August 6, 1945 was no ordinary day.  Although the Allied Forces had achieved victory in Europe, World War II still raged on in the Pacific Theater.  The Japanese were, and remain to this day, an extremely proud race.  Demonstrating their resolve at Iwo Jima and Okinawa, they preferred to fight to the death rather than face dishonor by surrendering.  Many Japanese pilots became kamikazes: the equivalent of human bombs.  The devastation they left behind made the war more costly to the Allies, and the Japanese had hoped that we would cave in by suing for peace.   Even Japanese civilians were trained to counterattack their enemies with anything that could kill or main.  This included hastily fashioned weapons such as sharpened bamboo stalks.

The war had begun during President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s administration.  FDR had vowed that we would achieve unconditional surrender from our enemies.  When Harry S. Truman assumed the Presidency after FDR’s death, he was honor-bound to fulfill the wishes of his former Commander-in-Chief. And fulfill them, he did.

The atom bomb, or A-bomb, was classified as Top Secret.  Testing at Alamogordo, New Mexico revealed that this weapon represented an incredible, unprecedented level of destruction.   So secret was it that those on the “Need to Know” list were a relative handful.

With the A-bomb, the planned invasion of Japan was on the drawing board, along with the date, the time, and calculated cost of life.  President Truman agonized over whether to drop the bomb on a city, rather than a military target, or follow the original invasion plan and pay the price in American casualties.  In the end, he ordered that the city of Hiroshima be bombed on August 6, 1945.  On that day, accompanied by two other B-29 bombers, the Enola Gay unleashed the power of the atom and initiated the Atomic Age, devastating the city of Hiroshima.  After bombing another city, Nagasaki, Japan surrendered unconditionally to the Allies.

August 14, 1945 was declared VJ day.  All across America and the rest of the free world, crowds gathered and cheered to commemorate the peace for which we had prayed for four long years.  The famous photograph of a sailor spontaneously and joyously kissing a girl in New York City’s Times Square echoed the world’s elation.  The photo was widely circulated and reproduced.  Today a statue of this couple still stands in Sarasota, Florida; no doubt, other likenesses stand elsewhere in our nation.

On August 14, 2010, a reenactment of that scene will be held in Times Square to commemorate the surrender of Japan to the Allied Forces in the Pacific.

It was 65 years ago when that sailor kissed that girl.  As he was planting that kiss, I was sailing on a troopship in the Pacific Ocean, heading — literally — for a baptism by fire.  I was part of a massive armada sent to invade Japan.  But when the Captain of our ship announced Japan’s surrender, the invasion was no longer necessary.  Thus, I served my country in another capacity, by occupying Japan for a full year.  From October 1945 through September 1946, my fellow soldiers and I — Americans and European Allies — ensured the stabilization of Japan subsequent to its surrender.

I was recently interviewed by a reporter from The Courier Post, for an article that the newspaper is running with respect to VJ Day.  After she finished the formal interview, the reporter asked me, “As a veteran of that war, how do you feel about us no longer celebrating the days that finalized World War II — VE Day and VJ Day?”

I answered, “August 6th was not the official end of the war.  That took place in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945.  That is another day that is not celebrated; another day that gets lost in the Labor Day weekend, like other holidays set aside to honor God and country.”

Maybe something that occurred 65 years ago has no meaning to those who weren’t there.  But it still means something to me.  Those who sacrificed themselves for that war did so to protect the lives and fundamental freedoms of Americans as well as all who were oppressed, tortured, and murdered by the Axis Forces.

It has been rightly said that “those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”  For that reason, the study of World War II is immensely important and the reason why Americans and, for that matter, all inhabitants of this planet should both remember and commemorate events like VJ Day.

Related Post:  VJ Day: August 14th

The history surrounding the conclusion of World War II centers on the atomic bomb, a weapon that brought the war to a screeching halt.  In the 65 years succeeding the end of the war, all records of that fateful day — August 6, 1945 — have stated that three, repeat, three B-29’s set out to deliver the first atomic bomb to the islands of Japan.

Bearing a single nuclear bomb code-named Little Boy, a B-29 bomber took off from the island of Tinian in the Pacific. Christened the Enola Gay in honor of Commander Colonel Paul Tibbets’ mother, the Enola Gay was accompanied by two more B-29s.   The Great Artiste conveyed instrumentation and was commanded by Major Charles W. Sweeney, and The Necessary Evil, which carried photography equipment, was commanded by Captain George Marquardt. Leaving Tinian separately, the three planes rendezvoused over Iwo Jima; from there, they began their irrevocable six-hour flight to Japan.

As a safety precaution, the bomb was armed en route to Japan and the safety devices removed thirty minutes before reaching primary target, Hiroshima.  Kokura and Nagasaki were the secondary targets.  When the Enola Gay dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima, those aboard the B-29s described the event as a giant fireball and a mushroom cloud that completely destroyed the city.

Now, 65 years after Hiroshima was leveled, comes a strange tale that surfaced in the Raleigh News & Observer.  It concerns a North Carolina World War II veteran who photographed the A-Bomb as it exploded over that Japanese city.

Like all stories, this one has a beginning and an end, so let’s start in the beginning.

In June of 1941, John McGlohon, who was then 18 years old, joined U.S. military.  Assigned a desk job, he was attached to the 3rd Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron at Maxwell Field in Montgomery, Alabama, where he was trained in photography.  John enhanced skills during an assignment in Brazil, in 1942, when he was ordered to replace one of the aerial photographers who had taken ill.

As the war progressed, John’s squadron was sent to Smoky Hills Air Force Base at Salina, Kansas, to learn to fly the new B-29 bomber.  His tour of duty found him photographing missions in China, the Korean peninsula, and Japan.

In the spring of 1945, John’s squadron was assigned to the 20th Air Force Command at Harmon Airbase on Guam.  Later, they would be assigned to the 8th Air Force Command.  Flying missions over Japan, the squadron recorded possible targets and damage resulting from bombing runs.

When the order was given to bomb Hiroshima, the 20th Air Force Command issued an order forbidding all aircraft from flying within 50 miles of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945.  Somehow, this order never filtered down to John’s group.  Therefore, a B-29 piloted by Jack Economos left Guam in the early morning hours on the day in question to reconnoiter at Hiroshima and points north.

As the plane approached Hiroshima, one of the gun crew announced over the intercom that he saw another B-29 headed in the opposite direction.  At that point, John said that a brilliant flash of light appeared under the plane like a giant flash bulb going off; this was followed by a large cloud rising into the air. John immediately switched on his cameras to record the devastation.  Unaware of the order not to fly within 50 miles of Hiroshima, John assumed that the B-29 he saw leaving the area had dropped its load not on a heavily populated city, but on an ammunition dump.

Returning to Guam late in the day, John delivered his photographs to be developed.  While in the developing room, he saw shots taken by the photographic crew that had accompanied the Enola Gay.  “What’s that?” he asked.  The reply was, “It’s an atomic bomb.”  “Well,” John retorted, “if it is, we took pictures of it this morning!”  No one believed him until they saw his photographic evidence.  For decades, that  was the last time that John ever saw those photos.

With the second attack on Nagasaki, Japan surrendered, thus bringing the World War II to an end after four long, bloody years.  John returned home to Asheboro, North Carolina.  He shared his story with his wife, family, and friends and then went on with his life to become a city councilman and the town’s fire chief.

During a reunion of his war buddies in 1995, John’s old photographic lab chief, Elmer Dixon, brought a file marked Secret that contained the photographs of Hiroshima.  While the docks on the south side of the city were visible in the photos, the  mushroom cloud obscured everything else.

“That’s just the way I saw it!” John McGlohon excitedly told his wife.  Sure enough, the photos were stamped with the date that went down in history: August 6, 1945.

Over the years, John’s story found it’s way into an Internet forum discussion.  Some claimed that it was fabricated as a ploy to achieve greatness.  At a subsequent reunion, in 1998, John McGlohon met up with Ken Samuelson.  Ken believed John’s story and set out to verify it.

His hunt for corroborating evidence led him to Air Force museums, conversations with curators and veterans, and examinations of flight logs of the 3rd Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron. The logs carried the path of John’s flight that day as well as a flight mission report.  Ken Samuelson then contacted 91-year-old Clarence Becker, who had served as Operations Officer for the 3rd Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron.  Becker confirmed, “I sent them [the squadron] out that day.”

Samuelson also tracked down the photos that Elmer Dixon had had in his possession, which he had subsequently donated to the Historic Aviation Museum in Tyler, Texas.  When informed of the McGlohon photographs, the museum’s curator, Mike Burke, stated, “It’s the only photo looking down on the cloud, and the story makes it more interesting and unique.”

The evidence uncovered by Samuelson supports John McGlohon’s story.  He and his crew did indeed comprise the fourth B-29 contingent that flew over Hiroshima on August 6, 1945.  Why did it take so long for this story to surface? Will historians of World War II correct the number of B-29s over Hiroshima that day?  Or will this be written off as just another war story?

If this story exists, surely there must be other tales stockpiled in the minds of veterans who witnessed or participated in events that occurred while serving their country.   If these stories remain untold, they will be carried to the grave to be buried forever.

Let’s rectify this, please.  The Veterans Corner of Write On New Jersey extends an invitation to veterans to share your stories here.  If not here, please pass your stories on to your families and friends, before they are lost for all time. 

How many times has each of us uttered the phrase, “It’s not my job; let someone else do it”?  Upon closer inspection, this is more than an expression.  It is a mindset in which we assume that everything can be fixed, provided someone else takes up the slack.  At the end of World War II, the phrase, “Do It Yourself” was coined, thereby creating a whole new industry.  People who normally paid others to repair things purchased tools and how-to books in order to save the costs once associated with the labor of professionals.

The “Do It Yourself” craze eclipsed small projects and took on larger ones, such as additions to houses.  Some money was saved, but some was also expended because there were certain jobs that could only be managed by well-trained tradesmen such as electricians, plumbers, and carpenters. For the even tougher jobs, lawyers and doctors were called upon and paid for their services.

The point of all of this is that general public will take a stab at the easy jobs, but we take for granted that someone else will tackle the harder jobs, for a price.  And now we arrive at the crux of this article: our volunteer military forces.

How many Americans wake up in the morning and ponder the state and fate of our military?  Isn’t it more a matter of, “I wonder which team won last night” or “I think I need an oil change” or “What’s for breakfast?”.  Although we are well aware that our armed forces are putting themselves in harm’s way in the world’s hot spots, we choose to push them to the back of our minds, because such thoughts may spoil our day.

In the past, America has had a regular Army and Navy comprised of volunteers.  However, during World War II, the number of volunteers was insufficient, thereby compelling our government to institute the draft.  The draft mandated that all able-bodied men between the ages of 18 and 45 register for military service.

Over the years, our volunteer military has grown to encompass professional soldiers, supported by the National Guard and bolstered by weaponry of an increasingly technologically advanced nature.  This combination has produced the best fighting force in the world.

Down through the ages, America has always depended upon the citizen soldier.  During the Revolutionary War, it was the Minutemen who dropped their plows and picked up their guns to defend our emerging nation. In World War I, it was the American Doughboy who went “Over There” and promised not to come back “’til it’s over.”  In World War II and Korea, it was the GI’s who broke the back of the Axis powers and saved the world from tyranny.

Vietnam was a different type of conflict.  In this war, the only men who were not drafted were Conscientious Objectors, some of whom fled the U.S.  Many young men enrolled in college to receive a deferment from the draft.  Those who did not serve received amnesty when the war came to an end.  On that day, it should be noted, the number of male students attending college dropped dramatically.

Aside from our everyday problems, including healthcare, illegal immigration, economic woes, the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, the flooding in Tennessee, and the government takeover of the private sector, we confront growing problems in our military.  Multiple tours of duty, the rules of war changing in favor of the enemy, and the court marshalling of Navy Seals for brutalizing the enemy number among these issues.  I wonder what General George Patton would have said about these newfound constraints upon our military?

During World War II, nearly every family in this country had one or more of their loved one in the armed services.  The entire nation supported those armed services.  Prayers and positive thoughts were offered up for them, and our infantry, airmen, and sailors were not taken for granted; rather, they were revered.  The final cost of that war was that 400,000 men were killed in action and 78,000 went missing or were wounded.

When it comes to the tough job of defending our way of life, the American public has taken our military for granted.  By and large, we no longer consider the fact that there by the grace of God and our volunteer military go our sons and daughters — who may have been drafted into service if not for those who enter the military voluntarily. Given the carefree lifestyle we live, it is very easy to take certain things for granted in America. But it was not always so easy. People sacrificed and died protecting our freedoms and our very way of life.

To the rest of the world, America is the Promised Land: a land of the free with opportunities to enjoy a better life.  As citizens, we have to stop taking things for granted and follow in the footsteps of the people who made this country great.

It’s time for every American to accept the responsibility of keeping America free and strong for our troops.  When those troops return home to the land of the brave, from their monumental tasks overseas, we should welcome them and express gratitude for their sacrifices. To paraphrase the immortal words of President John F. Kennedy, our voluntary troops honor the concept of asking not of what your country can do for you, but asking what you can do for your country.  Our troops go far beyond the asking.  They are valiant enough to actually do something to protect our freedoms. 

Recently, I lost an old friend.  An e-mail from the daughter of my WWII Army buddy, Paul P. Bartels, informed me of his passing. After expressing my condolences to his family, I wondered what I might do to ease the pain of their loss.  Into my mind flowed the sagacious words of General Douglas MacArthur, in his address of April 19, 1951 to Congress on the occasion of his retirement from military life.  In summing up his career, the General stated proudly, “Old soldiers never die; they just fade away.”

Thoughts of MacArthur took me back to August 10, 1945, when I boarded a troopship in San Francisco Harbor bound for the Carolina Islands.  My ship was part of a massive Allied armada bent on invading the nation that had bombed Pearl Harbor: Japan.   Due to Divine Intervention, which was spurred on, no doubt, by my mother’s fervent prayers, that invasion never took place.  After we bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan surrendered unconditionally on September 2, 1945.

When the war ended, I was no longer needed to serve as an infantryman.  Thus was I transferred to the 24th Signal Company on the Island of Mindanao in the Philippines.  I served my country as a member of a gigantic taskforce assigned to secure Japan and keep the peace following its surrender.  From Mindanao, my fellows and I shipped out again — this time, directly for Japan.

It was near the town of Matsuyama on the Japanese island of Shikoko that I first met Paul.  We were both assigned to the mess section of our Army camp.  Paul  drove the mess truck and I repaired, maintained, cussed at, and prayed over antiquated field stoves in order get the 24th’s meals out on time.

After a few months, the 24th Division was ordered to replace His Majesty’s Royal Cameron Highlanders, who were stationed at Okayama on the main island of Honshu. Mess Sergeant Werner Poppe selected our cook, Tony Prekosivich, our driver, Paul Bartels, and yours truly, who came to earn the moniker The Stove Man, to set up an advanced kitchen at Okayama.

In a two-and-a-half ton truck that also towed a small water carrier, we stowed all of our  necessary gear.  Over the island’s mountainous terrain, Paul maneuvered that truck like a pro, toward the ferry station on the inland sea at Takamatsu.  There, we boarded a ferry that would carry us to the town of Uno on the island of Honshu.  En route, the ferry captain invited us into the wheelhouse, where he cordially served us saki (rice wine).  That trip would create a fond memory for me in the years to follow.

Arriving at Uno, we motored to Okayama, where life unfolded in imitation of art.  Like a page out of a Rudyard Kipling novel, we were greeted by a band of welcoming, kilted Scotsmen.  Before their forces pulled out so that we could occupy the area, they put on a show for our division that featured the rousing Scottish dance, The Highland Fling.

We set up our mess hall at Okayama, near a barracks that housed officers.  Because it was summer, we noted with suspicion a wisp of smoke curling from the eave of the officers’ roof.  Rapidly, that wisp escalated into a raging inferno that caused a hasty evacuation by the officers.  One of our trucks was parked perilously close to the fire and had begun to smolder.  If the flames had reached the gas tank, it would have been a terrible, life-threatening disaster.  Without hesitation, Paul leaped into the smoldering truck and drove it out of harm’s way.  In all of the excitement, his act of heroism went unnoticed — but I will never forget it.

After a few months at Okayama, we were ordered to make our final move to the most southern island of Kyushu, near the town of Kokora.  Paul, yours truly, and the rest of the 24th Signal Company set up camp in the Kitagawa Racetrack area.  This would be our home until other troops would arrive to replace us.

During our occupation of Japan, we came in contact with the native people.  They could not speak English and we could not speak Japanese.  Our mode of communication was like a mad cross between Show and Tell and Charades, with the results often hilarious.  Paul and I often had a good laugh this way.

As the one-year anniversary of our landing at Matsuyama approached, rumors began to fly, hinting that we would be receiving our replacements. When the rumors proved true, it was a bittersweet departure.  We all shook hands, slapped each other on the back, and said farewell to our buddies, knowing full well that our paths would probably never cross again, at least, not in person.

After we returned to our respective hometowns and got on with our lives, we tried to keep in touch.  Annual Christmas cards, very much anticipated and cherished, contained letters of how our families were growing and what we had all been up to in the preceding twelve months.  But as years passed, that Christmas card list dwindled down to just three of us old soldiers.  With Paul’s passing, it is now just two of us: Pat Barbato and me.  Pat never fails to remind me that he wishes to be the oldest living World War II veteran, with me right behind him!

As I write this tribute to Paul and those days overseas, I hope I have enlightened his family as to how he served his country and enriched the lives of the people he touched. I believe that when General MacArthur said that old soldiers never die, he should have finished the phrase with “as long as they still live in the hearts and minds of family, friends, and the nation they served.” 

In 2005, in Mulvane, Kansas, a group of concerned citizens gathered at American Legion Post 136.  The assembly was outraged because protesters had disgraced the funeral of an American soldier by members of the Westboro Baptist Church.  Those protesting were extremely vocal and disrespectful in stating that the deaths of our service men and women in Iraq and Afghanistan constitute Divine retribution for our military’s tolerance of homosexuality.  In response, the people gathered at the post formed The PGR (Patriot Guard Riders: http://www.pgrny.org/), whose mission statement is simple:

• Ensure respect for our fallen heroes and their families
• Shield mourning families and friends from interruptions by protestors
• Accomplish these objectives through non-violent means

Upon invitation from the family of a fallen comrade, the PGR forms a wall of motorcyclists carrying large American flags.  The flags obscure the protestors so that the mourners can lay the fallen soldier to rest in a manner befitting one who gave his or her life for our country.

Although motorcyclists founded the PGR, the organization is diverse; it is open to anyone, regardless of political affiliation or veteran status.  The only proviso is that all members of the PGR respect those who have served our country in the armed forces, and extend the same respect to law enforcement officers and firefighters.

After their first ride in July of 2005, in which 20 bikers honored SPC Meyers of St. Joseph, Missouri, the PGR extended an invitation to all veteran organizations to accompany them on their mission.   Thus, the PGR expanded nationwide, with each State assigned to carry out the mission. The organization’s growth was phenomenal.  Within weeks of that initial ride, members of the VFW, the American Legion, Rolling Thunder, ABATE, Combat Vets, Intruder Alert, and Leathernecks MC as well as five hundred individual riders joined.

On June 10, 2010, the Patriot Guard Riders will be present for another interment overdue by more than four decades.  On May 22, 1968, during the Vietnam conflict, the A130C Spectre gunship whose call sign was Blind Bat 01 went down near Laos.  All crewmembers were lost and declared MIA.  The crew consisted of the following servicemen:

• Lieutenant Colonel William H. Mason (pilot)
• Captain Thomas B. Mitchell (co-pilot)
• Captain William T. McPhail (navigator)
• Major Jerry L. Chambers (observer)
• Sergeant Calvin C. Glover (flight engineer)
• AM1 Thomas E. Knebel (crew chief)
• Sergeant Gary Pate (loadmaster)
• AM1 Melvin D. Rash (loadmaster)
• AM1 John Q. Adam (loadmaster)

Over the years, recovery efforts have proceeded tirelessly, resulting in the location and identification of these fallen soldiers.  To learn more about these efforts, please see my article, Bring Them Home.  It can be found on this site, under the Veterans Corner.

The crew of the Spectre gunship will be laid to their final rest, with full military honors, in a single grave on the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery. The service will take place at June 10, 2010, at approximately 0900 hours (9:00 AM).  The PGR has been invited to attend and will be there, standing tall, silent, and proud as they welcome these heroes home.  They will meet at Murphy’s Funeral Home to render honors as the remains are readied for transport.  The riders will provide a mounted escort from the funeral home to the cemetery, following the procession from the Administration Building and then the caisson to the gravesite, where final honors will be rendered to the heroes and their families.

As an American citizen and a veteran, I feel that at 9:00 AM on June 10, 2010, we should all offer a moment of silence and a prayer for the crew of Blind Bat 01, who returned home after 42 years of having gone missing in action in the jungles of Laos. 

It’s hard to believe that the most famous battles of World War II took place on June 6th, sixty-six years ago.  I was 17 years old that day, and contributing to the war effort.  A tad too young to see active duty, I served as an electrician’s helper at the Philadelphia Naval shipyard, where I constructed and repaired ships for the U.S. Navy.  After the battleship Wisconsin, the aircraft carrier Antietam, and six destroyer escorts were built and launched, Uncle Sam called me to duty.  Although drafted, I never fired a single shot.  I became part of a peacekeeping/stabilizing mission in Japan once that nation had surrendered to the Allied Forces.  What took place on D-Day turned the tide in the Allies’ favor and kept me safe from harm.  You can understand, then, why the facts surrounding this celebrated battle remain fresh in my mind after so many years.

For more than a year leading up to D-Day, American troops were gathering in England.  On a tiny island bulging with men and machines of war, our forces prepared to open a second front in Europe.  By then, Hitler’s armies had conquered most of Western Europe, including France; they were spreading east, eying Moscow will ill intent.  Anticipating an attack by the Allies but not knowing exactly when we would strike, Hitler directed his forces to build the Atlantic Wall.  The leader of the Third Reich was convinced that the Allies would take the shortest route across the English Channel, via the Pas-de-Calais. Vigorously, Hitler’s men shored up for the onslaught with backup infantry and armored forces.

Aware of the enemy’s plan as well as his logical assumption concerning Pas-de-Calais, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Forces, selected a different route in order to surprise Hitler.  Ike chose to send the Allied troops through Normandy, France, but severe weather postponed the attack several times.  Finally, Eisenhower’s key meteorologist, Group Captain J. M. Stagg, discovered that there would be a brief improvement in the weather on June 6, 1944; quickly, he informed General Eisenhower.  Although not every military leader involved in the invasion agreed, Ike determined to strike during that small window of opportunity.  He took full responsibility in launching an attack the like of which the world had never seen.

Before dawn, on June 6, 1944, 5,000 thousand ships, 11,000 airplanes, and more than 150,000 troops crossed the English Channel. The greatest armada ever assembled landed on the beaches of Normandy, France to engage in heavy battle.  Over 4,000 Allied soldiers died that day and another 10,000 were wounded, but the rest soldiered on bravely.  Finally, the Allies secured a beachhead on Fortress Europe.  Less than a year later, on May 7th, 1945 Hitler’s Germany surrendered unconditionally.  On May 8th, victory in Europe was declared.

Beloved Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the only U.S. President to serve four terms in office, died three short weeks before Hitler’s surrender.  He never experienced the victory in Europe, but he left a legacy that few presidents have matched.

His first term took place from 1933 to 1937.  Television had yet to be invented to lure in the masses, but FDR drew millions of people time and again to gather around their radios.  During his Fireside Chats, his was the voice that calmed and uplifted a nation suffering through the Great Depression.

His second term spanned 1937 to 1941.  On December 7, 1941, FDR’s voice once again rallied the nation when he declared that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor on the morning of December 7th, 1941.

During his third term (1941 to 1945), he summoned America reverently with his D-Day Prayer on June 6th, 1944.

Serving his fourth term and suffering from hypertension and cardiac disease, God called Franklin Delano Roosevelt home.  On April 12, 1945, the voice that had weathered both national and personal crises was silenced.  Involved in politics more than two decades earlier, FDR had contracted polio, but few Americans were aware of this, for the future 32nd President of the United States had conscripted the press into a conspiracy.  He had asked to the press to photograph him only from the waist up to disguise his wheelchair, and to maintain their silence as to the illness that had put him there.  Once he had achieved Presidency, he continued this policy in order to appear strong for the nation that had relied so heavily upon his wisdom and leadership.

Understanding that heavy casualties were expected on that Normandy beach, FDR prepared a D-Day prayer to help ease the pain of those about to lose their loved ones.   He entitled it, Let Our Hearts Be Stout.

As I recall this prayer, I feel that President Roosevelt wrote it not only for the families of the soldiers who perished at Normandy but for a world that, sixty-six years later, has still not learned to resolve its differences peacefully.

Using the broadcast media of his day, radio, FDR stated “Last night when I spoke with you about the fall of Rome, I knew at that moment that troops of the United States and our Allies were crossing the English Channel.  It has come to pass with success thus far, and so, in this poignant hour, I ask you to join with me in prayer.”

What followed was the text of FDR’s prayer:

“Almighty God, our sons, the pride of our nation, this day have set upon a mighty endeavor, to set free a suffering humanity.

Lead them straight and true; give strength to their arms, stoutness to their hearts, steadfastness to their faith.

They will need Thy blessings.  They will be sore tried, by night and by day, without rest until the victory is won.  The darkness will be rent by noise and flame.  Men’s souls will be shaken with the violence of war, for these men are lately drawn from the ways of peace.

They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate.  They fight to let justice arise, and for tolerance and goodwill among all Thy people.  They yearn but for the end of battle, for their return to the haven of home.

Some will never return.  Embrace these, Father, and receive them, Thy heroic servants, into Thy kingdom.

And for us at home — fathers, mothers, children, wives, sisters, and brothers of brave men overseas — whose thoughts and prayers are ever with them — help us, Almighty God, to rededicate ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice.

Thy will be done, Almighty God.

Amen.”

Car donations can help Veterans!

In conflicts throughout our great nation’s history, heroes have arisen to defend and protect the citizens and interests of our country – men of courage and character who have acted selflessly for the benefit of all Americans.  Some have made the supreme sacrifice of their lives in our country’s defense.  Many more silently bear the scars of their service in defense of our way of life.

Of those silently bearing the scars of war, many Veterans suffer disabilities, illnesses, and even homelessness as a direct result of their service to our country.  For those of us enjoying the uniquely American way of life provided by these brave men and women, it is incumbent that we do what we can to help our Vets in need.

One excellent and very easy way to assist our Veterans is by vehicle donations.  For over 25 years, the Vietnam Veterans of America has supported our dedicated Veterans and their families.  Your van, truck, or car donations to this worthy organization will assure that Veterans continue to receive the assistance they so desperately require.

The process is simple and painless.  Visit the Vietnam Veterans of America, Illinois State Council car donation Website (http://vietnamveteranscardonation.com/).  There you will discover how that old car, truck, or van that has been sitting idly on your driveway can make a difference in the life of a Veteran or his family.  Of course, donation of newer vehicles is also greatly appreciated.  Just follow the three easy steps of filling out a simple form, scheduling your free vehicle pickup, and receiving your IRS tax deductible donation receipt.

So, donate car today and help a Vet in need tomorrow. 

If you had the opportunity to help rectify a national disgrace, at no cost to you and with very little effort, wouldn’t you take that opportunity?  A charity with its heart firmly in the right place, Cars Helping Veterans allows you to do just that through car donations that will greatly benefit our veterans of war. 

It’s an uncomfortable fact that, among the issues confronting many of our de-commissioned soldiers is homelessness.  Statistics indicate that more than 200,000 veterans now sleep rough or in shelters.  Your vehicle donations, which are completely tax deductible, will help to eliminate this critical want; there is no better time to donate a car than this Memorial Day weekend.  If you prefer to donate a boat, SUV, or other vehicle, the charity will welcome your gift with open arms and use it to buy the basic necessities for those decorated with the Purple Heart.  Cars Helping Veterans also assists disabled American veterans and others who have served our nation bravely.

The charity wants to make the donation process as simple as possible, and has done so by creating a secure and extremely user-friendly website (http://www.carshelpingveterans.org/).  At the bottom of the Home Page, you will find three clear and easy steps to follow:

1.       Complete a donation form. If you prefer to speak directly with a representative about your donation rather than do this online, you may contact one toll free, at 1-888-480-VETS (8387).

2.       Schedule a pick-up, free of charge to you, at a time that is convenient.  The charity will accept your vehicle 24 hours a day, and picks up nationwide.  The towing company will provide you with a receipt indicating that your vehicle was given to Cars Helping Veterans.

3.       When the charity has received your car or other vehicle, its keys, and title, it will mail you a tax-deductible receipt in about 10 business days.  Save that receipt, for the IRS will accept it when you prepare your next tax form.

The process could not be easier, nor the charity more worthy.

Don’t let this Memorial Day, or any other day for that matter, pass without honoring our deserving veterans in a concrete manner.  Show them that you care by donating your vehicle through Cars Helping Veterans.

Although justified in the name of human rights, our nation’s Civil War tore entire families asunder and left many casualties.   In order to help our country begin to heal from its self-inflicted wounds, many communities across the country set aside a day to honor those who had fallen in the Civil War.  Aptly named Decoration Day, it mirrored the practice of decorating the graves of the fallen with flowers and flags.

The first observance of Decoration Day occurred on May 5th, 1866 at Waterloo, New York.  Two prominent generals – General John Murray, who was a distinguished citizen of Waterloo, and General John A. Logan, the commander-in-chief of a veteran’s organization known as The Grand Army of the Republic –present that day determined that they would expand the holiday to encompass families and their departed loved ones nationwide.  Thus positioned to claim the attention of the public, these military leaders proclaimed that Decoration Day be observed nationwide.  A few short weeks later, on May 30th of the same year, it was.  The date of May 30th may very well have been arbitrary, as it was not associated with any Civil War battle.

Many Southern States refused to observe the holiday, due to the hostility that lingered in the air long after the last shot of the war was fired.  In order to gain the South’s consensus, the name Decoration Day, which was so closely associated with the Civil War, became known as Memorial Day.  The name was first unveiled in 1882, but it did not become official until June 28, 1968!

On that day, Congress passed the Uniform Holiday Bill, a piece of legislation that moved traditional dates of observance to specified Mondays, so as to create three-day holiday weekends.  The holidays so chosen were George Washington’s Birthday (later known as Presidents Day, when it was combined to simultaneously honor Abraham Lincoln), Memorial Day, and Veteran’s Day.  However, as many veteran organizations did not wish to comply with the bill, Veteran’s Day was ultimately restored to its original date of November 11th.

As a result of this creation of long holiday weekends, most corporate businesses no longer close on Veteran’s day, Columbus Day, President’s Day, or the day after Thanksgiving, because it’s good for business!  By moving Memorial Day, in 1971, from its traditional May 30th to the last Monday in May, our lawmakers either wittingly or unwittingly created the three-day weekend that has come a long way from honoring our fallen heroes.  Instead of decorating graves, throngs flock to our oceans, rivers, and lakes to jump into the drink and patronize all manners of vendors, who profit.  Larger profits = more taxes, so I suppose the government had this planned all along as a money maker, rather than a way to give hard working taxpayers a long weekend.

More than two centuries have passed from America’s courageous and tenacious inception in 1776.  But at every step in our evolution, we have paid the price of freedom.  As the pages in our history have turned past the Civil War to the Spanish-American War, World Wars I and II, Korea, Vietnam, the Cold War, Desert Storm, and the Iraqi and Afghan wars, those pages were marked by a long trail of American blood.  That blood is still being shed for the freedoms that many of us now take for granted.

A wise man once said, “Sacrifice without remembrance is meaningless” and “A promise made is a debt unpaid.”  As a nation, we all owe a debt of gratitude to the people who have served and who continue to serve and protect us.  These include our fallen heroes as well as our armed forces, both in action and on peacekeeping missions, and all of the police, fire, and rescue departments stretching from sea to shining sea.  Honoring Memorial Day is actually a way to honor them.

You can start the day by displaying the American flag prominently outside your home or place of business, and by wearing it, gentlemen, on your lapel and ladies, as a pin.  You may also be moved to attend one of the many local services honoring our soldiers.  Or, you can simply take a moment from your happy holiday of Memorial Day, whether you are at home or on a beach or at a family gathering, especially one that includes children.  You can be the one to announce, “Will everyone stop what you are doing for a moment of silence, while we offer up a prayer to honor those who gave us this day by protecting our freedoms.”  You can end the remembrance with, “God Bless America.”  Thus, you will have paid your debt, as well as your respect to those who mightily deserve it. 

Have you ever had the experience in which you’d met a person for the first time and felt as if you had known him or her before?  Here in the States, we deem this a form of psychic phenomenon; the French call such occurrences deja vu.   No matter what you choose to call it, the experience leaves you a bit awestruck, and perhaps more than a bit.  You realize that life is not random, that it has a pattern, and even a purpose.  And sometimes you realize that, through your experience, you are meant to share what you have learned with others for an even higher purpose.  That is my aim in sharing this true tale with you.

My own deja vu begins in South Philadelphia, when I was boy during the 1930’s. Growing up in the vicinity of 10^th and Ritner Streets, my contemporaries and I were, for the most part, the children of hard-working, God-fearing immigrants.  Life was pleasant in my boyhood.  It would be years before the streets of Philadelphia were choked with cars, so it was easy for the kids in the neighborhood to have some good, clean fun playing stickball and other games in the streets.  Although I had my own circle of friends, I also had those “familiar strangers” that we all have in our lives.  Mine were the boys with whom I attended the same school.  I’d see them in the halls and around the neighborhood; although I’d recognized many faces and had casual encounters with the owners of those faces, I was “tight,” as we say today, with my own group.

In the blink of an eye, a single event forever changed my life as well as many other lives — an event that forced boys to become men overnight.  On the morning of December 7^th, 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, thus providing our President, FDR, with the impetus to enter the United States into that long, bloody campaign known as World War II. I was not yet of military age, and neither were most of my friends and peers.  But as the war dragged on and more birthdays passed, Uncle Sam caught up with us via the draft.

One of the boys drafted from my South Philly neighborhood was Joseph A. Ermilio.  While Joseph was not a close friend of mine, I knew him from the neighborhood.  Enlisted into the Army on April 22, 1943, he trained as infantry and was not the first member of his family to serve his country in WWII; his brother Vincent was drafted in July of 1942.  After fifteen weeks of basic training, Joseph was slated to see active duty in the European theater.  There, he found himself in the heat of an invasion of Italy’s coast, near the resort towns of Anzio and Nettuno.

There is an Old Italian saying attesting to the beauty of Naples: “Vedi Napoli, poi morire” translates to,  “See Naples, then die.”  Unfortunately, during World War II, many American soldiers did just that.

In the predawn hours of January 22, 1944, British and American forces stormed the beautiful beaches in a flawless attack that caught the German defenders completely off guard.  Their high command had never expected an invasion in the months of January or February.  One paratrooper attached to the 82^nd Airborne Division remarked, “It was a warm, sunny day and you could hardly believe that there was a war going on — and that I was in the middle of it.”

Securing the beaches, the Allies drove the Germans inland, then stopped to regroup.  This small pause in our offense allowed the Germans to counterattack, with a vengeance.  In next four months, the Allied troops would see some of the most savage fighting in this war.

It was during this time that Joseph became a casualty of war, listed as killed in action. At home, the news of his death spread throughout the neighborhood.  By the time Japan had surrendered to the Allies, Joseph A. Ermilio would be the sole casualty of all the South Philly neighborhood boys who had served in WW II.

With the war ending, all of the neighborhood boys, who were now men who’d served our country, gathered at the corner of 10^th and Ritner to form a Social Club, which we called Club Gramercy.  As time passed, we all got married and drifted apart, as people do when they assume family life and the obligations that accompany it.

Many years later, in 1986 to be exact, two members of our club, Baby Joe Carabasi and Tony Griffoni, ran into each other in a supermarket in the Greater Northeast section of Philadelphia.  They vowed to get the old gang back together by networking through people that they both knew.  Baby Joe and Tony cobbled together a list, a list upon which the names of the original fifty-four club members emerged. In October of 1986, the first meeting of the Boys Of 10^th and Ritner (nee, Club Gramercy) was held at Vitale’s Restaurant in Northeast Philadelphia.

Over the years, my friends and fellow soldiers celebrated a ten-year anniversary at the Coastline Restaurant in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Today, we are but a handful of that old gang and do not meet as often as we did.  But we do keep in touch.  In the many meetings we attended together, one name always came up whenever we would discuss what we’d seen and done overseas, during the war. That name was Chatty Joe Ermilio, a nickname given to Joseph by one of the neighborhood boys.  In my youth, South Philly was famous for nicknames in our crowd.  We had Nicky Blue, Baby Joe, Happy Joe and Happy Joe Jr., Duke Campisi, Fishy Yellow Gooney Ercolani, and many more monikers that would bring a smile to your face, as they did to ours.

As a writer for this website, I have contributed stories of my experiences, including tales of some of the people who have touched my life.  These stories, which you can find here, include An American Hero and The Boys of 10th and Ritner.  At the beginning of this particular story, I had promised to explain my deja vu experience, and I’m going to make good on that promise.

In researching some of the material and quotes for my articles, I came across a man named Joseph, who commented on An American Hero.  He said he was directed to my article when he entered his name into Google, and the search engine indicated this website.  It turned out that this Joseph was the namesake of his Uncle Joseph A. Ermilio — the same person whose name appeared in the article I had written, the uncle who had died protecting our freedoms in World War II.

Since then, I have spoken with Joseph A. Ermilio II and learned that he has a son who also carries the same name.  Joseph the II wanted to keep alive the memory alive of an uncle that he and his son had never known.  He told me that he is the oldest living member of his family, and had little knowledge of his uncle, but for the fact that he died an unsung hero on an Italian beach in World War II.  As fate would have it, the Internet directed him to find some history of his uncle in an article written by me, the boy who had once shared the same neighborhood, a wider circle of friends, and service to our country with that uncle.

Joseph the II also told me that his parents and grandparents had moved out of South Philly to Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, and that Upper Darby is where he’d spent his youth.  His grandparents never experienced closure for their son’s death, even though the soldier’s remains were returned to American soil in 1948.  They brought their unease with them when they, too, were laid to rest, leaving Joseph the II to ponder the life of his namesake.

In my conversation with Joseph the II, I gave him a list of contacts that could shed more light on his uncle’s early days of growing up in South Philly.  I reminded him not to wait too long to contact the other members of club, because time is not on our side.  He said he’d spoken with Joe DeGenova, who is mailing him information.

Was it fate, deja vu, or the hand of Providence that allowed me to connect with a direct relative of the only boy who never returned to our neighborhood from the war?  Was it technology that enabled many intervening years between my boyhood and the present day to collapse for a brief moment, even as those years expanded to illustrate how Joseph A. Ermilio still lives on in his bloodline, through descendents hungry for information about the infantryman who had died on the soil of his ancestors?  Or was it Joseph himself, reaching out from the great beyond to direct his nephew, in effect, to me — knowing that nephew was searching for answers? 

As I ponder these questions, I have no real answers.  However, it is hard to believe that a story I wrote could have such a dramatic ending.   In the final analysis, I don’t think that this was a coincidence.  I feel that this seemingly chance encounter with Joseph the II contains a message for the American people. I believe the message is to remember those who took risks and offered the supreme sacrifice in protecting the freedoms we too often take for granted.  There are certain times during the year, such as Memorial Day, that our nation sets aside for just this purpose.  Too often, we enjoy that holiday as a time to relax, forgetting why we really have the day off and who, in effect, gave us that day.