All language subtitles for PBS.Ken.Burns.The.War.3of7.A.Deadly.Calling_track3_[eng]-eng

(machine gun fire)

(shell whistling)

(explosion)

MAN:
"Here lie three Americans.

"What shall we say of them?

"Shall we say that
this is a fine thing,

"that they should give
their lives for their country?

"Why print this picture anyway
of three American boys,

"dead on an alien shore?

"The reason is that words
are never enough.

"The eye sees.

"The mind knows.

"The heart feels.

"But the words do not exist
to make us see, or know,

or feel what it is like,
what actually happens."

NARRATOR:
In the September 20, 1943
issue of LIFE magazine,

the editors had published
a photograph

taken on a New Guinea beach
in the South Pacific,

ten months earlier.

It was the first image of dead
American servicemen

that American civilians
had been allowed to see

in the 21 months
since Pearl Harbor.

MAN:
"And so here itis.

"This is the reality that
lies behind the names

"that come to rest at last on
monuments in the leafy squares

"of busy American towns...

"The camera doesn't show
America...

"and yet here on the beach
is America.

"Three parts of
a hundred and 30 million parts.

"Three fragments of that life
we call American life.

"Three units of freedom.

"So that it is not just these
boys who have fallen here,

"it is freedom that has fallen.

It is our task to cause
it to rise again."

LIFE magazine.

BURT WILSON:
The war was always around us.

We had an air raid warden, uh,
a block warden on the street,

who wore a white hat
and a gas mask.

None of the rest of us had any.

Across the street from
my house on 46th Street

there was an empty lot, so we
built a victory garden there.

And of course we all relished
the vegetables

that came up the fastest.

NARRATOR:
The war was now being
felt by every citizen

in every town in America.

In fast-growing
Sacramento, California,

and quiet Luverne, Minnesota,
even children found themselves

caught up in the effort
to win victory.

Waterbury, Connecticut,
and Mobile, Alabama,

had been transformed
into "war towns"

almost overnight--

and in Mobile
that transformation

would lead to confrontation
and ugly violence.

Overseas, victory seemed
a very long way off.

Americans had landed in Italy--

and then found themselves
stopped by terrain and weather

and an implacable enemy.

There was still no firm date
for the cross-channel invasion,

without which
the Nazi grip on Western Europe

could never be broken.

In the Pacific theater,

more than a million
Japanese troops

were on the offensive in central
and southern China

against the nationalist forces
of Chiang Kai-shek

and his sometime ally

Mao Zedong.

The Americans were fighting
on Bougainville

and preparing to attack
the Gilbert Islands.

But Tokyo was almost
4,000 miles away--

and the Japanese seemed
ready to defend

every island chain in between.

Over the coming months,
Quentin Aanenson of Luverne,

who saw the romance of flight

as his way out
of the hardscrabble life

his farmer father had led,
would begin to see

that there were bitter realities
in the sky

of which he'd never dreamed.

Robert Kashiwagi,
a Japanese-American

from the Sacramento Valley,

whose family had been interned
by their country

simply because
of their ancestry,

would nonetheless demonstrate
his devotion to that country

as few Americans ever have.

Family memories of heroism
in an earlier war

would help propel a Princeton
man from Connecticut

named Ward Chamberlin
to find a way to serve

despite handicaps that could
have kept him safe at home.

And Babe Ciarlo, a factory
worker from Waterbury,

would see things no one should
ever have to see--

and say nothing about them in
his optimistic letters home.

Everywhere, the war was tearing
Americans apart,

and bringing them together--

and infusing every detail of
daily life with a new intensity.

PAUL FUSSELL:
Every family had somebody
in the war.

and almost every household

had somebody wounded
or killed or missing.

Everybody had some bad news they
didn't want to talk about.

And it was very bad to bring up
the subject among strangers.

You'd say, "How you doing?"

Well, he'd say, "Well, my son
was killed in Anzio

last Thursday."

And so your relation
to strangers was different

from what it is now.

People were likely to tell you
if things were intolerable.

JOHN HOPE FRANKLIN:
I went down
to the recruiting office,

the Navy, and volunteered.

I volunteered
in response to the call

that they made specifically

for men to man the offices.

The recruiter for the Navy said,
"What can you do?"

I said, "Well, I can, uh,
I can run an office.

I can type, I can take shorthand
if that's needed."

I said, "And, oh, yes,
I have a Ph.D.

in history from Harvard."

And I wondered
what he was going to say.

He said, "You have
everything but color."

And, uh, I said, "Well, I
thought there was an emergency,

but obviously there's not,
so I bid you a good day."

And I vowed that day
that they would not get me,

because they did not deserve me.

If I was able--
physically, mentally,

every other kind of way,
able and willing

to serve my country--
and my country turned me down

on the basis of color, then my
country did not deserve me.

And I vowed then that
they would not get me.

NARRATOR:
John Hope Franklin
would keep that pledge

and never serve
in the armed forces.

He would go on to become

one of the country's most
distinguished historians.

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
By January 1st,
Congress had appropriated

over two billion dollars

for emergency housing
in America's war boom towns.

Here's how some of it
was spent in Mobile.

These are the slums
we have seen.

Slum clearance projects had been
the local, private enterprise

of a few high-minded,
far-sighted individuals.

But in Mobile,
such projects as these

have become one of the
obligations of good government.

They are rented only to
certified colored war workers

and are equipped with
auditoriums, playgrounds,

and day nurseries
to take care of the children

while their parents are working
in the war plants.

NARRATOR:
To relieve the desperate
overcrowding in Mobile,

the National Housing Agency
provided 14,000 units

for white workers--

but fewer than 1,000 for blacks.

There were 30,000 African-
Americans in the city now--

and just 55 hospital beds
that would take them.

JOHN GRAY:
You had a white water fountain
and a black water fountain.

And a black would
get into trouble

if he went and drank at
the white water fountain.

My friend at Brookley Field
had his head busted wide open

because he drank
at the white fountain.

NARRATOR:
16-year-old John Gray
of 407 Royal Street

was working as
a carpenter's helper

at Alabama Dry Dock
before the war began.

There had been then no way
for a black employee

to be upgraded to the ranks
of skilled workers.

Similar discrimination was found
in defense industries

throughout the Jim Crow South

and in other parts
of the country as well.

But black leaders had insisted
on more jobs for black workers,

and President Roosevelt
had established

a Fair Employment Practices
Commission

to combat discrimination
in defense plants.

Things were beginning to change

even for the African-American
citizens of Mobile.

GRAY:
A lot of black people who
used to work in private homes

as cooks and chauffeurs
and maids

got jobs at Brookley Field.

And it created some tension.

One white person asked
a black person,

"Do you know where I can
find me a good girl?

I'll give her $25 a week
and carfare."

And the black woman told her,

"If you can find one,
I'll give her $35."

NARRATOR:
With change came trouble.

In August of 1942, a city bus
driver named Grover Chandler

shot and killed Henry Williams,
a black private in uniform,

after he refused to move
to the back of the bus.

GRAY:
And they put
the bus driver in jail,

but they boasted that
he never stayed in a cell.

They let him sleep on a cot
that the sheriff used.

And then they let him out
eventually.

It died down, but nothing
was done to the man actually.

NARRATOR:
Tensions continued to rise.

On Tuesday morning,
May 25, 1943,

they exploded at
the Alabama Dry Dock shipyard,

after management gave in
to a federal directive

and agreed to let 12 black
workers become welders.

CLYDE ODUM:
We were training them

to be burners and welders
and become mechanics.

And the white people
was resenting it.

NARRATOR:
Shortly after the new welders
had finished their first shift,

white shipyard employees

set upon the first blacks
they could find, shouting,

"No nigger is going
to join iron in this yard."

ODUM:
I'm standing up there watching,

and I never saw people so mad
and agitated in my life.

And they'd have sticks,
like three-foot long.

They would knock them down
to their knees.

I saw men and women bleeding,
blood running down their face,

and they didn't stand a chance
coming down that gauntlet,

men and women on each side
beating them with sticks.

And a good many of the blacks

went out and jumped off
the piers,

tried to swim the river.

Coast Guard was out there
picking them up.

GRAY:
The riot upset
the whole community.

Most people who worked
were afraid to go back,

because there would be a bunch
standing outside

and they would have
their cars parked.

And in their cars they had
monkey wrenches

and tire irons
and stuff like that.

NARRATOR:
More than 1,000 black workers
formally requested transfers

to other defense jobs.

The requests were denied.

Some left Mobile altogether,

but most were persuaded
to stay on the job.

We had to send out and get them
and haul them back

because we needed them
to do the work.

And they came back because
we begged them to come back.

GRAY:
And they would not go back until
they had some protection.

When they went back, this is
when you had to separate them.

Normally, one ferryboat
would take whoever came.

But after the riots, they had
a ferryboat to take blacks over

and a ferryboat
to take whites over.

NARRATOR:
In the end, the shipyard itself
was segregated.

Four separate shipways were
created where blacks were free

to hold every kind of position,
except foreman.

Blacks working in the rest
of the shipyard

remained largely confined
to the kind of unskilled tasks

they had always performed.

The African-American newspaper
The Pittsburgh Courier

denounced the compromise as a
victory for "Nazi racial theory

"and another defeat
for the principle embodied

in the Declaration
of Independence."

In the following months, there
were racial confrontations

in industrial areas
all across the country--

Springfield, Massachusetts,
and Port Arthur, Texas;

Hubbard, Ohio,
and Newark, New Jersey;

and in Detroit, where 34 people
were killed

and more than 200 wounded.

Despite the violence,

the war was profoundly altering
life for African-Americans.

Membership in the NAACP
increased ninefold.

The Committee of Racial Equality
demanded the desegregation

of restaurants, theaters,
bus lines.

Andthe Pittsburgh Courier
campaigned for double victory-

over the enemies of freedom
at home as well as overseas.

(explosions)

KATHARINE PHILLIPS:
Going back through these letters
written to me during the war,

I find almost every letter
will mention,

"We had a v-mail from Sid."

He was the main concern
of the entire family.

Daddy would try to anticipate

where he thought
Sid would be sent next.

And when the Battle
of Tarawa occurred,

we lived in horror
for five days.

We thought Sidney was
in the Battle of Tarawa.

NARRATOR:
Katharine Phillips'
brother Sid,

who had endured four harrowing
months on Guadalcanal,

was actually in New Guinea
in November of 1943, not Tarawa,

preparing for an assault
on Cape Gloucester,

on the western tip
of New Britain.

SIDNEY PHILLIPS:
It rained the entire time
we were at Cape Gloucester.

Everything rotted.

Clothes rotted,
your shoestrings rotted.

All the wounded were brought
right by our position,

and that was when
I decided I would like

to do something in life
that would amount to something.

And I decided that I wanted
to study medicine that day.

Because here were
all these wounded

and there was no way
that I could help them.

NARRATOR:
Cape Gloucester would be a
rugged, bloody jungle campaign,

but Phillips was fortunate
not to be among the Marines

ordered to take Tarawa.

The hard-won victories
at Midway and Guadalcanal

had ended Japan's expansion
in the Pacific.

The Americans were free to begin
their two-pronged offensive.

While General Douglas
MacArthur's forces

moved north from Australia
toward the Philippines,

the Navy, under
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz,

began its advance across
the Central Pacific.

Tarawa was part of the Gilbert
chain, a coral atoll--

a ring of 38 tiny islands
around a blue lagoon--

that marked the easternmost edge
of the perimeter

Japan had built to shield
its new empire.

The main target was
a heavily fortified island

with an airstrip.

It was only a little larger
than New York's Central Park,

but defended by 4,500 Japanese
Imperial Marines,

hidden within a maze
of rifle pits and trenches

and hundreds of interconnected
blockhouses

and concrete pillboxes.

Tarawa was to be the test case

for a new theory
of amphibious warfare:

any island, no matter
how fiercely defended,

could be taken by
an all-out frontal assault.

The official version
for the people back home

was that everything
was going smoothly.

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
The invasion force of warships
and transports steams

for the conquest
of the Gilbert Islands,

and aboard vessels
crowded with troops,

religious services are held.

The worshippers are fighting men

who know they are going
into desperate peril,

where many are destined
to give their lives.

And now, official
Navy motion pictures

of the bombardment of the Japs
on Tarawa with giant salvos.

NARRATOR:
But the bombing and shelling
yielded so much smoke

and coral dust
that the fleet's view

of the landing craft
was obscured.

Firing was stopped for half
an hour to clear the air,

plenty of time
for the Japanese

to ready themselves
for the assault.

The landing craft,
meant to ferry the Marines

of the 2nd Division
close to the beach,

hung up on the coral reef,
easy targets for enemy guns.

(machine gun fire)

Men were forced
to wade shoulder-deep

for hundreds of yards
under enemy fire.

The first wave
suffered some casualties.

The second was badly hit.

(explosion)

The third... nearly destroyed.

By nightfall, 5,000 Marines
had made it to the beaches--

but some 1,500 of them
had been killed or wounded.

Maurice Bell, a neighbor
of Sid Phillips from Mobile,

had watched the landings
with his binoculars

from the deck
of the USS Indianapolis.

BELL:
I could see the fighting
going on on the island,

just like if it was just
across the street here.

Looked like it was that close.

And soldiers and sai... Marines
falling all over the place

and you could see
bodies in the water.

And it's something that
I hope never happens again

because it's just
things that happened

at that time I'll never forget.

NARRATOR:
"A million men cannot take
Tarawa in a hundred years,"

the Japanese commander
had said before the battle.

It took ten thousand
Marines just four days.

But more than
one third of them

had been killed or wounded.

The Marine commander
told the press

Tarawa had fallen only because

SO many young Americans
had been willing to die.

Outraged parents denounced
him for callousness.

Eventually, the War Department
reversed policy

and produced a film called
With the Marines at Tarawa,

containing combat footage
more brutal

than anything ordinary
Americans had ever seen.

Some in Washington
argued that its release

would damage morale, but
President Roosevelt himself

ordered that it be shown.

(film running through projector)

("Marine Hymn" playing)

He wanted to give Americans
a clearer sense

of what their men were facing.

FILM NARRATOR:
These are the men
of the 2nd Marine Division,

who are now embarking

on a full amphibious
operation after many...

When we saw those
first pictures of Tarawa,

we were overcome,

just overcome.

FILM NARRATOR:
For three days before
we moved in,

over four million pounds
of explosives

had been dropped
on the island.

KATHARINE PHILLIPS:
It was just devastating to us.

Those American boys' bodies
floating in the surf.

FILM NARRATOR:
The chaplain's assistants
tend the dead.

KATHARINE:
We just sat around and cried,

and I know that's
why they'd kept it

from the American public
for so long.

FILM NARRATOR:
These are Marine dead.

This is the price we have to pay
for a war we didn't want.

KATHARINE:
Our dislike for the
Japanese was very violent,

that they would do this to us

and would Kill
our boys like that.

And, ‘course, the idea
was "Kill the Japs."

I'm ashamed to say,
but that's the way it was.

We just had to get
that war over with.

NARRATOR:
Mrs. Martina Ciarlo, a widow
in Waterbury, Connecticut,

had two daughters
and three sons.

The oldest boy
and the youngest

were exempt from the draft
and safely at home,

but the middle son,
Corado, known as "Babe,"

was with the Fifth Allied Army
somewhere in Italy.

His letters home

were the most important thing
in his mother's life.

OLGA CIARLO:
She'd wait every single morning
on the porch

for the mailman to come
to bring her a letter.

And he would go by sometimes,
and he would say,

"Mrs. Ciarlo, not today."

So the following day she'd wait
again for that letter

and finally she would get
a letter, she'd be so happy.

She'd run upstairs and she'd
let us read the letter,

‘cause my mother
couldn't read English.

And we would read
the letter to her

and she'd be happy just knowing
that she heard from him.

BABE CIARLO (dramatized):
"Mom, how are you
getting along?

"Fine, I hope,
and keeping happy always.

"I know I haven't written
to you for a long time

"and I hope you understand

"the Army has been
keeping me pretty busy.

"I'm doing good,
and always happy

"because I know you're okay.

Love, Babe."

DANIEL INOUYE:
Consider the fact
that I'm 18, so...

your emotions are
that of a young person.

I was angered to realize
that my government felt

that I was disloyal
and part of the enemy,

and I wanted
to be able to demonstrate,

not only to my government,
but to my neighbors,

that, uh...
I was a good American.

NARRATOR:
After Pearl Harbor,

Washington had ordered
some 110,000 Japanese aliens

and American citizens
of Japanese descent

living along the West Coast,

out of their homes
and into ten internment camps.

All Japanese-American
men of draft age,

except those already
in the armed forces,

had been classified
as enemy aliens,

forbidden to serve
their country.

Then, in early 1943,

Washington announced
a new policy.

Japanese-American men were
now going to be permitted

to form a special
segregated outfit,

the 442nd Regimental
Combat Team.

When the Army called for 1,500
volunteers from Hawaii,

where Japanese-Americans
had never been locked up,

10,000 turned up
at recruiting offices,

including a freshman
in pre-medical studies

at the University
of Hawaii-- Daniel Inouye.

INOUYE:
And my father took time off.

And we got on the streetcar.

And he was very silent

until we got close
to the point of departure.

He cleared his throat, and I
knew something was coming.

He's not a scholarly person,

but I know he struggled,
and he said,

"This country
has been good to us.

"It has given me two jobs.

"It has given you
and your brothers

"and your sister education.

"We owe a lot to this country.

"Do not dishonor this country.

"Above all, do not
dishonor the family.

"And if you must die,

die in honor."

You know, I'm 18 years old

and here he is telling
me these heavy words.

And I've always
thought to myself,

would I be able to say
the same thing to my son?

ASAKO TOKUNO:
I think that they
may not really

have known it themselves,

but I think this feeling
was instilled in them

through all of our parents.

It's called "yamata damashi,”

and it's this... it's
like a proving of yourself

and that your...
your loyalty goes beyond

just saying it
or talking it, you know.

It's proving it,

giving it your all,

even if you die in the process
by going to war.

And I think that's
so strongly instilled

from when you're very young

that I think that that
was one of the things

that pushed them on.

NARRATOR:
Now, Army recruiters
went to work

inside the internment camps.

Robert Kashiwagi,
from Sacramento,

was still bedridden
from a lung ailment

when recruiters turned up
at Camp Amache, in Colorado.

KASHIWAGI:
When the recruiting team
came around,

they announced that
this is going to be

a segregated combat
infantry unit

slated for frontline duty.

And I protested very vigorously.

I don't mind volunteering,
but it's really unfair for me

to volunteer only
to an infantry unit

that's slated
for frontline duty.

But we're only to have one
choice--

volunteer to a segregated
infantry unit,

or don't and call
yourself disloyal.

My feeling was

that the United States
IS our country

and if we disowned
United States,

we were a man without a country.

We had no other place
we could go to.

So I more or less
volunteered... from bed.

NARRATOR:
Those Japanese-Americans already
in the armed forces

when the war started

were reassigned to
the 442nd Regimental Combat Team

and sent for training
to Camp Shelby in Mississippi--

where the governor assured them

they would be treated
as "white" people.

KASHIWAGI:
There were drinking fountains
marked "colored"

and "white" and you had
to adhere to the instruction.

Can I go into that restaurant

or will I not be served?
you know.

These are the difficult
questions that entered my mind.

And then when I got on the bus,

why, all the black people had
to go to the rear of the bus,

and whites stayed in the front.

That's confusing to me,

because I didn't know where
I was belonging to,

as far as a situation like that.

So I just, without any...
without thinking,

I would always go towards
the black section,

but they would turn me around
and put me in the white.

NARRATOR:
Early in 1944, the 442nd
received its orders

to head overseas.

Tim Tokuno, from
the Sacramento Valley,

was granted leave to go and say
good-bye to his parents.

TOKUNO:
They gave us a 15-day furlough.

And so I went back to visit
my folks at Topaz, Utah.

As I entered the compound,
the MP captain stopped me

and said, "Sergeant, have you
got any liquor in your bag?"

I said, "Yes, I have a fifth of
whiskey to take to my folks."

The captain shook his head
and says, "Sorry, Sergeant.

No liquor allowed in camp."

"Hell of a war, isn't it?"

That's what he told me.

"Hell of a war, isn't it?"

I said,
"It sure is, Captain.

"Look, you got machine guns
on all four corners,

"with live ammunition

"and you got the guards
patrolling the perimeter,

"and here I'm going into combat

with my folks behind
barbed wire."

I said, "Yeah, it is
a hell of a war."

(Count Basie band playing
"For the Good of the Country")

TOM CIARLO:
Waterbury at that time
during the war

was like, uh, you could
almost compare it

to a miniature Times Square.

It was never quiet

because there were
so many factories

and each factory
had three shifts,

so they're going
around the clock.

So we had buses running up and
down from the center of town

to different streets all over
the city going constantly.

NARRATOR:
Like Mobile and countless
other American towns,

Babe Ciarlo's hometown

of Waterbury, Connecticut,
was booming.

Its peacetime industries had all
switched over to defense

and were working 24 hours a day,

seven days a week,
365 days a year.

Workers came to Waterbury
from everywhere.

LEO GOLDBERG:
While looking for work, there
was one memorable morning

when I got on a bus,

sat down next
to a stra... somebody

who turned to me and said,
"Good morning."

And I looked at him
as if to say,

"Who are you to say
good morning to me?"

After all, I'm from
Brooklyn, New York.

But any rate,
the impact was very great.

The friendliness that I found
in Waterbury

was something I was not
accustomed to.

NARRATOR:
23-year-old Leo Goldberg quickly
got a job as a saw sharpener

at the Scovill Manufacturing
Company.

Scovill produced so many
different military items,

the Waterbury Republican
reported,

"That there wasn't an American
or British fighting man

"who wasn't dependent
on the company

"for some part of the food,
clothing,

"shelter and equipment

that sustained him
through the struggle."

Mattatuck Manufacturing gave up
making upholstery nails

in favor of cartridge clips
for M-1 rifles,

turning out three million
of them a week.

Chase Brass and Copper made more
than 52 million mortar shells

and cartridge cases

and more than a billion
small-caliber bullets.

GOLDBERG:
Having a job and no attachments,

it gives you a freedom.

You don't have to answer
to anybody.

"Hey, Mom, I'm going to stay
out until 10:00,"

or "You got to be home by noon,"
or whatever it was.

So, it was a burst of freedom.

So couple that
with the friendliness.

I got to know people.

I went horseback riding for
the first time in my life.

I never knew what a horse
looked like.

And, uh... it was just great.

NARRATOR:
Waterbury also sent group after
group of draftees to the war,

12,000 of them.

The mayor saw them all off
at the railroad station.

Each man received a prayer book
and a carton of cigarettes,

courtesy of the Shriners.

Meanwhile, young Waterbury
women did their best

to keep in touch
with the men overseas.

ANNE DeVICO:
We wrote letters
to all the boys we knew.

And they loved
getting the letters

because they said at roll call

they wanted their name to be
called over and over

because they said
it was so wonderful.

They loved these letters
because we told them

where we went last night.

We went for a hot dog
or something.

You know, it wasn't
anything big,

or we went to the USO dance
and we saw so-and-so there.

And at Christmastime,
they got boxes galore.

My whole kitchen table,

my mother used to help,
everybody helped.

And we sent boxes
to all of them.

NARRATOR:
On December 31, 1943, some
of Anne DeVico's friends

asked her to go with them
into Manhattan.

They wanted to see in the
New Year in Times Square.

DeVICO:
Well, we had to argue
with my mother

because my mother said, "Only
bad girls go to New York."

And finally we all cried
and everything

and my mother finally said,

"Okay, you can go because
there's eight of you going.

How could eight of you do
something wrong?"

So we were at
the Times Square Hotel

and we said, "Let's find
an Automat,"

and all of a sudden
this big, tall,

good-looking dreamboat
comes by...

And he said, "Hey, we're
looking for the Automat.

Why don't you look with us?"

And I said, "Fine."

So, uh, that was
my future husband, Bob.

And, uh, as he's walking
with me, and he said,

"Here, the ball is
going to come down."

And he turned and kissed me

and he said,
"I'm going to marry you."

And I said, "Oh, right."

I had to say he was my
girlfriend's boyfriend's friend

because if my mother ever
thought I picked up somebody

in New York City, you know,
she wouldn't have allowed me

even to go outside
the house again.

When I came home, I'm thinking,
"How could it be

"that I'm from a small city--
Waterbury, Connecticut--

"and how could I meet somebody
from Valparaiso, Indiana,

in New York City,
and how could we fall in love?"

And really, he said he fell
in love with me

that very first day.

It was as if fate had just said,

"You're going
to meet somebody,"

and whoever thought
it would be like that?

BABE CIARLO (dramatized):
"January 1, 1944.

"Dearest Vic and the babies,

"I am feeling fine

"and I hope to hear the same
from you always.

"I didn't write sooner
because I was very busy

and there was no mail service
where I was."

"I had a big turkey dinner
for New Year's

and it was very good."

"Don't worry about me.

Love, Babe."

(lively march music playing)

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
General Eisenhower,

named to command the gathering
Allied invasion forces,

surveys the Italian front

with General Clark,
5th Army Commander.

In the mountains
of central Italy,

he observes artillery fire
blasting the way toward Cassino.

(no dialogue)

NARRATOR:
As 1944 began,
the Allies continued

to slowly battle their way
northward in Italy,

pushing the Germans out
of one defensive position

after another.

With them now
was Ward Chamberlin,

from Norwalk, Connecticut.

CHAMBERLIN:
My father was in World War I.

He was at Belleau Wood
and he was wounded twice,

got the Distinguished Service
Cross,

second highest medal
you can get.

After he died, I was walking
by St. Patrick's Cathedral,

and I saw Father Duffy
out there,

the famous chaplain
from World War I.

But I'd met him with my dad
a couple of times.

So I went up to him
on the steps of the cathedral.

I said, "Father Duffy,
my name is Ward Chamberlin."

He said,
"That's a wonderful name."

He said, "Your father's one
of the bravest men I ever knew."

That'll break your heart, yeah.

NARRATOR:
Chamberlin had been captain
of the Princeton soccer team

when the war broke out,
and he was eager to do his part.

But there was a problem.

CHAMBERLIN:
I couldn't serve in the Army
or the Air Force

because I'd lost my eye,
my right eye, with meningitis

when I was about ten.

And so I was 4-F

as far as the military services
were concerned.

Then I heard about
this organization called

the American Field Service,

which at that point
were with the, uh, British

in the North African desert.

NARRATOR:
The American Field Service
was a relief organization

that had been formed
during the First World War,

and now Chamberlin signed on
as a volunteer ambulance driver.

He had originally shipped out
for North Africa,

only to find himself
hospitalized there for six weeks

with a mild case of polio.

CHAMBERLIN:
And after I did that
for six weeks,

I was in pretty good shape.

And I got some orders to report
back to my Cairo headquarters,

and, um, I read them
and they said,

"You're supposed to have
desk duty for a year."

So I just tore those up

and never gave them
to anybody, so...

And ten days later
I was in Italy.

Exactly where I wanted to be,
exactly.

Wasn't so sure once I got there.

NARRATOR:
In early January 1944,

Chamberlin had
his first taste of war.

CHAMBERLIN:
We were in a forward position
probably, you know,

a half a mile from
the actual front line,

if you could call it that.

And the first guy that they,
that they brought in

who was so badly shot up...

...we got him into the ambulance
on a stretcher,

and I've... I don't think
I've ever said this to anybody,

but I went around the side
of the ambulance

and just let everything out.

I just... sick, sick as I could
be for about 30 seconds.

And it's just... I'd never
seen a body cut up

as badly as that guy was.

NARRATOR:
The Allies now came up
against new

and still more formidable
German defenses--

the Gustav Line.

It combined three rivers--

the Sangro, the Garigliano
and the Rapido--

and a chain of mountains

honeycombed with mines,
pillboxes

and sheltered gun emplacements.

Its keystone was
the 1,715-foot Monte Cassino.

Looming above the village
that gave the hill its name

stood the most important
monastery in Europe,

a Benedictine abbey

whose origins went back
to the sixth century.

Behind it lay the broad Liri
Valley and the road to Rome.

Time and again, Allied forces
tried to fight their way

around its edges
and were stopped cold.

Prime Minister Winston Churchill

proposed a daring solution
to the impasse--

a surprise landing behind
the German lines at Anzio,

35 miles south of Rome.

It was a risky idea that would
take time to plan and execute.

Meanwhile, the Allies--
including American, British,

Canadian, New Zealand, French,
North African, Indian,

and Free Polish troops--

would mount a series of
all-out assaults on Cassino,

aimed at somehow
breaking through.

CHAMBERLIN:
It was a horrible battle

because... we kept throwing
divisions,

new tactics...

You couldn't get through there.

And we'd lost an awful lot
of casualties.

The guys that I admired most

were the guys that were really
scared to death,

and did what they had to do.

Some of us were too stupid
to, uh, feel so scared,

or you just had some protective
armor, psychologically,

that you put on.

(gunfire, bullets whizzing)

But the guys I admired were the
guys who really were frightened

and went on and did
what they had to do,

whether they were soldiers or
ambulance drivers or whatever.

NARRATOR:
In the early morning hours
of January 21,

Chamberlin watched
as the 36th Texas Division

tried to cross
the fast-moving Rapido

in the center of the line.

"We might succeed,”

its commander had written
in his diary,

"but I do not see how we can."

He was right.

There was no cover.

The men stumbled
into minefields,

drawing torrents of machine gun
and mortar fire.

Every man who managed
to make it across the Rapido

was Killed, wounded or captured.

Some who tried to swim back
to safety drowned.

CHAMBERLIN:
How anybody could have sent
people through that

I just can't imagine.

They were shot to pieces.

I saw them come out of the line.

They were walking...
when I first came up,

they were, they were coming
out of the line,

walking down the side
of the road just eyes shut,

just... plodding ahead
one foot after the other.

They looked like they'd been
through the worst stuff,

and they had been,
they had been.

Germans just sat across
the river and sprayed ‘em off.

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
Now, taking the Nazis
completely by surprise,

the Allies hurl their fleet
upon Nettuno and Anzio--

points behind the German lines
30 miles south of Rome.

At dawn, landing ships
and barges stand offshore.

Small boats begin to pour in.

The initial landing
meets with no opposition.

NARRATOR:
The same day
Ward Chamberlin watched

the men of the 36th Division
stagger back

from the aborted
crossing of the Rapido,

36,000 Allied troops
landed at Anzio.

Babe Ciarlo of Waterbury
was with them,

part of the 3rd Infantry
Division.

The Allies had caught the enemy
totally unprepared.

But the Allied commander,

General John P. Lucas,
was a cautious man.

His orders were
to move inland 20 miles,

seize the Alban Hills
that overlooked Rome

and cut off the railroad line
and two roads

that supplied the enemy.

Lucas wanted to be certain
he had enough men

and enough fire power
to be successful.

He took nine days
to consolidate his position--

more than enough time
for the Germans

to build up their defenses.

By the time the Allies
began to move forward

toward the Alban Hills,

the better part of eight enemy
divisions-- 100,000 men--

held the high ground
along the Allied perimeter,

ready for any attack.

Babe Ciarlo's division
tried to fight its way

through the German lines
near the town of Cisterna,

only to be hurled back
toward the beach.

Unable to advance,
Americans and Britons dug in

as best they could
on the Anzio plain--

15 miles long, ten miles deep,

and totally exposed
to enemy fire.

They would remain pinned down
there for four miserable months.

The secret landing meant
to stun the enemy had stalled,

just as the assault

on the Gustav Line
it had been meant to aid

had also stalled.

As Churchill said about
that Anzio thing, he said,

"I thought I was putting
a wildcat ashore.

It turned out to be
a bloated whale,"

because we just sat there.

NARRATOR:
Meanwhile, the Allied armies
back at Monte Cassino

were faring no better.

In February,
New Zealand and Indian troops

were ordered to take Cassino.

They failed.

Their commander insisted
the Germans were using the abbey

as an observation post to direct
fire on the huddled men below.

Waves of American warplanes
dropped 586 tons of bombs,

turning the abbey into rubble.

The men below stood and cheered.

Some wept with joy.

But German resistance
was actually strengthened.

Having promised the Church
not to disturb the sanctuary,

the Nazis had never
actually used the abbey

as an observation post.

But they quickly turned
its ruins into a new stronghold

from which they directed fire
to destroy the men

that were again sent
against them.

In March, the Indians

and New Zealanders attacked
once more.

The battle seesawed
back and forth

for two days and two nights

before the Allies fell back
to where they'd started.

4,000 men were lost.

The Germans held.

In the mud and snow
and bitter cold,

the killing went on.

(gunshots)

CHAMBERLIN:
You'd get a guy in
and he looked okay,

but a little further on,
there'd be a medical guy

and he'd say, you know,
"This guy's, this guy's going."

And I said, "Should I stop?"

He said, "Yeah, why don't
you stop for a minute."

So I went back
and held his hand and...

you know, he just looked up

and kind of gave a sign
of recognition

and then he was gone.

It was quick, quick.

It's hard to describe
what it's really like, it's...

You can remember
the moments, but...

but, um...

it, uh...

you see some guy leaving this
world, it's not a lot of fun.

("America, My Home"
by Wynton Marsalis playing)

AL McINTOSH (dramatized):
Luverne, Minnesota.

Rock County Star-Herald.

"The four grim lead lines
of the newspaper seem

"so tragically cold and bare.

"Staff Sergeant Richard E.
Mueller is reported missing

"with seven others following
the crash of a medium bomber

"in the Atlantic near Columbia,
South Carolina, Saturday.

"All are believed dead.

"Four grim lines
of newspaper type

"that tell so much
and yet so little.

"For us and thousands
of other friends,

"none of the usual information,
or even a picture, is needed

"to help us remember
Red of the A&P,

"because that is the way
he will be remembered here,

not as Staff Sergeant
Richard E. Mueller."

"With hair as vivid
as a June carrot

"and a grin that had the power
of a locomotive headlight,

"this boy never walked
down the street

"or round the aisles
of the store.

"He fairly danced or ran

"and you knew
that here was a chap

that was going places."

Al Mcintosh.

(orchestral film music playing)

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
What is there we can all do
on the home front

to help the men coming back
and the men still over there?

Make your home an arsenal
for victory

by fighting waste every day
from now until the war is over.

(reading)

("Opus One" by Tommy Dorsey
playing)

KATHARINE PHILLIPS:
All the old iron beds
were pulled out of the garages

and they were put
in the metal drives.

The Boy Scouts did
a great deal of that.

The city took up
the old streetcar lines

that went down Government
and Dauphin Street

and we added those
to the scrap pile.

But everyone took part
in World War Il,

down to the youngest child.

NARRATOR:
The Office of Civilian Defense
called upon each American family

to become a "fighting unit
on the home front."

Everyone was asked
to collect scrap metal

from which armaments
could be made.

In one year alone,

Mobile's citizens amassed
22 million pounds.

Children were
the most avid collectors.

JIM SHERMAN:
The motto was "wash and squash."

You wash out the can and then...

you take the top off.

Then you take the bottom off.

Then you put the top and the
bottom together in the middle

and then you'd squash it,
you'd stomp on it.

And then you put these
in a box and then--

I don't know if it was
every week or every other week--

the city would come by
and they would pick up...

You'd set them out on your curb
kind of like recycling now

and then the city would come by

and they'd pick up
all these tin cans.

NARRATOR:
In Sacramento, 22 big
"Victory Bins" were set up

on downtown street corners
for the duration,

even though some people thought
they were unsightly.

Luverne, Minnesota, had been
founded by Civil War veterans,

but now the town council
volunteered

to melt down the cannonballs
that formed part of the memorial

to the Union dead to make
munitions for the new conflict.

And in Waterbury, Connecticut,

281,135 pounds of tin
were collected,

along with 65,000 pounds
of rubber,

225,458 pounds of rags,

and 372,733 pounds...

of fat.

SHERMAN:
If you were lucky enough to get
a pound of bacon, for example,

and you get the fat in there,

you were supposed to pour that
into a tin can

and then take it down
to the salvage guy.

Now, I couldn't,
for the life of me, figure out

how are they going to make
ammunition out of bacon fat?

All of this we knew made
ammunition,

but we didn't know how.

But anything to help the boys.

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
Fats make glycerin
and glycerin makes explosives.

Every year

two billion pounds of waste
kitchen fats are thrown away--

enough glycerin for ten billion
rapid-fire cannon shells...

...a belt 150,000 miles long,

six times around the earth.

A skillet of bacon grease
is a little munitions factory.

(soldiers yelling)

(machine guns firing)

(bomb explodes)

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
At Fort Bragg, North Carolina,

in the largest training camp
of its kind in the world,

800 colored rookies get
their basic physical buildup

for eventful days to come.

Ten weeks ago they were
coal miners, steel workers,

mechanics, professional boxers;

in fact, most everything
from college teachers

to Pullman porters.

A few weeks more
of this intensive drill

and they'll become

the field artillery replacements
of the famed 16th Battalion;

a compact fighting force

of cannoneers,
radio and signal men;

an all-Negro group assembled
from all over the nation;

a well-trained unit ready
and eager to join the fight

for survival of the great
democracy that gave them birth.

OFFICER:
All right, men.

On behalf
of the United States Army,

and the reception center
here at this camp,

we're glad to welcome you
here today,

and into the United States Army.

We're glad to see all
of your happy, smiling faces.

You'll be converted
from a civilian

into a full-fledged soldier.

GRAY:
When I went in, they, uh,

had a pad.

And "eyes: Negro;

"Hair: Negro;

"Color: Negro;

"Complexion: Negro;

Race: Negro."

Everything was "Negro"
except height and weight.

NARRATOR:
Despite the bravery

of African-Americans in all
of America's previous wars,

despite the argument made
by the NAACP and others

that "a Jim Crow army cannot
fight for a free world,"

the armed forces
of the United States

remained strictly segregated.

Black draftees from the North

sent to training camps
in the deep South,

encountered Jim Crow laws
for the first time.

Some, who defied those laws,

paid with their lives.

Some men refused to serve
in a segregated military

and were imprisoned for it.

At home and overseas,
there were frequent

and sometimes bloody
confrontations

between black servicemen
and white civilians,

black troops and white ones,

over women and local customs,

and equal access
to military facilities.

Growing protest
by African-Americans

would force the military
to make a few changes.

An Army Air Corps training camp

was set up at Tuskegee Institute
in Alabama.

A single ship,

the USS Mason, was manned
entirely by blacks--

except for her commander.

The 761st Tank Battalion

would eventually
fight in Europe,

sent to the front
by George Patton

with the admonition: "I don't
care what color you are,

"so long as you go
up there and Kill

those Kraut sons of bitches."

The Marine Corps had refused
to accept any blacks at all,

but after 1942, as casualties
in the Pacific mounted

and pressure from civil rights
groups intensified,

John Gray and others
were finally allowed

to sign on and serve...

in segregated units.

GRAY:
They did not intend

to have blacks
as fighting units.

They intended to have them,

if at all, as support units.

Look like you ought
to appreciate the fact

that you're not up front.

But they didn't want you
to get that kind of a glory.

NARRATOR:
John Gray was sent
to Camp LeJeune, North Carolina,

where he joined
the 51st Defense Battalion,

one of only two black units

being trained for combat
in the Marine Corps.

Its commander was
Lt. Colonel Floyd Stephenson,

a veteran of the attack
on Pearl Harbor,

who won his men's loyalty
by declaring,

"There is nothing that black
troops cannot be taught.”

He was a far cry
from the officers

John Gray was used to.

GRAY:
And that was different
from Major Larsen,

who said he had been out
in the jungles

and he had fought this
and he had done that

and he came back
to find women Marines

and dog Marines
and then "you people."

We didn't like for people
to say "you people."

So instead of referring
to troops as "troops,"

they would always refer
to black troops as "you people."

And we resented that.

NARRATOR:
John Gray and his unit
were eventually

sent to the South Pacific.

They had been trained
as expert gunners

on 90 and 150 mm guns,

and were so skilled,
Gray remembered,

"we could shoot
the sting off a bee."

But their white commanders

did not see fit
to send them into battle.

The men took to calling
themselves "The Lost Battalion"

because they had
so little to do,

and white Marines
resented their presence--

especially when Samoan women
were involved.

GRAY:
And when they got a chance
to dance or something...

and those girls were told
that we had tails.

So when a girl
would dance with you,

she would reach down and try
to see if you had a tail.

(chuckles)

But those girls would be so glad
to have the treatment.

So they extended, uh,

"separate, but equal,"
so to speak,

into the armed services.

(Edgar Meyer's
"Concert Duo mvt. 1" plays)

§§ §§

QUENTIN AANENSON:
I wanted to fly fighters.

And by the luck of the draw,
I was sent to Harding Field

at Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

That's where they had
the P-47 Thunderbolt.

And that was the plane
I wanted to fly.

NARRATOR:
The war offered Quentin Aanenson
of Luverne, Minnesota,

a chance to realize
his boyhood dream of flying.

Color blindness had kept him
out of the Army Air Corps

until he took the test
enough times to memorize it.

In early 1944, he was one
of hundreds of thousands of men

being trained to play their part

in the coming invasion
of France.

The P-47 Thunderbolt was

a powerful airplane.

We could carry

two 500-pound bombs under
the wings, or we could carry

two 1,000-pound bombs
under the wings.

We carried up to ten rockets.

We had eight .50 caliber
machine guns

mounted in the wings
that had a rate of fire

of 600 rounds a minute per gun.

So we, in a second,

we could throw a hundred shells
on a target

and just devastate anything

that was in front of us.
(rapid gunfire)

NARRATOR:
Fighter training in Baton Rouge
was exhilarating,

but dangerous.

(explosion)

Five members of Aanenson's group
of 40 trainees

died before they got
a chance to go overseas.

(Mills Brothers'
"Paper Doll" plays)

§§ I'm gonna buy a paper doll §

§§ That I can call my own... §

AANENSON:
And I had been there only
about ten days or two weeks

when I met Jackie.

I went to a dance
that was put on

by a girls' club that
she belonged to.

And this absolutely
darling girl came up.

JACKIE GREER:
And that particular night,

I had a darling Valentine dress,

you know, the red and the white
stripes and all.

There was a song called
"Paper Doll"

that was so famous at that time.

And as I took her

to dance with her, I said,

"Hello, paper doll."

GREER:
We did have our dance,

and we danced
for about five minutes,

the music stopped to let
the band rest,

and I went home.

And when I got home that night,

my sister was already
in bed asleep.

We slept together.

And I woke her up
and I said, "Nelwin,

tonight I met the man
I'm going to marry."

AANENSON:
Well, we had 90 days

to work with from the time
I met her

until the time I shipped out
to go overseas.

We would go to parties,

and we saw each other
almost every night.

And we knew within a matter
of just a short time

that this was something serious
and everything was...

it's sort of like
on fast-forward.

You live your life
realizing that, uh,

you don't have a lot of time.

NARRATOR:
Before he left for England,

Aanenson laid down some
ground rules for Jackie.

AANENSON:
So I said

that "I'd like to make
a deal with you.

"I will come back
and survive this war

"if you will agree
that while I'm gone

"that you will not date
any one guy

more than three times."

I don't know where in the world
he came up with that.

I never did understand it.

But the rule was,

I couldn't have over three dates

with any one fella.

And he explained it
that I wouldn't get

too familiar with them
in three dates,

and if I couldn't have any more,
it couldn't go any further.

And it surely worked.

(creaking)

NARRATOR:
From guns hidden
in the Alban Hills...

the Germans continued

to hurl artillery shells
at the Allied troops

pinned down at Anzio.

For more than eight weeks,

since the end of January 1944,

they had been stuck there.

With the American forces

was Private Bill Mauldin,
a cartoonist

for Stars and Stripes.

MAULDIN (dramatized):
"There wasn't any rear.

"There was no place
in the entire beachhead

where enemy shells
couldn't seek you out."

"Wounded men got oak leaf
clusters on their Purple Hearts

"when shell fragments
riddled them

as they lay on hospital beds."

(explosion)

"Nurses died."

"Planes crash-landed
on the single air strip."

"You couldn't stand up
in the swamps

"without being cut down,

and you couldn't sleep
if you sat down."

(explosion)

"Guys stayed in those swamps
for days and weeks."

(men shouting)

(explosions)

NARRATOR:
Soldiers lived underground.

Some turned emptied hand
grenades filled with gasoline

into lamps,
with bootlaces for wicks.

The men made up names
for their tormentors.

The biggest German gun
was "Anzio Annie."

The plane that rained hundreds

of small butterfly bombs
on them every night

was the "Popcorn Man."

"Being at Anzio

was like being
in a comic opera,"

one soldier remembered.

"You died laughing."

CHAMBERLIN:
One AF Ser got hit
near the front,

and they took him back
to the operating table,

they were operating on his leg,
and he got another piece

of shrapnel in his arm.

Luckily, neither one
of them were fatal,

but I mean, to get hit
twice in one day...

That was rough stuff up there.

They were completely exposed
to the German armies.

NARRATOR:
After one massive shelling,

a mess sergeant fell to his
knees and began loudly to pray.

"God, help us," he said.

"You come yourself.

Don't send Jesus."

"This is no place for children."

Some 7,000 Allied personnel
were killed

during the Anzio campaign.

36,000 more were
wounded or missing,

and another 44,000

were classified as
"nonbattle casualties,"

victims of frostbite
and trench foot,

shell shock and madness.

"Axis Sally,"
the Nazi radio propagandist,

began calling Anzio
"the largest self-supporting

prisoner-of-war camp
in the world."

And German aircraft littered
the beach with leaflets,

urging Allied solders
to surrender.

"The beachhead," they said,
"has become a death's head."

On the front line
with the 3rd Infantry Division,

Babe Ciarlo saw all of it,
took part in some of it,

but never said a word about
any of it in his letters home.

BABE (dramatized):
March 27, 1944.

"I just got through with chow.

"We are having
beautiful weather here,

"and I hope
it's the same way there,

so you could take
the babies out every afternoon."

TOM CIARLO:
He never mentioned a word

about what he was doing,
where he was.

You couldn't say much about
where you were anyway,

but it was always the upside.

"I could only write a few lines
right now because I'm...

I'm going to chow,
and I don't have time."

This is in the heat
of the battle,

and he's going to chow line.

I mean, there's no such thing
as a chow line when you're in...

But you don't realize it
at the time, until years later,

you get a little smarter
and you go, geez, you know,

uh, how could he be going
to a chow line when you're in

the middle of a battle or you're
in a foxhole or someplace?

But he always had
that upbeat outlook about him.

BABE CIARLO (dramatized):
April 14, 1944.

"I am in the very best
of health, and I hope to hear

the same from
all of you always."

"Well, things here
are moving pretty smooth

"and the only thing I do
is eat and sleep.

And if I keep it up much longer,
I'll be like a barrel."

"Well, take care of yourselves
and keep those stoves roaring,

because I'll be doing a lot
of eating when I get home."

NARRATOR:
By the end of April,

the Allied command
was determined

to break the stalemate

and resume its drive
toward Rome.

Babe's division had finally
been pulled back to rest

and to get ready
for the big battle to come.

BABE (dramatized):
April 30, 1944.

"Dear Mom and family..."

"This afternoon, I might go
swimming in the Tyrrhenian Sea.

"The salt water will do me good.

"Last night, I received
about ten letters.

"I'm glad to hear that the house

"was filled with flowers
for Mother's Day

"and that you all got
a gift for Mom.

"Don't worry about
my money situation,

"because there isn't anything
to spend it on here in Anzio.

"Well, I had my dinner
and guess what I had--

pork chops,
about a dozen of them."

"I'm getting to be a chow hound.

Love, Babe."

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
The Allies are stalled at Anzio,

but patrol clashes are frequent.

Here's a German outpost.

(automatic gunfire, explosions)

TOM CIARLO:
You see, probably,
on the newsreel

or you read about it

in the paper
about different battles.

But you don't actually
put Babe in that position,

because he's always telling you

how everything is fine,
everything is no problem.

At one point, as a matter
of fact, my mother had my aunt

write a letter in Italian

that she had sent to Babe.

"When you get to Rome,
when you get to Italy,

"we have relatives over there.

"When you get there,

show them these letters
and they'll treat you well,"

and everything else, you know.

And at the time, you think,
well, yeah, he's going to Italy.

He's going to go to Rome and
he's going to see his relatives.

Can you imagine that?

It's so unreal.

(indistinct children's voices)

BABE (dramatized):
May 9, 1944.

"I'm glad that you're going down
to the beach with the babies,

"and I hope Mom goes down
with you,

because it'll do all
of you good."

"I won't be with you this year,

"but I'll guarantee you
I'll be there next summer.

That's a date."

"I'm all right.

"Nothing ever happens here.

"I guess it's like Waterbury--
dead.

Love, Babe."

(Benny Goodman's
"Memories of You" plays)

NARRATOR:
By the middle of May,

American artillery had managed
to target German guns,

and things at Anzio
had calmed down a good deal.

The rain of shells that had once
fallen day and night

was reduced to sporadic,
harassing fire.

(laughter)

In one sector, German gunners
held their fire each afternoon

while Gls played a game
of baseball.

In a ceremony on the beach,

37 foreign-born members
of Babe's division were sworn in

as American citizens.

300 men from his outfit
attended a wedding

between a first lieutenant
and an army nurse.

The bride cut the cake
with a trench knife.

(rapid gunfire)

BABE (dramatized):
"I figured out just what

"I'm going to do after the war
when I get home.

"I'm going to loaf for a while,
and then I'm going to work,

"and the next spring,

"I'm going to get a car.

Not bad, huh?"

May 19.

"I am in the very best
of health,

"and I hope to hear the same
from all of you always.

"Today we had a little rain,
but it wasn't bad at all,

"cause it cooled us off.

"We had beer again today,

and I gave my share
to the fellas."

"Mom, how are you getting along?

"Fine, I hope,
and keeping happy always.

"I'm doing good,

"and always happy,
‘cause I know you're okay.

Love, Babe."

(man shouts)

NEWSREEL ANNOUNCER:
The heaviest Allied
barrage of the war

precedes a dawn attack
in the final battle for Cassino.

(distant gunfire)

(airplanes droning overhead)

(weapons firing, rumbling)

NARRATOR:
On May 11, Allied troops
had begun still another assault

on Monte Cassino.

(gunfire, distant shouting)

French forces from North Africa
battled their way behind Cassino

and began
to choke off German supplies.

(gunfire and shouting)

(soldier grunts)

(explosion)

(gunfire and shouting)

(rapid gunfire
and explosions)

(distant rapid gunfire)

NARRATOR:
Polish troops,

eager to avenge the Nazi
invasion of their country,

finally took
the ruined monastery

and the positions around it.

(explosion)

The Gustav Line had broken.

The Germans began falling back.

Monte Cassino was
in Allied hands.

Meanwhile, at Anzio,

General Mark Clark
ordered his forces there

to begin their own offensive
on May 23.

He was determined
to break out of the beachhead

and link up
with the Allied armies

coming up from Cassino
to trap the enemy

now retreating northward.

(explosions)

(rapid gunfire, shouting)

(explosions)

(distant shouting)

Babe's regiment helped
lead the way,

finally taking the fiercely
defended village of Cisterna

they had tried
to take months earlier.

(distant gunfire)

(explosion, man shouts)

But when his men broke through,

General Clark astonished
his own staff

and his British Allies
by racing toward Rome

rather than trapping
and destroying

the retreating German army,

which had been
the original plan.

CHAMBERLIN:
And when we finally
did break through there,

we didn't even beat
the German army then.

So there wasn't a lot to show
for all that.

All those casualties,
all those terrible things.

The only thing we did
from a larger perspective

was to keep a number of German
divisions occupied there

that otherwise could have
gone to France,

or could have gone
to Russia or somewhere else.

But there wasn't a lot
to show for it.

It was horrible.

(radio static,
radio changing stations quickly)

(over radio):
This is Douglas Edwards
reporting

that the 5th Army,
tanks and motorized infantry,

has roared on through Rome
today in relentless pursuit

of two battered German armies.

That's the picture in Italy
as Allied planes continue

hammering German-held Europe
from the west.

Now General Electric takes you
direct to Rome,

Winston Burdett reporting.

BURDETT:
The people of this ancient
and still splendid capital

have seldom celebrated
such a riotous holiday

as they did today...

NARRATOR:
On June 4, 1944,

units of the 5th Army
marched into Rome.

BURDETT:
A tremendous shout went up
in the square...

NARRATOR:
It was Babe Ciarlo's
21st birthday.

BURDETT:
We are bringing some 3,000
carabinieri into the city.

NARRATOR:
Back in Waterbury,

his sister Olga sat down
to write him a letter.

OLGA:
"Dearest Babe..."

(piano playing
"The American Anthem")

"It is now about 3:15
in the afternoon,

"and it's a beautiful day.

"We are all in the best
of health

"and always hope
to hear the same from you.

"We just had news
a little while ago,

and our American forces
are in Rome."

"The Allies have passed
the city limits in Rome,

"but they're not doing
any fighting.

"Gee, I don't have
to tell you anything.

You know everything
from beginning to end."

"Babe, try to tell us
a little more about you--

"where you are
and what you are doing.

"We do hope everything
is all right with you.

Remember always
to take good care of yourself."

"Well, Babe,
today is your birthday,

"and we do wish you a happy one.

"May all your wishes
and dreams come true.

(voice breaking):
Let's hope that you'll be home
for your next birthday."

"I'm sure you will be.

"It won't be long now.

"We'll have the biggest party
you've ever seen.

"Just keep your chin up.

"You're 21 years old,
and what a man.

"We're all so proud of you,

"especially Mom.

"There's not a minute
that goes by

"that she doesn't think of you.

(voice breaking):
"We all miss you
and pray so hard

for this war to end
SO you can come home."

"You said you sent home $30.

"We didn't receive it yet,
but it will get here soon.

"Mom is going to put it
in the bank for you, Babe,

"so that when you come home

you can have
everything you want."

"You can buy your car
and all your new clothes."

"Well, Babe, I guess
I've said enough for now.

"Love from all.

"Take good care of yourself

"and write as often as you can.

"May God bless you
and keep you safe.

"Our thoughts are
always with you.

Your loving sister, Olga."

NARRATOR:
22 days later,

on June 26, 1944,

a telegram arrived
at the Ciarlo home.

Babe was dead.

He may have been wounded
as early as May 23,

as his battalion struggled
to take Cisterna

during the first few hours
of the Anzio breakout.

995 men from his division
were lost that day,

perhaps the largest number
suffered in a single day

by any American Army division
during the entire war.

Hundreds more were killed
or wounded

during the next few days,

some of them hit
by American fighter planes

whose pilots mistook
their advancing countrymen

for retreating Germans.

Whenever Babe was hit,
however he was wounded,

he died on May 27,

eight days before his birthday.

Among the belongings in
his pockets were two rosaries,

his driver's license,

a wallet with 16 photographs
of family and friends,

a blood-stained letter,
and $1.61.

OLGA:
Well, I was out that night
with the girls.

We had a sewing club.

I came home
and after I got off the bus,

I see all these lights lit,
which is very unusual

that my mother would have
all these lights lit,

and the closer I got
to my house,

lights were all over the place
and I can hear people talking,

and as I went
up the front stairs,

I can hear my mother
screaming, crying.

My aunts, uncles,
everybody was there,

and I didn't know
what had happened,

so my aunt called me aside
and told me what had happened.

Well, it was a terrible night.

When I got upstairs
and found out what happened,

of course...
a complete shock to all of us

because we thought
everything was fine.

Babe said everything is fine.

He's coming home soon
and it would be great...

So to tell you the truth,
I just went to my room,

I closed the door,
and that's where I stayed.

("Exiles" by Amy Beach playing)

NARRATOR:
The news of Babe's death spread
throughout the neighborhood.

DeVICO:
And my girlfriend called me up.

She's crying.

I said, "What happened?"

"Babe Ciarlo was killed."

You know, we couldn't do a thing
for days after that.

We didn't because
all we could think of was him.

He was always so happy and jolly
and always so fun-loving,

and then I'm thinking,
"He's not coming back."

And it was terrible
‘cause you started to realize

that this isn't just going
over there and...

They're not coming back.

Some of them aren't.

NARRATOR:
Babe's mother refused
to believe her son was gone.

There had been some mistake.

She was sure of it.

OLGA:
My mother, of course, was...
well, how can I explain it?

She was a disaster.

We would be getting
the newspaper

and my mother would look
at pictures

and she'd say to me,
"There's Babe.

That's Babe."

And I'd say, "Gee, no, Mom."

"No! You have to write.

You have to write."

I don't know how many newspaper
offices I would write to,

magazine places
I would write to,

questioning the name of that boy
that was in that picture

because my mother always thought
it was Babe.

But it never came to be.

It was so bad in our house
that nobody ever knows.

I used to play the piano
ever since I was a young girl.

When my father passed away
and my brother Babe died,

my mother had no music
in the house.

I never played the piano again.

("Two Pieces for Strings"
by William Walton playing)

NARRATOR:
By the late spring of 1944,

events were accelerating
at last.

In the Pacific,
the Americans were on the move

and a large force was steaming
toward the Marianas--

the islands of Guam,
Tinian, and Saipan.

(bomb explodes)

On the Eastern Front,

the Soviets had triumphed
at Leningrad,

then destroyed or captured
some 250,000 German troops

in the Crimea.

But the basic fact remained,

that until the Nazi grip
on Western Europe was broken,

Allied victory was impossible.

The German Army had taken up
new positions

on the Adolf Hitler Line
north of Rome

and the greatest test
for the Western Allies--

the long-delayed invasion
of France--

was now just days away.

Back in Baton Rouge,
Quentin Aanenson from Luverne

had to say good-bye to Jackie
and prepare for war.

AANENSON:
We were very much aware
of the fact that it was a...

deadly calling.

And we knew thatthe loss rates
were extremely high,

and so it was the, uh,
Judge Advocate General's office

that put this program in place

that all of us should have
our wills drawn up.

And, of course, we knew
the reality of our situation,

and so we tried
to make light of it,

but, nevertheless, we...

we all signed our wills,
drew up our wills--

they were standard-type wills--

and there had to be three pilots

that would witness
the other pilot's will.

The three pilots
that witnessed my will...

were all dead in six months.

(slow instrumental of "Until
I'm in Your Arms Again" playing)

(song ends)

(lively version of "Until
I'm in Your Arms Again" playing)

§§ §§

(music ends)