IWO JIMA

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We approach Iwo Jima just after dawn. The peak of Mt. Suribachi rises from the sea. The weather is appropriately cloudy with rain predicted later in the day. Pads of whales greet us both port and starboard. As we sail closer, the rest of the island appears looking like a flat plain to the east. But that is an illusion. The island has terraced ridges in the east, is flat in the middle with Mt. Suribachi on the West. It is currently a military base for the Japanese and we were lucky to receive permission to cruise within five miles of shore. Normally the Japanese enforce forty-mile territorial waters. It is in the flat middle where the invasion began on 2/20/45.
The island had strategic value being equidistance from Manila and Tokyo. But it’s emotional significance in 1945, was the first time Americans landed on Japanese soil. Now it is back in Japanese hands after the handover in 1968.
As we approach, my steward brings breakfast including fresh squeezed orange juice. I don my terry robe and watch Iwo Jima get larger on TV via bridge cam. I am here sixty-three years later, cruising in luxury and imagining what it must have been like for Uncle Richard.
The weather has changed from equatorial sun to chilly, cloudy weather. Was is like this when the Marines slugged their way ashore in ankle deep sand the consistency of coffee beans?
The statistics really do tell the story. It was the only battle in the Pacific where the allied forces suffered more casualties than the Japanese, 28,000 to 21,000. The fighting was brutal and went on until March 26, 1945. The Americans killed in action numbered over 6,000, the Japanese 20,000. Captured Japanese numbered 216.
We had a ceremony aft to honor the invasion forces, but also to acknowledge the sacrifices and bravery of all the WWII vets. After remarks, prayers and taps we all tossed flowers into the sea in remembrance. I looked around and saw men and women of all ages weeping quietly as they remembered.
I remembered Auntie Lou; stubborn, generous, quirky, my Mom, hard working, independent, loyal and loving. Aunt Martha, cute and smart, who assumed responsibility for the younger kids after their mother died and volunteered for the USO. Miss Mam, Miss Long and Miss Jiggs.
I remembered Uncle Phil, the handsome clarinet player and stalwart union man; Uncle Frank, a gentle man, and a talented classical pianist; Uncle Joe, US Infantry, always there for the family, who served in Bougainville and Luzon, who received the Purple Hart, who had a beautiful alto voice and who I never saw loose his temper. In many ways, he and Uncle Bob held our family together.
I remembered Uncle Al; US Army, serving as a medic in New Guinea, lover of music and unabashed liberal and political junkie; Uncle Bob, Marine staff sergeant responsible for packing parachutes and who always regretted that he was not sent overseas; who was there for Lucy and for Ken and Jim and for me and for all the cousins at one time or another. Here at Iwo Jima, I especially remember Uncle Richard, US Marine, awarded the Purple Heart, survivor of four invasions the last of which was here.
They are all gone now along with Uncle Jim who worked in the USO, my dad who volunteered at age 38 and served in the Seabees, and Pedro, who served in the Navy.
The lives of the Tedeschi sisters and brothers, their wives, husbands and children were transformed in untold ways by their experiences during WWII. I know I speak for all my cousins when I say how much I miss them and how grateful I am for all they did for their country and us.

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