Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, September 4, 1995 TAG: 9509050088
SECTION: NATIONAL/INTERNATIONAL PAGE: A-1 EDITION: HOLIDAY
SOURCE: CHARLES J. HANLEY ASSOCIATED PRESS
DATELINE: HONOLULU LENGTH: Long
Remembering, someone once said, is a battle between forgetfulness and memory. If so, here's the battle report from V-J Day weekend:
The troops jitterbugged to '40s tunes and wept at the sound of ``Taps.'' They paraded up the boulevard and swapped snapshots and stories and addresses. They even wheeled in Bob ``The Big Gun'' Hope. And still they lost ground.
It became clear in Bill Clinton's keynote commemorative address Saturday, the anniversary of the signing of Japan's surrender on the battleship USS Missouri.
``Fifty years ago today, on the deck of the aircraft carrier Missouri in Tokyo Bay, freedom finally prevailed,'' declared the first president born after World War II.
Ex-crewmen from the famous - or once-famous - battlewagon had to cringe and wonder, and not just at slips of the presidential tongue.
Polls show that most Americans don't know that the Russians fought on their side in the war, or what Dwight D. Eisenhower's role was in the war, or what D-Day was. Memory, on all fronts, is in retreat.
Roy Linsenmeyer has his own solution.
``I wrote a long 12-page letter to my six grandchildren and said, `Let me tell you what your grandpa did in the big war,''' explained the old Navy Seabee from Swarthmore, Pa., a veteran of the battle of Okinawa.
For the record, what grandpa did, along with 15 million other servicemen and women, and tens of millions of Americans who stayed home to worry and pray and work, was to change the course of history, to eliminate a brutal brand of nationalism that imperiled democracy and freedom worldwide.
Clinton, in a more accurate vein, paid tribute to those millions as he stood before veterans Saturday, flanked by the 33,000 graves of Honolulu's inspiring hilltop national cemetery.
``We honor the extraordinary generation of Americans who came together to meet the challenge of war and then ... worked together to seize the promise of peace,'' the 49-year-old president said.
It was the centerpiece ceremony of a weekend of events to help the nation remember its great sacrifice, and the ``extraordinary generation'' to celebrate its role.
For the 3,000 who poured into Hickam Air Force Base's Hangar 35 on Saturday night for a 1940s-style dance, the highlight arrived in a wheelchair - ageless Bob Hope, the living image of World War II entertainment.
Helped up on stage, the 92-year-old comedian quipped, ad-libbed and launched into his trademark song, ``Thanks for the Memories.'' They loved it.
The memories. Every gray-haired ex-GI had a funny one, like how Bill Pearce's buddies flew a donkey back in their bomber from North Africa, fitted with its own oxygen mask, to turn it into a beer-guzzling mascot at their base in England.
``They called her Lady Moe. They thought it was a `he' but it turned out otherwise,'' laughed Pearce, of Austin, Texas.
But dark memories overshadowed the light, like the mission over Germany when the 19-year-old bombardier Pearce blacked out - his oxygen cut off - and was saved at the last moment by a crewmate. They still exchange Christmas cards.
Or like when Navy gunner Brock Hudson, another Austinite, saw a kamikaze plane ``coming right at me from portside'' off Okinawa, and his starboard gun wouldn't swing around. ``All I could do was stand and watch. And then it fell into the sea.''
Or like when Henry Tanaka of Honolulu, a veteran of the Japanese-American 442nd Infantry Regiment, lost six good friends in the fight for Italy. When they blew ``Taps'' at the cemetery Saturday, he openly wept. ``That was for them.''
Or like when Marine flyer Elmer Glidden of Canton, Mass., looked around after the Battle of Midway and found half his squadron gone, shot down into the sea.
Or like when Fred Bristol picked up a ``souvenir'' chunk of something at Hiroshima after the bombing and quickly developed severe rashes. ``I still have problems.''
It seemed everyone's memory, jogged by recent headlines, led to Hiroshima and the bomb.
Veteran after veteran told all who would listen that dropping the atom bombs was the right thing to do, and those who question the decision today have no standing. ``They weren't alive then.''
Bristol of Sarasota, Fla., sees a problem, though: Memory is taking too many casualties.
``There will be fewer and fewer people with the knowledge that these bombs actually saved lives,'' said the ex-GI.
In fact, the 15 million are now down to 7 million, according to government figures. By V-J Day's 65th anniversary, just 2 million ex-World War II servicemen and women will survive.
Memory must simply outlive them, said one of the ``extraordinary generation,'' Phyllis Murray of Honolulu.
``I hope the war will never be forgotten,'' the self-described ``war bride'' said as she stood beneath the balloons in Hickam's cavernous hangar.
``If memories stay bright, we might not repeat it. But if they're dim, then we could.''
``It,'' for those who forget, was nothing less than history's most monumental human failure, a catastrophe that took more than 50 million lives.
As she spoke, the young Air Force band struck up a tune. ``That's our music,'' the 75-year-old Linsenmeyer beamed at Mrs. Murray, 70.
It was a song about bluebirds and white cliffs and Dover. And ``tomorrow, when the world is free.''
by CNB