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Web Posted : 06/10/2001
Even after more than half a century, the Big One still draws a crowd.
Poor reviews haven't kept people from filling theaters to see "Pearl Harbor," Disney's $140 million blockbuster film about the 1941 Japanese attack that pushed the United States into World War II.
"The Greatest Generation," a 1998 book by TV news anchor Tom Brokaw that tells the stories of some of the people who pulled the country through World War II, has proven so popular two sequels are already on the shelves.
On Wednesday, President Bush dedicated the National D-Day Memorial in Bedford, Va. The next day, a federal judge cleared the way for construction of a national World War II memorial in one of the most conspicuous — and controversial — spots in the country: the National Mall in Washington, D.C.
The national nostalgia will continue this fall with "Band of Brothers," a 10-part HBO miniseries that follows the exploits of an American parachute unit from D-Day to V-E Day.
All of this raises the question: Why the sudden surge of interest in World War II? And why now, 56 years after the war's end?
Historians, anthropologists and pop culture observers point to a wide range of reasons:
The celebration of the new millennium, which put the media spotlight on historical events, especially those of the last century.
The inexorable, final march of the remaining survivors of the World War II generation, all of whom are older than 70.
The natural curiosity of younger people, hungry for stories that seem like ancient history, a glimpse of a simpler time with clearly defined heroes and villains.
And yes, maybe even a bit of strange envy: Could we do the same job they did?
Michael Bay, the 37-year-old director of "Pearl Harbor," met in San Diego with 80 survivors of the attack.
"What I got from meeting them was that this was a truly inspiring generation, because they were so pure in their belief and willing to lay down their lives at the drop of a hat," Bay told the New York Times recently. "It seemed like they put their country before themselves."
Veterans of the war years say that part was easy.
"There was a will in the country that it had to be done and everybody had to do their share," recalled Bill McBride, a Windcrest resident who, as a 23-year-old navigator aboard a B-26, helped soften German resistance on D-Day with a bombing run over Utah Beach. "There was nobody asking questions like, 'Why do I have to do that?' or 'Why can't somebody else do it instead of me?'"
The men and women in the U.S. armed forces did their jobs. When they came home, many chose not to talk about it.
McBride, who became a four-star general and served as vice chief of staff in the Air Force, moved to Texas after retiring in 1978. It took 15 years before he learned his next-door neighbor had also fought on D-Day, as a medic whose courage was profiled in Cornelius Ryan's book, "The Longest Day."
"Here was a man who was a real soldier-hero," McBride said. "And I didn't even know what he had done until one day when we kind of compared notes."
Today, an increasing number of previously mum veterans also appear willing to talk about their war experiences. For many, it has taken 50 years for liberation from the horror of battle, the pain of losing loved ones and friends in combat, the fear of separation and death.
Michael Kearl, chairman of the sociology and anthropology department at Trinity University, calls the vets' reluctance to speak "biographical silence." Several years ago, the professor had members of his class collect oral histories from World War II veterans. One man was a survivor of the Bataan death march.
"His family had never heard that story," Kearl said. "A week after the interview, he died. With age, these stories start coming out that have never been heard before from that generation."
It is a story that people born after World War II might never get the chance to fully understand.
"Several generations don't really know the meaning of sacrifice," Kearl said. "Generations where the assumption is you push a button and do all kinds of things, like turn on a TV, open a garage door or whatever.
"The thought of the rubber drives, the ration coupons and the Gold Star moms, you might as well be talking about life on the moon," he said, referring to wartime conservation efforts and the women who lost sons in battle.
The impetus for the latest look at World War II probably has its roots in the war's 50th anniversary observances. Beginning in 1991, each of the conflict's pivotal events — Pearl Harbor, D-Day, the Battle of the Bulge, V-E Day, Hiroshima and V-J Day — were dutifully recalled by the international media in chronological sequence, like ghostly units of a military parade passing in review.
Then came Steven Spielberg's D-Day movie "Saving Private Ryan" in 1998, the same year Brokaw's book coined the term "the greatest generation." Brokaw followed up last year with a collection of letters and stories from readers in "The Greatest Generation Speaks." His latest book, "Album of Memories," includes letters from the vets' children and grandchildren.
"I worried it might seem like I was exploiting it," Brokaw told the New York Times in April. "But people kept telling me, if you don't publish these stories, no one will."
Today, even after the passage of five decades, the tales from the front and the home front remain raw and compelling.
Jacques Barzun, a San Antonio author and one of America's preeminent historians and intellectuals, thinks that's because the stories are primarily about GI Joes and ordinary people, not military brass.
"World War II was a grass-roots war," said Barzun, who served on the faculty at Columbia University for 48 years. "We all had to do our part, no matter how small. Korea was a matter of indifference. And Vietnam was hated like the War of 1812."
Gilberto Hinojosa, a history professor and dean of graduate studies at the University of the Incarnate Word, says "a look at the past is always good," even one that may contain slight factual inaccuracies.
"There's a certain amount of simplifying that always takes place," he said. "Our psyche deals with the complex aspects by simplifying them. We deal with the horrific aspects by romanticizing them."
Right after Dec. 7, 1941 — that "date which will live in infamy" — World War II was viewed as a noble cause, a fight pitting good against evil with easily caricatured opponents. It was not until later that Americans discovered it also had been the last big conflict fought eye to eye, one on one and mano a mano. Even the sailors aboard the protagonists' massive battleships, lobbing shells at each other at a range of several miles, could still see each other.
No more. Hinojosa says the current wave of national nostalgia over World War II includes a wistful romanticism and a collective closure over the way we fight wars.
"Now we do this 'Star Wars' thing where the rockets' red glare is all we see at the push of a button," he said.
History, however, as historians are fond of saying, often repeats itself. And apparently so do our memories of history. Throughout the South, statues of Confederate soldiers still stand sentry in public parks and courthouse squares, most of them erected as veterans of the Civil War began passing away in large numbers at the end of the 19th century. The North has the same memorials for its boys in blue.
"Lest we forget," cautions the motto carved into the base supporting the statue of a Rebel soldier in downtown San Antonio's Travis Park, a monument erected in 1899 in honor of "Our Confederate Dead."
Today, the surviving veterans of another great war, one that put 15 million American men and women in uniform, also have a date with destiny. About 1,200 of them die every day. The rest know their number may come up soon.
As a World War II veteran and member of that "greatest generation," McBride is true to form. He's fairly stoic about his accomplishments, but always eager to applaud the efforts of others. Last Wednesday, he spoke at a weekly lunch group at the San Antonio Country Club about D-Day and the heroism of the 82nd Airborne.
"I've been asked more questions by young people in the last five years than I've been asked in the last 50," McBride said. "I think what's happening is good for our country."
People with questions include McBride's granddaughters. A few years ago, they bought a copy of "The Greatest Generation" and mailed it to their grandfather as a present.
"And I sent it back to them," McBride recalled with a laugh. "It's much more important that they read it than me."
duhler@express-news.net
06/10/2001
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