It's the cup of brandy that no one wants to drink.
On Tuesday, in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, the surviving Doolittle Raiders will gather publicly for the last time.
They
once were among the most universally admired and revered men in the
United States. There were 80 of the Raiders in April 1942, when they
carried out one of the most courageous and
heart-stirring military operations in this nation's history. The mere
mention of their unit's name, in those years, would bring tears to the
eyes of grateful Americans. Now only four survive.
After
Japan's sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, with the United States reeling
and wounded, something dramatic was needed to turn the war effort
around.
Even
though there were no friendly airfields close enough to Japan for the
United States to launch a retaliation, a daring plan was devised.
Sixteen B-25s were modified so that they
could take off from the deck of an aircraft carrier. This had never
before been tried -- sending such big, heavy bombers from a carrier.
The
16, five-man crews, under the command of Lt. Col. James Doolittle, who
himself flew the lead plane off the USS Hornet, knew that they would not
be able to return to the carrier.
They would have to hit Japan and then hope to make it to China for a
safe landing.
But,
on the day of the raid, the Japanese military caught wind of the plan.
The Raiders were told that they would have to take off from much farther
out in the Pacific Ocean than they
had counted on. They were told that because of this they would not have
enough fuel to make it to safety. And those men went anyway.
They
bombed Tokyo, and then flew as far as they could. Four planes
crash-landed; 11 more crews bailed out; and, three of the Raiders died.
Eight more were captured; three were executed.
Another died of starvation in a Japanese prison camp. One crew made it
to Russia.
The Doolittle Raid sent a message from the United States to its enemies, and to the rest of the world: "We will fight.
And, no matter what it takes, we will win!"
Of
the 80 Raiders, 62 survived the war. They were celebrated as national
heroes, models of bravery. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer produced a motion picture
based on the raid; "Thirty Seconds Over
Tokyo," starring Spencer Tracy and Van Johnson, was a patriotic and
emotional box-office hit, and the phrase became part of the national
lexicon. In the movie-theater previews for the film, MGM proclaimed that
it was presenting the story "with supreme pride."
Beginning
in 1946, the surviving Raiders have held a reunion each April, to
commemorate the mission. The reunion is in a different city each year.
In 1959, the city of Tucson, Arizona,
as a gesture of respect and gratitude, presented the Doolittle Raiders
with a set of 80 silver goblets. Each goblet was engraved with the name
of a Raider.
Every
year, a wooden display case bearing all 80 goblets is transported to
the reunion city. Each time a Raider passes away, his goblet is turned
upside down in the case at the next
reunion, as his old friends bear solemn witness.
Also
in the wooden case is a bottle of 1896 Hennessy Very Special cognac.
The year is not happenstance: 1896 was when Jimmy Doolittle was born.
There
has always been a plan: When there are only two surviving Raiders, they
would open the bottle, at last drink from it, and toast their comrades
who preceded them in death.
As 2013 began, there were five living Raiders; then, in February, Tom Griffin passed away at age 96.
What
a man he was. After bailing out of his plane over a mountainous Chinese
forest after the Tokyo raid, he became ill with malaria, and almost
died. When he recovered, he was sent
to Europe to fly more combat missions. He was shot down, captured, and
spent 22 months in a German prisoner of war camp.
The
selflessness of these men, their sheer guts ... there was a passage in
the Cincinnati Enquirer obituary for Mr. Griffin that, on the surface,
had nothing to do with the war, but
that emblemizes the depth of his sense of duty and devotion:
"When
his wife became ill and needed to go into a nursing home, he visited
her every day. He walked from his house to the nursing home, fed his
wife, and at the end of the day brought
home her clothes. At night, he washed and ironed her clothes. Then he
walked them up to her room the next morning. He did that for three years
until her death in 2005."
So
now, out of the original 80, only four Raiders remain: Dick Cole
(Doolittle's co-pilot on the Tokyo raid), Robert Hite, Edward Saylor,
and David Thatcher. All are in their 90s. They
have decided that there are too few of them for the public reunions to
continue.
The
events in Fort Walton Beach this week will mark the end. It has come
full circle; Florida's nearby Eglin Field was where the Raiders trained
in secrecy for the Tokyo mission.
The
town is planning to do all it can to honor the men: a six-day
celebration of their valor, including luncheons, a dinner and a parade.
Do
the men ever wonder if those of us for whom they helped save the
country have tended to it in a way that is worthy of their sacrifice?
They don't talk about that, at least not around
other people. But if you find yourself near Fort Walton Beach this
week, and if you should encounter any of the Raiders, you might want to
offer them a word of thanks. I can tell you from firsthand observation
that they appreciate hearing that they are remembered.
The
men have decided that after this final public reunion they will wait
until a later date -- sometime this year -- to get together once more,
informally and in absolute privacy. That
is when they will open the bottle of brandy. The years are flowing by
too swiftly now; they are not going to wait until there are only two of
them.
They will fill the four remaining upturned goblets. And raise them in a toast to those who are gone!
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