Class Note 1943
Issue
March-April 2023
Happy days are here again! I was asked recently, “What was the happiest day of your life?” Well, read on…. Year 2023 means all surviving classmates are now centenarians. I will attain the age of 103 on June 24. I believe I’m at least one year older than most of you. When my family moved from Los Angeles to Tokyo in September 1935, I was accepted at The American School in Japan. I was asked to take my ninth grade over again. There, the class of 1938 had 19 students; the class of 1939 had five. In my senior year we had seven graduates. Later on, I told my kids: “Daddy ranked No. 7 in his high school class.” And woe the next question: “How many kids in your class, Dad?”
I’ve always been an easygoing fellow. I was an eternal optimist, good at taking things in stride. The glass was always half-full. It’s easy to be separated by business, a mission, or vacation. But being separated by war is the worst feeling of all. Anything can happen— a stray bullet, a sniper, friendly fire, a booby trap, a sudden explosion, a vehicle accident. That’s why, with sound recollections, I know the happiest day of my life was the morning of January 14, 1946, when I finally returned to my wife, Mary, in Los Angeles after a 24-month separation—January 1944 to January 1946. We were never apart again due to war. We were married for more than 57 years when she died on May 30, 2000, due to a heart condition. Mary was the nicest and best thing ever to happen to me in my entire life. It’s true: Happy wife, happy life!
Wartime is difficult. It is the unknown that haunts you. The words “for the duration plus six months” are hard to take. No one can predict the future. Rumors were heard about several “Dear John” letters received by good-natured G.I.s; one took it with a grin and said, “I feel sorry for the new guy!” Others became sullen, depressed, and demoralized. With so many weapons available in every tent, a quiet remark to the brass was inevitable. The “DeeJays” would wind up at a nearby hospital for observation. We later learned that some were flown back stateside for greater professional help. I personally felt much sadness and compassion for the DeeJays. People say that war brings out the best in humankind. Sometimes it doesn’t.
—George Shimizu, 2140 Sepulveda Ave., Milpitas, CA 95035; (408) 930-2488; marymariko@comcast.net
I’ve always been an easygoing fellow. I was an eternal optimist, good at taking things in stride. The glass was always half-full. It’s easy to be separated by business, a mission, or vacation. But being separated by war is the worst feeling of all. Anything can happen— a stray bullet, a sniper, friendly fire, a booby trap, a sudden explosion, a vehicle accident. That’s why, with sound recollections, I know the happiest day of my life was the morning of January 14, 1946, when I finally returned to my wife, Mary, in Los Angeles after a 24-month separation—January 1944 to January 1946. We were never apart again due to war. We were married for more than 57 years when she died on May 30, 2000, due to a heart condition. Mary was the nicest and best thing ever to happen to me in my entire life. It’s true: Happy wife, happy life!
Wartime is difficult. It is the unknown that haunts you. The words “for the duration plus six months” are hard to take. No one can predict the future. Rumors were heard about several “Dear John” letters received by good-natured G.I.s; one took it with a grin and said, “I feel sorry for the new guy!” Others became sullen, depressed, and demoralized. With so many weapons available in every tent, a quiet remark to the brass was inevitable. The “DeeJays” would wind up at a nearby hospital for observation. We later learned that some were flown back stateside for greater professional help. I personally felt much sadness and compassion for the DeeJays. People say that war brings out the best in humankind. Sometimes it doesn’t.
—George Shimizu, 2140 Sepulveda Ave., Milpitas, CA 95035; (408) 930-2488; marymariko@comcast.net