Art and War

August 15, 1945. It probably seems like any old day to you. For my buddies and me, it meant the world. My story began at the Midway Etole (or maybe its spelled atoll, I never paid any mind in school). My company was stationed on a destroyer, and let me tell you, we were scared out of our goddamn minds!

That’s the fuel we ran on though, fear. Fear for yourself, for your buddy, hell, you had to worry for your momma safe at home. That first battle at Midway was a 72-hour adrenaline rush. [video] Those few days were the second proudest in my life. Hardly anything can top the morale of the American fleet that night- every ship celebrated out on the decks that night. We drank so much that mostly all of us were sick for two whole days. See, that’s the part of war I didn’t expect. “We’re men in uniform” I always thought. I mean, I looked up to soldiers as a kid. I suspect that no one back home would ever imagine us drinkin’ on US decks.
That wasn’t the only thing you wouldn’t understand. The three day adrenaline rush turned to one week, one month, and truthfully, it stays with me today. What an awful way to live. I was always watchin’ my back, we had to. Sleepless nights, meager rations, little contact with the real world- it’s all there, behind the glamorous façade. After a while, you get a little crazy and the adrenaline-rush-on-no-sleep becomes a state of mind. You’re restless. You’re homesick. You’re living in a cramped room with 10 other guys! The horror we felt during battle cannot be put into words. When you only skim the surface of war, it’s hard to understand how much we really want to come home.

The news couldn’t reach us sooner. I was playing cards on my bunk with Vinny, George, and Carl when we heard the radio girl belt out those beautiful words: “Japan, after 3 years and 8 months, has surrendered to the United States! Today will go down in history as Victory over Japan Day!” I just about lost it. Finally! We were hollerin’ and dancin’, and 5 minutes later, sarge came down to the bunks (cryin’) and told us that we were makin’ a b-line for San Francisco. It finally felt safe enough to think about her. Almost all of us had girls waitin’ for us back home. In fact, George got hitched to his high school sweetheart the evening before we left. He said she’s a nice enough girl who would surely wait for him. War makes you think about your future. If you don’t, you’re stuck at war. I thought about Betty a lot during those years, probably more than I should have. Thinkin’ about loved ones makes you homesick. Not that Betty and I are in love or anything. Betty’s a nurse. We met during my medical examination, so one could say we got to know each other pretty well pretty quick. I wrote her from time to time, I mostly sent her little cartoons of two lovebirds back home, away from the war. She didn’t want to get involved, she said, so I tried to sound nonchalant in my letters. I knew there were other girls out there, but thinking of her face got me through the hard times of war.

Oh! Were there other girls! Our ships were greeted by the thousands! The moment we landed on solid ground, we were bombarded with kisses, streamers, stars and stripes, and cheers of thanks. What a grand celebration.
This, I thought, was the welcome I was waiting for. As I admired the majestic banner that read “Welcome Home, Our Heroes!”, I truly thought that we were heroes. I was truly proud to be a soldier.

The noise in San Francisco that day is the only sound that ever came close to the blaring explosions of war. This sound boasted a different tone, however. This noise had spirit. It was mind-blowing to think that we were finally safe back home. I forgot how much I loved America. Did we have fabulous parades like this all the time? I could hardly remember my life before the marines.

I looked to my right and saw George kissin’ some young lady on the street. “Is that your wife?”, Vinny asked jokingly. “No, but I’m a hero, fellas! Heroes can smooch anyone they please today!” Our exhaustion disappeared as the confetti fell. I wandered aimlessly, in a state of numbed utopia. The dust finally settled around 9 o’ clock pm. And there I was, alone, without a plan.

The highs and lows of war are incredible. I consider myself lucky to come out alive, but I foolishly thought that once the war ended all of my problems would solve themselves. The army trained me to be a barber, and I found a job at a local shop in San Francisco. My customers don’t even know my story. Nor should they. When a soldier returns to the war, they must be willing to revoke their “hero” status and become a regular citizen again. Although my moments of heroism were short-lived, I still longingly imagine my homecoming as I walk the San Francisco streets to work each morning.

As for Betty, we coincidentally reunited a few days after my homecoming. When I saw her again, I realized she looked nothing like the image of her I carried in my head through those years. She was even more beautiful and radiant than I imagined. Most importantly, she didn’t remind me of the war, and she continues to remind me of my blissful homecoming.

June 7, 1942.My second proudest moment- our victorious Battle at Midway. September 14, 1945.My absolute proudest moment-proposing to the love of my life, Betty.