TOO many young adults display the self-absorbed angst of a spoiled generation. They complain about work hours that cut into social time and the indigestibly high cost of breakfast cereal. But mostly, they believe that nobody cares or understands them. Hundreds of reasons
to thank Club 100Not true! There are multitudes who care and understand, known as our community's elders. Last Saturday, 800 of them gathered at the Pacific Beach Hotel ballroom for the 55th anniversary reunion of the 100th ("One Puka Puka") Infantry Battalion.
It was a convivial salute to the survivors of the first segregated unit of Japanese-American soldiers to fight in World War II. They sure know how to party.
The camaraderie and reminiscings were launched with an orderly and well-mannered attack on the buffet line. Then came the formal program's commemoration of comrades, past and present, beginning with the introduction of former officers.
As they slowly made their way up to the stage, some needed the support of canes. But after they were assembled and seated, the balance of Club 100 members surged forward to sing their fight song, "One Puka Puka," led by Ray Nosaka.
As they crooned, the audience realized the significance of the moment.
Here were the remaining survivors of the unit once comprised of 2,500 strapping young servicemen from Hawaii. These guys received their combat training at Camp McCoy (Wisconsin) and Camp Shelby (Mississippi). And when they were pau, the Army pondered whether they were trustworthy and capable enough to send into battle -- on America's side -- since they were mostly Japanese.
Finally, in 1943, they got to prove their stuff. They fought tenaciously in Italy, from Salerno to Rome, but suffered such huge casualties that the unit was dubbed "The Purple Heart Battalion."
In 1944, upon merging with the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, the 100th became the most storied battalion in WWII history. The soldiers were key in driving back the German army, liberating Bruyeres and rescuing the Texas "Lost Battalion."
Attention, Generation X: Their motivation wasn't themselves but was focused on others.
"They worked harder than anybody else because they wanted to prove something...in hopes that a grateful nation would maybe give their families, many of whom were in concentration camps, a few breaks that were long overdue," wrote Bill Mauldin in "Back Home," his 1947 book.
"A lot of us in Italy used to scratch our heads and wonder how we would feel if we were wearing the uniform of a country that mistreated our families. Most of us came to the conclusion that we would be pretty darn sulky about it."
AS sulky as the fresh-faced folks of today, perhaps, who complain about peripheral things in comparison to forgotten ideals like freedom, honor and loyalty.
Every year, when Club 100 holds its annual celebration, fewer and fewer of its members attend, felled by the ever-lurking enemies of sickness and death. But last week, the vibrant legacy of its members reverberated clearly through the strains of a feisty fight song. Tears were plentiful, both on the stage and off.
It was clear that these men had been willing to give the ultimate -- and other lives from their unit had been stolen away -- to make Hawaii a safer, better place. How many of us, young and old, would offer to do the same?