THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, DC
WINTER 1948
DAYTIME
The Second World War has been over for almost three years as Colonel Paul Tibbets steps into the Oval Office; the veteran pilot is among four men the president has spontaneously invited for a short visit. Tibbets, along with General Carl Spaatz, General Jimmy Doolittle, and Colonel Dave Shillen, made the short drive from the Pentagon together, whereupon they were ushered into the president’s office without delay. They have no idea why they have been summoned.
Tibbets, the Enola Gay pilot, has been busy since World War II ended. He flew home from the Pacific to minor adulation but quickly withdrew from the public, preferring instead to focus on his failing marriage and the continuation of his aviation career.
Back in September 1945, with the war newly ended and American troops flooding into Japan, Tibbets was among the first pilots to fly into Tokyo with the occupation forces. Almost immediately upon being billeted at the Dai-Ichi building next to the Imperial Palace in downtown Tokyo, where Douglas MacArthur would also locate his headquarters, Tibbets received orders to transport a Japanese physicist to Hiroshima so that the man could study the A-bomb’s aftermath. This would be the only time in his life that Tibbets would get a chance to visit the scene of Enola Gay’s destruction.
But fate intervened. The runway near Hiroshima was unsuitable for landing a large aircraft, so instead, Tibbets delivered Professor Masao Tsuzuki to Nagasaki and then spent three days there with a small group of crew he had flown with on Enola Gay. Tibbets and his fellow aviators were touched by the friendliness of the Japanese people, struggling to reconcile that new behavior with the “frenzied mobs that had been known to attack and kill downed American fliers.”
Colonel Tibbets, bombardier Major Tom Ferebee, and navigator Captain Theodore “Dutch” Van Kirk slept along the waterfront, in an idyllic hotel with bamboo walls and a thatched roof. Tibbets could not help but note that the location was also the aiming point for the Nagasaki bomb. The quaint inn would not exist were it not for the heavy clouds that caused Bockscar to drop its payload miles off target.
The American officers are awed by Fat Man’s destruction. “Block after block had been flattened, as if by a tornado.
“Strangely, however, I saw no signs of death. There were no bodies anywhere,” Tibbets later wrote. “The brief visit left me with considerable respect for the people who had been our enemies such a short time before.”
* * *
President Truman is not at his desk when Tibbets, Spaatz, Doolittle, and Shillen enter the Oval Office. The question of whether or not it was ethical to drop the atomic bombs still hangs over this hallowed room, as it will for decades to come. Strangely, just three chairs await the four air force officers. One man must remain standing.
The most powerful officer in the group is Spaatz, who has recently been selected the first chief of staff of the United States Air Force. In July 1945, it was Spaatz who requested a handwritten order authorizing the dropping of the atomic bomb. Protocol demands that the chair farthest to the right belongs to him.
Doolittle, whose flying career is perhaps the most legendary, led the 1942 bombing of Tokyo that became known as simply “the Doolittle Raid.” As the second-highest-ranking of the group, the general will be seated to Spaatz’s left, in the middle chair.
Colonel Shillen and Tibbets are of equal rank. It remains unclear which of them will sit and which will stand.
White House butler Alonzo Fields quickly takes charge.
“General Spaatz,” Fields says, gesturing to a chair, “will you please be facing the desk?”
As expected, Spaatz takes the seat farthest to the right.
Tibbets remains standing. After almost fifteen years in the military, he knows better than to ask questions.
Following strict orders from the president, the White House butler shocks Tibbets by guiding him around to the opposite side of the presidential desk and gesturing to a chair facing the other three, right next to where Truman will sit.
A surprised Paul Tibbets takes a seat.
The men are served coffee as they await the president’s arrival. Ten minutes later, Harry Truman walks in wearing a huge smile. The officers immediately rise.
“Sit down,” Truman orders jovially, making everyone feel at ease.
Since taking office four years ago, the president has transformed himself from a piano-playing vice president into one of the world’s great statesmen.
Which is not to say that the transition from war to peacetime has been easy. The tension between the United States and the Soviet Union that began in the waning days of World War II continues to escalate, as Russia relentlessly seeks to expand Communist influence around the world. The sense of power Truman felt in Potsdam back in 1945 when he informed Joseph Stalin that America possessed a superweapon has long since dimmed, and intelligence reports estimate it is only a matter of time before the Soviet Union develops an atomic bomb of its own.1
In addition to the troubles with Russia, Truman’s outspoken personality has alienated some voters here in America. Many point to the slowing economy as a sign that he is a poor leader. With his job approval ratings sometimes dropping below 40 percent, there is a widespread belief that Harry Truman will not run for reelection—and that he would lose in a landslide should he choose to.
There have, however, been some victories for Truman. His unilateral selection of Douglas MacArthur as supreme commander of the Allied powers in 1945 is popular. MacArthur has successfully transformed a former enemy into a burgeoning ally, rebuilding Japan from rubble and preventing it from embracing communism like so many of its Asian neighbors.
Privately, Truman now believes the appointment was a mistake. He no longer trusts the general’s decision making, believing MacArthur’s ego has turned Japan into his own personal fiefdom. But for now, Truman keeps his opinion to himself.
Still smiling, Truman begins the brief meeting by looking at the row of air force officers assembled across the desk.
“General Spaatz, I want to congratulate you on being the first chief of the air force,” says the president.
“Thank you, sir,” Spaatz replies. “It is a great honor, and I appreciate it.”
Turning his gaze to Doolittle, Truman congratulates him on the legendary 1942 raid over Tokyo, which shocked the Japanese because heavy American bombers were launched from aircraft carriers—a feat once considered impossible. “That was a magnificent thing you pulled, flying off that carrier,” Truman marvels.
“All in a day’s work, Mr. President,” replies the ever-confident Doolittle.
To Shillen, Truman shows that he is keeping abreast of postwar aviation technology. “Colonel Shillen, I want to congratulate you on having the foresight to recognize the potential in aerial refueling. We’re gonna need it bad someday.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
Finally, Harry Truman turns to face Colonel Paul Tibbets. The president says nothing at first, letting their shared moment form a connection.
For ten long seconds, the president does not speak.
“What do you think?” Truman finally asks.
“Mr. President,” Tibbets replies, knowing full well what Harry Truman is talking about, “I think I did what I was told.”
Truman slaps his hand down on the desk, rattling the legendary “The Buck Stops Here” placard placed there after the war.
“You’re damn right you did. And I’m the guy who sent you.”
* * *
More than eight months later, and twenty minutes before midnight in Tokyo’s Sugamo Prison, Buddhist priest and prison chaplain Shinso Hanayama, the spiritual adviser to the seven Class A Japanese war criminals who will hang by the neck until dead tonight, shares a last moment with each man in the prison’s Buddhist chapel. The date is December 22, 1948.
Two American chaplains will witness the executions, but Hanayama will not be allowed inside the death chamber. So as each man leaves the Buddhist ceremony, the priest says good-bye to mass murderers like General Hideki Tojo and former prime minister Koki Hirota.
A party of nine witnesses will be on hand to watch the war’s final chapter unfold. A total of twenty executioners, guards, jailers, and legal officials will view the hangings. The loved ones of the condemned men have not been invited. Each of the observers in the chamber is under strict instructions not to display unseemly conduct or take photographs.
The execution order states that the hangings will take place as soon after midnight on December 23 as possible. The Sugamo Prison execution chamber is so small that there is only room for four nooses, so the war criminals must be hanged in two separate shifts. As the clock ticks toward twelve, each criminal is clothed in the uniform of an American army garbageman, devoid of any military insignia.
The men’s legs are shackled, and waist belts are wrapped around their torsos. Each prisoner will be accompanied to the gallows by two American guards. The first group of four men is comprised of Generals Kenji Doihara, Iwane Matsui, Akira Muto, and Hideki Tojo.2
Leg irons clanking, the column of men is marched to the gallows and up the thirteen steps to the platform. The executioner stands at one end. His three assistants place a black hood over the head of each condemned man. Nooses are then lowered over the hoods and cinched snugly across their throats.
The process will be repeated for the second group to be hanged: General Seishiro Itagaki, Koki Hirota, and General Heitaro Kimura.3
The hangings take place twenty-nine minutes apart. The Buddhist priest, Shinso Hanayama, will write that he could hear the trapdoors swing open at 12:01 a.m. and again at 12:30 a.m.
Within ninety seconds of climbing the gallows, each man is swinging from a rope. The bodies are then removed and cremated, the ashes dispersed so that no memorial shrine might ever honor the men’s lives.
In his last words, Tojo, the man most responsible for the millions who died in the Pacific during World War II, says he is sorry.
The once arrogant and bloodthirsty prime minister is reduced to a broken man.
Thus, two days before Christmas, the Japanese brutalizers are no more, closing one of the most violent eras the world has ever known.4