By the summer of 1945, the Japanese navy and air force were destroyed. Its army had been decimated. The Allied naval blockade of Japan and intensive bombing of Japanese cities had left the country and its economy devastated, it's people suffering.
After the Hiroshima atomic bomb attack, factions of Japan's supreme war council favored unconditional surrender but the majority resisted. When the second atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, the Japanese Emperor Hirohito told the supreme war council to negotiate the unconditional surrender. To the Japanese his word was that of a god.On Sunday, September 2, 1945, more than 250 Allied warships lay at anchor in Tokyo Bay. Just after 9 a.m. on board the USS Missouri General Douglas MacArthur presided over the official surrender ceremony as Japanese Foreign Minister Mamoru Shigemitsu signed on behalf of the Japanese government. General Yoshijiro Umezu then signed for the Japanese armed forces. 
His aides wept as he made his signature. The most devastating war in human history was over.
Within days defeated Japanese forces surrendered their arm and returned to their homeland. But not all of them!
Japanese holdouts or stragglers either adamantly doubted the truth of the formal surrender due to strong dogmatic or militaristic principles, or simply were not aware of it because communications had been cut off during the United States island-hopping campaign.
For years after the war was over they continued to fight the enemy forces, and later local police. Some Japanese holdouts volunteered during the First Indochina War and Indonesian War of Independence (our Vietnam War) to free Asian colonies from Western control 
despite these having once been colonial ambitions of Imperial Japan before and during World War II.
Among the holdouts was intelligence officer Lt. Hiroo Onada. In 1944, Lt. Onoda was sent by the Japanese Army to the remote Philippine island of Lubang. His mission was to conduct guerrilla warfare against Allied forces. Once on the island, Onoda was supposed to blow up the pier at the harbor and destroy the Lubang airfield.
Unfortunately, the garrison commanders decided not to help Onoda on his mission and soon the island was overrun by the Allies. Most of the Japanese troops on the island withdrew or surrendered. A small number of Japanese, convinced the surrender by the Emperor of Japan was a hoax, retreated into the inner regions of the island and split into small groups to avoid capture. As these groups dwindled in size after several attacks, the remaining soldiers split into cells of 3 and 4 people. There were four people in Onoda's cell: Corporal Shoichi Shimada (age 30), Private Kinshichi Kozuka (age 24), Private Yuichi Akatsu (age 22), and Lt. Hiroo Onoda (now age 23).
Allied forces made a serious effort to get the holdouts to believe the war was over. Leaflets were dropped over remote jungles and mountains and rescue parties led by 
former Japanese officers searched the isolated corners of the island. The efforts paid off as small groups trickled from hiding and surrender. Only a few disbelievers remained hidden.
Onoda first saw a leaflet that claimed the war was over and how to surrender in October 1945. When another cell had killed a cow, they found a leaflet left behind by the islanders which read: "The war ended on August 15. Come down from the mountains!" But as they sat in the mountain jungle, the leaflet just didn't seem to make sense, for another cell had just been fired upon a few days before. If the war were over, why would they still be under attack? No, they decided, the leaflet must be a clever ruse by the Allied propagandists.
Again, the outside world tried to contact the survivors living in the island's the isolated wilderness by dropping leaflets out of a U.S. Army Air Force Boeing B-17 near the end of 1945.
Printed on these leaflets was the surrender order from General Yamashita of the Fourteenth Area Army. Having already hidden on the island for a year and with the only proof of the end of the war being this leaflet, Onoda and the others scrutinized every letter and every word on this piece of paper concluding it must be an Allied hoax.
Leaflet after leaflet was dropped. Newspapers were left. Photographs and letters from relatives were dropped. Friends and relatives spoke out over loudspeakers. There was always something suspicious, so they never believed that the war had really ended.
Year after year, hiding in caves, the four men huddled together in rain, searched for food, and sometimes attacked villagers. Isolated from the rest of the world, everyone appeared to be the enemy.
Tired of near starvation and constantly hiding, Akatsu got away from the others and after six months on his own in the jungle he surrendered in 1949.
In June 1953, Shimada was wounded during a skirmish. Though his leg wound slowly got better (without any medicines or bandages), he became gloomy. On May 7, 1954, Shimada was killed in a skirmish on the beach at Gontin.
For nearly 20 years after Shimad's death, Kozuka and Onoda continued to live in the jungle ready for the time when they would again be needed by the Japanese army. They believed it was their job to remain behind enemy lines, reconnoiter and gather intelligence to be able to train Japanese troops in guerrilla warfare in order to regain the Philippine islands.
In October 1972, at the age of 51 and after 27 years of hiding, Kozuka was killed during a clash with a Filipino patrol. Though Onoda had been officially declared dead in December 1959 Kozuka's body proved the likelihood that Onoda was still living.
Search parties were sent out to find Onoda, but none succeeded. His own father went to the island trying to coax Onoda to surrender. All alone Onoda continued to hide. Remembering the division commander's order, he could not kill himself (Hari-kari) yet he no longer had a single soldier to command.
In 1974, a college dropout named Norio Suzuki decided to travel to the Philippines, Malaysia, Singapore, Burma, Nepal, and perhaps a few other countries on his way. He told his friends that he was going to search for Lt. Onoda, a panda, and the Abominable Snowman. 
Where so many others had failed, Suzuki succeeded. He found Lt. Onoda and tried to convince him that the war was over. Onoda explained that he would only surrender if his commander ordered him to do so.
Suzuki traveled back to Japan and found Onoda's former commander, Major Taniguchi, who had become a bookseller. On March 9, 1974, Suzuki and Taniguchi met 
Onoda at a pre-appointed place and Major Taniguchi read the orders that stated all combat activity was to be ceased. Onoda was shocked and, at first, disbelieving. It took some time for the news to sink in.
In his book, "No Surrender: My Thirty-year War" Onoda wrote his feelings the moment he realized it was actually over:"We really lost the war! How could they have been so sloppy? Suddenly everything went black. A storm raged inside me. I felt like a fool for having been so tense and cautious on the way here. Worse than that, what had I been doing for all these years?
Gradually the storm subsided, and for the first time I really understood: my thirty years as a guerrilla fighter for the Japanese army were abruptly finished. This was the end.I pulled back the bolt on my rifle and unloaded the bullets.
I eased off the pack that I always carried with me and laid the gun on top of it. Would I really have no more use for this rifle that I had polished and cared for like a baby all these years? Or Kozuka's rifle, which I had hidden in a crevice in the rocks? Had the war really ended thirty years ago? 
If it had, what had Shimada and Kozuka died for? If what was happening was true, wouldn't it have been better if I had died with them?" Onoda wept uncontrollably as he agreed to lay down his perfectly serviceable rifle.
During the 30 years that Onoda had remain hidden on Lubang island, he and his men had killed at least 30 Filipinos and had wounded approximately 100 others. After formally surrendering to Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos, Marcos pardoned Onoda for his crimes while in hiding.
When Onoda reached Japan, he was hailed a hero. But his nearly 30 year of living in isolation, hiding from those he believed would harm him, living off the land and watching his men die or desert him, he saw Japan much differently than when he had left it in 1944. He bought a ranch and moved to Brazil but in 1984 he and his new wife moved back to Japan and founded a nature camp for kids.
Onoda died in Tokyo Japan on January 16, 2014 at the age of 91.
Fifty years ago a group of young men from all over the country met for the first time at MCRD Parris Island and became Platoon 361.
On April 3-5, 2014, eight of those men - I and 7 others - along with our wives, met for several days in Savannah GA to celebrate a 50-year reunion of our going through boot camp together.
We graying Marines (left to right Bill Mize, Tom Hunley, Bruce Washburn, me, William Hullender, Aubie Camp and James Aman with Tom Mintz seated) gathered for the first time on Thursday evening, and it was a very emotional meeting. 
The stories that were shared were powerful and a testament to the courage and strength shown by several who have survived for 50 years with demons resulting from their time serving their country.
Naturally the conversation turned to the old days with me starting the discussion by telling them how I missed going to Vietnam. They all thought I was the lucky one. After me, a very low key James Aman told how he and Aubie Camp were together on Hill 41. He said he went out on a night patrol and was wounded. That was it. After him, Tom Hunley told about his time in Vietnam and how he was there with one of our platoon members when he was killed. It was quite an emotional story.
After Tom, it was Aubie's time. It was so hard on him. He told Aman he was "glad he made it." After that he tried to tell about the night he earned the Silver Star but he broke down. Even a couple waiting to catch the elevator stopped to listen. We all just sat in silence for a couple of minutes. You could have heard a pin drop. It was very emotional.
We then went around the table to Warren Hullender, Tom Mintz, Bruce Washburn and Bill Mize. They were all in the war but nothing to compare with what Aubie and Tom Hunley had to tell. Sharing these emotional and powerful memories with Marines that we served with so long ago was truly a meaningful and healing experience for us all.
We got up Friday morning, ate breakfast, loaded up in cars and drove over to Parris Island.
It was a fun day, in ways that we could not have imagined 50 years earlier. We went out to the rifle range and were shown the new way to learn how to fire a rifle. It looked just like a video game. Of course, they still fire live rounds too, as we saw and heard. Perhaps the highlight for many of us was visiting our old barracks. That 3rd Recruit Training Battalion building was only a few years old 50 years ago. Today it and the rest of those old brick barracks stand empty, awaiting the demolition crew.
As we climbed the stairs, all the memories started to flood everyone's minds. We were reminded of how we had to run up and down those stairs. The pull-up bar was still in place and so was the linen closet we all stuffed in. The old head looked much the same too.
The only real difference from 50 years ago was the addition of air conditioning...and the silence and emptiness of a squad bay that had once been filled with young lads becoming men.
As we stood in the old squad bay with all the memories there, our thoughts turned to five members of Plt. 361 that did not make it home. Staff Sgt. Edward Gould, who was one of our Drill Instructors, Cpl. James Beasley, Lance Cpl. Charles Day, Lance Cpl. Richard McVayand and PFC William Main.
We saw the old mess hall, company headquarters, and the grinder where we wore out the heels of our boots.
We also talked with some of the young Marines of today. After listening to them, we were all sure the Corps is still producing Marines we can all be proud of. They were as interested in our time as we were theirs.
Saturday morning it was time to say goodbye, with everyone wanting to do another reunion next year. Since I was the one who did a lot of the legwork for this reunion, I guess I'll start working on it sometime in the fall. We have also found a couple more members of our platoon that want to come to the next one.
The idea for a reunion began a couple of years ago when I found Aubie Camp on the TWS website. He, Warren Hullender and I met for lunch and soon the idea of a boot camp platoon reunion came up.
After our lunch we started looking for more members of our platoon on the TWS website. After we found other members of our platoon, I sent an e-mail in December to see if there would be any interest in having a reunion. I received replies from everyone wanting to do one but no one knew quite how to go about organizing one.
Since I have had some experience arranging these type of things, I volunteered. I made the hotel reservations and set up the tour at Parris Island and together with input from the others, came up with the date.
I am firmly convinced TWS website brought us all together, without it we would have never connected. It is well worth the effort to find the people you served with and TWS is the tool for making those connections.
Launched in September 1971, the destroyer escort USS Kirk (FF-1087), with a compliment of 18 Officers and 267 Enlisted, sailed the high seas of the Indian Ocean, South America and much of the Pacific Ocean, including the waters off Vietnam.
She was a warship in every sense: an efficient, deadly fighting machine with the mission of hunting down, pursuing and destroying her submarine prey. Yet her finest hours were spent tending pregnant women, soothing terrified little children, and saving the lives of tens of thousands. This is the incredible story of a brief episode in the early years of the long life of USS Kirk.
Decades of American involvement in South Vietnam came to an end on April 30, 1975 when North Vietnamese troops entered the deserted streets of Saigon on foot, trucks and fighting vehicles. North Vietnamese tanks crashed through the gates of the presidential palace and soldiers hoisted the yellow and red flag of the Viet Cong.
Just hours before the fall of the Saigon almost all American civilian and military personnel in Saigon were evacuated, along with tens of thousands of 
South Vietnamese likely to punishment, perhaps even death, for working with the Americans, and flown on Marine helicopters to U.S. Navy aircraft carriers waiting off the coast.
The Vietnam War was officially over. Now those Navy ships were steaming away from Vietnam-with one exception.
That night Commander Paul Jacobs, the captain of the USS Kirk, got a mysterious order to head back to Vietnam from the commander of the evacuation mission - Operation Frequent Wind (the final phase in the evacuation of American civilians and "at-risk" Vietnamese). Adm. Donald Whitmire told Jacobs to go back to rescue the Vietnamese Navy since most of them will probably be killed if they didn't. And there was one more thing, the admiral told Jacobs: He'd be taking orders from a civilian.
Thirty year old Richard Armitage came aboard the Kirk late at night and met with Jacobs and Commodore Donald Roane, commander of the flotilla of Navy 
destroyers in the officer's mess. He told the two officers they were ordered to Con Son Island, 
about 50 miles off the coast of South Vietnam and not yet occupied by the North Vietnamese. Con Son was the site of a notorious prison. Now, its harbors were the hiding place for the remnants of the South Vietnamese Navy.
Armitage, a U.S. Defense Attaché in Saigon and former Naval Officer, felt the U.S. had sold out the South Vietnamese so he didn't tell his bosses at the Pentagon there would be refugees on those ships. He feared the American authorities wouldn't want them.
The Kirk steamed through the night to Con Son, reaching the island just as the sun came up on May 1. There were 30 South Vietnamese navy ships, and dozens of fishing boats and cargo ships. All of them were packed with refugees, desperate to get out of Vietnam. There was no exact count of how many people were on those ships. Some historical records say there were 20,000 people. Other records suggest it was as many as 30,000.
The Kirk sent its engineers to some of the boats and after fixing what could be fixed on the seaworthy vessels and transferring people from the ships that would be left behind.
The Kirk led the flotilla of naval ships, fishing boats and cargo ships toward the Philippines. Another destroyer escort, the USS Cook, helped out as the ships were leaving Con Son.
As the flotilla headed out to sea on the way to the Philippines, other Navy ships came in and out of the escort. Among those other ships were the USS Mobile, USS Tuscaloosa, USS Barbour County, USS Deliver and USS Abnaki. But it's clear from the daily logs from the Kirk and the other ships that the crew of the Kirk took the lead in what has been called one of the greatest humanitarian missions in the history of the U.S. military
The crew worked tirelessly and professionally, showing as much heart and dedication as any group of people you'll ever find. They treated the Vietnamese refugees with respect and dignity at a time when they needed most in leaving their country at the end of a long and brutal war.
The Kirk's sailors kept busy providing food, water and medicine to people on the South Vietnamese ships. Of the some 30,000 refugees on vessels escorted by the Kirk over six days, only three died.
But as the flotilla approached the Philippines, the Kirk's captain got some bad news. The presence of South Vietnamese vessels in a Philippine port presented the government in Manila with a diplomatic predicament. The government of Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos, one of the first to recognize the Communist rulers now in control of a single Vietnam, insisted the ships now belonged to the North Vietnamese and they didn't want to offend the new country.
Armitage and his South Vietnamese friend, Capt. Do, came up with a solution that Marcos had to accept. Since the Americans only loaned the ships to the Vietnamese government to fight the Communists, they would lower the Vietnamese flag and raise the American flag as a sign that the ships were back in the hands of the United States.
Following a frantic search to find 30 American flags, the ships flying American flags were allowed into Subic Bay. For the refugees, it was just the beginning of their long journey, which took them to Guam and then resettlement in the United States
For the sailors of the Kirk, ending the Vietnam War by rescuing 20,000 to 30,000 people was very satisfying.
Armitage says he "envied" the officers and men of the USS Kirk. The ship had not seen combat on its tour to Vietnam. But it ended with the rescue
Information for this article were drawn from USS Kirk websites and an NPR one-hour documentary entitled "The Lucky Few: The Story of USS Kirk." The film can be seen at http://digitalcitizen.ca/2011/04/30/the-lucky-few-the-story-of-uss-kirk-complete-film/
There is also a book written by Jan K. Herman called "The Luck Few. The Fall of Saigon and the Rescue Mission of The USS Kirk."
During World War II, the glimpse most Americans got of the real war and the American combat soldier who fought it came through the cartoons of infantry Sgt. Bill Mauldin. Week after week, Mauldin defied Army censors and Gen. George Patton's pledged to "throw his a** in jail" to deliver his wildly popular cartoon, 'Upfront' to the pages of Stars & Stripes and hundreds of newspapers back home.
His cartoon character were Willie and Joe, two wisecracking unshaven dogfaces whose mud soaked uniforms and army slang and slum dialect bore eloquent witness to the world of combat and the men who lived-and died-in it.
To lowly foot soldiers, Mauldin gave voice to their dreams, fears, and grievances of at a time when the official spotlight shown on glamorous flyers and gung ho island-hopping marines. His over 600 wartime cartoons, half of which were sketched in combat, 
stand as both an authentic American masterpiece and an essential chronicle of Americans citizen soldiers from peace through war to victory.
Before he earned renown as a cartoonist, Mauldin was very much a combat soldier: first in the Mediterranean with the 45th Infantry Division, and later in the European Theater of Operations, where he roamed the front lines to gain ideas 
and inspiration for his cartoons. He was also wounded by shrapnel from a German mortar in Italy in 1943.
As Mauldin's Willie and Joe cartoons grew in popularity, the young sergeant became a genuine hero to the GIs and their plight that he depicted so well. Although a number of senior officers thought Mauldin's cartoons were bad for good order and discipline, the Army's War Office not only supported their syndication for publishing in the United States, but also believed they were a good representation of how tough a war the nation was fighting. Mauldin has one very famous, vocal, high placed distractor: Gen. George S. Patton.
Patton's insistence on discipline as a key to the survival of his troops on the battlefield, strongly dislike Mauldin's archetypal GI characters. It was during the Sicily campaign in the summer of 1943 that Patton began complaining about Mauldin's unsparing cartoons, which often made fun of the brass or the military police. His displeasure often launched Patton into a tirade about "those G**D** things you call soldiers," insisting Mauldin's Willie and Joe made American soldiers look "like G**D*** bums."
Patton, never known for having a sense of humor, demanded that the division commander, Maj. Gen. Troy Middleton, "get rid of Mauldin and his cartoons." Middleton, who knew Patton well and had a good relationship with him, replied diplomatically: "Put your order in writing, George."
As Mauldin's cartoons began appearing almost daily, Patton angrily began referring to the Stars and Stripes as a "scurrilous sheet" that subverted discipline. After he complained officially about Mauldin's "goddamned cartoons," Eisenhower's naval aide and confidant, Captain Harry Butcher, suggested a meeting between the two might defuse the situation. After thundering that, "if that little S.O.B. sets foot in Third Army I'll throw his a** in jail," Patton relented.
On the day of their meeting in December 1944 during the Battle of the Bulge, an understandably frightened Bill Mauldin arrived at Third Army HQ convinced he had been sent on "a suicide mission." The meeting between twenty-three year old, baby-faced cartoonist and the profane general turned out to be an epic encounter.
Mauldin gave Patton his best parade ground salute, and Patton rose to offer his hand, telling Mauldin to sit. Mauldin recounted later that Patton's collar and shoulders glittered with more stars than he could count, his fingers sparkled with rings, 
and an incredible mass 
of ribbons started around desktop level and spread upward in a flood over his chest to the very top of his shoulder. His face was rugged, with an odd, strangely shapeless outline; his eyes were pale, almost colorless, with a choleric bulge.
Patton belittled Mauldin right from the beginning of their meeting. He hated the way Willie and Joe looked. Scruffy. Disheveled. He contrasted that slovenly look with his clean-shaven, boots polished, neckties wearing Third Army troops. The longer he spoke, the greater Patton's ire became. He demanded: "What are you trying to do, incite a G**D*** mutiny?"
Waving a batch of Mauldin's cartoons, Patton complained that he was ruining morale: "The Krauts ought to put a medal on you."
Patton then launched into a lengthy dissertation about armies and leaders of the past, of rank and its importance. To Mauldin, Patton's monologue seemed to encompass four thousand years of military history. The meeting, which consisted primarily of Patton's monologue, went on for about forty-five minutes. In all, Mauldin was given less than two minutes to present his own views.
When the two parted, agreeing to disagree, Patton said: "You can't run an army like a mob ... All right, Sergeant, I guess we understand each other now."
It was inevitable, of course, that Mauldin and Patton would never see eye-to-eye. In his postwar book, "The Brass Ring," Mauldin noted that despite what Patton thought, he was neither anti-officer nor against discipline: "If you're a leader, you don't push wet spaghetti, you pull it. 
The U.S. Army still has to learn that. The British understand it. Patton understood it. I always admired Patton. Oh, sure, the stupid b****** was crazy. He was insane. He thought he was living in the Dark Ages. Soldiers were peasants to him. I didn't like that attitude, but I certainly respected his theories and the techniques he used to get his men out of their foxholes."
In the end, it was Mauldin who had the last word after his great encounter with George S. Patton. In 1945 he won a Pulitzer Prize, and Willie (the soldier) appeared on the cover of Time, leaving Patton sputtering over Bill Mauldin's "G**D**** bums."
In the summer and fall of 2002, the dying eighty-year-old cartoonist was bedridden in the Park Superior nursing home in Newport Beach, California. His body had been ravaged by subsequent infections and his mind by dementia.
Nearly every day aging foot soldiers came to pay homage to their dying hero, some bearing relics of their youth: medals, insignia, faded photographs and yellowing newspaper clippings. Most wept as they filed down the corridor leading to Mauldin's room. They were making the pilgrimage to let Mauldin 
know how much they meant to him and that he had not been forgotten.
Those too infirmed to make the trip, wrote Mauldin letters and sent him postcards all bearing witness to how the cartoonist had save their soul during the war and how the humor kept their humanity alive amid the slaughter. Widows thanked him for comforting their husbands before they were killed in battle.
Even today Mauldin's cartoons hold a hidden transcript not only of war but of trauma and premature wisdom and responsibility.
During World War II there were millions of letters that traveled to and from the battle fronts in both the Pacific and Europe. Most have been lost to time.
In early February I was on the Help Desk when a woman came on and said she had bought a house and found this box full of letters written from SSgt James P. Halliday to a Miss Shirley A. Talbot of Teaneck, NJ. She had no idea what to do with them and 
wondered if I would be interested in them. I, of course, said yes and asked her to send them to me and told her we would try to find their proper home.
When the letters arrived in March, I was absolutely amazed. There were over 100 letters, all grouped in neat packages, tied in red bows. They all appeared to be numbered and in the order they were received. Along with the letters were a couple notebooks that appeared to have homework assignments in them. I quickly put that aside to start reading the letters.
The first letter from then Sgt. Halliday was to a Miss Helen Wenk. He had evidently known her before the war because he talked about several friends they had in common. He also said that he would love to hear from "that beautiful niece of yours."
The second letter is his response to Shirley. It appears she was a thoroughly modern girl who didn't wait for him to write first. When her aunt told her about this soldier she knew who was serving far from home in Europe, she knew she had to write him.
As I read the letters, I felt I got to know him. He was kind, always cheerful and always careful of how much of the war he brought into his letters. He was 21 years old, serving in the 440th Engineer Depot Company currently somewhere in France. 
He was a native of Niagara Falls, New York. Loved baseball, music and movies.
Shirley Alice Talbot was 16 at the time and still attending Teaneck High School. As I read his letters, I wanted to know more about her. I remembered I had her homework so I picked up the notebooks. What I found amazed me. In the time before computers, spell check or even typewriters in the home, she had drafted each of her letters to him. In her own hand were her carefully worded replies to him. Notes made in the margins, sections scratched out, spelling corrected. She wanted to be sure that each of her letters were just perfect.
Reading her letters to him, I found that she was a shy young lady who loved school, music and adored going to the movies. She had this wonderful wry sense of humor. She talked of happenings in New York, plans after school and looked forward to finally meeting him when the war ended.
His last letter reads as follows:
April 13, 1945
"Still Somewhere"
Dearest Shirl,
Well beautiful, here is your Jimmie once again from somewhere in Europe and writing to a very charming young lady somewhere in New Jersey.
Today My Sweet, we heard the news of President Roosevelt's death and it was indeed a shock to all of us. I imagine it had the same effect on you people at home. It is indeed a great loss to our country, especially at this time.
It has always been said that he did his job and his name will probably be equal to Lincoln's as a great leader and statesman. Yes, he was a great man. It is too bad it had to happen, but that is life. You never know when your day is.
The news of his death spread like wildfire and within an hour, I believe everyone knew and Gen Ike set a 30 day mourning period in his honor.
Well honey, how are you these days? You know I'm always interested in learning that and in five long days now I haven't had a letter from "My Shirl" to inform me of such. What a life. I must say Miss Talbot that these days seem like weeks and I certainly hope that this streak will come to a close tomorrow.
Today has been my day off Honey and I'll give you a brief account of how it's been spent. This morning I was woken by Sgt. Fadel (and on purpose). So while I was up, I decided I might as well go eat breakfast. And what do you think we had? "Fresh Eggs"! And your Jimmie finished off seven of them. After breakfast I returned to our quarters and went back to bed. I didn't get up again Honey until 11 o'clock! When I did I showered and read the "Stars & Stripes" until dinner time (1150). After dinner I started a little house cleaning project which took me to 2 o'clock. I finished at that time and Sgt. Rashke and myself went down and took a shower, drew our weekly rations and that my sweet brings us to the present. It is now 4 o'clock.
Shirl Dear, within the next five days I will have 3 snapshots for you and I will send them immediately to you. I am anxiously awaiting yours. How I admire your latest one Shirl. It is grand Beautiful and I do mean beautiful.
Last night Honey, Sgt. La Combe and I went to see a movie nearby and I thought it was a very poor picture. The name of it was "Kansas City Kitty" starring Joan Davis. She is simply crazy in my estimation. Have you ever seen that picture Shirl? If so, what was your opinion of it? I didn't like it one bit.
Shirl, it doesn't look like this war with Germany is going to last much longer for the ninth Army is only 67 miles from Berlin and Gen Patton is about the same distance and still going full speed. In today's "Stars & Stripes" it had an article showing the progress of the Ninth Army and the spectacular dash which covered 225 miles since it jumped the Rhine on Mar 24th. That My Sweet, is traveling and if they keep it up, it should be just a matter of weeks or so. Once they link with the Russians it should be all over but the shouting. Then our hopes of going home will be in sight and it's something we can look forward to. I hope.
I haven't heard word from my brother yet and I will admit that I am a bit worried over him. I have lost track of the pervert. It must be a good two months since I last heard from him. My mother hadn't heard from him when she wrote her last letter. Just have to wait and hope I guess.
Well Shirl Dear, I haven't much more to say. It's hard to write an interesting letter my sweet when the mail has been so held up like it is. Here's hoping tomorrow will be a brighter day.
In closing my sweet, I sincerely hope that this letter finds you and your parents in the best of health and happiness.
Good day beautiful and take good care of yourself. I remain with love.
Your Jimmie
The letter arrived April 20th. On May 2, 1945 SSgt James P. Halliday died in the Ardennes in Belgium. He is buried in the American Cemetery there.
The words of his last letter must have haunted her. "You never know when your day is."
Shirley never quite got over losing her Jimmie. She married late in life and never had any children. She moved to Scarsdale, lived a happy life by all accounts. She lived as a widow for several years before passing herself in 2002.
The house where these letters were found was hers. She kept them close to her and to her heart, all of her life.
"Dusty" Trimmer served one year of combat infantry duty with the 25th Infantry Division. In this, his first book, he presents a staggering description that cut to the heart of the combat experience: the fear and belligerence, the quiet insights and raging madness, the lasting friendships and sudden deaths. Yet it is much, much more. It is an account of veterans long after leaving the battlefield as they struggle with physical and emotional damage in a world that seems indifferent to their plight.
The book differs from most Vietnam War tomes. It is a collection of interrelated short, seemingly disparate pieces. It jumps around a lot. It does not have a plot. 
There is no moral to the story. However, what it does more importantly is bear witness to the things men do in war and the things war does to men. Horrible things that scar many, if not all, for the rest of their lives. To dramatize this point, Trimmer personalizes much of it by writing about his experience, observations, concerns, and sentimental feelings.
There are stories of different battles and individuals of all ranks from all sides in the conflict and how they influenced the war then and now. Among them are writer and director Oliver Stone, General William Westmoreland, General of the Vietnam People's Army, Vo Nguyen Giap and Jan C. Scruggs, founder of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund to name a few. There is also a 'Nam Talk' glossary and factual historical information that can serve as a reference source.
Vietnam is as relevant today as it was in the 1960s 70s and 80s; so this book should be important to every American who cares about this country and its future.
Profits after expenses are generously shared with disabled and homeless veterans as well as highly rated military charities such as the Army Emergency Relief, Navy-Marine Corp Relief Society and Wounded Warrior Association.
Reviews:
Condemned Property is an extremely personal and comprehensive outline of multiple aspects of the Vietnam War. Written primarily by "Dusty" Trimmer for the benefit of his fellow veterans, he channels the essence of those multiple aspect through his own experience in the jungle of Vietnam to dealing with his own PTSD and physical ailments and a government which did not readily accept its role of caring for and compensating those affected veterans.
-William E Cornell Junior, Author
I have read the book twice. It will move you, teach you, motivates you and it may change you because you read it.
-Gary Ockunzzi, Korean DMZ Veteran, U.S. Navy
Condemned Property was an eye opening and emotional read for my entire family. Never having been exposed to the raw truth of the Vietnam War, it was heart wrenching to learn of the ultimate sacrifice made by Vietnam combat vets to protect our freedom, the horror and trauma they endured, their strong bond of brotherhood, sheer determination to survive and lack of respect by our citizens upon their return.
-Cheryl Strenk, Wife and Mother
About the Author:
Earl "Dusty" Trimmer was a member of the First Platoon, Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion 22nd Infantry Regiment, 25th Infantry Division during the bloodiest years of the Vietnam War (1967-68). Over 16,000 Americans came home in coffins that year. He himself was wounded. He returned home to Ohio following the war and worked a multitude of jobs but was unable to find work that satisfied him. Eventually he did by forming his own company to represent high-level multibillion-dollar trade publishing companies in the scientific research market. He is married to Ginny Brancato and is the proud stepfather to four and step-grandfather to seven grandchildren. He and his wife live in Twinsburg, Ohio.
