I’ll give him that but that’s maybe why we were close.
He didn’t care who was there when he spoke. His thinking was it was their fault for listening in to something they had no business in. Lot of truth in that, I guess.
But it was if his departed wife came down from above and washed his mouth out with soap when my kids were in earshot. He spoke like an angel.
Well, not quite…but almost.
Some of his more oft-used phrases (light-heartedly said) were:
“You dumb shit. Shut up and listen,” or,
“They thought they knew everything but found out the hard way,” or,
“Them Marines thought they owned the beach but they forget who brought them there.”
When he would say these phrases, it would likely be when he was story-telling on some of the more memorable moments on those “stinkin’ islands”.
But one of Old Man Jack’s phrases keeps popping back into my head with fondness:
“They didn’t know shit from Shinola.”
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For some of you, no explanation is necessary.
But for you younger folks, Shinola was known for shoe and boot polish.
And for Old Man Jack’s phrase, the dark brown Shinola boot polish would be implied…which has a strikingly similar coloration to cow poop.
Hence, “…doesn’t know shit from Shinola”.
Pardon the French.
And yes, the phrase arose from the ranks of World War II military personnel.
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And while Old Man Jack DID get the local newspaper delivered to him, he never really read them.
He’d look through them for some restaurant coupons. That was about it. I asked him why and he said he doesn’t believe half the s*it in it.
(Odd why there’s an asterik there when I quoted him earlier.)
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Which brings me to one thing that depresses me immensely: the lack of legitimate oversight on our media.
They use their own medium without restraint. To suit their pocketbooks.
How they deem fit…and pay no mind to us.
Doctors get controlled.
CPA’s get controlled by the government now.
Everyone else does… Oops. Not the lawyers. They’re as bad as the media. Did I say that before?
But certain media “stations” or “newspapers” love to castrate law enforcement personnel…or shame soldiers or Marines doing their best to protect us after one incident.
It is like they were the judge and jury before the case could come to court…or actual facts disclosed…or the brutal environment in which our young men and women trying to protect us is truly displayed.
THEY deem it wrong. That’s similar to discrimination.
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But to close this story – and as I blogged once before – please compare these two webpage screen prints taken within minutes of each other.
First CNN. Notice nothing is highlighted about gun control (when that was all they could write about at that time) or the murder of four Americans in Benghazi…but they deem news of a woman who shows up after 11 years to be crucial to Americans. Certainly nothing embarrassing to President Obama.
And here’s the webpage from Fox News. It does highlight the murder of four Americans and brings up guns…and makes only small mention of the mysterious woman that CNN deemed important. But certainly, the first two items could embarrass President Obama.
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“If you don’t read the newspaper, you’re uninformed. If you read the newspaper, you’re mis-informed.”
― Mark Twain
Old Man Jack was right…again.
So what are we to read?
After all, we need facts and truth so that we’d be able to tell the difference between shit and Shinola.
My father’s decades old story about how he broke his elbow became the topic in the earlier story, “正覚時” (Shoukakuji).
Shoukakuji is the name of the Buddhist temple – a hop, skip and a jump from my father’s family home in Hiroshima.
Temple entrance. My father’s home is behind me and to the right.
The temple’s reverends supported my family’s religious needs for over a century now.
Aunt Michie’s wedding.
Funeral services for my grandparents and my father’s siblings. Including my Aunt Shiz just this last September in “The Spirit of Aunt Shiz and Kharma“.
Including my Uncle Suetaro who was killed in action as an Imperial Japanese Army soldier on Leyte in the Philippines.
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When Masako-san, my son Takeshi and I walked to the temple in 2013 to investigate my dad’s story of how he broke his elbow, we were greeted by the Reverend. He was 90 years old and still had his wits about him.
While he did not recollect my father, he validated the placement of a large round rock under the pine tree that hasn’t been touched for as long as he’s lived at the temple…. And that’s a loooong time. I’m sure he was born there.
And that there was a big branch of a pine tree that has since broken off recently.
He said he knew my Aunt Mieko who died in 1939.
And miraculously, he mentioned Uncle Suetaro. The reverend said they played together as children and that he was always a jokester and smiling…and that he could hear him playing his “fue”, or flute, from his second story room at the house.
Until then, not even Masako-san knew Uncle Suetaro played a flute…but there was no proof.
Just the recollection of a 90 year old reverend.
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My tennis elbow pain kept me from retouching the old vintage photographs I had brought back from Hiroshima last September.
And the project was at a standstill since late October. That was as depressing as Obama V2.0.
But from three weeks ago, I am attempting to slowly restart the retouching project as my elbow pain has subsided greatly…and I came across the group photo you saw at the beginning here.
This was the backside since I know you ALL can read ancient Japanese:
Written by Uncle Suetaro himself. I believe – BELIEVE – it says, “February 21, 1939. Performed for First Sino-Japanese War anniversary.”
As retouched:
As retouched. Uncle Suetaro is the slightly taller one just to the left of center. If you click on the image, it will enlarge. Look in his right hand.
But as I enlarged the image to begin retouching, something caught my (old) eye.
I noticed Uncle Suetaro was clutching something in his right hand.
A case.
A case more slender than the others in the group picture.
It’s not a trumpet or a trombone, that’s for sure.
Or for a cue stick.
It sure looks like a flute case.
Oh, heck. It IS a flute case.
I say so.
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So words from the mouth of an old reverend started an eighty year old circle… to this vintage photograph of young boys.
All of whom likely lost their lives in a violent war.
As I was cutting down trees and chipping the cuttings in the backyard this past Good Friday, Marge’s caretaker drove Marge up to see me. What a pleasant surprise – besides, it gave me a great excuse to stop working. I hate yard work.
After chatting, she brought up her husband. It had been a year since his funeral with full military honors and that she hadn’t been back to see him.
She didn’t need to say anything more.
We agreed I would take her to see him two days later – Easter Sunday.
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Mostly, I will let the few pictures and short videos speak for themselves.
Her first words as she saw his gravestone: “Oh, my darling…” in a quivering voice.
They loved each other greatly.She sat there, talking to him, for about 45 minutes. I left her alone for most of the time.
She loved and missed him so much, she struggled out of her walker to kneel down and kiss his gravestone. I offered to help and she said, “This is something I have to do on my own…” Such fortitude.
After I DID help her back up (she said I could help her now), she reminisced with me at graveside before we departed:
On the way back to the car, we took a break (in the hot sun) as her legs are weak now. As any great lady from that great generation does, she thanked me over and over for taking her to see her husband, especially on Easter Sunday, while crying. I said to her that Mr. Johnson and Old Man Jack could never forget the horrors from combat but they were the greatest human beings – because they learned to forgive – and that it was an honor she asked ME… an American of Japanese descent, to escort her to visit with her husband.
These Americans from back then gave their all for our country… and nearly all of them have outlived their friends. They are now alone – after all that sacrifice that you nor I will EVER weather.
I think they deserve better.
We should all try to return the favor, no matter how small the gesture, when the opportunity presents itself.
My two smallest kids had the honor to see the memorial first hand in June 2010.
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.
Japanese Prime Minister Kan in blue visited Iwo Jima (now renamed Iwo To) in 2010 to help find and exhume Japanese remains. He is the only Japanese Prime Minister to do so.
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.
Please click on image to see a brief yet touching video.
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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.
“Just photos,” as they say… Photos of my beautiful daughter’s wedding a couple of weeks ago.
Well, with just a little writing, perhaps, with a smidgeon of our American history tossed in.
In my other blog posts, there has been mention of the “internment camps” in which one-half of my dad’s family was imprisoned in the US during WWII.
Internees were not allowed to bring in cameras amongst many other things deemed to be a threat to national or camp security – like knives, guns, tools…and cameras.
However, at one camp called “Manzanar” (where my Aunt Shiz and cousins were imprisoned), one brave soul braved the tight security measures and actually made his own camera…in secret. He then took prohibited photographs during his interment. His name was Toyo Miyatake… (Note: there is a super documentary on Toyo Miyatake called “Toyo’s Camera“: http://www.toyoscamera.com/. One contributor was George Takei who played “Sulu” on “Star Trek”. Takei was also imprisoned during the war.)
Copyright Toyo Miyatake Studios
The actual camera he made is shown below; it is still in the possession of the Miyatake family:
Copyright Toyo Miyatake Studios
In what I believe is a Signal Corps official photograph, the Toyo Miyatake family is pictured in their Manzanar barracks:
Toyo Miyatake’s family in Manzanar
This is one of the more well-known photographs taken by Toyo Miyatake at Manzanar during WWII:
Copyright Toyo Miyatake Studios
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Jump forward to today.
Toyo Miyatake’s grandson is Alan Miyatake; my 11 year old son sneakily grabbed my EXPENSIVE DSLR and snapped this photo of Alan and I chatting at my daughter’s wedding. The gent on the left is Alan. We are the same age……but I do look YOUNGER, of course. Just kidding, Alan!
Alan Miyatake on the left
We’ve known each other for over five decades now; we attended the same church. When we played B-ball in the church league, he played guard. When he let loose a shot, his form reminded me of a graceful ballet. He was good… and his photography was fortunately much better. (Smile)
He shot my weddings…both of them, unfortunately. And there was no one else I was honored to have shooting my daughter’s. Both of us were joking before the wedding that we were both extremely grateful for auto-focus…
The following proofs are Alan’s work where noted.
Thanks, Alan…but I still challenge you in sports photography! LOL
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Copyright Toyo Miyatake Studios. Isn’t my daughter just beautiful? Takes after mom, I am told.Copyright Toyo Miyatake StudiosCopyright Toyo Miyatake StudiosCopyright Toyo Miyatake StudiosCopyright Toyo Miyatake Studios
My four wonderful kids:
Copyright Toyo Miyatake Studios. This would be the last photo of the four kids together before her marriage. I was honored to have Alan take this portrait.Copyright Toyo Miyatake Studios. My oldest son Takeshi and my ex.Copyright Toyo Miyatake StudiosCopyright Toyo Miyatake Studios. Doesn’t she look gorgeous?
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And now, some of my snapshots… Gotta throw these in:
My son was the officiant (i.e., he married them off). He got choked up a few times. The bridesmaid on the far left is my cousin’s daughter, seven months pregnant.
Ever faithful and reliable Alan at work…They make their entry as husband and wifeFirst dance…
James and my youngest girl Brooke on their way for a dance. It was (HOPEFULLY) her first one.My littlest son’s (hopefully NOT his) first dance.Breaking of the ceremonial cask of “osake” graciously provided by my new in-laws.Remember Jake and Brady? Their parents, too…but Brooke was too embarrassed to dance…yet.Jake lost! She was too embarrassed to dance. 🙂My bud Don and his wife Marie. A guy couldn’t ask for a more loyal and faithful friend. Thanks, Cap.
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Alan, great job once again. I was honored to have you shoot my daughter’s wedding.
And congratulations, James and Robyn. Love you both.
To be with his beloved wife Carol…and his comrades who were left behind “on those stinkin’ islands”.
Came with two of my kids to say hi…and Merry Christmas, Jack
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
But we’ve been “at war” against terrorism – both foreign and now domestic – since 2001. More than 11 years.
But the war against Japan started officially for us on December 7, 1941. We were caught flat-footed.
Yet it was over by August 15, 1945.
Incredible. In 3 years, 8 months, 8 days. How could that have happened so quickly (relatively speaking)? Have you ever thought of this timeline?
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Well, I have removed my Kevlar flak vest for all you bloggers who love history – and who are immensely more versed and intelligent than I…or is it me?
Below herein is my “Top Ten” list of the reasons why Japan lost the Pacific War…so quickly.
I’d like to hear your opinions, corrections, or teachings.
Hunting season is open. Rubber bullets are most suitable.
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Damage from overhead – Pearl Harbor aftermath
1. Long Range Failure of Pearl Harbor Attack
a. Admiral Nagumo – placed in charge of the attack force by the Japanese Imperial Navy and NOT by Admiral Yamamoto – failed to fully execute the direct orders issued to him by Yamamoto.
b. Attack plans skewed towards sinking of carriers (which were not there). Genda wanted to insure carriers were sent to bottom and therefore be unsalvageable. Because our carriers were not there, pilots overly concentrated on battleships or other less tactically important ships.
c. The ordnance used by the attacking Japanese was inappropriate for sinking battleships. Besides, Pearl Harbor is way to shallow to allow for “sinking to the bottom of the ocean,” so to speak.
d. The first wave of Japanese torpedo bombers – although a complete tactical surprise – was a dismal failure with very few hits.
e. Failed to destroy dry docks and fuel dumps (Hawaii is an island country and had to import all fuel…like Japan). Although there is the fog of battle, Nagumo (overly cautious) did not heed the strong advice from Fuchida who urged a third wave just for such purpose.
f. In light of “e” above, Yamamoto himself had one weakness: he did not see his submarine force has an OFFENSIVE weapon. He failed to deploy them between Pearl Harbor and the West Coast of the US to target supply ships – which would have been carrying fuel, materiel and supplies to rebuild Pearl Harbor.
g. Nearly all ships damaged by the attack were refloated.
h. Insufficient training by Japanese Navy in preparation for attack.
i. Lastly – and for some foolish reason – they attacked on a Sunday morning.
2. Breaking of the Japanese Naval Code and the failure of the Japanese to accept it was broken.
3. 24-hour Repair of USS Yorktown after Coral Sea in Preparation for Battle of Midway.
USS Yorktown afire
4. Innovation of US Navy to Use CO2 for Fire Suppression.
a. US Navy would flood fuel tanks on ships with carbon dioxide thereby displacing oxygen before battle.
b. Japanese ships had useless fire suppression systems with fuel right alongside ordnance.
5. Innovation of Rubber-lined Fuel Tanks and Armor Protection for Pilots on US Aircraft
An example of survivability with self-sealing fuel tanks and armoring. F6F Hellcat.
a. “Self-sealing tanks” in wings.
b. Impressive armor shielding for the pilot (especially in the Grumman F6F Hellcat).
c. Japanese planes had neither, leading to insurmountable casualties and easy shoot-downs, i.e., Japanese aircraft would “flame” or disintegrate under withering fire from .50 caliber guns.
Japanese planes did not have self-sealing fuel tanks
6. Battle of Midway
a. Huge tactical gamble by Nimitz in usage of Spruance as task force commander.
b. Tactical decision to launch torpedo planes early on by Spruance. While all but one pilot perished and no torpedoes hit, Mitsubishi Zeroes assigned to combat air patrol were at low altitudes since they shot down the torpedo planes.
c. Dauntless dive bombers (with US fighter cover) were able to dive relatively uncontested and caught Nagumo between launchings with ordnance scattered about.
d. Confusion by Japanese pilots that two US carriers were sunk. In actuality and while eventually sunk, the USS Yorktown had been hit in the first wave but the fires had been put out before the second wave attacked.
e. With the sinking of four Japanese carriers (see Fire Suppression above) and loss of valuable pilots, the Japanese Navy ceased to be an offensive force.
7. Production Might of the US
a. We had eight carriers at time of Pearl Harbor (in the Pacific and the Atlantic) but were down to two after the Battle of Midway.
b. We lost the Wasp, Hornet, Lexington and Yorktown by then.
c. The USS Enterprise was the last operational carrier. The “other” carrier, the USS Langley, was used only for training purposes and was out in the Atlantic.
d. By the time of the invasion of Okinawa in 1945, however, we had over 40 carriers as part of the assault fleet alone.
8. Semi-automatic M1 Garand rifle and the M-2 Flamethrower
a. Japanese military were burdened with reliable but bolt action Arisaka or failure-prone Nambu armaments. (Bolt-action implies the shooter must lower his rifle to load the next round and then re-sight.)
b. The M-1 Garand took an eight-round clip. The round had tremendous stopping power, was rugged and a rifle squad could lay down withering fire with the semi-automatic. The shooter did not have to lower his rifle to load the next round and re-sight.
c. On Iwo Jima and other island battles, the Japanese were rarely seen. As such, the flamethrower was critical for success although accompanied by high mortality rates.
Marines carry the M1 Garand into battle at Tarawa Nov 1943US Marines using M-2 flamethrower against entrenched enemy on Iwo Jima
9. The Japanese-American (or “Nisei”) Soldiers in the Top Secret Military Intelligence Service (MIS)
Two of the Nisei secretly attached to Merrill’s Marauders plan with General Stillwell.
a. MIS secretly accompanied Marines and soldiers for every Pacific Theater amphibious assault or parachuted in with Airborne troops.
b. Nisei’s were the actual soldiers that listened in on Japanese Navy radio transmissions and NOT US Navy personnel. One transmission disclosed details on Admiral Yamamoto’s flight schedule which led to his shootdown.
c. Quickly translated captured major Japanese battle plans for Leyte Gulf (Z-Plan) and allowed for the lop-sided victory at the “Great Marianas Turkey Shoot”.
d. The invaluable intel provided by the MIS proved to the (generally unsupportive) top echelon that the Japanese military was near operational collapse in many combat areas.
10. The US Marine Corps
Marine catches up to comrades after covering fallen buddy with tarp and marking it with his M-1
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OK. So what about the B-29’s or the atomic bombs/fire bombings? Aren’t they some of the reasons Japan lost the Pacific War?
No. Not in my humble opinion.
B-29 boneyard, Tinian
Historical facts will show that the B-29s were largely ineffective until the time LeMay unleashed the firebombing campaign on March 9, 1945. The first B-29s were deployed out of India and China in the summer of 1944. For the first missions, about 20% failed to reach their target due largely to mechanical trouble. Of the approximately 80% that made it to target, only a couple of bombs actually hit target. Therefore, ineffective results.
Their engines were also prone to overheating in flight. Criminy.
As for the firebombings/atomic bombings, it is my opinion Japan had already lost the Pacific War due to the ten summarized reasons above. Intelligence obtained by the US Army MIS Nisei’s like my dad’s predecessors support that conclusion. When the Nisei interrogated Japanese prisoners at the front lines, it was clear they were nearly without food, water, medical supplies or ammunition. Their morale was also devastated. For instance, Japanese soldiers that surrendered would say, “We were terrified. For every mortar round we would fire at the Marines, ten rounds would come back.” The Japanese needed to make every round count; the Americans didn’t.
Japanese soldiers – dead, wounded or captured – would have uncensored letters from home on their person. After the Nisei translated those letters on the battlefront, they disclosed that their families, too, were without much food or water…and that morale was extremely low.
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So some Greek dude said centuries ago that, “In war, truth is the first casualty.”
Pretty smart. But that applies even today – and certainly during World War II.
We were raised with certain textbooks for our history classes. We believed in them. We had no reason not to.
But the truth is, there are many versions of history. Factual versions. Incorrect versions. Factual versions “edited” by the victors. Factual versions written by the losers. And new versions. And versions to further patriotism.
But there is one thing for sure… Said by one of the most brilliant minds this world has known:
“I do not know with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”
Just two months after Old Man Jack passed away, so did the young boy who stood in the US Marine Corps Recruiting Station in Louisiana in 1942.
The man who told me funerals don’t do a damn for him anymore.
Mr. Johnson was gone.
The cremated remains of Mr. Johnson
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The neighborhood was in shock. I had waved to Mr. Johnson just three days earlier while he and Marge gingerly got out of their car. I said in a louder than normal voice from across the street: “We’re still on for breakfast on Saturday, right Mr. Johnson?” We were to go have breakfast and chat about Old Man Jack – and perhaps learn more of Mr. Johnson. Instead, he died suddenly just three days later. Three days.
After 66-1/2 years of marriage, Marge was now a widow. A sudden illness took his last breath away when bombs could not 70 years earlier. He was 89 years old.
Marge surprised me when she asked if I would video Mr. Johnson’s funeral. I told her it would be my privilege. I was elated to be of some service to her.
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After Old Man Jack’s funeral, Mr. Johnson invited me over after I got home from work that night. That was when he volunteered that story about how “he got suckered into becoming a Marine”. Lovingly, of course. You could tell he had esprit de corps in his blood to that day. He was proud of not having BEEN a Marine, but of BEING a Marine. He had all the right to be.
He also talked about how he met Marge. What a wonderful story it was. I will try to capture the essence of what he told me.
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By early 1944, Mr. Johnson (now a sergeant) had been taken off the front lines to recover from his grave wounds. He was “pretty messed up,” as he put it. Didn’t say much more. He was put in charge of the motor pool at Camp Pendleton during convalescence.
The base commander’s wife, a proper lady, he said, had come to the motor pool to get her car fixed up. Mr. Johnson said it was a beat up Chevy especially on the inside but it was better than most for those times.
After she commented on the car’s condition, Mr. Johnson said he’ll do his best to make it more presentable.
He had come to know an upholsterer in Oceanside so Mr. Johnson arranged for the interior to get tidied up some. He also had it painted. She was elated.
I wish I had jotted down the commander’s name. Darn.
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Sometime towards the latter part of ’44, he said, there was some scuttlebutt about a big operation that was brewing.
But then, the base commander called Mr. Johnson into his office.
“Johnnie,” he said, looking through his file, “you’re pretty used up. I’m sending you to rehabilitation.”
So off he went. While Mr. Johnson used “a hospital out in San Bernardino” as a description, the hospital was likely somewhere near the mountains because he mentioned Lake Arrowhead.
As I write this, there is a good probability it was Naval Hospital, Norco, as it was officially called back then.
Naval Hospital, Corona
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During rehabilitation, he ventured to a USO dance being held at the hospital. The USO was such a morale booster for these young men. Mr. Johnson was no exception.
There, against the wall, he said, was this pretty young thing. It was Marge. She was studying to become a nurse…which she did.
…and if I understood him correctly, they got married the day after he got discharged from the Corps in 1945. It sounded like if Marge just didn’t want a husband that would go off to war, let alone as a Marine. She got her way, of course:
Marge and Mr. Johnson on their wedding day in 1945.
Don’t you think they are a gorgeous couple? A gift of chance… and war.
(As a historical note, the “scuttlebutt” ended up to be… Iwo Jima. Part of the 3rd Marine Division, Mr. Johnson said that in a way, he was glad he didn’t go… Not that he DIDN’T want to go but because of what the Marines horribly found out after the first waves landed ashore. He learned from the Marines that made it back that all vehicles that went ashore in the first couple of days were sitting ducks for enemy artillery. This was made worse by all the volcanic ash being spewed up by the artillery rounds, just choking off the engines just minutes later because it would clog up the air filters. Some of boys were burned alive, he was told, after their vehicles got hit…in the same vehicles he was in charge of at Camp Pendleton.)
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One reason why I was never able to find any military record on Mr. Johnson became obvious on his funeral day; that’s when I – and the other neighbors – found out his name wasn’t Johnnie, but Doreston.
“Doreston”
I was partially successful in videotaping Mr. Johnson’s funeral. It wasn’t as smooth as I wanted it to be for Marge’s sake. There was a bit of disorganization and miscommunication, too. Many of us following the hearse were just waiting in our cars wondering what to do next…when I saw the Marine burial detail getting ready to escort Mr. Johnson’s urn to a covered area. Time for a mad dash.
A couple of notes about the video below if you wish to watch…
I’m not much an editor but I managed to insert the “Marine’s Hymm” from my all-time Marine Corps classic, “Sands of Iwo Jima”. Gives me goose bumps every time. It starts a bit after the 1:00 mark.
There is some footage at the National Medal of Honor Memorial; Mr. Johnson would be interred just yards away. Sgt. Hartsock is my friend’s first husband who was posthumously bestowed the Medal of Honor. You will also see the names of some of the 22 Nisei’s who were also bestowed the Medal of Honor during WWII.
The bugler you see is a long-time friend of Mr. Johnson. I understand he is also in his 80’s and volunteers his services everyday. A very fitting and personal tribute.
This was also the first 21-gun salute I was ever able to have the honor to witness in person. I am glad it was for Mr. Johnson:
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During this time, and now armed with his true first name, I was pretty determined to uncover some of his unspoken valor during the Solomon Islands Campaign and the Battle of Santa Cruz Islands…and I was partially successful.
These are two pages from CINCPAC’s official, confidential after battle report. They were called “War Diaries” and are daily operational journals created by various naval commands throughout the Navy during WWII (The Marine Corps is an arm of the US Navy). I was only able to find this single battle report for the Solomon Islands Campaign:
War Diary, Cover PageSpecific page recognizing Mr. Johnson’s valor under fire.
I do NOT know for sure if Mr. Johnson fought on the islands but Old Man Jack never mentioned anything except him serving on the Big E…
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As for Mr. Johnson’s wounds, Old Man Jack muttered once “Johnnie was hit twice. The last time was pretty bad.” He didn’t say more.
But Mr. Johnson collapsed at his house in 2011. Marge called me over to help while waiting for the ambulance. Mr. Johnson was on his side, left hand gripping the bed sheets and right arm pinned in under his body. He was too big for me to lift him off the floor by myself. So I yelled, “C’mon, Marine! Get your sorry ass off this floor!” Seriously. With that, he grunted, grabbed the bed sheets one more time, and together, we got his upper body onto his bed…
But in the process, I saw his chest.
His first fall in the house. Marge’s shadow is the one on the left. My little house can be seen beyond the ambulance’s cab. (Edit)
My god.
The scars.
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Tears of Remembrance and Closing
Two days after the funeral, I had finished putting the video together for Marge. We watched it together on my laptop as she didn’t have a DVD player that worked. Dry eyes had to take a back seat. She was so grateful.
But she called me at work a couple of days later. She asked if I could stop by after work again…and show her the video one more time. I was so surprised by her request…but so happy. She must have liked it.
When I played it for her – and when the “Marine’s Hymm” from the John Wayne iconic classic “Sands of Iwo Jima” began playing, her left hand began to rhythmically and softly beat to the theme song… ever so softly. Then her head bobbed along with the beat. That broke me.
Tears of Remembrance – Marge, now a widow after 66-1/2 years of marriage
She asked me again to explain the page from the Solomon Islands Battle Report which clearly states how he valiantly fought and incurred his wounds… Then when the 21-gun salute played on the screen, that was it… She broke down. I cannot imagine how large those floodgates may have been for her emotionally.
She thanked me immensely…
But it was so humbling as it was me who wanted to thank her and her husband… the same young boy in that Louisiana recruiting station who did what he had to do… and had enough humanity left in him to forgive.
“Koji, funerals don’t do a damn thing for me anymore.”
That was Mr. Johnson’s reply while I was driving us to Old Man Jack’s funeral. I had asked him to help hold me together as I knew I would fall apart.
“Oh-oh,” I thought to myself when I heard that curt reply. “I guess I hit a nerve…”
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Old man Jack on the left, Mr. Johnson on the right. Taken June 30, 2005.
Mr. Johnson was Old Man Jack’s next door neighbor.
Since 1953.
Nearly SIXTY years. Hell, I ain’t that old yet. Well, I’m close.
They got along real well for those 60 years… except Jack was a WWII sailor… and Mr. Johnson was a WWII Marine. They reminded each other of it often.
Lovingly, of course.
Old Man Jack happily reminisced that “…us white caps would also tussle with them Marines ‘cuz they thought they were better than us”. But Jack would have gotten the short end of the stick if he took on Mr. Johnson. He towered over Jack and me…
And Mr. Johnson was a decorated WWII Marine.
Decorated twice…that I know of.
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Our cozy neighborhood called him “Johnnie”. I always addressed him as Mr. Johnson…He used to say, “Damn it, Koji. I wish you’d stop calling me that.”
I never did call him Johnnie. I just couldn’t.
But in the end, we found out his real name was Doreston. Doreston Johnson.
Born August 1, 1923 in Basile, Louisiana. A tiny town, he said, and everyone was dirt broke.
I wish I knew why he wanted to go by “Johnnie” but later, I discovered Doreston was his father’s name.
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After Jack passed away, I visited with him. He opened up a bit.
The Depression made it tough on everybody but then war…
When war broke out, he was gung ho like many young boys at that time.
It was expected. You were branded a coward if you didn’t enlist or eluded the draft. You were at the bottom of the heap if you got classified 4F.
He said went to the Army recruiting station. They said they met their quota, couldn’t take him right away and to try again next week.
He then went to the Navy recruiter. They also said pretty much the same thing but that there was an outfit “over there that’ll take ya”.
It was the United States Marine Corps.
Notice the 1903 Springfield in this 1942 recruiting poster.
The Marines “took him”…right then and there, he said.
Mr. Johnson said, “I was a dumb, stupid kid at that time” – slowly shaking his head…but with a boyish little grin.
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It was 1941… When the United States Navy had their backs against the beaches… MacArthur blundered after Pearl Harbor and thousands of soldiers were taken prisoner in the Philippines.
The country’s military was poorly equipped and poorly trained. With outdated equipment like the 1903 Springfield and the Brewster Buffalo. And most gravely, the US Navy was outgunned.
General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force.
Thirty-forth President of the United States of America.
An American soldier.
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An “American soldier”.
Plain. Straight forward. No descriptive.
But as a simple question… Was he ever referred to as a “German-American” soldier? After all, he is of German descent.
Or as a “Kraut”? No insult intended whatsoever.
I don’t know.
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How about General Charles Willoughby?
Major General Willoughby
Never heard of him?
He was General Douglas MacArthur’s right-hand man. Chief of Intelligence during and after World War II. G-2. My dad’s boss’ boss.
An American soldier.
Did you know Willoughby was born in the town of Heidelberg, Germany, the son of Baron T. von Tscheppe-Weidenbach from Baden, Germany? A royal German family. His real name was Adolf Karl Tscheppe-Weidenbach.
He spoke German fluently. And spoke English with a heavy accent.
Was he referred to as a “German-American” soldier?
Or as a “Kraut”?
I don’t know.
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How about my two uncles who received the Congressional Gold Medal? Or even my dad?
An American soldier.
Unlike Willoughby, dad was born here. In Seattle.
He spoke both English and Japanese without an accent. And Ike didn’t speak German.
Is there any difference in Dad’s summer uniform in comparison to Ike’s?
Well, I guess there is a difference. Ike’s has five stars; Dad’s doesn’t… Oh, and Dad’s is wrinkled.
But unlike Ike and General Willoughby, soldiers like Dad were referred to as “Japanese-American” soldiers. Even today. Or just plain “Jap” back then…even when in uniform.
Even in newspapers. Here is one on my Uncle Paul who was bestowed the Congressional Gold Medal two years ago.
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Don’t get me wrong. There is no intent to ruffle feathers. Or to be accusatory or express anger. And I certainly am not calling our 34th President a “Kraut”.
This is just history… Albeit, perhaps, from an odd vantage point.
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But why is there a distinction made?
Are we – Americans in a broad stroke of the keyboard – bringing attention to minorities in too great a lawyer-driven focus? But considering the popular vote, my friends, the minorities are no longer minorities. Let’s face the facts.
From history, we need to learn. Yes. And we need to look at ourselves as of today… but with a helluva lot fewer lawyers. (Did I write that?)
And people need to be “working” to the best of their ability… to live on their own ability instead of an expectation of assistance. As a fellow blogger so eloquently wrote in “The Value of Ability“, we need to tighten up this ship and boost a person’s confidence that they do have potential and to live up to those expectations.
It’s time to move on from minority recognition…in whatever shape or form. Hiring requirements. College enrollment requirements. Special program requirements. Especially within governments – local, state or federal… Especially in our schools. How about hiring a conservative to be a teacher once in a while..? In my humble opinion, of course.
Well, Old Man Jack always spoke his mind.
Masako and Spam Musubi 