fight. The winner picks up the loser, dusts him off, and they go on as brothers and friends.’

Overlooked, perhaps, were the eight million Chinese civilians and millions of others in Asia slaughtered by Japanese troops in their imperial lust for conquest, the Allied prisoners of war brutalized and worked to death or executed in slave labor camps, the Allied seamen shot while foundering in the water at the explicit orders of the Japanese Imperial Navy, to say nothing of the deceitfulness of Pearl Harbor. I’m sure my twenty minutes observing the teacher in action left out what he hopefully covered in class; he must have known World War II veterans, just as I did. And these are things I suppose you learn later in life, as I did—but only because I wanted to know as much as I could learn. I was born sixteen years after the killing stopped, but ripples of that war have never ended.

If you are a reader of this series, you know how I got our veterans involved once I found my footing in my own classroom. My fascination with World War II began with the comic books of my 1970s pre-teen days, Sgt. Rock and Easy Company bursting off the pages in the bedroom I shared with my younger brothers at 2 Main Street. As a newly minted college grad a decade later, I was drawn to the spectacle of our veterans returning to the beaches of Normandy on the black-and-white TV in my apartment for the fortieth anniversary of D-Day. I was reading the only oral history compilation I was aware of, Studs Terkel’s euphemistically titled 1984 release, The Good War: An Oral History of World War II, over and over. I studied that book, planting the seed for my own debut in the classroom. And in retrospect, I think I reached out to my students asking them if they knew anyone in World War II, yes, as a way to engage them in the lessons at hand, but also to satisfy my own selfish curiosity: just what ‘resources’—really national treasures—did we have in our own backyard, surrounding our high school? I was going to find out. Man, was I going to find out!

Of course they ‘never talked’ about it! Why would they bring ‘The War’ up with their wives, their sons, their daughters? And frankly, most of the civilians they returned home to and surrounded themselves with at work, in the community, and even in their own families, weren’t really all that interested in hearing about it. It was time to get on with life.

But then those guys headed back to the Normandy beachheads, now approaching retirement age, most in their early sixties, if that (about my age right now) …

Somebody was now listening! Somebody gave a damn! And maybe the old soldier could talk about that kid who was shot and lingered on for a while in the far-off jungles of Burma, the country boy far from home who was proud to be a soldier, the eighteen-year-old who wondered now if he was going to die. The combat photographer David Quaid spoke to his interviewers until he was too exhausted to go on. But somebody was interested, and he had things to say—things to get off his chest—before he would no longer be able to say them; like David, a lot of the guys I knew opened up like a pressurized firehose after all those years of silence. It was frankly cathartic, and maybe now they could ‘let go of this war.’

Should we?


I didn’t respond to the commenter in the thread, but another person added,

“I understand, but if there is no conversation, nothing gets shared—nothing gets learned! May your family all rest in peace!”

I know in my heart that opening up to others, even complete strangers, but especially to the young, finally brought our veterans peace.


[i] Dower, John W. Embracing Defeat: Japan in the Wake of World War II. New York, W. W. Norton & Company. 1999. P. 43.

New Trailer for film.

Look for Episode One for the 80th anniversary, 2025.
https://app.frame.io/presentations/ba7fe14b-2556-44c2-bb55-4305ff974994