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“Once
more the Capitol dome was ablaze with light ... ”
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V-J Day…
the day for which millions of Americans had worked and dreamed
and hoped and waited.
V-J Day… the day for which millions
had fervently prayed.
V-J Day had finally arrived!
It did not burst on us suddenly, with the speed
of a lightning flash, nor did the news of Japan's capitulation
reach unprepared ears. Rather, V-J Day in Washington arrived almost
as an anticlimax.
On Sunday night, August 12, 1945, an unofficial
“flash news” radio broadcast reported Japan's alleged
acceptance of Allied peace terms. The news flash set off a premature
spontaneous celebration, albeit a very brief one, lasting only
a few minutes until the erroneous report was corrected. In its
wake ran an electric undercurrent of anticipation
The forty-eight hour waiting period between the
false news and the official announcement found all of Washington,
and doubtless the entire country, restless and impatient, all
nerves taut and ready to erupt into a volcano of celebration.
A dozen times during the interval rumors circulated
to the effect that “it was all over.” Anxious groups
gathered repeatedly in front of newspaper offices or listened
tensely to each radio announcement. We all waited eagerly and
anxiously for the momentous news.
President Truman made the historic announcement
on Tuesday, August 14, 1945. Over 1,500 persons had gathered,
waiting for the news, in Lafayette Park across from the White
House — a crowd which almost immediately swelled to 10,000
and soon to 50,000.
Washington erupted! Cars sped wildly around the
city. Fireworks were exploded. Trucks backfired. Horns honked
incessantly. Confetti was everywhere. Streets and sidewalks were
jammed with crowds of teeming, shouting, singing, jostling, exuberant
humanity. The pent-up emotions of nearly four, long, anxious years
were both spontaneously and simultaneously released on every street
in every neighborhood.
The newspapers of the following day announced all
the glad tidings in blaring headlines:
“History's Worst War Is Over!”
“Celebration Greatest in D.C. History”
“500,000 Here Celebrate With Noise and Merrymaking”
In a lighter vein, other attendant good news was
broadcast to the joyous public:
“Gas and Oil Rationing Lifted By O.P.A.”
“Services To Release 7,000,000 In Year”
“Truman Orders 2-Day Holiday For All Federal Employees”
All of Washington “blew the lid!” At least
nearly all of Washington did. Intermingled with all the welcome
headlines, ran additional news of a more sober nature:
“Cruiser Independence Sunk, 870 Lost”
“Navy Cancels Six Billions In Contracts”
“Postwar Task of Reconversion To Be Enormous”
And, finally: “ATOM BOMB MADE JAPAN QUIT”
While thousands here celebrated on the streets,
in cars, in cocktail lounges, in night clubs, restaurants, hotels
or at impromptu parties in private residences, many others attended
religious services and, with bowed head and humble heart, gave
thanks that the war had finally ceased.
Like many other couples with small children, Harold
and I stayed at home. When the long-awaited news was finally broadcast,
Harold was outside our apartment, working on his car. When he
heard the news simultaneously from the car radio, from my shouts
and from the sudden blaring of hundreds of horns, he smiled and
quietly continued working, undisturbed by the increasing din about
him. He never revealed whether he was completely stunned by the
knowledge that the war — which had claimed six years of duty
from his life — was actually over, whether he was paying
a silent tribute to his many service friends who had not lived
to see this day, or whether he had advance knowledge of the official
announcement.
Frantically, I scurried around in an attempt to
find a sitter for the baby in order that we might join the celebration.
But I soon found that most of the sitters had dashed toward the
city in order to be in the midst of the merrymaking themselves.
Outside our apartment, on Lee Boulevard, we could
see a steady stream of traffic. Rationing was temporarily forgotten
and any car which possessed four wheels and a drop of gas was
in the parade. Some autos raced along, wildly passing slower vehicles.
Others, more dilapidated, gave a final gasp, collapsed, and had
to be shoved aside. The owners, undaunted, quickly disembarked,
climbed aboard fenders, running boards or on top and loudly cheered
the others passing by.
Horns honked, radios blared, occupants sang, yelled,
shouted and laughed. In defiance of traffic regulations, some
persons rode on the running boards of the careening automobiles.
Rolls of toilet paper streamed from the radiator caps, windows
and taillights of hundreds of the cars.
Later in the evening we met with neighbors. The
four of us toasted for the last time, “To the end of the
war!”
Technically, the proclamation of V-J Day had to
await Japan's signature on the surrender document and the formal
V-J Day was not celebrated until a number of days later.
But as far as the average Washingtonian was concerned,
V-J Day arrived as soon as “Victory Over Japan” was
announced. Federal employees enjoyed their two-day holiday, district
government offices closed, the district courts temporarily adjourned
and most of the downtown stores and restaurants closed for an
immediate one-day holiday period. For all practical purposes V-J
Day was upon us.
By contrast, V-E Day had been celebrated rather
solemnly some three months earlier. Compared to the outpouring
of emotion and frenetic activity following the announcement of
Japan's surrender, V-E Day was a sober, quiet moment of relief.
There was, nevertheless, one significant event in
connection with V-E Day which will remain with me always. On May
8, 1945, at 8:30 p.m., the lights in the dome of our nation's
capital, lights which had been extinguished for over three long
years, were turned on. Once more the dome was ablaze with light
and shone as a beacon for miles in all directions.
As I saw the lights come on again in this magnificent
building, a thrill of pride ran through my body. A deep unspeakable
sense of gratitude and relief filled my mind and I uttered from
my heart a silent prayer that never again would there be a wartime
“Washington Station” for anyone.
Marguerite H. German
A final word…
Marguerite and Harold left the Washington area in the spring of
1946, following Harold's release from active naval duty. They
remained in Virginia until 1948, and lived the rest of their lives
near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
Marguerite, who had wanted to attend graduate school,
never did. She remained a traditional mid-century homemaker who
raised two children, took part in church and civic activities
and, as often as possible, indulged her passion for duplicate
bridge. Washington Station was compiled during 1946-1947,
while her memories of the war years were still fresh. She was
not a writer and never again tried to recapture memories on paper.
Harold, who loved travel and the adventure of Navy
life, remained in the Naval Reserve another ten years, but worked
full time as a state sales representative for several major furniture
companies. In 1967, he returned to radio communications, working
as the PA Civil Defense Warning and Communications Officer until
his retirement.
They remained devoted to each other for over forty
years. Sadly, neither lived long enough to enjoy many of their
well-earned retirement years. Both passed away the same year,
in 1986.
Marguerite and Harold were like so many others who
came of age during the Depression and served without question
on the front and at home during the Second World War. Of those
who survived, many found their futures permanently altered. Life
had propelled them in directions they could not have foreseen
and might never have chosen. Regardless, they continued through
life with faith, working to provide a solid family life and hoping
always to ensure a bright future for their own children. They
were part of a most remarkable generation, something we are only
now beginning to understand fully.
Marguerite and Harold were my parents.
C.G.F.
May 8, 2000
Photo:
"Holy Cow! 250,000 Graphics,' by Macmillan Digital Publishing,
USA
