2 September 1945
USS Missouri (BB 63), Tokyo Bay, Japan
Ingram mounted the ladder and made his way through the noisy crowd that seemed to take up every square foot atop the gun turret. Tubby White beckoned from the starboard side, and Ingram walked over to join the rest of his group. They stood loosely, joking, gawking, and pointing things out. He was particularly glad to see the Marines standing alongside a proud GySgt. Ulysses Gaylord Harper. A few had cameras and were making full use of them.
Ingram shook Harper’s hand, “This is your day, Ugly, you and your boys. Thanks for it all.”
Harper’s chest puffed a bit. “You too, Commander.”
White walked over. “Your spot is there, Skipper.” He pointed to numbers fixed on the deck in tape. “You’re number sixteen, the commodore is fifteen, and I’m fourteen.”
Ingram took his spot and looked about. “Amazing.” Situated behind a row of chairs, space number sixteen offered a fine view of the veranda deck below and the single stand-up microphone where the speaker would conduct the ceremony. Outboard of the veranda deck was a temporary platform jammed with photographers and their camera equipment. Row upon row of officers, most of them admirals and generals, lined the after part of the veranda deck and the area directly below Ingram on the inboard side. A lonely table covered with a green baize table cloth stood in the middle of the deck, a single chair on either side. On the table were two open folios, each easily twenty by twenty inches. A pen and inkwell stood sentinel beside each.
Below, on the forward part of the main deck, sideboys in dress whites were mustered in ranks around an accommodation ladder on the starboard side waiting for the Japanese. Officers in working khakis, the uniform of the day, stood at the end of the ranks waiting to escort the Japanese to the veranda deck. Sailors in undress whites were jammed into every available corner; not a square foot of horizontal space remained. Sailors lined the main and 01 decks, the decks above, the main bridge, the flag bridge, lookout stations, gun tubs, and antennae platforms; they crouched atop the main battery director and 5-inch gun mounts. Two men had found a space inside the 16-inch gun turret’s massive rangefinder. Some, like big-city flagpole sitters, had slid out onto the Big Mo’s yardarms, eighty feet above the main deck.
A group of Japanese photographers and newsmen, unlike their jocular counterparts, stood stiff and silent on the outboard platform, staring straight ahead.
Ingram spotted Jerry Landa speaking with Otis DeWitt on the veranda deck just below. Interesting to see those two conversing. The last he’d heard, DeWitt and Landa regarded each other as social misfits. What sort of small talk could they be making? Then Toliver walked up and shook hands with them. Landa pointed to Ingram standing atop the gun turret. They waved up to him. As Ingram lifted a hand to wave back, General Sutherland walked up and joined them. Then, to Ingram’s amazement, Admiral Halsey walked out of a hatch and joined the group. Landa seemed to be doing the talking. Sutherland rubbed his chin. Toliver began talking, waving his arms as DeWitt stood patiently. Soon Admiral Halsey brightened at something. With a grin, he raised a finger and began talking. The other three nodded; something had obviously been decided.
A microphone blared, “Testing, testing.”
Halsey flicked his wrist, checking his watch. Clearly there were things to do. He clapped Landa and Sutherland on the shoulders and stepped back into the hatch with Sutherland, DeWitt, and Toliver close behind.
Landa climbed the ladder and took his place with a grin. “Found the head.”
“Oh, yeah? Looks like you were telling farting jokes to some high brass,” said Ingram.
Landa gave a thin smile.
Tubby White said sotto voce, “Don’t look now.”
Ingram turned to see Eduard Dezhnev limp up with another Soviet and take spots behind Radcliff and Peoples.
Leroy Peoples said, “Mercy me. I thought we’d seen the last of this critter.”
Dezhnev was dressed in a Soviet naval infantry uniform featuring a Sam Browne belt and polished boots. His companion, another captain third rank, was similarly dressed. Draped around Dezhnev’s neck were an elaborate Zeiss camera, its hard leather case, and an exposure meter. He looked like a tourist photographing the Golden Gate Bridge. Incongruously, just beneath the camera and exposure meter glinted Dezhnev’s rogue belt buckle from Alcatraz, light glistening off the golden edges.
“Too bad he’s not in the front row,” said Jon Berne, who stood beside Peoples. “We could pitch him over the side. But you can’t win ’em all.” Berne raised his movie camera and began slowly panning from left to right.
Dezhnev caught Ingram’s eye and, with a slight smile, tipped two fingers to the brim of his hat. Then he raised his camera and began rapidly clicking. One or two of the shots included Ingram and Landa.
Aqua Velva wafted down the line as Colin Blinde walked up and took the space to Dezhnev’s left. He flashed Ingram and Landa a broad smile and shook Dezhnev’s hand.
“Wheooow!” Landa held his nose. “Smells like a Shanghai whorehouse.”
Berne and Peoples held their noses and began coughing loudly. Then Berne spun around, apparently responding to something Dezhnev had said. The two spoke for a moment; Berne smiled, then Dezhnev. Peoples turned and started speaking to Dezhnev and his companion. They all shook hands, Blinde smiling along with them.
Ingram began to grind his teeth.
Radcliff muttered, “Well, if it isn’t Benedict Blinde.”
Berne handed his movie camera to Dezhnev, who examined it with great interest. He held it up, looked through the eyepiece, and began panning as if he were really shooting. In exchange, Dezhnev absently lifted the camera strap over his head and gave his Zeiss to Berne.
Peoples winked at Ingram and Radcliff, then leaned over and pretended great concentration on Berne’s examination of the Zeiss.
An OS2U Kingfisher flew down the Missouri’s starboard side. Its canopy was wide open, and a man with a giant camera hung from the aft cockpit. Berne nudged Dezhnev and pointed.
Dezhnev said, “Da, da,” and began shooting, the camera’s chrome windup key slowly turning. He stopped and waited as the Kingfisher did a slow 180-degree turn and headed for a pass down the port side. Dezhnev kept the Kingfisher in his eyepiece as it swooped by. While Dezhnev was occupied, Berne slipped the Zeiss to Peoples, who unsnapped the back and flipped it open. He held camera and film open to the sky for a moment, exposing the thirty-six-shot roll. He would have gotten away with it, but Dezhnev heard the Zeiss’ back cover snap shut. He looked up in time to see Peoples’ Cheshire cat grin as he slipped the Zeiss back to Berne. Dezhnev’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed.
Peoples said, “Oops, sorry.”
Blinde said, “See here,” and reached for Dezhnev’s camera.
“My camera, please,” said Berne.
“Mine first.” Dezhnev thrust out his hand.
Blinde made another move for Dezhnev’s camera, but Berne turned away. “I said, gimme back my camera.”
Dezhnev sputtered, “My film . . .”
“Give . . . it . . . back,” said Blinde.
Landa said quietly. “Damnation. I believe we have an international incident.”
Dezhnev’s face grew red. He doubled his fists and then visibly relaxed and held out the Bell & Howell. The cameras were exchanged.
Radcliff, Peoples, Berne, and Hammer immediately closed ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder and making it difficult for Dezhnev to see, let alone take a shot. Dezhnev tried to move sideways, but Gunnery Sergeant Harper squeezed in with his Marines.
“Please,” said Dezhnev.
Harper turned, “Something wrong, Ivan?”
Blinde said, “Gentlemen, please.”
Radcliff said, “Take a hike, Benedict.” He caught Ingram’s eye and they exchanged winks. Justice.
“Attention on deck.” A commander stood at the microphone.
Ingram checked his watch: 0900.
The chattering crowd fell silent and drew to attention. Their joking ceased. Faces became solemn and hard, registering retribution and revenge. To a man, their eyes were fixed on the table with the instruments of surrender laid out upon it.
The shrill whistle of a boatswain’s pipe echoed from the accommodation ladder. The sideboys snapped to attention. A man in a top hat laboriously worked his way up the quarterdeck accommodation ladder. Proceeding with great difficulty, he finally gained the main deck.
“Who?” whispered White.
“Shhhh . . . it’s Shigemitsu,” Landa replied softly as Japan’s foreign minister limped with obvious difficulty across the deck.
Ingram pointed and whispered, “Amazing.”
“What?” rasped Landa.
“They’re saluting.” Indeed all officers and enlisted in ranks were saluting the Japanese party as they crossed the main deck. The Japanese officers returned the salutes.
Shigemitsu hobbled to the veranda deck ladder and once again struggled to work his way up. At one point Col. Sydney Mashbir reached out to help, but Shigemitsu shrugged it off and finally stepped to the veranda deck on his own. He took a place ten feet before the great table and a Japanese general stepped up beside him. Two ranks of five and four Japanese delegates took positions behind them. Four of the delegates were in civilian attire; seven wore uniform with ribbons. No swords or any other weapons were in sight.
Landa said softly, “Alongside Mr. Shigemitsu is General Umezu, representing those friendly folks who brought you World War II.”
The ship’s chaplain, a four-striper, stepped up to the microphone. The PA system echoed: “Let us bow our heads . . .” The chaplain said a prayer and then blessed the proceedings against a backdrop of clicking shutters, popping flashbulbs, and grinding movie cameras. Then he stepped away. The Americans snapped to attention as the national anthem rang through the ship.
There was an awkward silence. Seagulls squawked, waves slapped the Missouri’s hull, an LCVP diesel growled down the port side, and aircraft droned in the distance. Then Gen. Douglas MacArthur, Fleet Adm. Chester W. Nimitz, and Adm. William F. Halsey Jr. stepped through a hatch and strode to the podium. They turned and faced forward. MacArthur was at the microphone, with Nimitz and Halsey just behind him. Halsey’s expression was reminiscent of a cowhand ready for a barroom brawl.
General MacArthur raised a single page of notes and began, “We are gathered here today . . .”
Ingram was captivated by MacArthur’s eloquence. It was almost as if he were on stage, his oration that of a Shakespearean actor. Further, it was how the general formed his sentences and how each phrase struck home efficiently and to the point. Ingram was particularly moved by the general’s expressed desire to “conclude a solemn agreement whereby peace may be restored. The issues, involving divergent ideals and ideologies, have been determined on the battlefields of the world and hence are not for our discussion or our debate.”
Period. This man is not just some blundering footsoldier looking to grab headlines. He’s telling us the Japanese are not to be tortured, or shot, or beheaded, or even pilloried. He’s telling the onlookers to put aside their thirst for blood. There is great respect and tolerance here, almost as if they are signing a tariff or trade agreement.
“It is my earnest hope,” MacArthur continued, “indeed the hope of all mankind—that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past, a world founded upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance, and justice.”
MacArthur paused. A gust of wind whistled through the upperworks. Then, as if cued by a stagehand, the clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight broke through. The crowd drew a collective breath as the sun glinted off Mount Fuji in the distance.
At that, MacArthur continued, “I now invite the representatives of the emperor of Japan and the Japanese Imperial Headquarters to sign the instrument of surrender at the places indicated.”
Foreign Minister Shigemitsu hobbled forward. An aide pulled out the chair, and he sat. Then he picked up the pen and looked at the document . . . and looked at the document. Seconds passed and he kept looking . . . scanning, poring over the document.
“What the hell?” muttered Landa.
The crowd’s mood darkened. Is this guy reneging? Another Jap trick? A few looked anxiously to the sky. Admiral Halsey looked furious, as if he were ready to walk over and throttle Shigemitsu.
“Sutherland,” MacArthur barked, “Show him where to sign.”