The Laughing Wolf

Food For Thought: A Personal Story Of Hiroshima

My Dad's family was large, very large. It took my grandfather two wives (the family joke is that the first one died of exhaustion/self-defense), but by the time he blew his brains out at the start of the Great Depression (a story well worth telling one day), there were eight boys and seven girls. Of the males, at least one served in WWI, and at least four served in WWII, including Dad and my uncle Foster.

Foster was the baby of the family, and by many accounts a bit spoiled. I can't really speak to that, for I did not know him then and mostly know that Dad (and others) were a bit protective of him. Even after he was grown. I do know that Foster and I both had a thing for Chinese food and flight. WWII saw Foster follow that dream, and become a pilot in the U.S. Navy flying attack planes.

As regular readers may remember, Dad was a Marine, having served a hitch in the 30s well before war loomed. Back in, he got out of a suicide assignment by becoming the bodyguard and orderly to Admiral Raymond A. Spruance. As a "Buck Sgt." he also led the Admiral's marine detail though only in real rank a corporal. Didn't matter, as when the Admiral said jump they all jumped, and all loved him enough to work hard to take care of him. In turn, the Admiral was known a time or two to take care of them.

Towards the end of the war, Dad was home in Macon, Georgia, on a very rare leave. The leave had some time to run, but that changed with the arrival of a telegram ordering Dad to report to the U.S.S. Indianapolis (oft used by the Admiral as his flagship because of its speed) in three days time. It seems the Admiral was up to something and wanted Dad there. I rather doubt the Admiral specified the three days, because unlike Rear Echelon Mother F.... (REMFs) and other such life forms, he was both intelligent and had sense.

Three days in a nation without interstates, without the massive air transport network we have today, without high-speed and dedicated rail links. Even with the priorities that came with the telegram, it was impossible even though Dad left not long after getting the telegram. It took longer than three days, but was as fast as could be done in that day and age. Never mind, Dad was arrested and threatened with court martial by a REMF for not doing the impossible. Fortunately, Dad got word to Admiral Spruance of what was going on, and the situation was resolved (possibly with one or more REMFs being awarded new orifices, do wish I could have watched) and Dad released.

The Admiral had some very specific orders for Dad, though he could not say why he wanted Dad (and no one else) doing them. There was a large crate in one of the seaplane hangars on the Indianapolis, very securely chained down to the deck. There was a red line ten feet around it. Dad was introduced to an Army officer, who was authorized to cross the line. Dad, and his team, were then introduced to the very few people other than the Army officer allowed to cross the line. Anyone else crossing the line by so much as an inch was to be shot and killed on the spot. No exceptions. No explanations. Just a clear and unambiguous order.

Like all good Marines, Dad said "Yes Sir!" and set up the watches. The Indianapolis left port once, and came back because of a submarine sighting. They left again, the throttles were tied down, and they set a transit record reaching Hawai'i. They then did the same thing going to Tinian.

In those days, creature comfort was not a priority for warships, or any ships for that matter. According to Dad, Marine Country was well below water line and hot as hell. To his dying day, he would claim that his sleeping on top of the crate with a .45 had all to do with it being cooler, not the special cargo and the words of his Admiral. It was for his comfort that he slept there, being awakened when the duty guard needed to hit the head, got sleepy, or just wanted company. Yep, creature comfort on top of a hard crate with loads of chains. Yeah. Right.

When they arrived at Tinian, the bustle around the crate was quite something, with lots of brass involved. In short, normal procedures and such went away in the rush and confusion, with the result that Dad and the Admiral's Marines were still onboard as the Indianapolis began departing. Fortunately, the Admiral once again caught the detail (not clear if Dad may have somehow gotten word to him despite ongoing radio blackout) and had his Detail returned to him. They went over the side down cargo nets to a special (Admiral's?) barge that came alongside as the ship cleared the harbor. They rejoined their Admiral, and the Indianapolis had its rendezvous with destiny but a few handful of hours later.

A while later, Dad was engaged in the time honored tradition of all bodyguards and orderlies and looking semi-discretely over Admiral Spruance's shoulder. He saw the pictures of the cloud and the results, and he admitted to me later that despite all efforts he made his face must have been a sight. The Admiral put down the pictures, laughed, and turned to Dad to say "Now you know what you were sleeping on."

From a small aside Dad made to me one time, I have the impression that Admiral Spruance sort of thanked Dad for his reaction, for giving him something to laugh about, for laughter is oft the best way to deal with something so overwhelming. For the atomic bomb did indeed overwhelm, not just targets but political and military thinking as well. It still does, and needs must we continue to think about the unthinkable given the war we are in today.

Uncle Foster is why I have no problem with dropping that bomb, the one my Dad slept on and guarded during those interesting times. Foster had long joked that if he and his crew died, it would be because of him. The joke was that it would be because he screwed up navigation (you try finding a postage stamp in the middle of an ocean). The truth was that his plane was hit by the fierce anti-aircraft fire that responded to one of the last conventional naval aviation attacks against Japan. We don't know, we will never know, exactly what happened. His crew could have been wounded, they could have been dead, or, they could have been alive and unable to do anything. The one thing we do know from witnesses is that his plane was hit, and it crashed in a manner indicating a pilot dead or unconscious thrown forward onto the controls. There is no record of the Japanese finding any bodies or taking any prisoners, and Foster's mates indicated to Dad that if any were still alive when they hit that they did not survive the crash.

I will never know if we shared more than a ready grin, a love of Chinese food (and more), and a delight in flight. Was he the spoiled and arrogant brat some describe, or was he much more than that? Did he change and how did he change from being a boy into a man? No one, not I, will ever know. Nor will the families and friends of his crew know their loved ones as well.

Despite revisionism, the intel of the day suggested a very strong defense of the home islands, with a million or more casualties to take them. From things that have come out later, portions of that defense were even more fanatical than originally estimated. Some portions may have fallen easily, but others most certainly would not have.

A million or so Fosters, each affecting a much larger number of others: wives, children, parents, uncles, aunts, friends, and co-workers. No, we made no mistake dropping the bomb, for it spared millions. If the revisionists were correct in all their claims, then surrender would have come immediately, not after a second bomb. The only mistake we made was not in rubbing the collected noses of Japan into their excesses as we did that of the Germans. For that misguided "kindness" has allowed a much worse revisionism to flourish, and the truth of medical experiments to make Mengele blush, the rape of Nanking, and so much more to be buried and denied.

Yes, many died when The Bomb fell, yet how many more would have died and suffered had it not? Hindsight is always 20-20, and no matter the public face when you make a decision like that questions will find you in the night. I speak not for those who made the decision to drop, for that belongs to them. I have engaged in debates, discussions, and more, and simply offer up the idea that had they not done so, might worse things have come later because no one saw the reality of what happened when they were used? Ignorance of consequences rarely leads to bliss.

Ultimately, though, it all comes down to Foster. I would have loved to have known this man, even were he a complete and utter cad. Because of the bomb, a million plus Fosters got to come home. Though part of me is sad at what happened to make it so, I am also so very glad that they got to do so, and for those that got to know them.

This day, remember all.

LW