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Category Archives: Army
“It” and Memorial Day
In the 2012 limited release movie, “Memorial Day”, children are playing at their grandparent’s home in a rural setting. It is Memorial Day weekend. A 13 year old boy stumbles across a dusty box in a barn.
The box is his grandfather’s WWII Army footlocker, emblazoned with the unit insignia of his famed unit, the 82nd Airborne. It is filled with “souvenirs” he had brought home from war.
The young grandson probingly asks the grandfather for the stories behind the souvenirs to which he curtly answers no – and bitterly orders the boy to take the footlocker back to where he found it.
“It’s Memorial Day…” says the grandson.
“Damn straight it is,” barks back the grandfather.
The young lad digs in, not wanting to fall short in his quest for answers, and pushes the footlocker even closer to his grandfather.
The grandson then doggedly asks, “What is it I’m supposed to remember?”
Checkmate.
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Memorial Day.
In essence, a day to remember, honor and pray for those nameless souls who were KIA (Killed in Action).
To remember those that didn’t return from war. Young boys. Young men.
But as the young boy in the movie asked, “What is it I’m supposed to remember?”
Do YOU have an answer to that boy’s question?
I didn’t…and perhaps still don’t as I was not shot at, bombed or strafed…nor killed.
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The only thing I do know is that WWII combat veterans do NOT want to talk about “it”.
And that’s our problem, I feel. Because these combat vets are unable to share with us the horror they lived through 70 years ago, it helps diffuse the essence of Memorial Day.
They are unable to share for their own sanity’s sake.
As WWII combat survivors (a.k.a., now collectively known as “vets”) would bravely crack open their bottled abominations to talk about “it” with me, I will venture to blurt that possibly – just possibly – they feel unbearable guilt and shame for what they saw…or did…or did NOT do… but that they survived to talk about “it”.
But their buddies didn’t.
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(Note: World War II is the focus of this story. WWII was a cataclysm of never to be matched magnitude again. There was wanton destruction of entire cities and civilians. Inflicting casualties on the enemy was expected and accepted by the majority. This is not to downplay Korea, Viet Nam or our current war on terrorism. There are different rules of engagement now with much different social expectations by the “good guys”.)
Perhaps you will let me take a chance with trying to bring to light some of the “it” things you may or may not know… If you can at least read about the combat experience, perhaps it will help YOU appreciate Memorial Day even more… and of those that are not with us today.
I’ve collected these personal observations, comments and facts from talking with several bona fide WWII combat vets and just plain reading. Nothing scientific, of course.
So here goes:
- Nearing death, as grievously wounded young men take their last gasps, the most often said word was, “Mama”.
- Under fire, many would curl up into a fetal position shaking uncontrollably while their buddies would somehow raise their weapons to shoot back… only to get showered with their blood and brains as a enemy round obliterated his buddy’s head. It is not about cowardice. It is FEAR.
- About 25% of them peed in their pants. About 10% shit in their pants. (Old Man Jack did both…and he was not ashamed to say so. Ergo, his quote from Two Old Men and a Father’s Day Anguish: “If you got killed with shit in your pants, you got buried with shit in your pants.”)
- Another 25% of these brave young boys and men were so scared or were so repulsed at the gore, e.g., at seeing liquified brains spewing from a shattered skull, they vomited.
- One Marine told me he was to silently kill a Japanese sentry using a makeshift garotte only to find the sentry had fallen asleep face up. He couldn’t use the garotte as the enemy’s helmet was in the sand and the enemy could let out a scream if he used his Kabar. At the appointed minute, my friend had no choice but to jump on the sleeping soldier and grip his Adam’s apple with all his might… to keep him from yelling, too. He knew the enemy died when his body went limp and urinated. My friend did, too. He said he thinks he gripped the enemy’s throat for over two minutes. His hands couldn’t stop shaking. It was his first hand-to-hand kill.
- After hearing sounds at night, frightened soldiers or Marines would unleash a violent and impenetrable barrage of carbine and machine gun fire. When they reconnoitered at day break, they discovered they had mistakenly slaughtered unarmed men, women and children. They would vomit then, too. (I can’t imagine what went on in their souls for the rest of their lives.)
- Sometime in 1943, Army psychiatrists took a survey of “frontline” troops. Less than 1% said they wanted to go back into battle (I understand this was exclusive of the more higher trained units like the Rangers or Airborne). Almost NONE of the Silver Star recipients wanted to go back. But they did.
- Army psychiatrists found that 60 days was the limit for being on the front lines…before a soldier would crack. Old Man Jack was out on the front for just about a year for his first deployment on “those stinkin’ islands”.
- A Nisei 442nd vet told me just the sound of the Nazi MG42 machine gun would make them shit in their pants. It could fire up to 1,500 rounds a minute and chew through tree trunks behind which they were seeking cover. Sometimes, a buddy’s top half would be separated from the bottom half by the MG42…and they saw it happen.
- Another Nisei vet told me they were on patrol when they came under a barrage. As he and a buddy dove into a shell hole for cover, his buddy’s arm went into a rotting, foul mass of a decomposing German’s remains.
- Human souvenir hunting was rampant – and most extreme in the Pacific Theater. Correspondents documented in their reports that a number of Allied military “boiled” Japanese skulls or left them out for the ants to eat away most of the flesh, then kept them. Sailors would leave a skull in a net trawling behind their ship to cleanse them of flesh. For some, the skulls were too large or awkward so they would keep ears or noses. (In fact, Customs had issues with these skulls when a military man would bring them back to the US after discharge.) And as Old Man Jack witnessed in “Old Man Jack-isms #4“, some would collect gold teeth.
A souvenir skull. Someone had etched “1945 Jap skull Okinawa” onto it. - In a battle report, several very young Marines cut off the heads from Japanese corpses, impaled them onto stakes and pointed the faces at the enemy across the way to taunt them. When their commanding officer ordered them to take the severed heads down, they replied something to the effect of if we eat like animals, fight like animals and look like animals, we are going to act like animals.
- Old Man Jack mentioned something he called “squeakers”. He didn’t elaborate on it too much but it’s when fear becomes so overpowering, men would get dry mouth or start gagging… a problem if you were an officer trying to give orders under fire to keep men alive. They would “squeak”.
- “Take a very, very ripe tomato. Throw it with all your might against a weathered cedar plank fence. Listen to the sound of the impact. That’s what it sounds like when a bullet hits your buddy.” A Nisei vet told me that.
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These next images, to be politically correct in today’s world, will be very upsetting to some so a warning to you… But these must be seen to help comprehend why many combat veterans don’t want to talk about “it” and therefore, the difficulty in helping us answer, “What am I supposed to remember?”:
Perhaps some of the other “it” they saw involved civilians.
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So why these gruesome photos of carnage and violent death?
Are they REALLY necessary for you to see?
I believe so… and the preceding photos were relatively tame to be quite honest. There are much more gruesome ones in private collections. Old Man Jack had a collection but I only got a glimpse of ONE picture early in our relationship and it was of a severed Japanese head. He never brought the photos out again.
But it’s important that Americans today understand “it” went to the hundreds of thousands of now silent US military graves… and “it” also remains tightly bottled up in the few surviving combat vets from WWII.
They have a right to keep “it” bottled up. Vacuum sealed. To keep their sanity although they relive and suffer horribly through “it” each night.
Thousands of graves on a “stinkin’ island”… all killed in action.
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Memorial Day.
To remember those killed.
But without seeing, understanding or accepting the horrible demise these young fighting men encountered ending their short lives, the true meaning of Memorial Day is lost.
It is not truly about the combat vets alive today or who passed away since war’s end… but they sure the hell are part of it. Those alive mightily grip a key to their secrets – preventing your entry into their private internal hell.
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I will remember this when I visit the graves of Old Man Jack and Mr. Johnson this Memorial Day and will think of their fallen comrades.
And I will thank them and their unnamed buddies when I enjoy my barbequed hamburger this Memorial Day weekend and a cigar.
They died for me.
So I could enjoy my hamburger and cigar.
And I shall
A final, short tribute to those resting in graves today:
Around the Corner
Memorial Day is around the corner…
What does it mean to you?
A Dilemma
And may I ask? What happened to our President’s loud rhetoric on threatening us with government and economic shutdown (Sequester), immigration, health care and gun control?
Your thoughts?
Spill It – For the Good of Our Country
Sure… People will say its politics.
Democrats supporting the Adminstration.
Republicans attacking the Administration.
But there are four Americans whom I believe – BELIEVE – needlessly died at the hands of terrorists on 9/11 last year.
The four who died are pictured above…along with their names.
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For argument’s sake, let’s say the firefight DID last about eight hours…that it wasn’t over in a flash.
For argument’s sake, let’s say there were drones videoing the attacks.
For argument’s sake, let’s say there was a gunship up in the air with her dedicated crew’s fingers on the triggers of very accurate weapons. Well, their fingers were on very accurate targeting systems, not triggers.
For argument’s sake, let’s say the attack took place on any OTHER day instead of 9/11.
For argument’s sake, let’s say that the two former SEALs – our BEST – were killed SEVEN hours after pleas for help went out.
SEVEN HOURS?
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The deceased souls parents want to know. Here is just one letter from one mother to Congress. It’s a link so please feel free to click on it:
The mother was there when her son’s body – in a flag-draped casket – was off-loaded in Washington, DC.
(Yes. President Obama and Hillary were there.)
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Our country needs to heal.
Not just about Benghazi…but about nearly everything.
We are divided – right down the middle, it seems.
But what happened to CHARACTER?
A person I like to follow is Michael Josephson. He “teaches” folks about ethics and character. I would like to close this blog with this excerpt from one of his commentaries:
“The way we treat people we think can’t help or hurt us — like housekeepers, waiters, and secretaries — tells more about our character than how we treat people we think are important. How we behave when we think no one is looking or when we don’t think we will get caught more accurately portrays our character than what we say or do in service of our reputations.
Of course, our assessment of a person’s character is an opinion and it isn’t always right. Abraham Lincoln recognized an important difference between character and reputation. “Character,” he said “is like a tree and reputation like its shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing.”
Because the shape of a shadow is determined by the angle of light and the perspective of the observer, it’s not a perfect image of the tree. In the same way, reputation is not always an accurate reflection of character. Some people derive more benefit from their reputation than they deserve; others are better than their reputations.
Still, reputation matters. It determines how others think of us and treat us and whether we are held in high or low esteem. That’s why many people and organizations are so preoccupied with their image that they actually undermine their character by concealing or creating facts to make them look better. It’s ironic that reputations are often the result of dishonesty or the lack of accountability.”
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Hillary… No more conveniently-timed strokes or falls or other ills.
Parents want to know what happened and why their sons are no longer with them.
We want to know why NOTHING has been done to go after these terrorists, some of whom were in PICTURES…on the INTERNET. It’s been eight months, for heaven’s sake.
Hillary.
Spill it.
For the good of our country.
News Reporting? Pffft
This is what my monitor showed at 9:00 AM this morning.
For CNN:
For Fox:
If you click on the images, you can see the topics each news media “deems” important.
How can they be so different?
How can CNN essentially ignore the tremendous budget issues confronting the United States while concentrating on the election of the head of the Catholic religion? (Just being factual here – Catholicism is but one religion in this world. Just citing fact.) Well, Michelle Obama got a line in “for being in the vogue”.
Just weeks ago, CNN was headlining day after day Obama’s attack on the “GOP” as he greatly exaggerated the negative effects of the sequester. They even followed Obama when he went campaigning to bash the GOP…instead of trying to run this country.
I thought news was to be objective…or at least consistently applied?
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I will WRITE it.
Our country’s WOES are the result of two dictatorships… A dictatorship being defined as they do as they please as no one can challenge them. A form of Hitler-ism…
One dictatorship is the damn LAWYERS. We are better off without them. We don’t need lawyers representing jerks who go into small businesses just looking for minor violations. Attorneys WON’T restrict themselves as they feel they are “protecting us”. Pffft.
The other dictatorship is the MEDIA. Reporters are using it to spout off their personal feelings or agendas…or of their management…who gets revenue rewards of various “types”.
Media. Double Pffft.
Rant over.
Iwo Jima
Life has been quite unpredictable for me for the past six weeks or so – as well as tiring. I am quite behind in reading many of your fine blogs and that is on my priority to-do list. But it is a hollow descriptive for me to say I am tired.
I am still alive.
Twenty-nine thousand are not.
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The battle for Iwo Jima began 68 years ago on February 19, 1945.
Sixty-eight years ago. Just yesterday for many.
Sixty-eight years ago, about 29,000 young men met horrible deaths on that demonic volcanic island – 22,000 Japanese soldiers and 7,000 Marines. That unforgiving island still has not given up all of her dead to this day… American and Japanese.
Indeed, the camaraderie amongst the survivors as well as those linked to the battle by relation or history is rightfully still strong. It is vital to the preservation of bravery, courage and love of country.
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As mentioned in an earlier blog, the US Army also participated but not in a manner you would expect.
Per Dr. James McNaughton’s authoritative book, “Nisei Linguists”, Tech Sgt. 5g Terry Takeshi Doi “landed with the assault waves on 19 February 1945”. Doi was a member of the US Army’s top secret Military Intelligence Service (MIS). Doi would be awarded the Silver Star for his actions on Iwo Jima; he went into cave after cave armed only with a flashlight and knife to persuade Japanese soldiers to come out. I believe he is still alive.
Another MIS Nisei, Tech Sgt 3g James Yoshinobu, was fighting in his second world war; he had fought for the US in WW I (that’s ONE) and was 47 years of age while fighting on Iwo Jima. He landed with the 4th Marine Division and was later awarded the Silver Star.
One MIS Nisei, Sgt. Mike Masato Deguchi, was seriously wounded by a land mine and died of his wounds shortly after war’s end.
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Oddly, these Nisei may have never joined the task force sailing out of Pearl for the invasion of Iwo Jima. The Nisei contingent was stopped at the security gate and were prohibited from proceeding because they “looked Japanese”. Only with the accompaniment and support of a few Caucasian officers were they finally allowed to pass and board their transport ships.
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Sixty-eight years later, let us today deeply and reverently remember these brave boys… whether they be American or Japanese…or both. The iconic flag-raising would be tomorrow, February 23.
“Let’s Play War”
When I was a youngster, the kids on our Oakford Drive in East Los Angeles would play after-school and certainly after homework was done.
Playing was comprised of two general categories:
1. Sports – like baseball (complete with broken windows) or football (on our lawns spotted with metal sprinkler heads), or,
2. War
Needless to say, I was never a member of the US forces when we played war. (Oh, how I longed to be Sgt. Rock with his bulging biceps and Thompson machine gun blazing away…fighting for the red, white and blue.)
No, I was always the “J” or the “K”… You know what I mean.
To be killed over and over again.
Like with elaborate booby traps: a wooden clothes pin armed with a cap and taped onto a piece of wood. When I neared the booby trap (countless of times), Steve would pull the cord (countless of times) attached to a little string of metal from a spam can holding the clothes pin open..and “POP!” I would crumble to the ground. Very effective weapon if you ask me.
Or shot with John’s toy Winchester. Wait a minute. Winchesters were for cowboys and Indians. I wonder how that got into our (imaginary) war. Oh, well. We were just playing while building our love for country.
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After all, this was only a little more than 15 years after a most bitter war’s end.
Toyota wasn’t even in our vocabulary.
Sony became part of our vocabulary only because of something called a transistor radio.
“Tofu” wasn’t even a gleam in Webster’s eye.
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But we were playing. Imagining.
Today, I read this news story.
http://video.foxnews.com/v/2144044335001/
The gist of it? I hope you will read it and develop your own.
But…
Is this a case of hysteria? Of being afraid of being sued by spotlight-loving lawyers… or CNN making you out to look a villain to support Obama’s political agenda? Just my opinion, of course.
Of what HARM was it? The toy grenade didn’t even have a paper cap… Wait a minute. Was there EVEN a toy grenade? Or maybe it was a fuzzy tennis ball in place of his imaginary grenade?
OMFG.
Don’t punish the kid’s imagination.
Geezus H. Christ.
Maybe he just wants to be Sgt. Rock and save our country.
Ironies and Observations
Ironies with wise observations:
“If we lie to Congress, it’s a felony; if Congress lies to us, it’s just politics.”
“‘The Land of Opportunity'” is now “‘The Land of Handouts'”.
“The Government spends millions to house, care for and rehabilitate criminals but do nearly nothing for the victims or for our veterans.”
“The Government is unwilling to close our border with Mexico but have no problem protecting the 38th Parallel in Korea.”
We are in trouble, folks.
John Wayne? A Samurai?
It’s true.
John Wayne would have made a great samurai.
He often killed eight men with his six shooter.
Samurais did the same thing… Slashed through two dozen other samurai with one sword…at least in the movies.
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My mother drummed it into me for the first years of my life – that “my ancestors” were samurai.
And not just plain ol’ run-of-the-mill samurai.
They were 偉い侍.
Okie-dokie. I’ll help. High ranking samurai.
And its true…but flawed.
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It gets too complicated so for argument’s sake, I have a second cousin, Toshio. He was adored by both my mother and Aunt Eiko. “Tosh-chan”, as we lovingly called him, was always kind to them through the years. Considering his horrendous working hours common amongst Japanese workers of that time, he still made the effort without complaint. He eventually became a top-notch engineer for Mitsubishi and worked in Cairo and Singapore to name a few places. He lives in Yokohama, Japan.
When I lived in Japan alone for a couple of years as a very young adult, ever faithful Tosh-chan was there again. This time to help me out as well.
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As it turns out, and while mom was there with me visiting, he took us to his home village of Fukui, on the Japan Sea side. It was beautiful country and the area still had the ambience of pre-war Japan. We stayed at his parent’s house and were fortunate to meet some of the extended family. The house was typical from that early time – even the abode was outside. And the mosquitoes. Notice the plural? They never went away. The little buggers loved me… After a couple of hours, I was swollen like a Japanese pin cushion.
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One day, Toshio drove mom, his mom and me to a very old temple, Zenshouji (全昌寺〒922-0807 Ishikawa Prefecture, Kaga, Daishoji Shinmeicho, １ if you’re curious). It was at least three centuries old and miraculously escaped US Naval bombardments.
We met with the head monk who took us to a room where we waited. We sat with our feet under our hineys; you should try that. Very uncomfortable. And the damn mosquitoes were there.
Then out came the monk with a VERY old notebook for the lack of a better description. It had black front and back covers. It was about three inches thick and quite dusty. It was held together by an old hemp string which bound EQUALLY old rice paper. He opened it up on the tatami flooring.
I wish I took photos of it. But my family (on my mother’s side) does have something similar in appearance. The paper and writing looked like something like this:
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The rice paper the history was written on was from the 1600’s… from about the time the Mayflower set sail on her historic voyage putting it into an American mindset (which was AFTER the Native Americans were here, of course). And the writing had some details on “my” samurai ancestors. Unbelievable. Even Joan Rivers would have been speechless.
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We then proceeded up a good sized hill accompanied by – you guessed it – the world’s supply of mosquitoes. I would have preferred just one Doutzen Kroes bug me. Was it my Hai Karate cologne?… or my blood infused by twenty years of Oscar Mayer bacon? Whatever it was, I must have smelled scrumptious to them. I was the nectar of the gods to the little buggers.
We climbed. And Tosh-chan pointed out that as we climbed up, the gravestones (called Ohaka) got older. And older. And older. 1900. 1850. 1800. 1750. 1700. 1650… “Fascinating,” as Spock frequently said.
Then, near the top of the hill by a ledge was a line of ohaka. There they were. “My” ancestors. Samurai ancestors. I was standing by their ashes.
The ohaka with the roofs on them mark the resting place of the honorable samurai. (The littler ones mark the resting place of children.) The one Tosh-chan and I are standing next to represents the resting place of a high ranking samurai. All their last names were of the “Shibayama” clan of which my grand-mother was one (my mother’s mother).
According to the family’s understanding, one ancestor was so skilled in swordsmanship that he was appointed the personal instructor to the son of a shogun. I’d have to admit that would be quite an honor back then. Others were feudal lords.
But…….. That is on my mother’s side and even then, half of that as she had her father’s blood in her… although my grandfather was also of samurai heritage. I know very little of grandfather’s side except that he came from the island of Shikoku.
And my father’s family? They were hard-working farmers. NOT samurai. And that’s one-half of ME.
So what does that make me? As mentioned at the beginning, my mother drummed into me my ancestors were samurai. I grew up thinking, “Yeah! I’m samurai!”
Yes, my ancestors were samurai. Noble ones at that. No doubt. But what my mother drummed into me was just a tad flawed to say the least. SOME of my ancestors were samurai.
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So I guess John Wayne is more of a samurai than I.
Make that Tom Cruise. He did a much better job portraying one in “The Last Samurai”.
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In a future post, you will learn of the true samurai. Not the lore. It is definitely not what you see in Hollywood movies.
But in closing this chapter, here is good ol’ Tosh-chan this past summer when my oldest son Takeshi and I went to Japan.
He helped us once again. Right down to the mosquitoes.
Masako and Spam Musubi 