By Noel Smith
I read recently that 16,112,566 individuals served in the United States armed forces during World War II. Of that, there were 291,557 battle deaths, 113,842 other deaths in service, and 670,846 who survived their wounds. Based on an estimate by Department of Veterans Affairs, in November 2013 there are approximately 1,150,00 American veterans from this war still living. Each day that number decreases by about 800 as the median age of the survivors reaches 94 years old.
Three of the four remaining Doolittle Raiders, who numbered 80 when they took off from the carrier USS Hornet in sixteen B-25 bombers on April 18 1942, met for the last time at the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton Ohio at the National Museum of the United States Air Force on November 9 to honor their comrades.
I remember (but little understood) the excitement when President Roosevelt announced the Doolittle Raid on Japan. The Hornet was sunk during the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands (a familiar name) on October 27, 1942 just one year plus one week after her commissioning. She was the last US carrier to be sunk due to enemy fire and our family dentist was aboard and did not survive the Hornet’s last battle.
I also remember the end of WWII on August 14, 1945. We were living in Seaside California with my aunt and uncle at the time. The firehouse siren went off and didn’t stop for at least an hour. Soldiers and sailors filled the streets of Monterey and the celebration lasted for two days until they finally ran out of steam.
On Navy Day 1945, which also happened to be October 27 just three years to the day after the sinking of the USS Hornet (CV 8), my uncle took me aboard the USS Hornet (CV12), its namesake – the eighth navy ship to carry that name – during an open house. It was anchored in Monterey Bay having just returned with a shipload of servicemen from the Pacific theater. There were no planes on board but I remember how proud all of us civilians felt as we saw our servicemen in uniform having just won WWII.
My family returned to our home in Minnesota to await my father whose job in the US Army, after having been trained to drive a Sherman tank, was to help muster out all those returning soldiers to an unknown but promising future.