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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.

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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.

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