They Came by Stealth

On a quiet Sunday morning, sixty-eight years ago today, when Japanese military planes flew low over the mountain peaks of Oahu, Hawaii headed for the U.S. Fleet at anchor in Pearl Harbor, they would precipitate a conflict that would end only after President Truman made his fated decision to drop nuclear bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

That conflict is but a faint memory in the minds of many Americans, and today’s activities will probably be taken up more with shopping for the holidays than it will be memorializing the conflicts of World War II which, among other tragedies, brought us the Holocaust.

My brothers Roland, Roger and Harvey served in that war, and our family was extraordinarily lucky that they came back home to our cottage on a street where other homes displayed in their windows the gold stars representing fallen men and women.

Together, my brothers covered a wartime territory from Alaska to the Panama Canal Zone; from England to the European continent; and in the Philippines where Roland might have been part of a multi-point force of hundreds of thousands of troops prepared for a massive invasion of the Japanese homeland – an event which became moot after Truman’s decision.

Decades later, Roland would argue for NOT heading into a land war in Iraq. Perhaps he surmised that there would be no political will for the kind of total, overwhelming and unconditional victory which was the only result that America would accept following the six-year conflict brought on by the attack of December 7, 1941.

I miss you, my brothers. Jo-Jo wishes that you were still here for our crazy family get-togethers, especially those we had on New Year’s Day and all of the others on your farms.


Photo by Bergeron: It features a partial view of the Atlantic Theatre section of the WWII Memorial which is located at the end of the Reflecting Pool, opposite from the Lincoln Memorial.

The Little Borough that Could – and Did

In a Courier News poll not long ago, a majority of respondents said that the relatives and friends of the victims of the Trade Towers attack should “move on” with their lives. I interpreted that to mean that it’s time to forget – 9/11 is over.

I’m glad that the residents of Raritan Borough didn’t take that advice about WWII and their native son and hero, John Basilone. Each year commemorative events in his honor only seem to grow. That’s as it should be, because to forget the cost of what others did to secure our freedom as Americans is a passive act of ignorance.

There is hardly a week that goes by where I don’t have a recollection for the sacrifices that my three brothers endured when they served this nation in the same war in which John Basilone fought and died.

Pride in the American military’s accomplishments is a cheap commodity these days, especially within Washington’s beltway, where politicians inside the Capitol Building and the White House treat our servicemen and servicewomen like pawns in their game of chess which they play in comfortable rooms, thousands of miles removed from the dirty battlefields of Iraq, Afghanistan and the surrounding areas of the beleaguered state of Israel.

I’m not a war hawk, and I wish to see peace reign on this planet, but I do not minimize the nature of the threats posed by dangerous men like the leaders of Iran, Syria, North Korea, and Venezuela, the last of which has entered into military provisioning agreements with Russia.

Friday, Saturday and Sunday, in this little corner of the world, Raritan Borough will pause to memorialize once again the example of a man who did what he felt he had to do for his nation.

Precious Blood

Sometimes you come to a point in a situation where a previously held position needs some serious rethinking. Iraq and Afghanistan now fall in that category for me. All three of my older brothers were actively engaged in World War II. In 1945, my oldest brother, whom I lost last year, was in the Philippines preparing for what was to be the imminent, massive invasion of the Japanese islands.

Then, unexpectedly, the most destructive secret weapon ever developed unleashed its overwhelming fury on Hiroshima and Nagasaki –and within days it was all over. Harvey, Roger and Roland would come home with their minds and bodies intact. Ours was one of those lucky American families. And my life would be forever enriched from the experience and brotherhood of these three street-wise kids who somehow made it through.

After Pearl Harbor, the objective was clear: Mobilize. Get the troops to Europe and to the Pacific – fast. Do whatever it takes. Gear up the entire economy for victory. Finish it. Don’t let a vanquished enemy dictate post-war terms. Above all, finish it.

It’s fundamentally different now – many of our leaders seem to have lost sight of true north, and Congress has gradually shifted its war-declaration responsibilities to the White House, hiding behind lukewarm war authorizations which have resulted in finger-wagging every which way, especially when an administration changes hands. Most wretchedly of all, our leaders don’t know when to fight and when to stay home.

But this one thing is clear: If Iraq and Afghanistan were George’s wars then, they are Barack’s wars now. So what will he do to end those with victory and honor? Truman never complained that he “inherited” WWII from FDR. He came in as a relief pitcher and ended the game decisively. The ball is now in the hands of Barack Obama. Thousands of American families with blood in the game are waiting.