HomeMy WebLinkAboutSmithsonian "It's Over"
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{60 YEARSAGOJ
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We asked readers to tell us where they were and how they reacted
to the news that World War II had ended. And what a response we got
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HOMEFRONT
ON V-] DAY, I was only 7 years old, but the memory.is crys-
tal clear. We were living in a government housing project in
Michigan, and there were virtually no men between ages 18
and 40 in that community of several hundred women and
children. After \T..E Day, some dads had come home for ex-
tended leaves, and the project was a happy place. Those
with people fighting in the Pacific knew that we'd win over
there, too, and when it finally happened, the place went
nuts: uncontained joy reigned, and when
my friend Bobby Phillips came running
down the street, he hollered "Come with
me!" I followed him to the project of-
fice, where Bobby grabbed a lawn
mower. He went out to the schoolyard
and began cutting a huge V in the middle
of the field. Some friends saw us, and
they ran to get more mowers. By the
time we were finished, the V we mowed
in that field was almost 200 feet long
and 150 feet wide. We pledged that the
V would be kept mowed until our heroes came home and
saw it, and through the winter of 1945, it was clearly visible,
even when the snow fell.
In 1957 I took my fiancee to show her where I'd spent an
important decade of my life. As we walked across the
schoolyard, I saw the V as clearly as if I'd just mowed it; she
didn't see it at all.
RICHARD F. MCHUGH
GATLINBURG. TENNESSEE
52 Smithsonian AUGUST 2005
ON THE DAY World War II ended, I had but recently
returned from serving with the 877th Signal Service
Company, 9th Air Force Support Command, in Europe.
Now on furlough, I was lunching with Mrs. Rhoda Chase,
an old family friend, at a Chinese restaurant on Broadway,
in Times Square, in New York City. As we ate, we casually
watched the electric "moving" sign on the Times News
Building, when we read: "PRESIDENT TRUMAN HAS
ANNOUNCED JAPAN HAS SURRENDERED
UNCONDITIONALLY THE WAR IS OVER."
People in the restaurant were
screaming with joy, hugging each
other, and crowds were gathering
in Times Square. Mrs. Chase,
who also had a son in the Army,
got up, ran to the bar, and bought
me a fifth of Southern Comfort.
"Get out of here, Howard,"
she said. "This is no time for a
soldier to be sitting around chat-
ting with an old lady. The war is
over. Go celebrate, have fun."
I took her advice. I celebrated, and here I am 60 years
later, a husband, father and grandfather whose family in-
cludes my German-born wife, whom I met while serving
in Berlin during my second enlistment (1949-50), and a
Japanese daughter-in-law; married to one of our sons, a
Navy SEAL.
My war is over. Life is good.
HOWARD ELLIS
MORENO VALLEY, CALIFORNIA
FOR ME, the end of World War II did not mean rejoicing
and dancing in the street. I was a young mother living in
the town of Laurel, Mississippi, with two small children
and very little food and money. My husband, Aubry, a fight-
er pilot, was missing in action somewhere near Rome, Italy.
It would be a whole year before he was officially declared
"killed in action." The only news I ever finally received
about his death was that he had been firing on German ve-
hicles when he radioed that his plane had been hit.
Aubry had left to go overseas without knowing for cer-
tain that I was pregnant. I received many letters from him,
but wished he knew that we had a second daughter, whom
I named after him. Sadly, all my let-
ters came back after his death in one
package, unopened.
During the anxious months of
not knowing what had happened to
Aubry, I focused on our two little
girls, Mary and Aubrey. To help with
our food problem, I planted a veg-
etable garden. To make us smile, I
planted lots of bright flowers.
Each night I would go to bed ex-
hausted from all the work, but
knowing I had done the best I could do. Before falling
asleep, I would thank God for helping us get through an-
other day. Then I would look at my two daughters, peace-
fully sleeping beside me, and know that no matter what
happened, Aubry's brave and gentle spirit was with us;,
ODEAN FONDREN
HENDERSONVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA
prized possession, a 13-year-old car, was full, he spilled a few
ounces on the drive. For both my father and the owner, the
most extravagant expression of celebration imaginable was
to waste gasoline. The look between them and their silent
handshake burned into my 8-year-old brain.
FRED MCKEE
BETTENDORF, IOWA
IN 1945, I was working in a textile factory in Cambr~dge,
Massachusetts. The factory had previously manufactured
curtains but now was making U.S. Army coats and jackets.
The bulk materials were cut into patterns; the seamstresses
stitched the coats and jackets, and
others folded them and prepared
them for shipping.
All of the women worked together,
but I was specifically involved with
the team folding and preparing the
jackets for shipping. One of the
things we always took it upon our-
selves to do was to put cheery notes in
the jacket pockets like "You are in our
prayers," "We are thinking of you and
your safe return," "We have not for-
gotten you," and '~big thank you from all of us." We knew a
soldier would find the note and perhaps it would brighten
his day. After all, everyone knew someone in the Army.
I remember August 15 very clearly. It was announced over
the loudspeaker that the war was over. The hum from the
sewing machines stopped, and everyone stood in shock. For
a moment, there was complete silence. Then women started
crying, screaming and hugging each other. Most of us went
to the Boston docks to join other workers from around the
city to rejoice. It's a day I will always remember!
ANN FERRARA .JANUARIO
LYNN, MASSACHUSETTS
il
DURING THE WAR, gasoline-rationing stamps were guard-
ed as carefully as cash. One warm summer day, the few cars
that traveled our country road were incessantly honking.
Dare we hope? We turned on the radio and learned that it
was true. The war was over. My father asked if I wanted to
go for a ride with him, a rare treat. Of course I wanted to
go. He drove a few miles to a country store and gas station.
My father snapped his suspenders for emphasis when he
told the owner to "fill 'er up. And spill a little." When our
Above: After the war, planes on the assembly line
(women riveting) were scrapped. Below: "Rationing stamps
were guarded like cash," says McKee.
I WAS II YEARS OLD when I learned that World War II
was over. My family lived on a small poultry farm on the
outskirts of town, in Santa Ana, California, the county seat
of Orange County. At least four miles separated us from the
center of town, those miles covered in lima bean fields, or-
ange groves and berry farms.
I remember that it was the Feast of Assumption and we
had been to Mass that morning. Then the quiet of a warm
summer afternoon was broken by the distant sounds of
church bells, car horns, sirens, the startling whistle at the
packing house; my first reaction to this strange combina-
tion of sounds was confusion. Neighbors were few and far
between on Edinger Road, where we lived, and my parents
and I couldn't imagine what on earth was happening to
cause all the noise. Instinctively, we walked toward the
road, where I had spent so much time the past few years
waving to the soldiers who were part of the daily traffic of
Army convoys that made their way to and from the Santa
Ana Army Air Base. But today it was a different type of
convoy. We could hear the approach of cars with horns
honking, and then we saw people hanging out the windows
of the cars shouting, "The war is over, the war is over!" We
waved, jumped up and down, and shouted back at the peo-
ple in the cars. What wonderful news! What a great day!
YSABELCOSTANZA
RENTON, WASHINGTON
1 HEARD THE NEWS ofJapan's surrender on my car radio.
I was on assignment as a Lockheed Aircraft resident in-
spector in downtown Los Angeles. Of course, there was a
lot of celebrating going on in the streets and a great feeling
of relief. The other emotion was "now what"? I called my
manager at Lockheed and was told that the plant would be
shut down immediately to regroup and decide on what
course to take. Aircraft production was immediately
stopped and layoffs began. Planes were taken off the as-
sembly line and taken outside to be scrapped.
The storywas that they were cut up with radio,
instruments, etc., still intact. Those days we're a
mixture of joy; relief that the war was over, and
some apprehension.
CARL WILKINS
SUNNYVALE, CALIFORNIA
1 WAS II YEARS OLD. I had three brothers serving
in World War II, three brothers-in-law, other rela-
tives and friends. During those years my mother and
older sisters sent dozens of boxes of cookies and
other foods to them. I remember one brother saying,
"I knew that as soon as those Army boys saw my box,
I would get only one cookie, iflucky; maybe two." I
had an uncle and a cousin killed in World War II, and my sis-
ter's brother-in-law was killed as a fighter pilot.
Including my parents, we were a struggling farm family of
12 living in the far southeast corner of Nebraska along the
Missouri River bluffs. Little did we know about soda pop
and junk food. But every year, only on the Fourth of]uly; my
father would bring home a wooden case of pop. Those wood-
en cases came in handy! On a typical summer day; after we
heard by radio that the war had ended, my father surprised
us with a case of pop. Cream, strawberry; root beer and or-
ange. There were six of us at home, so that meant that each
of us got four bottles of pop. I chose one of each kind, and
what a great and never-to-be-forgotten celebration we had!
LILA MEYERKORTH
SHUBERT, NEBRASKA
and our 6-year-old son resided with me. Peoria erupted in
celebration at the news the war was over, but my cousin,
whose husband was stationed in Europe, her 2-year-old
son, my husband's mother, my son and I attended services
at the Episcopal Church across the street from the federal
building where the Selective Service offices were located.
Our prayers for my husband's safe return were not real-
ized. His body and those of the members of his crew were
found in December 1945.
MARY E. HILL DUNCAN
ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
Lockheed plants were camouflaged;
Wilkins and his wife. Patricia.
MY PARENTS had taken us from
Queens, New York, for the second consecutive
year, to Baiu's, a small boardinghouse in the Middletown area
of the Catskills. We spent my father's vacation there relax-
ing, reading, swimming and eating country cooking. I would
be 10 in two months. I remember Mr. Bain decapitating the
chickens we would eat for supper and singing the Rodgers
and Hammerstein Broadway hit "If I Loved You" in a pleas-
ant, unassuming baritone.
It was a quiet time, when I learned you could drink
goat's milk right out of the goat. But one afternoon, as I
was swinging in the old tire hung from the very tall tree on
the sloped front lawn, some cars, maybe four or five in ten
minutes, went by blowing their horns on the state highway
before us. A couple of the drivers waved flags. And the af-
ternoon quietly sank toward dinnertime.
Later, I told my parents about the cars and the flag-wav-
ing. They told me the war was over. At dinner, some of the
guests mentioned it to each other, but there were no con-
versations about it. I think the adults I was with had been
expecting the war to end soon. There was no celebration,
only; it seems, quiet relief, and a willingness to put those
fears into the past.
ON JULY 16, 1945, at 8:45 p.m., I received a telegram that
my husband, Staff Sgt. Harry R. Hill, a radio operator on a
B-29, had been missing in action following an air raid over
Shikoku,]apan, on]uly 3,1945.
I was employed as the chief clerk at one of the Selective
Service Boards in Peoria, Illinois. My husband's mother
FRANCIS HENNINGER
CHESAPEAKE, VIRGINIA
AUGUST 2005 Smithsonian 55
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WITH APPROXIMATELY 70,000 other ex-combat troops
from Germany, mostly riflemen, I was in one of the niuner-
ous "cigarette" camps, temporary tent cities, called
Camp Lucky Strike, on the dry mud flats outside Le
Havre, France. We were awaiting shipment to the
States for a 30-day leave prior to invadingJapan.
The weather was fine, the food was better than K
rations, and German POWs did the chores.
There was no mail in or out, no pay, no passes
to Le Havre (too dangerous) and nothing to do
each day, but nobody cared because it was a wel-
come relief from combat duty. We knew neither
the day nor the month.
The daily routine consisted of waiting in line for two
hours at the Red Cross tent to get two doughnuts and a
cup of coffee. When the news came that theJapa-
nese had surrendered after we dropped a superbomb,
everybody was very happy, although a bit skeptical at first.
It was hard to celebrate the occasion with two doughnuts
and a cup of coffee.
I WAS IN LONDON when the war ended. A few days before,
two atom bombs had been dropped on two Japanese cities.
The word "atom" bomb was beyond our comprehension.
I happened to be on furlough at the time. We were
waiting to be deployed to the Pacific Theater.
I had spent several months in France
and Germany prior to the Ger-
man surrender.
London went wild at the news
of the Japanese surrender. People
poured into the streets. It seemed
like everyone was singing and danc-
ing. Riding down the street, standing
in an open car, was Winston
Churchill, flashing his famous "V for
Victory" sign and puffing on his
ever-present cigar. Three or four of us
decided to leave Trafalgar Square and make our
way over to Buckingham Palace. A huge
throng had gathered outside the palace.
Every half hour or so, the royal family would come out
onto the balcony. At that time, the royal family consisted of
King George and Queen Elizabeth and their children,
Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret. As they waved, a
EUROPEAN THEATER
DENIS N. HUSTON
OCEAN SHORES, WASHINGTON
56 Smithsonian AUGUST 2005
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deafening roar went up froll?- the assembly below.
When all the celebrations had ended, we thought about
our next happy occasion: landing on the shores of the good
ole USA.
URBAN FLANDERS
CINCINNATI, OHIO
THE FOLLOWING is cOp'ied from a letter I wrote my fi-
ancee (now my wife) on August 15, 1945, from Aschaffen-
burg, Germany:
My Dearest Briny Marlin,
The war is over. Peace is once again covering the world. However,
I can't feel elated. I'm happy to know the day I will become a
civilian again is coming soon, but I don't know whether I'll be
coming home for a while. So please don't stop writing, and please
don't expect me home for a few months at least.
Meanwhile, here is how we spe1Jt VJ Day:
First, it rained all day.
Second, we are all so interested in what will happen to our
outfit that the news didn't cheer us much.
Third, two of our men are beingpunished and have walked
around the athletic field all day carryingfull field packs and rifles
in the rain.
Fourth, I worked all day with the medical officer. I looked into
200 mouths and throats, checkingfor tonsillitis, etc.
I feel like a lot of fellows now that the job we had to do is done.
we want to quit and come home soon to continue what we started
before the war. '.,
I had another letter from Mom today, so I hope mail will con-
tinue to come through. I'm still praying that God will let us come
together SOON so we can enjoy a movie, cake, ride, swim, talk and
logfire together. Maybe I could even talk you into one of those
wonderful kisses you used to give me!!
Need I tell you -
I'll be loving you. Always.
Dick
RICHARD HAGERMAN
WENDELL, IDAHO
FOR ME, August 15, 1945, was the day my father returned
from prison camp. It was the day when, for my family,
World War II was finally over.
I was a 9-year-old boyliving with my mother in a small
town in the Bavarian Forest in Germany.
We had moved in with my aun.t after our
house in Peenemiinde had been destroyed
in a 600-bomber air raid, which missed
killing us by the narrowest of margins.
My father, a PhD in physics, had been
one of the scientists who worked with
Wernhervon Braun on the,German
rocket project. Later, he rejoined von
Braun's team as part of the US. space
program and became a US. citizen.
In May 1945, a few days after our part of Germany had
been overrun by US. forces, my father had been confined in
anAmerican internment camp. When he was released inAu-
gust, he weighed only 95 pounds. He was thin and gray as a
ghost. I barely recognized him as he came shuffling down our
street, leaning on a stick, his clothes in tatters, the soles of his
shoes patched with cardboard held together by twisted wire.
In the weeks before my father's return, I had heard news-
casts on my aunt's radio of new and terrible bombs that had
been dropped somewhere. But it meant very little to me. For
me, the war was over because my dad, though sick and weak,
had returned and our family was once again united.
WERNER H. HENGST
SOMERS, NEW YORK
I WAS ON MY WAY to Miami for redeployment toJapan. I'd
been home on leave after a month's recovery from malnour-
ishment and blood poisoning resulting from five months as
a prisoner of war, captured during the Battle of the Bulge.
When I heard the news of the war ending, I was flooded
with emotion. It would be so rewarding to be back on
American soil, helping Mother run Dad's jewelry business.
Dad had suffered a fatal heart attack while I was in Eng-
land heading to my European Theater assignments. As a
prisoner of war during the winter of 1945, I was forced to
walk whole sections of Germany with my fellow Allied
prisoners. My head had been shaved, as were most of the
officers', to make us readily recognizable. The only clothes
I had for the five frigid months were the ones on my back
when I was captured. After liberation, I was sent to Camp
Lucky Strike, in France, where the doctors pulled my in-
fected thumbnail and gave me shots of penicillin for a week
to combat the blood poisoning. My recuperating ex-POW
buddies and I were fed an eggnog-type liquid to soothe our
tender, malnourished stomachs until we could handle
turkey soup and white bread.
Upon arrival in America, we were each given a carton of
milk; it tasted heavenly. It was
so good to be home!
HAROLD NEHMER
CROSWELL, MICHIGAN
Nehmer: Five frigid
months walking in
one set of clothes.
PACIFIC THEATER
I WAS A SOLDIER in the US. Army Signal Corps on the US.
Navy troopship General R.E. Callan in the Caribbean Sea,
due to go through the Panama Canal the next day, en route
from Marseilles, France, to Pearl Harbor. I had 18 months in
Italy, France and Germany, five Bronze Stars, and knew we
were to go on the invasion of the home islands of Japan.
My feeling was one of surprise and relief and extreme
thankfulness when I heard the war was over. I did not
think that I had enough luck to survive the European war
and then Japan also.
We cheered in elation and called for the Callan to fire
her guns. "Wear them out, you don't need them now,"
which she did in salute.
HARRY E. HECKMAN
MCMECHEN. WEST VIRGINIA
I WAS ONE OF 203 MARINES imprisoned in North China
on December 8,1941, by the Japanese. I and several of my
Marine colleagues were sent to Japan and put to work at the
Yawata Steel Mill. On August 14, 1945, a company interpreter
came to our shop and told us to "get our gear and line up."
We were marched to an assembly area and loaded into open-
gondola rail cars. We sat there until 12 noon, when the em-
58 Smithsonian AUGUST 2005
peror's surrender speech was broadcast over their PA system.
We had no word as to what was happening. After the
emperor's speech, we were transported to our camp,
Fukuoka camp no. 3, about six or seven miles away. Two or
three days passed. Still no word. Rumors were flying among
the 1,400 prisoners. Some thought we might be moving.
Others thought an invasion might have begun. A few more
days passed, and the Japanese guards disappeared. I and my
colleagues were cautiously optimistic.
After a couple more days, a fleet ofB-25s flew over our
camp. Then, a B-29 dropped barrels of food and clothing.
Nowwe knew that we were going home, and each of our lives
took on a higher sense of hope and feeling of blessedness.
MARION GUYNN
OCEANSIDE, CALIFORNIA
ON AUGUST 15, 1945, aJapanese officer entered my cell in
a prison in Hokkaido and said, "Soon there will be peace.
Soon you will be relieved [sic}." As the impact of the state-
ment took hold, I had a vague feeling that my over three-
month ordeal as an American POW of the Japanese might
actually end with my going home, rather than my death.
I was a navigator/bombardier in the 11th Air Force, 77th
Bomb Squadron, flying out of Attu in the North Pacific.
We had been bombing factories and ships on Shumshu Is-
land and were captured after our B-25 crashed, May 19,
1945. Our entire crew of six survived, but three were later
lost while being transferred by Japanese ship to Japan. The
ship was torpedoed by an American sub,
The rest of us were moved from one prison to another,
never knowing if we would survive the day. By the time we
arrived in Hokkaido, we were ill, malnourished and feeling
hopeless. The news of the end of the war dredged up the
remaining ounces of hope in my benumbed mental state,
but there was also some trepidation generated by rumors
that we would all be shot before the liberating forces
reached us. The reality was that our treatment improved to
a degree, and we were allowed to bathe and shave. We were
even taken into town, where we were given some money
with which to buy what very little was available.
I firmly believe that this date marked a rebirth for me.
Had the end of the war come much later, I am convinced I
would not have survived to mark the event.
MILTON E. ZACK
LAGUNA WOODS, CALIFORNIA
AUGUST 15, 1945, dawned hot and humid in the Philip-
pines. I was stationed at San Miguel North as part of the
WAC [Women's Army Corps} group that was with General
MacArthur's headquarters. We were cryptanalysts working
onJapanese codes. Unfortunately, I had gotten "jungle rot"
on my foot while in New Guinea. It had gotten so bad that
I had to go to the hospital at Clark Field. About noon we
heard loud voices in the next ward. Then a fellow came in
our ward and shouted, "The war is over! The Japanese have
surrendered!" There was silence as we thought about what
we had heard. Of course, home was uppermost in our
minds. Yet it didn't seem right to celebrate when so many
of us wouldn't be going home. Our silence was in remem-
brance of our fellow soldiers, and in thankfulness to God
that this terrible war was over.
MARY "GINNY" BLAKEMORE .JOHNSTON
WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA
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IN SPRING 1945, our family evacuated from Tokyo to
Toyama, some 150 miles to the northwest. Two weeks later,
another daily air raid, with incendiary bombs, turned the
Ginza District, in downtown Tokyo, into piles of debris
and dead bodies. That summer I turned 14.
Soon, the newspaper reported the total destruction of
Hiroshima. The enemy had deployed a new type of bomb,
an official report said. Rumors were that only one plane
and one bomb had done the damage. Why so much de-
struction from a single bomb? Why was it not challenged
by our fighters? We were doubly afraid.
Then Nagasaki was struck to the same horrible degree.
Is this the end for us? Fear ruled. Then a notice went
around: the emperor will address the nation over the radio
at noon on August 15. Be sure to listen.
He spoke haltingly in an obscure, courtly way, but the
message was obvious-the war was over, no more fighting.
This meant that:
1. I no longer had to work in a factory,
2. I could go back to school full-time, and
3. We didn't have to shade the light any longer.
My school building had been destroyed. A dormitory for
former factory workers served as a temporary facility.
There was no heat or air conditioning.
The next several years were very bleak. Food and fuel
were scarce. My father died from pneumonia in 1945. In
1947, I quit school and started working at a U.S. Naval Base
in Yokosuka. I was the sole wage earner for a family of six. I
returned to school, taking night classes from 6 p.m. to 10
p.m., Monday through Saturday.
In 1954, angels smiled on me, and I enrolled at the Uni-
versity of Oregon. I cannot thank enough the generosity of
the late George and Edith Woodrich and the state of Ore-
gon for four years of scholarship.
YASUO ISHIDA
ST, LOUIS, MISSOURI
DURING THE ENTIRE Japanese occupation of Korea
(1910-1945), my father, who had been educated in America
(Brown University, class of 1905), refused to learn to speak
Japanese and to change our family name to aJapanese ver-
sion, as every Korean was required to do.
But we children, born during the occupation, learned to
speak Japanese fluently and did our best to behave like
Japanese at our school, where we
were taught entirely by Japanese
instructors. Every morning at
school assembly, the image of the
I
I Japanese emperor would be un-
I veiled, and we would bow our
I heads deeply and recite our oath
of allegiance in ancientJapanese.
As World War II was nearing
its end, army recruiters insisted
that even my brother, who was
lying in a hospital with tuberculosis, enlist in the Japanese
Army. At the first opportunity, Father hid my brother, me
and our younger siblings in a mountain house near Seoul.
One lazy summer afternoon, my brother was listlessly
picking out a tune at the piano half-listening to the radio.
He suddenly stopped and motioned for us to come over.
From the radio came a very faint voice speaking in archaic
Japanese that we could hardly understand, like the emper-
or's decree we recited at school. Oh my, it was the emperor
speaking. The emperor was telling us he could no longer
bear the sufferings of his subjects and that the war was over.
Our parents and other grown-ups erupted in jubilation,
while we children began to weep at the incredible fall of
the Rising Sun.
UN-.JIN PAIK ZIMMERMAN
BRYN MAWR. PENNSYLVANIA
AUGUST 2005 Smithsonian 59
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I HAD BEEN STATIONED with the Navy in the Admiralty
Islands for 15 months late inJuly 1945 when a buddy of
mine and I met a B-29 pilot who was on his way home from
Tinian, his airbase in the Mariana Islands. He excitedly
told of the top-secret activity there. "The base was crawl-
ing with brass," he said. "It was something big involving B-
29S that could end the war!"
He was right. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima
and Nagasaki soon followed, signaling that the war
was about to end. Within days, we met an enter-
prising airman who had returned from his home in
Australia with a bottle of Haig and Haig Scotch he
wished to sell for $35. Anticipating the war's end,
we needed a potent drink to celebrate with, so de-
spite its outrageous cost and that we both detest-
ed scotch, we eagerly accepted his offer.
On August 15, shouting and cheering roared
throughout our entire base. Ships at anchor began
blasting their horns. The war was over! Time to
break out our scotch. That night, seated in the
back of a GMC truck, we happily and endlessly
toasted the war's end.
Several hours later, two big surprises awaited
us. First, we found ourselves cold sober. Second, the real-
ization hit us that we had been duped. Our high-priced
scotch was nothing but a skillfully needled, highly watered-
down version from Australia.
GENE MCDERMOTT
ALLENTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA
I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER August 15, 1945. I was a gun-
ner on a B-29 called "Dottie's Baby." I was stationed on
Guam in a bombardment wing whose sole purpose was to
bomb oil plants inJapan. All of our missions were at night.
August 6 and 9, atom bombs were dropped on Hiroshima
and Nagasaki. The aircrews in our wing were excited because
we hoped we would not have to fly any more missions. We
thought the Japanese would surrender; they didn't.
August 14, we had to go again. This time we were going
on the longest mission we had ever pulled: a refinery in
northern Japan. (It took I2 to 14 hours to fly from Guam to
Japan and back.) We got to our target sometime early in the
morning of the 15th. We were at 12,000 feet and saw no
Japanese fighters and very little flak. We dropped our
bombs and left the target. Our number four engine quit.
Our pilot said, "We are going to make an emergency landing
at Iwo Jima." (A lot ofB-29 crews were saved by being able
to land on I wo Jima; we can thank the Marines for that.)
As we were heading there, our navigator told us that he
had heard a radio transmission from San Francisco. The
Japanese had agreed to surrender unconditionally!
We landed at Iwo Jima August 15. We were told it was
the last mission of World War II. We were very happy!
.JOHN MOON
RENTON, WASHINGTON
60 Smithsonian AUGUST 2005
I SERVED ABOARD the USSPennsylvania from January
1942 to September 1946. This ship participated in amphibi-
ous operations from Attu to the Philippines and earned a
Navy Unit Commendation for its action.
We heard rumors in early August 1945 that the Japanese
Empire was near surrender, but we didn't have the slightest
clue when this would occur. Much of the U.S. fleet was clos-
ing in on the Japanese mainland. On August 12, my ship,
along with other warships and sup-
port vessels, was anchored in
Buckner Bay, Okinawa, awaiting
orders for the "Big Push." That
night a 10neJapanese torpedo
plane hit and badly damaged our
ship. Twenty officers and enlisted
men lost their lives.
When the ceasefire oc-
curred on August 15, there
was not much to celebrate,
since the ship's crew was
still occupied repairing the
damage. Certainly, we were glad the
war was over, but we had lost ship-
mates and mourned their passing.
What made it doubly sad was that we had endured much
action prior to the surrender without casualty to ship or
crew. Yet less than three days before the ceasefire, a last-
gasp effort by a lone warrior of the empire nailed us.
, HENRY O. WENDLER
CORONA, CALIFORNIA
ON AUGUST 15, my ship was offshore Honshu,Japan's
main island. The news of the emperor's surrender speech
was gratefully received. We were also pleased that our new
president, HarryTruman (from Missouri), thought the
ideal place for the surrender ceremony was the battleship
Missouri, my ship.
Toward the end of August, the Missouri, the British ship
King George Vand a number of other ships entered Sagami
Wan, a large bay just south of Tokyo Bay. Tides pointed our '
anchored ships toward Mount Fuji, majestically rising in
the distance. When the sun set behind Fuji, we played the
"Star-Spangled Banner." It was one of the most moving
moments of my life.
A few days before the September 2 surrender ceremony,
we put into Tokyo Bay (all mine-swept) and anchored out.
On the big day, our foredeck held the Allied leaders and
Mr. Shigemitsu, for Japan. Afterward, squadrons of Navy
planes came roaring over, at low level, followed by massed
Air Force planes.
We knew the war was over! It was something not to be
forgotten.
D. M. DE LANCEY
SAN MATEO, CALifORNIA
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