for members of the allegedly “greatest” generation one’s date of birth could make a considerable difference when it came to service in World War ii. sixteen when Pearl harbor was attacked, I turned eighteen early in 1943. to escape summons by the army, I enlisted in the navy and got myself assigned to the V-12 officer-training program. happily the navy, as months passed, was not taking casualties at worst-case projections, and I remained in harvard’s V-12 unit for two winters, taking regular college courses. Training, socalled, turned out to be a matter of once-a-week close-order drill exercises. samuel hynes, whose Flights of Passage tells a different story, is only seven or eight months older than I; yet in april 1945, when I was little more than halfway through Midshipman’s school, sam was flying combat missions over the Ryukyus, with the battle for okinawa raging below. though I was soon commissioned an ensign in the U.s. Naval Reserve, my only time at sea would consist of a weeklong sail from san francisco to Pearl harbor aboard a top-heavy escort carrier—a converted merchant ship with nothing much in the hold—when the 7,000-mile-long gentle Pacific swells abruptly defeated my claim to be immune to mal de mer; and then a two-week return voyage from the Pacific in the late summer of 1946 on an overcrowded troopship outrunning a typhoon and then befogged for two days off the aleutians. at the start of Midshipman’s school we were asked which branch of service we might prefer when commissioned: navigation, communications, regular deck duty, or, for a limited number, the Japanese language program. Just then the war in europe was clearly nearing an end. But, with the fight for Iwo Jima just beginning and with okinawa still a place few of us had heard of, the Pacific war seemed likely to go on a lot longer. the mantra then was “Golden Gate by ’48.” so I signed on for the fourteen-month Japanese program, surviving an awkward interview conducted in halting french (to test language proficiency) with an officer we later identified as “arigato go-hindmarsh.” By the time of commissioning in early June—in a ceremony held in New York’s st. John the Divine, where, as a member of the midshipmen’s choir, I got to raise my voice in that acoustically splendid surround—the fighting on okinawa was close to ending. and six weeks into studying Japanese—twelve
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