"Here in this beautiful place, lying in peaceful repose,
are those who heard and answered the call of the nation
at a time when danger stalked us all.
Proudly, bravely, they went forward into battle
determined to protect those left behind.
For this, they paid the ultimate price.
Today, we stand before their graves
and if we listen closely, we can hear on the wind
the whisper of their last request:
"America, be worthy of our sacrifice.""
--Ralph F. Couey
Copyright © 2019
by Ralph F. Couey
It is a place that was created out of the unimaginable violence of a volcanic eruption a thousand centuries ago. Now it is a place of memorial and remembrance, where some 30,000 of America's dead from four wars rest in peace. In a city filled with tourist diversions, this place is almost hidden away behind the rugged walls of the ancient caldera.
I came here on a beautiful sun-splashed day, the fresh breeze giving ripples of life to the flags. Standing on the edge of the grass, I let the peace and solemnity of the place wash over me. I began to walk, looking at the marker stones. There I found America, in all her racial and cultural diversity. The names reflected their heritage, German, English, French, Polish, Irish, Chinese, Samoan, Japanese, all were represented here. The dates of their passing and the service and unit they belonged to were like a dictionary and atlas to the student of the wars we have fought in since 1941. World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Kuwait, Desert Storm, Enduring Freedom, Iraqi Freedom, and the Global War on Terror. I saw the names of men who died on that first day of war, December 7th, and those who died in Europe in early May, within days of that war's end. It seemed such a tragic waste, but, I reminded myself, in war someone has to be the last one to die.
For a few hours, I strolled that green grass, reading names and dates. I thought about the sacrifice these men had made, and what had come from that loss. I knew that the freedoms we enjoy today are still present because of what these men and women had done to preserve them. There were other places where husbands were interred alongside wives and children. Entire families, together in life, now together for eternity. And on white marble walls around the edge of the cemetery are etched the names of those who are still missing. One name jumped out at me,
Doris Miller. Miller was an enlisted mess cook aboard the battleship West Virginia on December 7th. During the attack, Miller went topside and found a machine gun whose crew had been riddled by Japanese bullets. Miller took over the gun and stayed at his post, despite being wounded, until the attack ended. He then turned to the wounded and helped to treat his shipmates. Petty Officer Miller received the Navy Cross, the highest Navy medal that can be awarded for his actions that day. A little less that two years later, Miller was aboard the escort carrier Liscome Bay off Makin Island in the Marianas. A Japanese submarine got inside the destroyer screen and put a torpedo into the carrier that detonated the bomb storage magazine. The ship was torn to pieces. Petty Officer Miller vanished in the explosion.
There are interred here many soldiers from the legendary 100th/442nd regiment, an all Japanese-American unit that was awarded more medals for bravery than any other unit in American history. Among these was Captain Daniel Inouye, who was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions in Italy. He went on to a life of exemplary public service, unhandicapped by the loss of his right arm.
Any student of World War II knows about the 100th/442nd, and also knows how horribly they were mistreated and misused by General Dahlquist, the division commander. But despite that treatment, and that their country put others like them behind barbed wire, the Nisei of the 100th/442nd fought with unmatched strength and valor.
It is a mystery to me as to how America continues to find people of such courage to don a uniform in time of war. America is not a warrior culture, like Imperial Japan. Americans live their lives until the call comes. Then they drop plows, leave schools, grocery stores, farms, and other mundane employment, travel to foreign lands and do incredible things. It is a fact that no nation in history has shed so much blood fighting for other people's freedom.
It's easy to only think of them as a group. But that was the main reason I was walking the green grass between the seemingly endless marker stones. I wanted to think of them as individuals, young men and women who in their youth lost out on whatever the future may have had in store for them. Love, marriage, children, grandchildren, the chance to contribute to their communities through their chosen professions and more mundane things like coaching baseball. We have a future because they surrendered theirs.
Recently, I was reading some research on the likely casualties that would have resulted from the invasion of the Japanese home islands. The figures are alarming. The United States would likely have incurred some 600,000 combat deaths during the two planned invasions. Japanese would have suffered even more, approximately 7.5 million deaths, including regular military, civilians armed with spears and other implements, and those caught in the crossfire. If you work out the numbers, 3.5 children per family in the U.S. post-war along with their likely grandchildren, and 2.3 Japanese children per family, you are left with the staggering knowledge that because the war ended with the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki instead of armed invasion, there are around 62 million people living today in Japan and America who would never have been born.
Now, not all the graves in the Punchbowl are combat deaths. There are many who lived to ripe old ages before succumbing. But even if 20,000 of those who lie here had survived into the 1950's, they would have gifted the world with nearly 280,000 progeny, children and grandchildren. All those lives that never would be, the loss of the endemic hope that always accompanies new generations, the talents and solutions for problems we will never know... Beyond the math, it is an incalculable loss.
When studying the history of war, there is the tendency to think only in the macro. By only thinking of the numbers, we are spared the emotion of mourning the individual.
During the first day of the three-day Civil War Battle of Gettysburg, the 154th New York volunteers were hurriedly sent to a position northeast of the town to cover the retreat of the Union Eleventh Corp, which had been outflanked by attacking Confederate forces. During the retreat, Sergeant Amos Humiston was cut down with a mortal wound. As he lay dying in the field, he took from his pocket a picture of his three children which had been sent by his wife. As he gazed at his beloved family, death overtook him.
Later, a girl from the town found the body of Sgt. Humiston, still clutching the picture. She took the picture to her father, who hung it in his tavern. After the battle, a group of physicians passing through on a mission to care for the dead on the battlefield. One of them took the photograph back to Philadelphia where it was widely published with the caption, "Whose father was he?" In time, a woman in Portville, New York finally was able to identify the photo. It was only then that she found out that she had become a widow. Sgt. Humiston's body was eventually disinterred from the mass grave and given a proper burial in the National Cemetery.
This is an important story because out of the massive number of war deaths, which historians now estimate at more than one million, the story of the individual soldiers had largely been lost. Through the story of the Humiston family, everyone was able to understand that war is also a very personal tragedy. It is a story that we should never forget, and an example that should always be upfront.
When we send our young people to fight, let us always remember the precious value of each individual person in life, and the loss to all of us through their death.
And always remember why.
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