With all of the men accounted for, Jimmy Doolittle could finally fulfill the promise he had made aboard the Hornet prior to the historic raid. He made it his personal goal to reunite the men. He sent out letters, used a couple thousand dollars of his own money, and secured a location in Miami in 1945 for the first "official" Doolittle Reunion.
Imagine the circumstances surrounding such a get-together. The war was over. Out of the original group, 18 had not survived - a 20 percent loss. In his official letter, Doolittle promised a party with "all the food you can eat and whatever liquid you choose to float the food on." Certainly, this would be one for the books.
More than three years after the Raid, the veterans got together in Miami for the first time since disembarking the Hornet. There was food, there was drink. There were men running up and down the halls of the hotel, some more clothed than others. They occupied the pool at all hours of the night, and generally made a ruckus of the place. Although the hotel concierge of the evening had a few choice words to say of the group, the manager had another opinion. When he learned the nature of the reunion, and who the men were, he offered his hotel to Doolittle for any further reunions in the future.
It was bound to happen - at some point during that weekend in 1945 in Miami, someone shouted a suggestion that they meet every year. The good idea caught on, and nearly every year since 1945 the Doolittle Raiders got together privately, to swap stories and catch up on what the members of their exclusive fraternity had been up to.
On a more solemn note, each reunion also featured a roll call of members, with special recognition to those who had passed on during the prior year. Every year, it seemed there were fewer and fewer members. The veterans would recognize those who had passed, and raise a toast on their behalf. This was always a closed-door event, accessible only to the men who had served on the actual mission.
In 1959, the city of Tucson, Arizona presented the Doolittle Raiders with a set of silver goblets as a gesture of respect. Each goblet was engraved with the name of a Raider. Each name was engraved twice, so that it could be read whether the goblet was upside down or right side-up. At each reunion the survivors would toast those who had passed, and turn the goblets of the deceased upside down.
And that, ultimately, is what brought Pat Weeden and I to Dayton, Ohio that weekend in November 2013. We had been offered the literal chance of a lifetime - to take part in the Final Toast of the Doolittle Raiders. As of 2013, there were only four Raiders remaining. Rather than wait any longer, the four elected to hold a closed-door event. They would commemorate the mission, and those who had fallen. The event would be closed to the public, but open to the press. Thanks to Monroe Publishing and Big Radio, Pat and I obtained the necessary credentials to bear witness to this crucial chapter in American history.
Before I delve into the actual ceremony, it is worthwhile to mention another chapter of history - one that directly correlates with the Doolittle Raid. When the Raiders crash-landed across rural China, they were treated as near celebrities by the Chinese locals, with few exceptions. The Americans were scattered; some were injured and in need of medical attention, but nearly to a man they received help and guidance. With the exception of the men who were captured by the Japanese, the Raiders were reunited with one another, with the help of the locals.
In fact, the Americans were regarded as conquering heroes. They were given gifts and trinkets, thrown parades in their honor, were guests of Madame Chiang Kai-shek and in some cases were literally carried throughout parts of China. Then, they left. There was a war on, and the Americans were shipped off to various other theaters.
The Japanese descended on the Chinese populace like a plague. At about the same time US President Roosevelt detained Japanese-Americans in camps throughout the United States (and would be widely criticized by contemporaries who don't know the half of it), Japanese Emperor Hirohito himself authorized orders for a literal bloodbath against the Chinese, the very people who had helped the Doolittle Raiders.
During this time, as many as 250,000 Chinese were murdered by the Japanese army. Entire villages were burned; men, women and children were mass-slaughtered in a literal orgy of destruction. Any suspicion of having helped the Americans was met with absolute genocide. The Japanese razed entire towns simply for the reason that they didn't like the attitude of the locals (Winston Groom, The Aviators).
As an example of the sheer brutality, in two well-documented cases, a Chinese man was soaked in kerosene while his wife was forced to set him alight. Another man, an aged schoolteacher, watched mortified and helpless as his town, including his school and books, were torched by the Imperial Army. His family and friends murdered, the schoolteacher survived only by hiding in a well among the bodies of his grandchildren (Winston Groom, Aviators).
Such was the retaliation, but it was nothing new - the Rape of Nanking and countless incidences had already occurred in China at the hands of the Japanese. The brutality was indicative of the nature of the enemy at the time, and is exactly why Chiang Kai-shek hesitated to harbor the Americans in the first place - he knew the retaliation his people would face.
With all of that considered, it was with absolute reverence that I sat in the press box next to Pat, lost in thought and waiting patiently for the ceremonies to get underway. We were about to witness the closing of a crucial chapter of world history.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Imagine the circumstances surrounding such a get-together. The war was over. Out of the original group, 18 had not survived - a 20 percent loss. In his official letter, Doolittle promised a party with "all the food you can eat and whatever liquid you choose to float the food on." Certainly, this would be one for the books.
More than three years after the Raid, the veterans got together in Miami for the first time since disembarking the Hornet. There was food, there was drink. There were men running up and down the halls of the hotel, some more clothed than others. They occupied the pool at all hours of the night, and generally made a ruckus of the place. Although the hotel concierge of the evening had a few choice words to say of the group, the manager had another opinion. When he learned the nature of the reunion, and who the men were, he offered his hotel to Doolittle for any further reunions in the future.
It was bound to happen - at some point during that weekend in 1945 in Miami, someone shouted a suggestion that they meet every year. The good idea caught on, and nearly every year since 1945 the Doolittle Raiders got together privately, to swap stories and catch up on what the members of their exclusive fraternity had been up to.
On a more solemn note, each reunion also featured a roll call of members, with special recognition to those who had passed on during the prior year. Every year, it seemed there were fewer and fewer members. The veterans would recognize those who had passed, and raise a toast on their behalf. This was always a closed-door event, accessible only to the men who had served on the actual mission.
In 1959, the city of Tucson, Arizona presented the Doolittle Raiders with a set of silver goblets as a gesture of respect. Each goblet was engraved with the name of a Raider. Each name was engraved twice, so that it could be read whether the goblet was upside down or right side-up. At each reunion the survivors would toast those who had passed, and turn the goblets of the deceased upside down.
And that, ultimately, is what brought Pat Weeden and I to Dayton, Ohio that weekend in November 2013. We had been offered the literal chance of a lifetime - to take part in the Final Toast of the Doolittle Raiders. As of 2013, there were only four Raiders remaining. Rather than wait any longer, the four elected to hold a closed-door event. They would commemorate the mission, and those who had fallen. The event would be closed to the public, but open to the press. Thanks to Monroe Publishing and Big Radio, Pat and I obtained the necessary credentials to bear witness to this crucial chapter in American history.
Before I delve into the actual ceremony, it is worthwhile to mention another chapter of history - one that directly correlates with the Doolittle Raid. When the Raiders crash-landed across rural China, they were treated as near celebrities by the Chinese locals, with few exceptions. The Americans were scattered; some were injured and in need of medical attention, but nearly to a man they received help and guidance. With the exception of the men who were captured by the Japanese, the Raiders were reunited with one another, with the help of the locals.
In fact, the Americans were regarded as conquering heroes. They were given gifts and trinkets, thrown parades in their honor, were guests of Madame Chiang Kai-shek and in some cases were literally carried throughout parts of China. Then, they left. There was a war on, and the Americans were shipped off to various other theaters.
The Japanese descended on the Chinese populace like a plague. At about the same time US President Roosevelt detained Japanese-Americans in camps throughout the United States (and would be widely criticized by contemporaries who don't know the half of it), Japanese Emperor Hirohito himself authorized orders for a literal bloodbath against the Chinese, the very people who had helped the Doolittle Raiders.
During this time, as many as 250,000 Chinese were murdered by the Japanese army. Entire villages were burned; men, women and children were mass-slaughtered in a literal orgy of destruction. Any suspicion of having helped the Americans was met with absolute genocide. The Japanese razed entire towns simply for the reason that they didn't like the attitude of the locals (Winston Groom, The Aviators).
As an example of the sheer brutality, in two well-documented cases, a Chinese man was soaked in kerosene while his wife was forced to set him alight. Another man, an aged schoolteacher, watched mortified and helpless as his town, including his school and books, were torched by the Imperial Army. His family and friends murdered, the schoolteacher survived only by hiding in a well among the bodies of his grandchildren (Winston Groom, Aviators).
Such was the retaliation, but it was nothing new - the Rape of Nanking and countless incidences had already occurred in China at the hands of the Japanese. The brutality was indicative of the nature of the enemy at the time, and is exactly why Chiang Kai-shek hesitated to harbor the Americans in the first place - he knew the retaliation his people would face.
With all of that considered, it was with absolute reverence that I sat in the press box next to Pat, lost in thought and waiting patiently for the ceremonies to get underway. We were about to witness the closing of a crucial chapter of world history.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
