On board the battleship Missouri (BB-63), in the final hours of the U.S. victory in the Pacific and during the unconditional surrender of the Japanese 53 years ago, I was grateful to have had a wonderful view of the ceremony and its distinguished participants. We stood at the rail just above the verandah deck, abaft of Turret Two, outside what was Fleet Admiral William Halsey’s cabin where the outspoken leader kept the beautiful saddles that ardent admirers had sent to him as gifts. We sailed into Tokyo Bay, victorious. When Fleet Admiral ChesterNimitz came on board, he broke his five-star flag at the Missouri’s mainmast to host the surrender ceremony, so we were actually watching in his command area. To this day, never have I found out what Nimitz did with the silver saddles that Halsey boasted he would use to ride down the Ginza mounted on Emperor Hirohito’s white steed.
Though the entire day was of profound historic significance, it was also intensely festive, with the air charged to high-voltage, sparking incessant, bouncy joy. Few of us knew what it was like to win a war; this was a first time, for sure, and it was heady stuff.
The excitement mounted as the names of wartime heroes and distinguished world leaders wafted from the loudspeaker as they came on board. A photographer’s bulb flashed as Nimitz welcomed General Douglas MacArthur. Both marched down the red-carpeted deck together, but they were out of step. At the perfectly timed moment, someone quipped: “That’s nothing. They have been for the last four years.”
I stood at the rail, two-deep with other staffers, one deck above the scene of the actual signing. From there I could see and hear General MacArthur clearly; I saw Admirals Nimitz and Halsey, Rear Admiral Mick Carney, our Chief of Staff, and Vice Admiral “Slew” McCain, Commander of Task Force 38, and his alter ego, Vice Admiral Marc Mitscher Commander of Task Force 58 when the Fifth Fleet was fighting the Japanese on the sea. Then came Rear Admiral Forrest Sherman, Lieutenant General Jonathan Wainwright, Marine Lieutenant General Holland Smith, the amphibious expert, and the entire Japanese delegation—headed by Foreign Minister Mamoru Shigemitsu and including General Yoshijiro Umezu, Chief of Staff of the Army, both of whom faced us. General MacArthur’s back was to our group as he officiated.
Throughout this day of rejoicing, one thing in particular bothered me. To the dismay of many, Admiral Raymond Spruance was not present for the ceremony. He, as much if not more than anyone present, deserved to be front-and-center, based upon his contribution to the final victory in the Pacific. I had spent some of my most grueling hours with him. At best, Spruance never was much on pomp and pageantry, and he understood why Nimitz asked that he not attend. Nimitz felt it would be better for Spruance to be elsewhere. The Commander, Pacific Ocean Areas, wanted to make sure Spruance would be alive, should any treachery break out on board the Missouri. It was a sound precaution, with the kamikaze spirit still seething, suppressed but still alive. With the experience I had gained serving both the Third and Fifth Fleet commanders as their special intelligence officer (in the “cockpit of history,” as one of my friends has called it), my conviction was that both Halsey and Spruance should have a place at the surrender they had dedicated their lives to gain.
Today, we should remember—though seemingly we already have forgotten—that this moment of extreme exaltation, this peak of performance, came at a high but worthy cost. The United States had gained respect as the greatest maritime power the world had ever beheld. And it remains the global leader in the modern world. But with this global leadership comes global responsibility.
This surrender ceremony marked the goal of our maritime search, from Pearl Harbor to the gates of peace. On the eve of the surrender, the sun set with remarkable symbolism behind Mount Fuji; our evacuation of prisoners, beside themselves with gratitude, continued until the last boatload shoved off at sunrise.
My heart, along with the hearts of all people in uniform, was filled with pride. We thanked God and enjoyed a sense of satisfaction, having been singled out to a degree few find, to realize the true meaning of our performance in defense of the nation. We appreciated the blessing brought simply through the good fortune of being citizens in this nation of manifold blessings. And what tremendous faith we had in its future.
Certainly, that well of self-respect could not have been found in Canada, where some still professed to be Americans. This may sound like chauvinism, or even jingoism, but devotion to one’s nation is the only sound basis for commitment and, in turn, motivation. The source of self- satisfaction that all human beings seek in order to enrich their self-image is pride in who they are and what they are. What some people appear to have forgotten is that just being a U.S. citizen can instill the most pride of any other realization. But it becomes more meaningful when constructive action is taken selflessly, as with the many men gathered on the deck of the Missouri that memorable morning of 2 September 1945. How proud I was to be among them, especially after seeing “all the lights go on, all over the world,” that night.
At the newly acquired Yokosuka Officers’ Club, we listened with moist eyes to Admiral “Slim” Beecher—who wrote the Hawaiian standard “Sweet Leilani”—strumming his banjo, as he sang his most recent hit, “Me and Halsey and Nimitz Have Sure Got the Japs on the Run,” to our boss, Admiral Halsey. He was sitting there on a couch, sipping one more scotch and water to help him endure his shameless delight.
How sweet, revenge? Not necessarily. This was about accomplishment. And I hold every confidence today that the best is yet to come. With the next century just a stone’s throw away, this experience in Tokyo Bay conjures the kind of confidence every American can cling to beyond the celebration. We had been forced to face the reality of war by way of the agonizing shock of an attack on Pearl Harbor, elicited without warning and without declaration of war. This brings forth a theory that a righting of a serious wrong had taken place in advance of the Missouri’s anchoring in Tokyo Bay. And that thesis stands as highly reasonable.
With their television documentary entitled, “Victory in the Pacific”—in which I participated—CBS and General Norman Schwarzkopf indulged in a bit of skillful historical revisionism. Our Navy and Marine Corps, assisted and supported by our sister services, prevailed after four years of combat against a treacherous and militarily ominous power dedicated to warlike aggression, a nation with a military whose political power held de facto control. In the end, U.S. naval power severed this island nation’s sea lines of communication. And, as a Japanese prisoner on Saipan accentuated, “With this loss of our ‘life blood,’ the nation has been strangulated!” He then proceeded to cross out the outline of Japan he had sketched in the sand.
I do not remember precisely the historic remarks General MacArthur made on this solemn occasion 53 years ago. But he did make a lofty plea for peace and reconciliation. I do remember his authoritative words were well- spoken and appropriate, directed with sensitive consideration of victor and vanquished alike, to condition a cooperative hope for a better world. To this visionary end he spelled out:
A world founded on faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish—for freedom, tolerance, and justice.
Distinguished historian Eric Larrabee once wrote that, “It was MacArthur’s finest hour.” But this really was America’s finest hour. An island nation, the only oceanic power of Adolf Hitler’s Nazi-Axis-Triad, had been driven off the sea. When a fanatical nation fights to the end with total disregard for loss of life, the cost is staggering. At the core of our involvement in this war had been a neglect of readiness and a failure to assess the Japanese readiness, perhaps need, to go to war. The ships that surrounded the Missouri in Tokyo Bay spelled this out with ruthless clarity. The challenge was to remember this fleeting moment in history, more even than Pearl Harbor.
The memory I shall always carry is the manner in which General MacArthur, with his long, upturned pointer finger, masterfully beckoned the Japanese Foreign Minister to come forward and sign the document. It was the climactic moment in the ongoing high drama. It was arrogant. It was haughty. It was showing, with abandon of finesse, who was in command. This was the Supreme Allied Commander-designate speaking, and his demeanor on board the Missouri fortuitously clinched him the job. Douglas MacArthur did turn out to be the best man President Harry Truman possibly could have picked for the task of running the dicey occupation of Emperor Hirohito’s Empire, of bringing democracy to a defeated country that, throughout its recorded history, was driven totally by an iron- handed military autocracy.
The sight of “Skinny” Wainwright, standing beside MacArthur, emasculated by his long incarceration as a prisoner, reminded me of those who fled Corregidor in a U.S. submarine, together with the nurses, and those whose aircraft were destroyed on the ground in the Philippines.
Sometime after the surrender, Spruance called on MacArthur in Tokyo for what turned out to be a lengthy discussion. He wrote me to tell of the warm reception he had received; how satisfied he was with MacArthur’s sound planning. He had an impressive vision of what he had to do. The Admiral ended the note by saying he was certain the President had made the best possible choice for the difficult task ahead. He concluded, “MacArthur as SCAP will turn in a fine job.”
What he conveyed to me was his delight over how and when the war had ended. During a number of our previous discussions, he had expressed his serious concern regarding the command arrangements agreed upon for Operation Olympic, the planned invasion of Kyushu. They were decided upon along political rather than sound operational lines, and this was an anathema to Spruance. MacArthur was slated to control the amphibious assault, with Nimitz in command of the naval forces. This shook Spruance, particularly after his harrowing experience at Okinawa with Army Lieutenant General Simon Bolivar Buckner, who was reluctant throughout to take the offensive and attack. All the while, Buckner was totally oblivious to the fact that kamikaze attacks were exacting a terrible toll in ships.
Just as MacArthur declared the ceremony closed, after all signatures were affixed and without further fanfare, the hobbled Japanese Foreign Minister led his delegation to the starboard gangway, where honors were rendered. At the very first step he took toward descending the ladder, the most dramatic moment of the entire surrender occurred. Some 1,000 Pacific Fleet carrier aircraft, massed in a tight, low, mast-high formation, followed at a distance by B-29s, started their ear-splitting flight over the Missouri. It was sound-barrier-breaking explosive thunder. Such a display never could have been planned with the precise timing this emotion-filled moment demanded. Over the din, it seemed to be shouting to the Japanese: “If you think for a moment you made a mistake in your capitulation, this will convince you to the contrary.”
At the same time, a second message went out to the entire Free World. Through spirit, sound strategic measures, and solid application of the principles of war, U.S. arms had prevailed. To remember Pearl Harbor was hardly enough. Pax Britannica was past. And Pax Japonica would not remain a concern, even to Ambassador Joseph Grew in Tokyo, who counseled constantly to bolster our naval power in the Far East to challenge, and if necessary to counter, Japanese predatory actions. Beyond the Missouri, Pax Americana was to be etched in the reality of global leadership. Yet Americans had not been conditioned for the challenge; understanding was lacking; as was a national policy to guide our republic’s decision-making, to test its aims, its actions, its mettle.
I am confident, as I was at the end of the surrender ceremony, that the spirit of the American people, particularly its youth, will prevail through the 21st century. It is my fervent hope that all U.S. citizens will direct their most serious and innovative thought to the long view. All services, Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, or Coast Guard, depend upon the sea for operational readiness. As a counter to myopic wishful thinking, columnist George Will counsels:
And the history of this century teaches a grim truth: When at peace the Nation should always assume that it may be living in what subsequent historians will call “Interwar Years.”
If one lesson is to be carried away from the “Victory in the Pacific Maritime War,” it is simply this: we are now headed in the wrong direction; we are fleeing responsibility; we are misinterpreting the role of power in today’s troubled and volatile modern world. Our mobile power and global readiness, and as a consequence our image as a world leader, continues to erode; respect for the United States falters. Our political leaders are “driving the Nation off the World Ocean.” Here, former National Security Advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski offered the most concentrated postsurrender wisdom: “To be a Super-Power, you’ve got to act like a Super-Power.”
In her “Sea-Change” text, Sylvia Earle addressed the curse of “oceanic ignorance,” which still remains as we continue to be propagandized by television and the increasingly entertainment-minded press. Attendant bumper- sticker strategy threatens this nation’s global leadership, to say nothing of its own security. Our prayers beyond Tokyo Bay must encompass wisdom, vision, and mature activation not obscured by immediate but comparatively minor problems, but rather one fired by the potential of a national giant whose destiny remains: To lead.
To this end, “A Sea Change” in policy, purpose, posture, productivity, and competitive performance in the national interest remains the ideal we must yet derive from that magic moment 53 years ago, when the Japanese laid down their arms before a nation at its historic peak, one still destined to lead the world to a higher order of human achievement.