MY FATHER IN WWII

 

My dad had already been in the Pacific for three long years when his ship headed to Japan for a last-ditch effort to end the war with Japan in 1945. Our troops were full of confidence that the end of fighting was near because Germany had surrendered a few months earlier. Still, Japan continued to fly their planes into our ships and hide in the mountainous areas of the Pacific Islands.

In the final years of my dad’s life, he frequently talked about his experiences during WWII. It was almost as if this was the most crucial period of his life, and parts of it must have been the most frightening. Dad joined the Army a few months after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. He turned 18 and was several months shy of graduating from high school. Many young men, with a heightened sense of patriotism mixed with anger, did the same during the war and were awarded a high school diploma anyway.

After basic training, he was shipped to the Pacific. Many of our troops were dying or becoming incapacitated from malaria. Malaria took more Marines out of action than Japanese fire did. Dad’s unit was assigned the role of eradicating mosquitos. To accomplish this task, they initially sprayed diesel oil on swamps to choke the larvae. They also moved plantation workers to other locations to prevent the spread of malaria to our troops. When the insecticide DDT was developed, the Army effectively used it throughout the Pacific.

Dad often spoke of feeling guilty years later, remembering the time he took a sword off a dead Japanese soldier. He realized the Japanese man was no different from any other soldier serving time for their country in that he was loved by his family, and taking the sword was disrespectful. Later, he gave the sword to his brother-in-law. After my dad’s death eight years ago, my daughter was given the sword.

My dad’s unit was in the chow line on one of the Pacific Islands. Suddenly, a starving, young Japanese soldier joined them. He explained that his unit had been hiding in a cave, and to survive, they started killing and eating each other according to rank. He was next, so he decided that taking his chances with the Americans was wise.

As Dad’s ship was moving full speed toward Japan, Kamikaze pilots were strafing the ship, barely missing my dad when he ventured on the deck once. Suddenly, they received word that Japan had surrendered. When they finally reached Japan, my dad and a buddy decided to walk into town. It wasn’t until many years later that he realized how foolish that was, as the Japanese might have been furious with the Americans. After all, we had dropped two atomic bombs in their country, killing approximately 200,000 civilians. Instead of anger, they were met with open arms. I’m confident they were relieved the killing was over.

My dad was no war hero; however, his efforts saved the lives of many of our soldiers and prevented thousands from contracting malaria. And as I reflect on his memories, I’m unsure that even he realized what his unit accomplished during the war. To him, it was just what he did.

And on this Veteran’s Day, let’s not only remember the brave men and women who served our country in an almost impossible-to-win war on two fronts, let’s remember the 85 million people who lost their lives in the deadliest conflict in the history of the world.