INTRODUCTION
The final year of World War II was a time of enormous historic events: Bombers and fighters of Allied Forces darkened the skies over Germany and destroyed key military and industrial sites while ground forces from East and West enclosed a staggering Nazi regime; a weary president died and an able one stepped into his difficult position; the monster who had set the world aflame perished by his own hand; the war in Europe ended when the Germans in Italy were trapped against the Alps and a final Allied thrust overpowered a decimated German heartland; prisoner-of-war camps were emptied and the gates of Nazi concentration camps were thrown open, releasing populations of dissidents and persecuted minorities, mostly Jews; the difficult and competitive process of occupying and dividing Nazi territory began; American troops left Europe for the United States or to the intensified Pacific theatre; the United Nations Charter was established; a battered and hungry Japan finally bowed after atomic bombs were dropped on her cities; the Allied occupation of Japan began, and finally, to the thunderous celebration of our war-weary country, the troops started coming home. Many made it for Christmas.
I turned twelve that year. I was aware, obliquely perhaps, of foreign and domestic problems, but in truth I enjoyed a carefree lifestyle on our little farm at Salt Rock, West Virginia, a rural and safe place. Events affected me certainly, but my energy, along with other boys my age, turned toward acting out what we understood of the situation. We did our homework about instruments of war, especially airplanes; we filled the air with popular fighters and bombers. Flying Fortresses, Thunderbolts, and Spitfires zig-zagged over imagined war zones, killing the enemy with frightful fury. My own hastily scribbled cartoon strips depicted bitter dog fights over battlefields and oceans. It was the child’s way of survival.
Time and maturity bring us to appreciate our past and treasure what mattered to our parents and grandparents, whether ideals or “things” handed down or discovered in their effects after their passing.
My mother was Glenna Adkins, who became Glenna Pratt, and later Glenna Morrison. After her death in 1978, I placed saved letters and other mementos in boxes, resolving to sort through them later. I soon forgot and it was several years before I rediscovered her diary of 1945.
Mother was a prolific letter writer, but to my knowledge she never kept a record of her daily activities any time except that year and a tiny portion of 1946. Her entries were simply brief accounts of her own comings and goings within family and community. She seldom made editorial comment or ventured opinion.
The pages on which she wrote were part of a combination tear-off calendar and writing tablet pasted onto a red cardboard backing. The composite was meant to hang on the wall. The tablet sheets, thin and inferior in quality, are now brittle and the pencil writing has faded. I made digital copies and careful transcripts of each page.
I also kept a diary for several years. My leatherbound book was a 1945 birthday gift from Eddie Harbour, my friend, classmate, and member of the large Harbour family down in the village of Salt Rock. I hadn’t looked at it for many years, but soon saw that it covered the same period as Mother’s diary, the exception being January 1 through March 3; I had not started writing until March 4. For the most part my writing was as emotion-free as hers.
Had we thought our words would ever be read by others, I’m sure we would have been more inclusive of events, explained more, and been careful with spelling and grammar. Mother’s writing was usually clear of problems, whereas my mistakes were glaring. I debated whether to “clean up” our jottings, but in the end decided to publish them as written. I did exclude some recordings, especially mine where they were repetitive, such as, “I went to school today.”
The diaries form a framework for this book, but the mundane affairs of our family were far overshadowed by that year’s world, country, and local events, many of which I recorded alongside the diary entries. Nevertheless, I soon realized that the emphasis must be on the military service of Tri-State men and women.
The Huntington Herald-Dispatch and its evening edition, the Huntington Herald-Advertiser brought not only world and local news to the area, but also included the publication of two daily columns, “In the Service” for the Herald-Dispatch and “With the Colors” for the Herald-Advertiser. Those columns carried nearly identical real-life mini-stories that paid tribute to Tri-State sailors, soldiers, marines, airmen, nurses, and others who served with or supported the armed forces of our country. Those brief accounts ranged from a simple statement of a soldier being home on furlough to announcement of a high award for an act of bravery. I soon realized that those little historical records must be the major focus. With permission of the Huntington Herald-Dispatch, I’ve copied entries, verbatim, from “In the Service” and “With the Colors,” except where I corrected obvious typos and sometimes eliminated unrelated or redundant information. Weekday entries are from “In the Service” and Sunday entries are from “With the Colors.” An exception is August where all entries are from “With the Colors.” Entries within the columns may not appear in the same order as originally published. There will be some mistakes; my transcripts are from microfilm, not the original newsprint, and some were difficult to read. Endnotes for these mini-stories are unnecessary since all the columns are from the same source and appear within dated sections.
The little stories reveal detail on several levels: Locations of military camps and bases throughout the United States and the world, along with military hospitals, were named in great diversity; servicemen and servicewomen were listed by rank from lowest private to highest ranking officers; family relationships were stated, usually with home addresses; there were numerous awards for bravery, some very high; battle details with place names, airplane and ship names, and other strategic details frequently cast light on events that may never have appeared in any other account of the war. Many of those who gave so much for our country might never have had anything else ever publicized about their service.
Those war years were difficult. Huntington and Tri-State families often had more than one and sometimes several members of a family in the military services, and many gave their lives. Despite the pain, we didn’t lose faith in God, nor faith we would win in the end. Churches overflowed. I recall with wonder the full pews at Salt Rock Methodist Church and the impressive attendance at Wednesday night prayer meetings.
If you were alive in 1945, you have your own memories of that period, good and bad. If this book conjures up bad memories, I apologize. For those of you who were not yet born, or too young to remember, I hope Tri-State Heroes of ’45 enlightens about events of that last year of the war and our place in it. It is also my hope that our diaries present a keyhole glimpse at the commonplace lives of those of us who both endured and celebrated that extraordinary year.
Rupert Pratt 2020
Pratt, Rupert. TRI-STATE HEROES of '45: Together With A Year in the Life of a West Virginia Farm Family . Mill City Press.