The Air-Raid Warden Was a Spy: And Other Tales From Home-Front America in World War II by William B. Breuer Page B
Authors: William B. Breuer
Ads: Link
Douglas MacArthur from Japanese-surrounded Corregidor island in the Philippines.
After American and Filipino forces had been forced to surrender, Lieutenant Bulkeley escaped to Australia. Now he was coming home.
A Tumultuous Homecoming 63
Alice hoped to have a private reunion with her husband, who had earned every decoration for valor—some of them twice—that the United States had to offer. Soon her hopes were dashed: awaiting the arrival of the PT-boat squadron skipper was a throng of many thousands, including a herd of reporters and photographers, along with camera teams from Paramount and Movietone News.
At 10:22 A . M . a United Airlines plane rolled to a stop, and out hopped Bulkeley and two other PT-boat officers, Lieutenants Robert Kelly and Anthony Akers. An enormous roar from the crowd echoed across La Guardia and into adjacent locales.
Alice noticed her husband, who had been a boxer on the West Point team, looked thin—he had lost thirty pounds since Pearl Harbor. He explained: “You don’t get fat on a steady diet of salmon and tomcat.”
Bulkeley was dragooned (as he later would term it) before the newsreel cameras and bombarded with questions. His resolute spirit was still intact. “The Japs are tough, courageous fighters,” he declared. “But one of our boys can lick hell out of five them!”
A squad of hard-pressed but smiling New York City policemen escorted the Bulkeleys through the milling throng to their private automobile. On the drive home, the Navy officer said he was looking forward to a “few days of peace and quiet.”
Tranquility would have to wait. When the Bulkeleys arrived at Alice’s apartment, hundreds of people had gathered in the street, and their rousing cheers rocked the neighborhood as John stepped from the automobile.
In the days and weeks ahead, the Navy hero, who was preparing to return to the Pacific with a new squadron of PT boats, was trailed everywhere by reporters and photographers. Two days after reaching home, he was honored with a parade in the New York City borough of Queens, riding with Alice in a car followed by three thousand marchers and scores of floats.
On May 13, New York City gave one of its rousing welcomes to the Wild Man of the Philippines. Some 500,000 cheering men and women, ten rows deep, lined both sides of Seventh Avenue. John and Alice rode in a convertible. Ticker tape and confetti streamed down from the windows in towering buildings.
A huge sign stretched across Seventh Avenue: “All New York Welcomes John D. Bulkeley.”
Four days later, on May 17, 1.3 million men, women, and children (by police estimate) stood shoulder to shoulder in New York’s Central Park mall and overflowed onto Fifth Avenue and Central Park West. They were there to honor John Bulkeley on “I Am an American Day.” Public officials said it was the largest crowd ever assembled in one place in the nation’s history.
Along with Bulkeley, the speakers’ platform was loaded with celebrities: heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis; composer Irving Berlin; Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black; operatic stars Lily Pons, James Melton, and Marion
Lieutenant Commander John D. Bulkeley receives the Congressional Medal of Honor from President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the Oval Office of the White House. (Courtesy of Alice Bulkeley)
Anderson; orchestra leaders Fred Waring and Andre Kostelanetz; and a host of Hollywood stars.
As each celebrity was introduced, the crowd applauded vigorously. But a thunderous roar went up for John Bulkeley. For nearly five minutes, rousing cheers echoed around mid-Manhattan.
Paul Muni, one of the great names of stage and screen history, recited an anonymous poem dedicated to the dead of Bataan, which said in part: “They are what this war is about / Do not ask them why they died / They wouldn’t know how to tell you, were they alive / They were just plain fighting men— who died for you.”
Elsewhere in New York City, Dave Elman, a popular
After American and Filipino forces had been forced to surrender, Lieutenant Bulkeley escaped to Australia. Now he was coming home.
A Tumultuous Homecoming 63
Alice hoped to have a private reunion with her husband, who had earned every decoration for valor—some of them twice—that the United States had to offer. Soon her hopes were dashed: awaiting the arrival of the PT-boat squadron skipper was a throng of many thousands, including a herd of reporters and photographers, along with camera teams from Paramount and Movietone News.
At 10:22 A . M . a United Airlines plane rolled to a stop, and out hopped Bulkeley and two other PT-boat officers, Lieutenants Robert Kelly and Anthony Akers. An enormous roar from the crowd echoed across La Guardia and into adjacent locales.
Alice noticed her husband, who had been a boxer on the West Point team, looked thin—he had lost thirty pounds since Pearl Harbor. He explained: “You don’t get fat on a steady diet of salmon and tomcat.”
Bulkeley was dragooned (as he later would term it) before the newsreel cameras and bombarded with questions. His resolute spirit was still intact. “The Japs are tough, courageous fighters,” he declared. “But one of our boys can lick hell out of five them!”
A squad of hard-pressed but smiling New York City policemen escorted the Bulkeleys through the milling throng to their private automobile. On the drive home, the Navy officer said he was looking forward to a “few days of peace and quiet.”
Tranquility would have to wait. When the Bulkeleys arrived at Alice’s apartment, hundreds of people had gathered in the street, and their rousing cheers rocked the neighborhood as John stepped from the automobile.
In the days and weeks ahead, the Navy hero, who was preparing to return to the Pacific with a new squadron of PT boats, was trailed everywhere by reporters and photographers. Two days after reaching home, he was honored with a parade in the New York City borough of Queens, riding with Alice in a car followed by three thousand marchers and scores of floats.
On May 13, New York City gave one of its rousing welcomes to the Wild Man of the Philippines. Some 500,000 cheering men and women, ten rows deep, lined both sides of Seventh Avenue. John and Alice rode in a convertible. Ticker tape and confetti streamed down from the windows in towering buildings.
A huge sign stretched across Seventh Avenue: “All New York Welcomes John D. Bulkeley.”
Four days later, on May 17, 1.3 million men, women, and children (by police estimate) stood shoulder to shoulder in New York’s Central Park mall and overflowed onto Fifth Avenue and Central Park West. They were there to honor John Bulkeley on “I Am an American Day.” Public officials said it was the largest crowd ever assembled in one place in the nation’s history.
Along with Bulkeley, the speakers’ platform was loaded with celebrities: heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis; composer Irving Berlin; Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black; operatic stars Lily Pons, James Melton, and Marion
Lieutenant Commander John D. Bulkeley receives the Congressional Medal of Honor from President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the Oval Office of the White House. (Courtesy of Alice Bulkeley)
Anderson; orchestra leaders Fred Waring and Andre Kostelanetz; and a host of Hollywood stars.
As each celebrity was introduced, the crowd applauded vigorously. But a thunderous roar went up for John Bulkeley. For nearly five minutes, rousing cheers echoed around mid-Manhattan.
Paul Muni, one of the great names of stage and screen history, recited an anonymous poem dedicated to the dead of Bataan, which said in part: “They are what this war is about / Do not ask them why they died / They wouldn’t know how to tell you, were they alive / They were just plain fighting men— who died for you.”
Elsewhere in New York City, Dave Elman, a popular
Similar Books
