Tag Archives: Sailor

Aircraft, America, Old Man Jack, World War II

Old Man Jack-ism #8

May 22, 2015 Mustang.Koji 34 Comments

jack corsair 99 — After recovering from a flood of memories, Old Man Jack stares at the other girl in his life: the F4U Corsair. Planes of Fame, March 3, 2003. Copyright Koji D. Kanemoto.

“….The son-of-a-bitch had no legs…” said Old Man Jack from his wife’s blue wheelchair. His arms were making like windmills. Well, windmills as fast as his 88 year old arms could go. He had a comical yet strained look on his face, his bushy white eyebrows still prominent.

But you could see the pain behind those eyes…and in his deadened voice.

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Several months have passed since I visited with Old Man Jack at his grave. With Memorial Day around the corner, May 17th was a beautiful day to visit him. A recent rainstorm had just passed and the blue skies were painted with thin, wispy clouds.

I could see no one had stopped by since my last visit; at least no one that left flowers for his wife Carol and him. The hole for flowers was covered up and grass had crept up onto his gravestone.

I had brought along something for Jack this time; something I thought he would enjoy. So after cleaning up his resting place, it was placed atop his gravestone – his beloved F4U Corsair:

c-10-252 — He loved the F4U Corsair. He reflected on seeing the entire patrol return to base at wave top, do a victory roll then peel off with a tear in his eyes.

I’m hoping he was beaming. He couldn’t possibly be happier, being with the two most beautiful ladies in his life.

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But back to his story.

A few months before he was taken away from his home, we had been sitting in his cluttered garage, talking about this and that; I just can’t recall what. But something in our talk triggered an ugly war flashback from his tormented and mightily buried subconscious. By that day in 2011, I could tell when he was enduring one, having sat in his garage with him for ten years.

He began as he did before. He would suddenly stop then gaze down at his hands for a couple of seconds. His left ring finger would begin to rhythmically pick under his right thumbnail. His white, bushy eyebrows now made thin with time would partly obscure his eyes from me when he lowered his head.

While I am unable to recall his exact words, he slowly allowed an ugly event to surface:

Old Man Jack began, “We were ordered to go on a patrol. We were issued rifles and hoped to God we wouldn’t come across any Japs,” he said in a remorseful way.¹ “Then, we came to these rice paddies… We could see hills around us… but that also meant the Japs could see us.”²

okinawa paddy — Perhaps it was this rice paddy in Okinawa. Archival image.

“We just followed the guy in front of us like cattle,” he said. “We were making it through the rice paddies when a couple of shells came in. Man, I hit the ground real quick.

Then all of a sudden, all hell broke loose. Rounds were coming in like crazy all around me. They had this area zeroed in real good.”

He continued. “I ain’t ashamed to say it. I was scared real bad. Then we all started to scram. I got up and started to run. I dumped my rifle and ran like crazy.” While in that blue wheelchair that belonged to his beloved wife Carol, Old Man Jack made like he was running, much like Popeye in this clip:

He then took his gaze away from his hands. “Then I saw this guy flying through the air with his arms making like he was still running… but the son-of-a-bitch had no legs!” He pointed his finger and made an arc like a rainbow, then swung his arms like a windmill. Apparently, an enemy round had hit his comrade, severing his upper torso from his legs then throwing him into the air. Although the comrade met a violent end, Old Man Jack was describing how he saw his arms flailing.

He stopped. His eyes returned to his hands. I still cannot imagine the torment he was enduring, even after 70 years.

I never will. I just hope he didn’t take it to his grave with him.

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While Old Man Jack was fortunate to have survived combat unlike my Uncle Suetaro or Sgt. Bill Genaust, it was but a physical survival.

Combat tormented him forever.

Let us remember this Memorial Day our fellow Americans who perished so young for the sake of their families and friends, no matter which conflict… and also firmly support those in uniform as I write. They, too, are being forgotten by many, even as they fight – and die – for us in godforsaken faraway places.

IMG_9496-001-10 — My friend’s first husband, Sgt. Robert W. Harsock, US Army, Viet Nam, posthumously bestowed the Medal of Honor. National Medal of Honor Memorial, Riverside National Cemetery. Copyright Koji D. Kanemoto

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NOTES:

1. I would like to remind my readers that Old Man Jack had no hatred to me or my family when he uttered the word “Jap”. He is digressing to a most vile period in his life in which he could be killed the very next moment. If you are offended, it is suggested you participate in an all-out war; perhaps you will understand why.

2. At his funeral, the minister read off the islands he fought on. Based solely on his description of the large rice paddy and hills combined with what the minister said, I firmly believe this was Okinawa 1945. Oddly, while Old Man Jack mentioned Guadalcanal, Rabaul, Bougainville and Green Island, he never mentioned Okinawa.

Aircraft, 第二次世界大戦, Military, Old Man Jack, World War II

Two Old Keys to Memorial Day

May 21, 2014 Mustang.Koji 61 Comments

2014-05-21-12-17-02 — Old Man Jack entrusted me with his house keys “…in case he shot himself in the foot” as he put it. Now covered in dust is Old Man Jack’s favorite baby – the F4U Corsair albeit a toy. He would push that button in once in a while, listen to this toy’s engine sound and watch the prop spin… It would echo a bit in my hallway…

I looked at these two old keys in my hand. They belonged to Old Man Jack and the thought of Memorial Day instantly crossed my mind.

Two old keys to Memorial Day.

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A year ago, I had written a blog about Memorial Day (“It” and Memorial Day).

At times, I feel the meaning of Memorial Day has either faded or has changed.

In essence, many people living in today’s “politically correct” society have taken the sacrifices of our fallen to mean a three day weekend.

Sad…but that’s how I feel.. and it angers me.

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When I looked at those two keys, my mind raced to some of the things Old Man Jack said.

But mostly, to the things he could not say.

In the twelve years I was honored to know him, he would abruptly blurt out something once in a while when we were talking in his garage… while sitting in the blue wheelchair that belonged to his wife.

There was no story associated with these mutterings.

“Boys got killed on those stinkin’ islands…” then raise his thick, white eyebrows.

Or, “Hell, I pissed in my pants.”

Or once in a while, he would make a muffled smack with his lips then slowly shake his head left and right… and not say anything more.

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One such utterance was mentioned in “Old Man Jack’s Love”.

Upon gazing upon his beloved Corsair in front of him after over 60 years, he began weeping.

sketch — Ground crew working on a Corsair in heavy rain.

After recovering and meandering next to his plane, he simply let out, “Some of (the pilots) just didn’t come back. I could never stop thinking, ‘Did a Jap get him… or was it me?’”

He said that because as Ground Crew Chief, he was responsible for the airworthiness of the plane a young Navy or Marine pilot would take out on a mission…to shoot at the enemy…or be shot at. These planes had to be in the best fighting condition as lives depended on it. But he frequently said “they had to make do” because they never had enough spare parts… so they HAD to improvise.

One time, he said a bushing had been shot out on a plane that had to go on a mission the next morning. Old Man Jack did what he could. What he must. He soaked two pieces of coconut logs in engine oil overnight. When it came time for the pilot to take off, he clamped the oil soaked wood around the cabling and used baling wire to clamp them together as tightly as he could. The plane left on its mission – with the young pilot behind the stick…in a plane with oil soaked coconut log as a bushing.

Unbelievable.

Now perhaps you understand the depth of his utterance of, “…or was it me?”

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11588442153_2dec5b0551_o — Old Glory shimmering off a P-51 Mustang at the Chino Planes of Fame Museum.

I will never have an answer because the question could never have been asked of him.

But I feel Old Man Jack carried tremendous guilt in his heart about something that happened on those stinkin’ islands.

Not just bad; real bad.

Deep down, my heart tugs at me that someone within Old Man Jack’s reach died that shouldn’t have… and that Old Man Jack feels personally responsible for his death… and he carried that anguish for all these years.

Torment.

Grief.

Guilt.

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As Old Man Jack said, some of the young pilots didn’t come back.

They were killed or are forever missing in action.

That is for whom Memorial Day is all about.

To remember and honor those that did not come back…and not a Memorial Day sale.

Two old keys to Memorial Day…

Aircraft, America, Atomic Bomb, 第二次世界大戦, Family, Hiroshima, Japan, Military, Nisei, World War II

The Pain of Survival and Aunt Michie – Part 5

March 4, 2014 Mustang.Koji 13 Comments

japansurrender88 — A rare photograph taken after listening to the Emperor’s surrender speech, August 15, 1945. There was a coup attempt the night before the speech was broadcast.

Although the violence of World War II was nearing an end, other aspects of the war could continue against Japanese civilians for years to come.

Their infrastructure was gone. Essential assets such as manufacturing plants, machinery, trains, roads, housing, utilities, even fishing boats had been destroyed.

And most of all, food.

And Aunt Michie’s dignity – the entire family’s dignity – will continue to be tested until the late 1940’s.

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boy genmai mainichi — Dated April 1943. A boy poses holding a stick in a bottle filled with unpolished brown rice. This is not the polished brown rice you eat today at Panda Express. It was more wild. Japanese would insert a stick into a bottle partially filled with brown rice then repeatedly jab at the rice until the husk came off. It was low grade rice with the germ still on. (From the Mainichi Shimbun archives.)

For eons, Japan has been unable to produce enough rice for their people let alone food. In fact, it was not until about the time Japan hosted the 1964 Olympics that Japan could produce enough rice for themselves.

The war took a terrible toll on regular folks from getting their “rice fix” – they were just not able to eat it. This deprived them savoring it, the mental and biological satisfaction of just eating it. Think of it this way – what if not just bread itself was kept from you but also the sweet smell of the freshly baked bread with the perfect crust..with melting butter? Talk about attacks on your psyche: deprivation. Deprivation for years. Prolonged sensual deprivation makes for huge changes in one’s outlook on life.

Like the photo of the little boy, millions of civilians would acquire a wild form of brown rice (玄米 genmai) and de-husk them as shown. Along with barley, it served as a substitute for the flavorful white rice with the higher calories.

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Confronted by not only the absence of medical supplies, Aunt Michie’s house was now filled with 23 men, women and children with varying degrees of burns. I doubt emergency rooms could handle such a sudden load of burn victims… but Michie’s family did. On top of that, her house was damaged by the atomic bomb’s shockwave. It pains me to even see in my mind what they had to do to make the house habitable enough so quickly to nurse the injured.

It was mayhem and Michie personally did not ask for this horrific situation… but now, on top of trying to provide medical care for 23 people, she was confronted with one ominous problem: how to feed them all. There was no food left in the city of Hiroshima and it was just over the hill. And any food left in the village of Tomo was fresh. It would spoil quickly anyways in the heat as there was no refrigeration. No supermarket. No canned goods either.

She did as Aunt Michie only could. She used her precious reserve of rice and only served it to the ailing victims. I am sure she believed that would be the only way to truly help them survive as all of them were malnourished. As a result of rationing the remaining rice to the victims, her own children who weren’t physically injured were delegated to survive on cooked pumpkins, stems, stalks or taro roots for the duration.

A huge, gut wrenching decision for Aunt Michie, I’m sure.

image0-012 — Some of the wild grass or other vegetation boiled for emergency eating can be seen behind my father and Uncle Suetaro. Hiroshima, circa 1929. Copyright Koji Kanemoto

To help this dire situation, the Hiroshima aunt who was not badly injured went about the area with Mikizo’s parents scavenging for wild grass and other vegetation to boil. That, too, became part of their food. Although likely not very nutritious to say the least, there was no other alternative. And it is important to note such wild vegetation they boiled or ate had been subjected to the black rain…

What do you have in your yard?

Perhaps you can somewhat understand why my cousin Masako thought Spam was the most delicious thing she ever ate.

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In spite of all Aunt Michie could do, my cousins tell me some of the burn victims’ injuries wouldn’t heal. They had worsened. Their wounds began to fester or decay for lack of a better description. Pus formed. There was nothing they could do.

The odor of the decaying flesh permeated out of the house. They say you could smell it from the dirt road immediately outside.

It became so intense that people would hold their noses to scurry past the house.

None of my cousins who were there tell me they will ever forget that vulgar smell of rotting flesh… or death. Never.

Just like Old Man Jack.

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From Aunt Michie clockwise: Aunt Michie (holding Kiyoshi), Namie, Mikizo’s father, Masataka, Sadako, Masako, Mikizo and Mikizo’s mother. Taken in 1948 at their farmhouse where they cared for 23 victims. Courtesy of Kiyoshi Aramaki.

My cousins tell me some didn’t make it.

Others would pass away in the next couple of years from the effects of their injuries or radiation.

Nevertheless, the struggle for food and other essentials would continue…but my Aunt Michie’s immediate family survived. Even Tomiko who was in Hiroshima proper.

And Aunt Michie’s dignity and strength reigned supreme.

They all made it to tomorrow.

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The surrender documents were signed by Emperor Hirohito’s representatives aboard the USS Missouri on September 2, 1945.

Unbelievably, Mikizo also survived the war. Although taken prisoner upon Japan’s surrender as a soldier in the Imperial Japanese Army, he was released from Manchuria and allowed to return to his Hiroshima farm in late 1946.

To be continued in Part 6….

America, Army, Atomic Bomb, 第二次世界大戦, Family, Food, Hiroshima, Japan, Nisei, World War II

The Pain of Survival and Aunt Michie – Part 4

March 2, 2014 Mustang.Koji 26 Comments

You can hardly tell this is a young girl anymore. As Masako and Mr. Tsukamoto told me, they were walking dead. Flesh literally melted off their bodies and dangled. Grotesque forms which were once human beings.

The aftermath of the bombing was no different from hell. Not that I’ve seen hell nor that I would want to…

But Aunt Michie and my very young cousins saw it.

They visited hell.

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a-bomb1 — Atomic bomb survivors. Perhaps this is what Aunt Michie and her cousins saw in their search for relatives on the other side of the hill. If you notice the flask the young girl is holding to her lips. It was likely filled with radioactive water.

Nearly all doctors and nurses within the city had been killed or seriously wounded on August 6, 1945. If they survived the blast, they were likely to fall ill from radiation poisoning and they themselves would die within days. All remaining medical supplies – which had been nearly non-existent due to the war – had been destroyed as well. Most food – even unpicked fruits or vegetables – were contaminated with radiation as was water(¹). Thousands of corpses plugged the rivers as they would go in to soothe their burns but would soon perish.

It is important to note that food rationing in Japan was much more extreme than what was imposed on the American public. While the rationing in America began in May 1942, it started with just coffee and sugar. In Japan, rationing of a far more extensive reach began in 1939 if not earlier. It extended to nearly all first quality food stuffs. Rice, barley, seafood, meat, soy bean paste and soy sauce, vegetables, fruit, seafood, etc. Groups called “tonari-gumi” were established in villages and the like; they monitored and rationed food to the Japanese families based on what work they were doing, e.g., war production, number of family members along with their age and sex. The rationing was so severe that when one family member died, the family did not report it. The average caloric daily intake was cut down to less than 2,000 a day by 1945.

homeless_orphan_in_postwar_tokyo — Homeless orphan in Tokyo. He would have to be determined if he was to survive.

The Japanese civilians were starving, so to speak, and were without question malnourished.

Aunt Michie was no different. She was hungry like everyone else and likely tired easily due to low nutritional intake and daily physical and emotional demands upon her. It is important to have an understanding of her condition at this crucial moment in history.

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2-sadako1 — Sadako – taken in early 1948 by my father while on furlough. She would marry a distant cousin (common cultural practice at that time) who was also badly burned in the atomic explosion. She is wearing clothing my father bought for her at the Tokyo PX.

After the shock and black rain subsided, Aunt Michie’s thoughts immediately went to her treasured family. According to my cousins, she went into her priceless family rice reserves and cooked real rice for the children. Sadako, the second oldest, remembers to this day how she savored that bowl of rice, a definite luxury at that time. While but a child of ten years and filled with anxiety about eating such a fine meal, she saw at that moment her mother’s love and affection for them was unconditional.

Aunt Michie’s thoughts went to the Aramaki family (aunt and uncle’s family) who lived in Hiroshima. She had no way of knowing that day but they had become direct victims of the atomic bombing. They had been burned over most of their bodies and had even been trapped under their destroyed house. They managed to struggle with their searing injuries to Aunt Michie’s house to seek refuge and care. They had realized that only strong family support would allow them to live.

Grotesquely, the path going over the 300 meter high hill which the relatives traveled became littered with scores of dead people. Masako said they were unrecognizable lumps of flesh and died where they crumpled. Many had their clothes burned away. While thousands were killed instantly, other thousands suffered for days before dying from intense burns, radioactive poisoning and other injuries. As radiation poisoning was unheard of amongst them, some were told they had dysentery and the like. Many before dying oozed pus from their ears and blood ran from their noses. You will not read this in any Western textbook. In fact, the gruesome information about the days, months and years after August 6th was suppressed for a couple of decades by both governments.

While the dazed and immensely pained adults struggled to Michie’s farm, there were young children of the family unaccounted for(²). Without hesitation and unbelievably, Aunt Michie – in her weakened state – pulled a two wheel cart over the hill to Hiroshima to look for them.

Over a hill.

I believe this to be the type of cart Aunt Michie pulled to Hiroshima to look for the unaccounted for children of the family. Kiyoshi called it a 大八車, or large two wheeled wooden cart.

Miraculously and while the details are lost, she found some of them and hauled them back to the farm on the cart, now laden with the additional weight of the children… on the same road that was further littered with dead and dying people. Think of the mental anguish Michie had to endure when dying people came up to her and asked for her help… It would be difficult to not look at them. It was more difficult to ignore them, I’m sure.

According to my cousins, a total of 23 people got refuge and care at Aunt Michie’s farm. I understand many were relatives from the Aramaki side of the family.

There were more hurdles for Michie and her children immediately ahead – caring for the injured and dying.

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526 — You can tell which way this woman was facing when the bomb went off. Her left side is burned. Photo was likely taken after August 6, 1945.

Caring for Victim of Hiroshima Bombing — A mother looks after her child. This photo was also likely taken after August 6, 1945.

Victim of Hiroshima Bombing — An elderly woman lies dying on the floor covered with flies. Perhaps this is just one of the sickening sights Michie and her children have buried in their conscious.

The preceding photographs may show what Michie and the children were faced with. And the children were just that – children.

How old are your children, by the way?

The older cousins recall that they, Michie, Mikizo’s parents and the less injured relatives took on a 24 hour a day field hospital of sorts to treat the injured. It was stifling hot and humid; yet, they had to be given constant attention and there were so many of them. I cannot imagine how exhausting this task could have been, especially when you are hungry and malnourished yourself.

Taken sometime after August 6, 1945. The side of her you see is what had faced the atomic explosion. The patterns are from her clothing she wore that day. It was where the dark patterns of her clothing had been in contact with her skin. Masako recalls vividly this type of pattern among the burn victims and that the maggots followed that pattern.

The common injury were burns. Severe burns…and they had no medicine whatsoever.(³) No Bactine. No Motrin. No aloe. All Michie could do was to coat the burns with a type of cooking oil and bandage them with pieces of cloth. She must have endured unlimited anguish in knowing she could not measurably lessen their pain and suffering. There must have been constant crying and unbearable moans of pain.

And on their hands, blood from human beings.

3-namie1 — Namie – taken in early 1948 by my father while on furlough.

Six year old Namie could never forget what she had to do. Flies were swarming having sensed dying flesh. Namie was tasked with shooing them away with a fan but they wouldn’t stay away. And worse yet – time and time again, she had to remove the maggots that were feeding on dead flesh…with chopsticks. I do not know if I could have done that…but Namie did.

The turmoil that must have stormed inside Aunt Michie to tell her daughters to do what they had to do for the sake of survival…and then to be stern with them and tell them to continue when they wavered or cried… must have been punishing to her as a loving mother. She must have wanted to cry.

Aunt Michie was the point woman.

And she fulfilled that role.

Her goal was to get everyone to tomorrow.

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To be continued in Part 5….

Notes:

(1) Per my 2012 meeting with Mr. Tsukamoto in Hiroshima, water is the main theme of the Cenotaph at the Peace Park. Survivors clamored for water. Where there was well water, many survivors were suffocated as dozens more pressed against them for the precious liquid. Please see “A 1937 Yearbook, the Atomic Bomb and Hiroshima” for further information and links to their personal story.

(2) The number of unaccounted for children is unclear.

(3) Mr. Tsukamoto recounted how they had to constantly mash yams and place them over their burns to temporarily lessen the pain. They did that for over a month, he says.

Army, Atomic Bomb, Children, 第二次世界大戦, History, Japan, Marines, Military, Navy, Nisei, World War II, World War II

“Dear Courageous Sailor” – a Letter from 1943

January 30, 2014 Mustang.Koji 21 Comments

Marines82large — Marines escort Saipan civilians. It was estimated that 22,000 civilians died, most by suicide. It was traumatic for our young Marines to witness, too.

There is personal pain in a full-fledged war that only those who were fully involved can feel. Those feelings will differ by how that person was involved.

We somewhat understand through survivors that a soldier, airman, sailor or Marine near or on the front lines will have an intimate kinship with instantaneous fear. They know combat is immediate, unfair, cruel, and barbaric. But hopefully, they know their families and country are behind them – perhaps giving them the edge to overcome their fears and survive.

And this is true for the enemy as well. As I become more knowledgeable on the Pacific Theater during WWII, I have learned the young Japanese combatants had the same fears (please see “There’s No Toilet Paper in the Jungle of Burma“). But unlike the Allied forces who had millions of tons of war materiel, food and medical care backing them, the Japanese military fell way short.

But what about the Japanese home front? Have you paused to ponder that? Were their countrymen any different from us in their ways of supporting their young men dying by the hundreds of thousands?

I never did myself until recently.

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I met Rob on the internet through his facebook page, “WWII U.S. Capture Photos“. He focuses on the spoils of war, bringing back to the forefront the war souvenirs seized by military personnel.

He acquired a letter from a now elderly Marine who was fighting on Saipan in mid-1944. He had told Rob that he removed it from a Japanese corpse.

japaneselet2 — The now tattered envelope is anonymously addressed to”海軍の勇士様” or “Dear Courageous Sailor”.

Apparently, this letter had ended up to haunt the Marine who was at time very young and fighting for his life on Saipan. The once young Marine is pictured in the center of this photo:

Marine Saipan — The young Marine who seized this letter is pictured in the middle. For an original image, please click on the picture.

Rob asked if my father could read the letter and translate it.

The letter was haunting Rob, too.

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My friend and I went to see Dad in October 2013. Below, Dad is reading the letter taken by the then young Marine from Saipan in 1944.

The backside of the envelope is below showing the sender’s name and return address. The image was enhanced to bring out the writing. The Marine had written “Japanese letter picked up on Saipan”.

The letter was anonymously addressed and sent by a young girl named “Kazuko Arai (荒井和子)”. The return address shows she was a student of a girl’s economics school in Tokyo, Nakano City, town of Honcho (東京都中野区本町通六丁目女子経済専門学校 – 附属高女). While I believe the school may have been at least damaged by the fire bombings, I may have located the successor school. It is called “Nitobe Bunka Gakuen” with its current address as 東京都中野区本町6-38-1. (While I did send a blind email of inquiry to them in my far from perfect Japanese, there has been no response. I doubt that there will be given the Japanese culture.)

While the scans were of low resolution, the two pages of the letter are as follows:

Because my father will be 95 next month, it was difficult to keep him on course. In spite of reminding him to just read the letter in Japanese (I would understand most of it), he continually tried to translate its sentences into English. Perhaps somewhere in his buried conscious, he is doing as he was trained by the US Army’s Military Intelligence Service. Admittedly, there were about a half-dozen characters that were just tough to make out due to creases and lack of clarity. And he wasn’t able to figure out one paragraph in particular…but I did! Got one on my old man.

I also sought out help from my good Hiroshima cousin, Kiyoshi, and he filled in the blanks.

Kazuko wrote:

夏も過ぎさり戰局は日一日と厳しく今こそ物心はおらか私どもう総べてを国家に捧げつくすべきと秋となりました。
As summer passes and turns into autumn, the war situation is getting more severe and now we must physically and mentally dedicate ourselves for our country.

海上での勇士様にはお変わりなく軍務に御精勵（励）の事を存じます。
As a courageous sailor out at sea, I know your unwavering fighting spirit continues.

大東亜の全戦線に於いては、今や彼我の攻防戦は、まことに熾烈極めて居るという事等、すでに日々の報道により私共の耳に刻々傳えられてをります。
Per our (radio) broadcasts, we hear that the intensity of battle and such has increased for both sides at all the front lines in the Far East Asia theater of war.

山崎保代部陽長以下二千名ついに全員北海の島に於いて玉砕したこの事をラジオが私達に傳へるや私達は唯聲をのみ頭をたれるばかりでした。

A radio broadcast announced that Lt. General Yasuyo Yamasaki and 2,000 of his garrison died honorably defending an island in the North Sea. All we could do was bow our heads (in honor) and swallow our grief (voices).

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

[ NOTE: In researching this report, I discovered that Lt. General Yamasaki was assigned to defend the island of Attu. He was killed with his remaining garrison in a banzai charge on May 29, 1943. Please click on the following for more information:

Lt. General Yasuyo Yamasaki (machine English translation)

Lt. General Yasuyo Yamasaki (Original Japanese)

Photo of Lt. General Yamasaki ]

My cousin Kiyoshi also found an extensive accounting of the Battle of Attu in Japanese with English translations for those who are interested.

Japanese version of the Battle of Attu

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

(Letter continues)

今私達は本当に容易ならぬ戰争の只中におかれている事を強く感じました。
Now, with the daily war situation, we strongly feel as if we are in the midst of the battle and realize (winning) will not be easy.

学校ではもうじき秋の軍動會が開かれますので一生懸命身体をきたへてをります。
Soon, it will be time for the autumn (military) athletic meet; I will train hard to strengthen my physique.

断じて米英女性には贁けない覧唔です。
We resolve to not lose against the American and English women.

ではどうぞう勇士様くれぐれ御身体御大事に大切にお国の為しっかり戰って下さい。御武軍を祈り致します。
So please, courageous sailor, sincerely take good care of yourself and fight hard. I pray for your fighting spirit.

さよなら
Good bye.

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So now we realize that Japan also had a “home front”.

Perhaps they did not have a “Rosie the Riveter” like we did.

But the Japanese homeland did endure pain, fear and sorrow as we did…and depression. They were not the inhuman creatures depicted on war posters and in propaganda of that time. And thanks to Rob and the young Marine, we see a letter written in Tokyo by a high school girl named Kazuko Arai in the autumn of 1943 and simply addressed to an anonymous sailor. Kiyoshi also believes that the watermarked stationery was of high quality and issued out of military stock for this purpose.

Sadly, we do not know the name of the sailor from whose corpse the letter was removed from, nor do we know if Ms. Arai survived the war and raised a family.

showa8 — Picture taken at Kazuko’s school pre-war.

Things like this sort aren’t evident in our (current) history textbooks. Now, WWII has pretty much been erased from school textbooks altogether, replaced by “politically correct” topics…that there was simply a war between Japan and America. A disgrace to those who endured or died.

In closing, there is a diary written by a young Japanese doctor up to the time of the final banzai charge on Attu. He was one of the attackers who was killed. As mentioned in my other posts about the Military Intelligence Service, Japanese military forces were allowed to write diaries. When these diaries were taken from the battlefield, the Japanese-Americans (Nisei) soldiers were able to read then extract valuable intel on the enemy – both for their battle front and their homeland. In his last entry, the young doctor writes a goodbye to his wife and two small children back home.

Young Japanese doctor’s war diary

Aircraft, America, 第二次世界大戦, Military, Navy, Old Man Jack, World War II

“Old Man Jack-ism” #4

December 21, 2013 Mustang.Koji Leave a comment

Day after tomorrow – two years ago – Old Man Jack left us. He would be free of his nightmares of war which plagued him nightly for seventy years. While it is self-serving to reblog your own story, I am reblogging this for the sake of men like him who gave away their youth to serve in hell. People today need to KNOW and REMEMBER. I regret the huge majority of Americans today are ignorant of what people had to do so that we can enjoy – and complain – of what we have today.
Rest in peace, Jack. I will try to visit you today to say hi.

Masako and Spam Musubi

“Koji, don’t let anyone tell you different. War makes good boys do crazy things.”

That was the first time Old Man Jack shared something with me about the war in a voice of unfeigned remorse. In turn, it was one of my first journeys in his time machine in which he allowed me to ride along.

Front row seats. Free of charge.

It was in 2002 to the best of my recollection. It was just before my littlest firecracker was born.

__________________________

KA-BAR. If you are a World War II US Marine who served on “those stinkin’ islands”, there is no explanation necessary.

A KA-BAR was a Marine’s most prized personal possession. It was always at their side.

They opened their C-rations with it. Dug foxholes with it. Chopped coconut logs with it. Hammered nails with it. Indestructible.

Most importantly, for killing. Designed for slashing and stabbing. Desperate hand-to-hand combat. To the death.

The KA-BAR…

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Aircraft, America, 第二次世界大戦, Family, Marines, Military, Navy, World War II

An Unexpected Honor Guard

July 13, 2013 Mustang.Koji 30 Comments

First class. Awesome. Fantastic. Honorable.

I was in humble disbelief.

________________________

Delta is my airline of choice…and I had many reasons for choosing Delta.

Now, I have another reason. And I am grateful.

Delta has an Honor Guard. That’s right. An Honor Guard.

Bravo.

Look at the passengers behind the glass. They were fortunate to have watched. Imagine what they were feeling. I wish I had the opportunity.

What do you all think about this service…from an airline?

America, Family, Marines, Navy

Online Dating… Hmmm

July 5, 2013 Mustang.Koji 40 Comments

Gut wrenching words: online dating.

There. I wrote the words. After all, this is WordPress.

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It’s blasphemy.

Marge and Carol from the Greatest Generation would be so dismayed that I would be searching online for a gal. Marge met Mr. Johnson at a USO dance in WWII. Carol met Old Man Jack at his mom’s house in Eagle Rock during one of his two furloughs from warring on those “stinkin’ islands”. The commonality? They met face-to-face and it wasn’t at a bar. And it wasn’t at 2:30 AM before they were to ship out to war. (Clicking on the highlighted links will take you to one of their stories.)

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Online dating began for me last month…I mean, online searching. Duh.

Dating comes later – if at all.

Unbelievable – an old fart like me is using the internet to “shop” for a lady. I’m now a (nearly) 60 year old rookie up against lady pros who reportedly have been picking and choosing “online” for their PERFECT man…for the last three years some of them write. Gee, think of the tricks they must have up their sleeves against old geezers like us.

Frightening…especially since they have the upper hand. A royal flush, ace high. Why is it that the woman always has the right to pick and choose and not the man?

____________________

The thought of online dating really repulsed me; it still does. A last resort for social misfits unsuitable for mainstream society, I thought. I also envisioned it as a “meat market” of sorts. You know, pick out the best side of beef by looking at your screen then bid on it. The highest bid wins and it is just that in substance.

Well, I haven’t learned enough during my years on this planet so I was ignorant enough to have tried it out…mostly because I knew I would likely end up in a “Why did I do that?” moment if you found your “soul mate” at a bar half-drunk out of your wits. That would also include her, too. The other reason was that I don’t like to mix with large crowds for one reason or another. So where would I meet my Disney princess of dreams, I thought?

Ergo, online dating. Old Man Jack and Mr. Johnson must be shaking their heads at me from above.

___________________

A Marine amputee who has become a heart throb amongst women.

Well, this is what I’ve found out so far… and it’s my view only:

Because of “PC”, women do have the upper hand. Delete or reply. One sweetheart of a gal told me she gets over a hundred emails a day from interested men. Over a HUNDRED.
Nearly all of the women say on their “profile” that LOOKS are certainly “a plus” BUT they are “truly” looking for HONEST and loyal men…not players. However, nearly all of the ladies post photos of themselves taken years earlier or they are blurred. Many also understate their age – a few by ten years! Honesty starts with oneself, ladies. Practice what you are looking for. 🙂
Nearly all of the women – even little 5’1” Asian women – seek Caucasian men a bazillion feet tall and who look like this famous wounded Marine amputee and poster boy (above). Me? I’m but 5’7”. (Kinda like the actor who said, “Look! Zee plane! Zee plane!”)
Nearly all of the more “attractive” women expect to be taken to the Maldives, Paris, Sedona, sailing, a winter ski vacation in the Swiss Alps…on a regular basis. Well, you get the message. With me, they’ll be lucky to be taken to Chuck-e-Cheese.
Some women state in their profile their ideal man must earn over $150,000.
One story that was told to me was that one attractive woman told a man at their first meeting that she wants $3,000 month (starting now), a luxury car, and an $18,000 wedding ring for the opportunity to “date” her. You get the message on this one, too.
Nearly all of the women are of Christian/Catholic faith. I’m not. That’s understandable.
Nearly all of the women are divorced as well but their kids are now adults. I can’t blame any of them they don’t wish to live with a man with two teens even if get A’s and B’s… Well, most of the time. They’ve had their share of stress already.

Essence of online dating. I chose this picture as the corgi is a spittin' image of my daughter's corgi. — Essence of online dating. I chose this picture as the corgi is a spittin’ image of my daughter’s corgi.

In essence, online dating isn’t working for me. Perhaps I’m more towards the Walmartian level than I choose to believe or many ladies are not including “Asian” in their search criteria. Tripped up at the starting gate even before the “race” started… Yes, that’s supposed to be a pun.

I even added a couple of links to some of my short stories here on WordPress. Perhaps six ladies actually went so far as to click on the links.

Old Man Jack and Mr. Johnson were right in shaking their heads from above.

Oh. Forgot. If I did get an email from an “interested” female, they were likely from the Philippines or were most definitely specialists in “night activities” – call girls. That was how I got “conned” into purchasing membership to be honest. You were alerted “someone” was interested in you but you could only see them if you paid up. How fortunate for the internet site!

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So in summary, if you, as a male my age is wanting to seek a lady via online dating, you will have great success if:

You are Caucasian;
You are a bazillion feet tall (i.e., a few feet taller than ‘Zee Plane’ dude);
Built like Superman and look like him (body suit and cape optional.);
You are a Powerball winner and will take your lady traipsing all over the globe (on your dime);
Earn over $150,000;
Are Christian/Catholic;
And your own kids do not live with you.

____________________

But in summary and in logical thought, online dating is very similar to what Old Man Jack and Mr. Johnson did 70 years ago.

The only difference back then was the eligible lady is there in front of you. No fake profile pic or dishonesty of body type. You didn’t ask a gal to dance if she didn’t strike your fancy. And your chances for a girl increased exponentially if you were the varsity football team’s quarterback, had a hot car (I do) and moolah (I don’t). And Mr. Johnson cheated, by the way. He wore the dashing uniform of a United States Marine.

I took them to breakfast for a belated 66th wedding anniversary and 88th birthdays. Seal Beach, CA. August 14, 2011. — I took Mr. and Mrs. Johnnie Johnson to breakfast for a belated 66th wedding anniversary and 88th birthdays. Seal Beach, CA. August 14, 2011.

On the positive side, you don’t have to feel the rejection when the gal tells you “no” when asked to dance. They just don’t reply to your emails now.

___________________

Perhaps I should be dishonest and classify myself as Caucasian. Nah. That’s as bad as ladies using photos of themselves from 20 years ago.

Maybe I should realize I’m a Walmartian in the eyes of eligible women.

Or perhaps I should go back to the tried and true Japanese method that’s worked for centuries – contract (arranged) marriage, or お見合い. Just exchange pictures and you’re set. Both sets of grandparents met that way.

6155585321_36eb83ce0f_o — My grandparents on my mother’s side at their contract marriage.

Oh, dang. I did something similar to that the last time.

Aw, nuts.

America, Army, Atomic Bomb, 第二次世界大戦, Food, Friends, Japan, Marines, Military, Navy, Nisei, World War II

“It” and Memorial Day

May 21, 2013 Mustang.Koji 94 Comments

From www.memorialdayfilm.com — From http://www.memorialdayfilm.com

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.

___________________________

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.

__________________________

My photo of WWII vets at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. July 2010

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.

___________________________

(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?”:

A frozen Nazi propped up like a road sign. — A dead and frozen Nazi is propped up like a road sign.

Non-chalant — The booted feet of a dead Japanese soldier, foreground, and his hand protrude from beneath a mound of earth on Iwo Jima during the American invasion of the Japanese Volcano Island stronghold in 1945 in World War II. U.S. Marines can be seen nearby in foxholes. (AP Photo/Joe Rosenthal)

Perhaps this is similar to what Mr. Johnson saw during the Battle of Santa Cruz Islands and Guadalcanal where he was gravely wounded. National Archives. — Perhaps this is similar to what Mr. Johnson saw during the Battle of Santa Cruz Islands and Guadalcanal where he was gravely wounded. Note the position of this dead sailor’s feet relative to his upper body. National Archives.

A US Army soldier lays as he died on Okinawa while the fighting continues around him. National Archives.

Dead Japanese soldier on Luzon, 1945. US Army photo archives. — Dismembered Japanese soldier on Luzon, 1945. US Army photo archives.

British military removing burned German corpse from knocked out tank. National Archives. — British military removing burned German corpse from knocked out Panzer IV tank. National Archives.

Dead Japanese soldier in advanced decomposition. Perhaps this is what Old Man Jack tried to suppress in his recollection of "ID patrol". — Dead Japanese soldier in decomposition. Perhaps this is an example of what Old Man Jack tried to suppress in his recollection of his morbid experience in “ID patrol“. US Marine Corps archives.

Two from the US Army 3rd Armored killed in action in France. National Archives.

j pilot — Dead Kamikaze pilot. Notice the rubber glove on the US sailor’s right hand. US Navy.

Perhaps some of the other “it” they saw involved civilians.

russ fem — Records related to this photograph of a slain young Russian female indicate the photo was taken from a dead German’s wallet.

PolandDeadSister — A description that was attached to this photo state a young girl is led away from her sister who was just killed. Notice the camera in the old man’s hand. He also sports some kind of arm band.

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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.

Field grave for an unknown US Marine. Some souls will never be identified.

Thousands of graves on a “stinkin’ island”… all killed in action.

saipan burial — Saipan burial of a Marine killed in action.

French civilians erected this silent tribute to an American solider who has fallen in the crusade to liberate France. Carentan, France., 06/17/1944 — French civilians erected this silent tribute to an unknown American solider who has fallen in the crusade to liberate France. Carentan, France., 06/17/1944

waves1 — Some souls will never be found.

iwo jima cem — Like this torn photograph of an Iwo Jima battlefield cemetery, memories of young boys who lost their lives so violently are fading away.

___________________________

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.

__________________________

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:

第二次世界大戦, History, Navy, Old Man Jack, World War II, WWII

Jack, I Miss You

December 22, 2012 Mustang.Koji 25 Comments

One year ago tomorrow.

December 23, 2011.

Old man Jack left us.

To be with his beloved wife Carol…and his comrades who were left behind “on those stinkin’ islands”.

Came by to say hi...and Merry Christmas, Jack — Came with two of my kids to say hi…and Merry Christmas, Jack

_____________________________

Life is so fleeting. Some people go through a whole lot. Some of us don’t.

Old man Jack was one of the former. I need to find the time to write more of what he experienced as a young man.

So that at least those that read this blog will know…and appreciate.

_____________________________

Old man Jack had his health problems in his last years.

But when he was a young sailor, he had malaria, dysentery…leeches between his toes, all from fighting on those damn islands in the Southwest Pacific during WWII.

And in 2009, he nearly died from a horrid intestinal infection. His abdomen had swollen. Fat Albert would have been jealous.

He was in ICU for a couple of weeks. After they transferred him to an extended care facility, I made it a point to see him every day…even if it was for brief time.

He looked forward to it as did I.

_____________________________

But soon after being transferred, he went into a depression. He wouldn’t eat – especially what he called the “Army slop” they had at his hospice.

Man, he complained about the chow – but his eyes lit up when I (secretly) took him a Mickey D’s burger and fries once in awhile. He’d smack his lips. But I’d make him eat the chow when I didn’t bring him his hamburger and as usual, he’d get pissed. But not really.

One evening, he was really weak. He wouldn’t raise his head off his pillow.

I told him, “Jack… What’s the matter? Haven’t you been eating?”

He never answered the question but he was off in a different world. While he realized I was there, he said to me softly, “Carol came down to see me last night. She sat right here,” gently patting the mattress on his gurney. “She said, ‘Honey, its about time now. I’m waiting for you.'”

Carol was his wife. He loved her greatly. She had passed away eight years before. I think he wanted to be with her.

_____________________________

Well, I pushed him to get better. And he did.

He finally consented to get into a wheel chair a couple of weeks or so later. I can’t exactly remember but it was June of 2009.

Perhaps you can get a flavor of Old Man Jack’s true character although my Blackberry did a lousy job of recording:

Soon after that, in spite of his pissing and moaning (which I loved as it meant he was getting better), I forced him to use his walker:

It was his way of saying, “Get lost,” by the way…but didn’t mean it as usual. He loved the attention.

Hilarious.

Old Man Jack was on the road to recovery.

_____________________________

Well, the recovery was short-lived.

He is now with his beloved Carol and eating her wonderful cooking. She cooked things exactly as he wanted.

Hamburger patties burned to a crisp. Scrambled eggs WELL done.

He never complained – as he knew he wouldn’t eat if he did.

Deep down, he knew who was the boss.

_____________________________

I miss you and your hollerin’ and moanin’, Jack.

And I knew you never meant it.

And as sad as I am, I also know you are now free of those horrible nightmares from combat that you endured for 70 years…and that you and Carol are on your second honeymoon.

You deserve no less.

You were a helluva representative of the Greatest Generation.

Merry Christmas, Jack.

Love,

Koji, Little Jack and Brooke

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True stories about World War II – One war. Two Countries. One Family