World War II

On this 66th anniversary of Pearl Harbor, I want to write about comradeship that transcends eras and conflicts. You see the images of this day that always get me are those of the survivors going back to honor their fallen comrades at the U.S.S. Arizona memorial. Those old men gazing down into the waters thinking of the young men who lie entombed beneath never fail to bring tears to my eyes.

As I was contemplating what to write today, I came across an update to a story I’ve been following on CNN, that of 25-year-old marine Sgt. Ty Ziegel, horribly injured and disfigured in Iraq and fighting the VA to receive the full benefits he so richly deserves. Today’s story, featured in the screen capture above, is entitled, “WWII Vet: Wounded Marine’s Story ‘Broke My Heart.’”

In it you will read about 84-year-old Medal of Honor winner Chief Warrant Officer Hershel “Woody” Williams who reached out to Ziegel. This elderly veteran of Iowa Jima crossing barriers of time and age to honor a young Marine made me cry as surely as those images of Pearl Honor ceremonies. (Click here for ABC’s story “Survivors Remember Pearl Harbor.”)

What these stories illustrate to us in tandem is the power of the brotherhood (and sisterhood) of those who serve. Both men, Williams and Ziegel regards the other as a hero and after you read their stories, I think you’ll feel the same day. I can’t think of a better way to remember Pearl Harbor on this anniversary.

WWII, World War II, Pearl Harbor, Iwo Jima, Medal of Honor, Ty Ziegel, Hershel Williams

Many years ago I remember reading a book by Kate Hafner, “Where Wizards Stay Up Late: the Origins of The Internet.” (Non-affiliate Amazon link to the book for information purposes only.) It was a fascinating read, but I don’t remember any information about six women who were responsible for hacking into ENIAC (Electronic Numerical Integrator and Computer) and making it easier for the folks who followed behind them to access and develop the monster leviathan that is the great-great-great-great-granddaddy of the laptop I’m using to write this entry.

World War II was coming to an end and the Army had a unique shortage — not enough male mathematicians. The ABC news story (featured in the screen cap above the text and accessible here) “First Computer Programmers Inspire Documentary” tells the story of five women who stepped forward to fill that void. Their stories have been recorded by historian Kathy Kleiman and the women — Jean Bartik, Marlyn Meltzer, Kathleen Mauchly Antonelli, Betty Snyder Holberton, Ruth Lichterman Teitelbaum, and Frances Bilas Spence — are the subject of the resulting documentary “Invisible Computers: The Story of the ENIAC Programmers.”

These women were so discounted by history that they weren’t invited to the 40th anniversary of the ENIAC project and Kleiman only found them after seeing a photo of them standing by the massive computer. Assured by a computer historian that the women were just there as window dressing, Kleiman didn’t buy it and made it her work to track them down and find out the true story.

This is not just the tale of the dawn of the computing age in the closing days of World War II, but also a shocking look at sexism of the rankest order in the United States that persisted well beyond the war years. For more on the documentary, which I can hardly wait to see, click here.)

WWII, World War II, ENIAC, computer history

This past Wednesday, November 28 was a big day for historians when an enormous archive of German war records was finally made available to the public. Accessibility to the data also means that some Holocast survivors and their families, who have been waiting 60 years, may finally get some answers about the fate of their loved ones at the hands of the Nazis.

The eleven countries that oversee the International Tracing Service finally reached an agreement allowing for the unsealing of 50 million pages of records, a staggering amount of information. Previously the material had only been available for locating missing persons, reuniting families, and providing documentation in cases of compenstaion claims.

While most experts agree that the records aren’t going to change the big picture of what we know about the Final Solution and Nazi Germany itself, they are likely to add new depth to the story and to answer many personal questions. The archive contains references to 17.5 million individiuals and covers 16 linear miles.

As an historian who has conducted research in archives I can tell you that the sifting process will consume the efforts of generations of my colleagues. While computers and technology have dramatically changed how we collect and store data, there are still connections and conclusions that can only be drawn by the mind of man (or woman) laboring over dusty folders and armed with an already intimate understanding of the topic at hand. Nazi Germany and the Holocaust were not my particular area of expertise, but I can freely admit that when I saw the photo above (a screen capture from the original ABC news story, which you can read here), I was fairly itching to get in there and start reading.

WWII, World War II, Nazi, archive, Holocaust, International Tracing Service

Hello everyone! It’s your errant WWII blogger emerging from the holiday mists. I really didn’t intend for our Thanksgiving break to be quite this long, but sometimes circumstances have a way of jumping in the driver’s seat and taking control. So, as a friend said, we’re three-quarters of the way through the Hallothankmas holiday season and trying to keep our heads above the ho-ho-ho waters until 2008 rolls in and we can breathe again.

The last time we talked I shared a story about a P-38 uncovered by beach eroision in Wales. Now I have a report of a Douglas-C47 that has turned up in Bosnia near Sarajevo. It last flew 13 years ago during the Bosnian war for independence when bullets riddled the fuselage. But this is one tough plane. It’s been around since 1944 and flew as an unarmed cargo plane during the Normandy invasion when it dropped paratroopers behind enemy lines to sabotage German batteries preparatory to the landings.

The plane will be taken to Merville, Normandy, restored, and displayed in the local museum. The radio operator on the craft, Joseph “Buck” Buckner died in 2003 but his son said he could recite the plane’s tail number without hesitation. The plane was so heavily damaged at Normandy with holes in the wings and fuselage it couldn’t take off again after its final drop. Engineers patched it up and it went in again for Operation Market Garden, the mission in the Netherlands immortalized in A Bridge Too Far. Ditto for a mission to Belgium. And it appears the C-47 continued to get shot up right through 1994.

This baby deserves to rest quietly in a museum and have its story told. (Click here to read the Houston Chronicle’s article on this story.)

WWII, World War II, Normandy, C-47

Really, it was the photo that got me. The image I’ve used here is a screen shot from the original story posted at ABC News. (Click here to read.) What you’re seeing is an American P-38 fighter plane that made an emergency landing in 1942 on the Welsh coast. It’s been buried under sand and water for 65 years until erosion of the beach revealed the wreckage in July. Do I even need to say, “How danged cool is that?”

But wait, it gets better. Using the serial number to track the plane, it may well be the oldest of its kind in existence and the oldest plane that flew with the 8th Air Force to have survived. The International Group for Historic Aircraft Recovery has surveyed the site and will collaborate with museum experts in Britain to recover the craft which, though fragile, is largely intact. A number of museums have expressed interest in the find.

The exact location of the plan is being guarded since the archaeologists need to stay ahead of potential looting to protect their find. When the tides expose the plane, it is being guarded, however for the time being the craft is once again safely encased in sand. The U.S. Air Force regards planes lost prior to 1961 to be “formally abandoned” and would only get involved if human remains are found, which won’t be the case with this plane.

The pilot of this plane was 2nd Lt. Robert F. “Fred” Elliott of Rich Square, N.C. He was forced to make a belly landing when he ran out of gas on a training mission on Sept. 27, 1942. Elliott, who was just 24 at the time, was shot down three months later on a combat mission over Tunisia. Neither he nor his plane was ever recovered.

WWII, World War II, P-38, historic aircraft

Today I’ll dodge the bugles — not turn on the television set, walk out of the room during the news broadcast — because I can no longer hear the bugler blow “Taps” without crying. Oh yes, I set my jaw. I tell myself I won’t do it this time. And still the hot tears roll down my cheeks unbidden and uncontrollable.

Since my father died Veteran’s Day is an intensely personal commemoration for me and a difficult one — the lone trumpets, the rifle salutes, the missing man formation. It is a confusing feeling of pride and pain so intimately intermingled I cannot begin to separate one from the other.

On the wall here beside me in my study is a framed photographic arrangement of eight men. My Uncle Louis starts the assemblage, a 17-year-old boy who volunteered for the American Expeditionary Force and served as a machine gunner in the Argonne in World War I. Uncle Alf was at the Battle of the Bulge in World War II and Papa flew bombers in North Africa and Italy. Uncle Curly was a telegraph operator, Uncle Jack served in the Army, and my cousin Junior died in the South Pacific when the plane on which he was a bombadier was shot down. Cousin Alf flew Hellcats for the navy and his little brother Charlie was in the Marines.

They are my people. My soldiers. The descendants of men who fought for the Confederacy in the American Civil War. Southerners to a man, they put their country first, over dreams and sweethearts, safety and security. We’ve taken to calling them the “greatest generation,” but I know my Dad wouldn’t have liked that. Often when I gaze at this photo my eyes fall on my cousin, the boy who went to war and came home in a casket after the fighting stopped. (I’ve written about him before.) He was a handsome young man and I wish I’d had a chance to know him.

For so many World War II vets we have only the fragments of their fight, the letters home, the stray photos. And we have the bugles that blow the sad notes of “Taps,” — we have tears intermingling memories both happy and sad. On this Veterans Day — still Armistice Day in my mind — I wish the guns could truly fall silent around the world.

WWII, WWI, World War I, World War II, Veterans Day, Armistice Day

The story of the death of Osmond family patriarch George Virl Osmond, Sr., age 90, has occupied a fair amount of space in the news this past week. In part that’s because Marie is a popular contestant on “Dancing with the Stars” right now. In part that’s because Oprah brought more than 100 of his direct descendants — children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren — together for a show on Friday. But to a large degree, George Osmond’s death is news because the man led a fairly remarkable life, guiding the careers of his famous children while maintaining a tight knit and seemingly well-balanced family. There aren’t a lot of stage parents who can boast of that accomplishment.

Just simply based on the man’s age I could have guessed Osmond was a World War II vet, but it wasn’t until his daughter danced a perky quick step to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy (in sequin bedecked khaki that would have made the Andrews Sisters proud) on “Dancing with the Stars” that that fact was confirmed for me. Marie described how her parents met during the war and how dancing was a part of their courtship. She dedicated her performance to her father who was watching. He died peacefully the next day.

We are reaching that stage with our World War II vets when things like proud legacies and good-byes well-spoken are important to the men and women themselves, but also to their families and friends. Mr. Osmond was granted both and while many this week have eulogized him for his contribution to an entertainment legend — his own children — let’s take a minute to pause and remember he was also a soldier who went to war as part of the Greatest Generation. I hope he and his wife are enjoying dancing together once again.

WWII, World War II, George Osmond

With life still interfering with the much more important business of blogging, I’ve been trying to get to the keyboard for a couple of days now to write about the death of Brig. Gen. Paul W. Tibbets, pilot of the Enola Gay, a B-29, that dropped the Hiroshima atomic bomb, Little Boy, on August 15, 1945. General Tibbits died on November 1 at age 92.

The plane was named for his mother and like Tibbets, will live forever in the history books as the agent of the dawn of the atomic age. In an interview with Studs Terkel, Tibbets said plainly that he had no regrets. He joined the air corps to defend his country to the best of his ability. “I knew we did the right thing becasue when I knew we’d be doing that I thought, yes, we’re going to kill a lot of people, but by God we’re going to save a lot of lives. We won’t have to invade [Japan].” (For the full interview, click here.)

Tibbets sentiments echoed my father’s own remarks about the bombing raids he conducted in North Africa and Italy with conventional weapons. Most of my Dad’s stories about the war were humorous and interesting, but rarely graphic. One time he did say to me that he would always wonder how many women and children he killed when he dropped his bombs. But like Tibbets, Papa felt he was doing his job in a time of war.

It is terribly easy for us now in an age where we fully understand the horrific geo-political ramifications of nuclear arms, to condemn the men who developed “Little Boy” as well as those who planned and executed its delivery that day in Hiroshima. All too often we fail to put ourselves in the mindset of 1945 after four bloody years of fighting in both Europe and the South Pacific. Without a doubt an invasion of Japan would have been bloody and horrific. As bloody and horrific as Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Frankly, probably not, but Tibbets and the others involved in the raid didn’t know that, nor were the long-term implications of the new destructive technology readily apparent. It took the Cold War to bring that reality home and now we live in fear that instability in nations like Pakistan will lead to a horrible repeat of that August day in 1945.

But that is now and Tibbets’ moment in history was then. And then, Paul Tibbets was a soldier doing his job without question and for that, we honor his memory at his passing.

(There’s a guest book online for General Tibbets that has already run to 32 pages of electronic signatures. Many of them brought tears to my eyes.)

WWII, World War II, Paul Tibbets, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Enola Gay

This piece from htrnews.com caught my eye today, “World War II Veterans Sought for Medals.”

Don Schroeder of Manitowoc wants to contact World War II vets who saw service in the Pacific between June and July 1944, specifically the men who participated in the invasion of the Northern Mariana Islands, which includes Saipan and Tinian.

In 2004 the Commonwealth of Northern Mariana Islands commemorated the 60th anniversary of its liberation from Japan with a medallion. Now the Commonwealth wants every member of the armed services who took part in that liberation to have one of the medallions.

Veterans may contact Don Schroeder at 3703 Dale St., Manitowoc, Wisconsin or at gerryanddon [at] sbcglobal.net. VWF Post 3457 in Saipan is handling the distribution of the medallions, which technically cost $10. They’re not asking for the money, but will happily accept donations since the post also maintains a museum. The medallions have a diameter of 2.5 inches and are an eighth of an inch thick on a red, white, and blue ribbon. One side bears the seal of the Commonweatlh of the Northern Mariana Islands while the other reads, “Our Grateful Islands remember Tinian, Saipan, 1944-2004.

Schroeder is himself a vet, having served abord the U.S.S. Sangamon CVE-26, which was an escort aircraft carrier and part of the 5th Fleet under the command of Admiral Raymond A. Spruance at the time.

WWII, World War II, Mariana Islands, Saipan, Tinian, Don Schroeder

My apologies to my readers for being missing in action this past week. My housemate spent three hours in the dentist chair Tuesday, not an easy task for any of us but especially hard for an older lady with stroke damage. Also had a kitty in the vet clinic and then there was just other life-related craziness. Several things have been sitting in my RSS reader waiting to be shared with you:

Service Held for World War II Soldiers Formerly Missing in Action - This story from ksdk.com details the wartime service and final burial of seven soldiers lost for 64 years until DNA testing brought their remains home.

Spike Lee Films World War II Story in Rome - According to azcentral.com, the acclaimed director is working on a new film, “Miracle at St. Anna, chronicling the story of four members of the 92nd Army Division, an African American unit, who become drapped behind enemy lines.

Merkel Backs Berlin Memorial for Germans Expelled in World War II - Earthtimes.org has a piece on German Chancellor Angela Merkel supporting the establishment of a memorial for German “expellees.”

Ghost Mountain Boys - Wiscnews.com looks at the new book by James Campell, “The Ghost Mountain Boys, Their Epic March and Terrifying Battle for New Guinea - The Forgotten War of the South Pacific.”

After Half a Century, Army Rights a Wrong - Another great column by Seattlepi.com columnist Robert L. Jamieson Jr., this one concerning the conviction of black soldiers in connection with a race riot during World War II at Fort Lawton in Seattle.

WWII, World War II, Spike Lee, Germany, Ghost Mountain Boys

In my deepest heart of hearts I suspect I have a secret desire to receive a letter from the past. These tales of the postman delivering a yellowed envelope with a three-cent stamp in the corner and “Buy War Bonds” emblazoned somewhere on the paper draw me in every time. This story, however, does not come from the United States, but rather from Japan.

It involves a postcard, written by a Japanese soldier during World War II that reached an 80-year-old retired man in Kochi, a state in the southwest of Japan just recently. The card was written by his friend Nobuchika Yamashita in 1943 from Burma, the same year the young soldier died at age 23.

The postcard never reached its destination originally, because it went into the pocket of a U.S. soldier who died 25 years ago. Then his son held on to the card until he passed it on to a Japanese exchange student in Hawaii. The student, Yuko Kojima, now a sophomore at Mukogawa Women’s University, spent two years looking for the intended recipient Shizuo Nagano. It took two years . . . well, really sixty-four . . . but Nagano finall received Yamashita’s card.

Each time I read a story like this I am amazed by the ability of small, fragile objects like a postcard to survive for decades, even finding their way back to their owners or to someone who will treasure the scrap as it were an extension of someone they loved. The orginal story from ABC News (which can be found here) doesn’t mention what the card said. Probably a take on the standard, “How are you? I am fine.” But the message overwhelmed Nagono who never expected to connect with his friend again and that alone makes the words, whatever they were, precious.

WWII, World War II, Japan, postcard

These days it’s not unusual for me to be behind in my reading — online and off — which explains why I’m just now reading this lovely column by William McKenzie exploring the fascination we have with the camaraderie of the World War II years by discussing his mother and her Poker Club.

His point about a modern-day longing for the common purpose that was the hallmark of the war years is well taken. And I enjoyed the fact that he was recognizing a group of women who have been “in the same foxhole” since Pearl Harbor. But I especially loved the fact that they are a poker club.

You see my Dad’s Army Air Corps nickname was “Slick” for his prowess at a poker table. In fact, he won the money that eventually paid for his business playing cards all over North Africa and Italy. Years later he’d just shrug it off saying, “Why not? I was 21-years-old and the Germans were shooting at my *ss every day. I never expected to come home alive.”

The column also reminded me of something I wrote a few years back about an encounter with a WWII vet that I thought I’d share with my readers today. I was sitting outside a bookstore when I spotted a trim, good-looking older man standing outside the front door.

He had wavy silver hair and stood perfectly straight as he gazed out over the parking lot. In a moment or two he removed a briar pipe from his pants pocket and lit it. A slight breeze was blowing and it wasn’t long before I could smell tobacco that was rich and well, grandfatherly and kind of sexy all at the same time. This guy definitely had the Sean Connery thing going. I could tell he was getting tired of standing and was just about to wave him over when he started toward me. Reaching for the extra chair as if to drag it away he said, “May I use this?”

“Please do,” I answered, “and sit here if you like. I enjoy pipe smoke.”

A look of pleasure and surprise crossed his face, “You do?” he asked, “My wife says it’s a filthy habit.” He sat down and we began to talk about how he started smoking during the war — World War II — when cigarettes were handed to the troops by the carton. “When you’re that age,” he said, somewhat wistfully, “you think you’re invincible. We had to know it was bad for us, but we just didn’t care.”

I told him about my own father flying planes in North Africa, smoking way too many cigarettes and playing poker. The old gentleman laughed at that and said, “Good for him, I did too.”

Just about that time a pretty silver haired lady motored out of the bookstore in an electric wheelchair. He didn’t jump up to help her, but watched as she approached a mini-van and opened its electric side door. When she was almost inside he said, “Well, I see my wife so I guess I better go but I’ve enjoyed talking with you miss.”

“Thank you, so have I. Have a nice day sir.”

He got up from his chair and went to the van, climbing in the driver’s side. I watched as he backed into the parking lot. Just before he turned away, he waved at me, one of those little finger waggle waves people with secrets give each other. I laughed, he grinned, and I think we both came away feeling it had been a lovely encounter.

Whether he was in his eighties or not, he was still handsome and charming, and obviously still liked to pass the time of day with a strange woman. It wasn’t a sidewalk cafe in Paris, but in a strange way it could have been. He’d have been gorgeous in his uniform, I, no doubt would have been wearing a silly hat. We’d have sipped espresso and talked about the liberation. I think I’m really sorry I didn’t know him then.

WWII, World War II, nostalgia

There are 5,782 Indian soldiers lying in the cemeteries of Italy representing all India’s religious faiths (Hindu, Muslim, and Sikh). The “men,” some just boys of 16, served during World War II fighting to liberate Italy. Last week a wreath-laying ceremony was held at the Commonwealth War Grave Cemetery in Cassino to honor their wartime service for the first time. (For the full story from adnkronos.com, click here. It’s worth it, there’s a nice little wartime love story related toward the end.)

The Battle of Monte Cassino was one of the most vicious of the war lasting from January 17 to May 19, 1944. Allied casualties totalled 54,000 with the Germans and Italians losing 20,000. The Cassino cemetery includes 431 graves of Indian soldiers, some marked with their names, religion, and other relevant data. Others just read, “A soldier of the Indian Army.”

The fallen men were part of a force of 50,000 Indian troops who served in Italy. Six received the Victoria Cross, the highest award bestowed by the British Empire for acts of bravery. It’s easy to just use the throwaway term “British” to refer to troops who participated in key battles during WWII and to forget that many of the soldiers from the empire, like these Indian men, were fighting for countries — even a continent — that was not their own.

As it was for many nations, the war was a transformative period for India. Indian political leaders were not consulted when the British viceroy and governor general, Victor Alexander John Hope, Marquis of Linlithgow, declared India to be at war with Germany in 1939. Inspite of this snub, and the political turmoil within a country already well on its way to independence, between 1939 and 1945 the British Indian Army grew to a force of some 2 million, all volunteers, who served in Italy, Africa, the Middle East, Burma, and Southeast Asia.

Just another reminder — more than 60 years after the fact — that World War II was not an American war, nor a British war, but a world war.

WWII, World War II, Italy, Monte Cassino, India, British Indian Army

You know, I really haven’t decided if reading sites via RSS makes me more efficient or just makes me feel even more overwhelmed. And I am frankly amazed at the number of WWII stories that come through my reader daily. So, just a few things I wanted to share today before they disappear from my consciousness.

Filmmaker Reviews his Film ‘The War’ at MC - The Midland Reporter-Telegram has a story about Ken Burns speaking as part of the Davidson Distinguished Lecture Series. It appears to have been a fairly intimate venue and Burns also comments on his other documentaries. I found it to be an interesting piece.

Okinawans Protest Revisions to World War II History - This one is from the International Herald Tribune. I aways take a look at articles addressing historical revisionism because it can be a good thing and a really, really bad thing. This one is pretty tough to read because new histories are attempting to absolve Japan of any guilt for the mass suicides and murders that took place on Okinawa during the war. The article is particularly poignant because it relates the story of a man who beat his mother, brother, and sister to death fearing what would happen to them if they were captured by the Americans.

We’re Not Heroes: Book Details a Friendship Forged in War - Finally, here’s a book review of a new offering by two of the men profiled in the HBO Series “Band of Brothers.” William Guarnere and Edward Heffron collaborated on “Brothers in Battle: Best of Friends,” which is going on my reading list.

WWII, World War II, Ken Burns, The War, Okinawa, Band of Brothers

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution had an interesting article today entitled, “Saga of a Nazi Hunter: Federal Official Who Looks for Aging Suspects of War Crimes Says Focusing on Victims Keeps Him Going.” Without question as World War II recedes farther and farther into history, bringing living Nazi war criminals to justice may be the great grand-daddy of all “cold cases.”

But Eli Rosenbaum, the son of a former Army intelligence officer and the head of the Justice Department’s Office of Special Investigations, is only 52 and he’s still on the case. Last week he located an 85-year-old man who may be Paul Hennss, an SS guard responsible for training the deadly attack dogs used at Dachau and Buchenwald.

The Office of Special Investigations was formed in 1979. In the past 28 years, the office has won cases against 106 ex-Nazis, 64 of whom have been removed from this country. The Atlanta-Journal Constitution article profiles how Rosenbaum became involved in Nazi hunting and describes his investigations and methods. This is a dedicated man, one who saw a death warrant for a six-year-old girl named Fruma Kaplan and was determined to avenge her execution. (At the time, Rosenbaum’s own daughter was six-years-old.)

He has immersed himself in a dark period of human history and openly admits to crying when he reads the documentation of the atrocities committed and the death’s of the victims for whom he seeks justice. People like Rosenbaum continue to live World War II every day and they are committed to pursuing every last war criminal while there’s any chance they still live — years after their victims died. It’s remarkable work and an excellent article that I highly recommend.

WWII, World War II, Department of Justice, Office of Special Investigations, Nazi hunting, war crimes