It Was Our World War Too

Epilogue

My complete autobiography contains 700 pages. The first part, “From These Beginnings,” the second part, “The Big Red School House,” and the third part, “To Eternity from Here,” were condensed and used as source material for the beginning of our story.

The fourth part of my autobiography, “It Was Our World War Too,” is included in its entirety with some additions.

The last three hundred pages, “Hi-Ho, It’s Off to Work I Go,” “A Million Miles or More,” and “Up the Corporate Ladder,” are condensed, each limited to important highlights.

You may find it of some interest to know that of all the time I was overseas I do not recall having heard a Japanese propaganda program or having heard the infamous Tokyo Rose who supposedly played sentimental songs and offered comments that were designed to make Americans homesick and lessen their fighting ability.

You may also find it interesting to note that during the time I was on Okinawa, I never fired my rifle. I bring this point up because of several experiences I have had while making talks to schools regarding World War II.

At two separate schools, one in Georgia and one in Louisiana, I received questions both from boys wanting to know about the gory details. Georgia wanting to know “if I did,” and Louisiana wanting to know “how many.”

I explained that even though all Marines were trained in hand-to-hand and face-to-face combat, some of us had other roles.

My role with an antiaircraft battalion was to be an accomplice to the shooting down of enemy aircraft, quite often while they were trying to eliminate us as individuals.

Two of the major giants in the Japanese war effort, both of them making the famous Zero fighters and bombers, were Mitsubishi and Kawasaki. After the war, they and many other Japanese manufacturing plants converted to civilian production and became producers of products that were sought by American buyers. It was difficult to resist buying their dependable products that were offered to us at their low prices.

After a few years I became one of the buyers of electronic and camera equipment. I was, and still am, somewhat of a holdout as far as automobiles are concerned.

You could always find a Ford, Plymouth, Saturn, or a Chevrolet parked in our driveway. Even that may change with time.

Letters from Anita and other family members and friends were always the most welcome contact I had with home.

There were two war correspondents that gave me an occasional morale boost. They were Ernie Pyle and Bill Mauldin.

Ernie Pyle, writing in a warm personal style, covered the war in Europe. He won a Pulitzer for his reports from Europe. As victory was assured over Germany he transferred to the Pacific Theater where he became a statistic.

Bill Mauldin covered the war through the use of editorial cartoons. He won two Pulitzer prizes. His cartoons featured Willie and Joe, two infantrymen, that gave us a light and candid look at the war from the confines of a foxhole or some similar situation. He started his cartoons when he was an eighteen-year-old Army enlistee.

All military personnel were provided free cigarettes by the tobacco companies. This encouraged a lot of those that didn’t smoke to become smokers.

I was always able to find someone more than willing to trade their candy for my cigarettes. They got hooked on cigarettes and I got hooked on chocolate.

As a boy, I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker. To continue not drinking coffee in the Marine Corps was almost impossible. It was safe to drink.

I didn’t like my coffee with canned or dry milk so I learned to drink it black. Marine coffee. Straight black, strong, warmed over several times, maybe even several days.

I have two different official papers reporting on my stay overseas. One states that I spent one year and twelve days out of the country; that’s 377 days. The other paper reports a total of one year and twenty days. That’s 385 days. Take your pick.

My U.S.M.C. separation form that I had to sign stated that I had received my Honorable Service lapel button.

In addition to receiving my lapel button I received a check for $59.60 to cover transportation from Lejeune to Edwardsville. Five cents a mile.

My monthly pay was $78. Out of this came Anita’s share and insurance. I had $4.66 coming at the time of my discharge. I’m not positive but I believe they gave it to me in cash. My military life insurance was costing me $6.50 a month for $10,000 of coverage. I terminated this at discharge.

The government sent Anita an allotment check to help cover living expenses for her and Leslie.

In addition to what I had designated to be sent home with the allotment check I was able to send some cash home occasionally as I had little use for money.

I also acknowledged that I had to report my discharge to my Selective Service office within ten days of my return home. My discharge was registered with the county on Leslie’s birthday, December 22, in volume 958 page 194.

The benefits offered to ex-servicemen were administered by the Veterans Administration. I was assigned Eligibility Certificate 3176714.

After the war was over and servicemen returned home in great numbers the silver stars began to be removed from the windows. The gold stars remained up longer but eventually they too were taken down.

For those interested in statistics, I was one of over fifteen million that served during World War II. Almost 11.5 million of us were assigned duty overseas in Europe or the Pacific.

That included Anita’s and my family members Howard Rogers, U.S. Army; Ronald Cooper, U.S. Army Air Force; William Kolesa, Seabees; Anthony Zivic, U.S. Army; Rudolph Zivic, U.S. Army; Edward Rohrkaste, U.S. Marines; Bennett Hensley, U.S. Navy; William Pester, U.S. Army; Robert Pester, U.S. Army; Frank Kolesa Jr., U.S. Army; and me, U.S. Marines.

To win the war took $269,898,484,032. This bought 296,601 aircraft, 71,000 ships, 86,388 tanks, plus all the support equipment including trucks, jeeps, radar, searchlights, and much more. I was one of 512,788 Marines that served overseas. Of these 19,910 were killed and nearly 90,000 were wounded, including Anita’s nephew Edward.

What did I bring home from the war? Well, I recall having been issued two U.S.M.C. wool blankets, dress greens, dress khakis, two sets of dungarees, several sets of underclothes, a pair of dress shoes, and a pair of boondockers. These were issued to me upon discharge.

I also had my collection of campaign ribbons, a medal, some Marine Corps emblems, and some extra sergeant stripes. Mom took over the keeping of my dress greens. She wanted to keep them with Frank’s army uniform. The rest of the things disappeared except for the letters and envelopes that Anita so thoughtfully saved.

Mom returned my uniform to me in 1993. The jacket and the pants were a little tight. Both were full of moth holes. I received quite a bit of use from my dungarees, wearing them as work clothes until they finally wore out. The blankets lasted the longest. They worked their way through the wear cycle, going from being used to keep warm during the cold Illinois winters to picnic and camping use, eventually being used as drop cloths and then off to the place where old U.S.M.C. blankets go.

There were events that happened years later that relate directly to the war and need mentioning. At the time of my discharge, the recruiting officers put the pressure on those of us that were being discharged. We were promised a promotion, a bonus, thirty days’ leave, and other incentives if we would sign up as regulars.

The reserves also had a long list of incentives that they made sound exciting. You could still be a Marine while enjoying life as a civilian if you would just sign up as an active reservist. This meant that all you had to do was to agree to train once a year to keep your skills up. Of course, if in the unlikely event there was another war, you would be called up immediately. I turned all of this down.

Anita and I were in Chicago in June of 1950 when the Korean War started. The news was filled with requests and orders for all active reservists to report to their commanding officers. We listened intently as the Marines were instructed where to report. We were sad for those that had to report but very glad it didn’t include us.

This next incident happened when I was with the Chamber of Commerce in New Orleans. I was on my lunch break walking on St. Charles Avenue toward Canal Street.

When I was a few steps from the corner, several Japanese naval officers in uniform made the turn and headed straight for me. I panicked. Here for the first time in almost forty years I faced the enemy. My panic was real. If just one of them would have so much as stepped toward me or reached out to greet me, I was ready to defend myself. It was not uncommon to see Japanese in New Orleans, but these were in military uniform. Maybe my “once a Marine, always a Marine” inner self thought the uniforms were flaunting it.

This next incident was a pleasant one. It took place in a Wendy’s fast-food restaurant. A family walked in as I was finishing my lunch.

He was over six feet tall and she was almost six. Their children looked as if they were going to be very tall also.

Leslie had given me a World War II hat several months earlier with instructions to wear it often.

The mother saw my hat on the table and started a conversation, thanking me for my service. She was well versed in our language.

From her conversation I determined they were French tourists and it became very obvious that she was hoping I had been involved in the liberation of France. I explained that I served in the Pacific Theater against Japan.

That gave me the opportunity to tell them about Frank and his participation in the Normandy landing.

She continued her gratitude conversation, thanked me for my service, and asked that I convey their appreciation to Frank. I didn’t tell them he had died a number of years ago.

I thanked them for their appreciation and participation. I gathered up my belongings and left.

As I got outside I knew I had left something undone. I went back in and recited my entire vocabulary of French: “Au revoir.”

They all stood up and shouted back, in very loud voices, “Au revoir!”

Some of the customers joined in, “Au revoir.” I was so glad I went back. Their response made my day and added to my collection of good memories.

For Anita’s memorial service, it was suggested that our grandson Anthony take a few minutes and say something about his grandmother. He did and he gave a touching memorial.

I was also asked to take a few minutes and talk about Anita’s and my life together.

How do you condense eighty years of knowing someone, seventy-two of them as your wife and the mother of Leslie, Scott, and Tim, into a brief presentation? I gave it a try. In order to preserve those thoughts, I made them a part of my next family newsletter. Here is what I recorded.

When people ask how I’m doing, I say something like “OK.” But I’m not telling it like it is. I’m still hurting a lot.

I’ve known Anita for over eighty years, and was married to her for more than seventy-two of those wonderful years.

I was a second grader when Anita came into my life. She was a first grader. We went to the same school. Her niece, Verna Mae, was my classmate until we graduated from high school. That means we had a good contact person as well as a good chaperone.

Things were rather normal until Anita moved into our neighborhood. We did the expected things, like walked to school with the crowd. Soon we walked as a couple. I even carried her books. Sometimes we even held hands.

We went sleigh riding, ice skating, took long walks, and enjoyed each other’s company.

Our friendship developed into a serious relationship. Within a few months we were engaged and in several more months we were married.

Never, not even for an instant, did either of us consider we were not made for each other.

I was eighteen; Anita was seventeen. Many said, “It won’t last.” They were right. It ended last week but only on this earth. We will always be together!

What kind of mother was she? Just look at Tim and Leslie and those of you that knew Scott and you will have no trouble in answering that question of how good a mother she was.

What kind of a daughter was she? Anita took care of her mother for over thirty years. Her mother moved in with us when her dad died. That’s the kind of daughter Anita was.

What kind of daughter-in-law was she? Anita and I both had jobs and she bought a leather coat with a mink collar. My mother liked it very much.

One day after being out shopping together my mother told Anita how much she liked the coat but could never afford to buy one. Guess who went home with that coat? That’s the kind of daughter-in-law Anita was.

Because we got married before she finished high school, Anita wanted to get her diploma. She went directly to the superintendent and asked him for his advice. He suggested that she should start where she left off and attend classes. Anita took off her high heels, put on bobby socks, and graduated. This high-school dropout, with three children, went on to college at Southern Illinois University, Edwardsville, then to St. Louis University for her master’s. When I suggested a doctorate she said it was time to start paying back.

In the midst of our early married life there was a war going on and we had to be separated. While I was in the Marine Corps, she didn’t sit and mope. Whenever possible she came to live near my station so we could be together.

That’s when she took jobs in defense plants. Anita helped build gliders that were important in the closing days of the European Theater fighting. Later she worked as Rosie the Riveter helping build the heavy bombers that helped bring the Pacific Theater war to an end and get me back home.

What kind of wife was she? You have just read a few of the hundreds, no, thousands of reasons why I think—no, why I know—we were perfect for each other.

Amen.

Did Anita do the World War II bit just because of me? Sure, but she didn’t stop there. While we were living in Philadelphia, celebrating the bicentennial, she took time to travel to Korea to escort a planeload of orphans that had already been adopted by United States parents.

She did this as an employee of Philadelphia Travelers Aid. Her flight to Seoul, Korea, had a layover in Tokyo. Anita made it to Tokyo. Thom didn’t.

When we were back in New Orleans, she worked at Travelers Aid again. They had asked her to come back. They loved her and the work that she did.

After the Vietnam War, she worked with the refugees that were at Indiantown Gap. She did more than just help them get settled. She hosted family gatherings with their sponsors.

Wait, there’s more. Back to Philadelphia, March 15, 1977, the Ides of March. This is serious stuff. Anita and three of her Travelers Aid staff were held hostage overnight by a mental patient, wielding a switchblade knife. One of the staff was pregnant and the hostage taker concentrated on her, threatening to cut her throat if the police came, then pressing the knife against her stomach and the baby. He took a swipe at Anita but missed.

Anita told reporters she thought it was time to be brave or die. She became the aggressor and took the knife away from him.

Disarmed, he panicked and everyone screamed. The police came storming in and took over.

Where was I? They had called me and I was observing from the room below.

One of the reporters wrote, “Mrs. Kolesa seemed calm enough after the episode was over as her husband made her a cup of tea.”

A television reporter called Anita a “gutsy grandma.”

Anita received a phone call the next day from First Lady Rosalynn Carter regarding her successful handling of the hostage situation.

They also discussed the need for additional funding for treating mental patients.

Between then and now there were many happy events that created new memories as Anita and I continued on our road to eternity.

There were, of course, some sad happenings also.

We both became orphans as our parents died. Our son Scott died before he was able to fulfill all of his dreams.

His health gave out while he was serving two churches full time, one in Ohio and one across the state line in Pennsylvania. He had to give up the ministry because of his health.

He joined us in New Orleans where he served as a full-time pastor at a Lutheran church and taught at the local Lutheran seminary.

We mourned the deaths of our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles as well as every one of our siblings, many in-laws, nieces, nephews, friends, and a very special chaperone.

You now know about the love Anita and I had for each other. One of our nephews summed it up better than I can. He said, “Aunt Anita and Uncle Thom don’t have to fake it. You can tell how much they love each other by just watching them.”

Yes, it was our world war too. Even today, when I hear sirens, I often have thoughts of Okinawa and the many air raids I experienced there. I still have an occasional war-related dream.

Thank you, for thanking veterans.

They appreciate your concern.