Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption (39 page)

This is one of the many examples of the men missing in action erroneously reported and later being established as a lie. The last war was ful of such instances and much suffering and heartaches could have been avoided by the transmittal of reliable information to the parties concerned regarding the whereabouts of men (in such cases); It is one of the purposes of this program to al eviate this condition and furnish speedy, reliable and authentic message service to the relatives and friends of men interned in prisoner of war camps throughout Japan. We sincerely hope Louis’ mother is listening in tonight or wil be informed of what we say.

Long wil Louis Zamperini’s name live in our memories. Those of us from the regions of Southern California wel recal the days that Louis was breaking al records in the mile run. His unbroken national interscholastic mile record stands as a chal enge to the aspirants of the (Ginger Cup). We fol owed closely Zamperini’s efforts in 1936 Olympic games held in Berlin, Germany. His opponents and some of the foremost in the country speak highly of him. He has run against such names as (Bensig) and Cunningham. The same personality that so endeared him to us as he raced against time on the tracks of the world is not dead but very much alive and with us yet. We regret the unhappiness that must have accompanied the news of his reported death but hope that the efforts of his fel ow prisoners of war on “Postman Cal s” wil (atone) in some smal way for the error.

So chin up, Mrs. Louis Zamperini of (Torrance) California, Louis is here; the same old Louis, cheerful, sportsmanlike, the idol of al our Southern California fans and graduates. You might pass the glad tidings along, Mrs. Zamperini, for we know al the lovers of the (spiked shoe) sport wil b [sic]

glad to hear this. Louis is not on the track anymore an [sic] for that we are sorry. He wil be missed there. Louis is neither missing nor dead as has been reported and for that we are more than glad. It makes us very happy indeed to have performed this service for our prisoners and relatives and it is out [sic] earnest wish that no other such instances of this information wil be forthcoming. We hope this little group of prisoners connected with

“Postman Cal s” program can be of further service in the future. That’s what we’re here for, so keep on listening, Mrs. Zamperini, and don’t mention it; the pleasure is al ours.

Moody typed as fast as she could, making a string of typos in her exhilaration. About an hour later, the FCC woman came back. “I practical y danced around the room tel ing her about it,” Moody later wrote.

Down the coast in Torrance, the Zamperinis were coping with the aftermath of the public announcement of Louie’s death. After a package came bearing Louie’s Purple Heart, a letter arrived concerning his life insurance payout, $10,000. Louise deposited the money in the bank but didn’t spend any of it. When Louie came home, she declared, it would be his. And after the news of Louie’s death broke, the film director Cecil B. DeMil e showed up to do a radio interview with the family for the Sixth War Bond Drive. Sylvia and Louise were given scripts that cal ed for them to speak of Louie as if he were dead. Out of politeness, the Zamperinis read the scripts as written.

Somewhere in al of this, a deliveryman came, bearing a bouquet of flowers for Sylvia. It was an anniversary gift from her husband, Harvey, now manning a tank gun in Hol and. A few days later she got a telegram: Harvey had been wounded. The telegram said nothing of what his injuries were, or how serious. Sylvia waited, knotted with anxiety. Final y, a letter arrived, composed by Harvey and dictated to a nurse from his hospital bed. His tank had been hit and had burst into flames. He had escaped, but his hands and face were burned. Of al the terrible scenarios that had run through Sylvia’s mind, fire was the one thing that she’d never imagined. Harvey was, after al , a firefighter. Exhausted and barely able to eat, Sylvia crept through November, haunted by nightmares and growing ever more gaunt.

——

On November 20, Lynn Moody, stil in high spirits over the broadcast about Louie two days before, was back working the midnight-to-eight shift. At two-thirty A.M., one of the FCC transcribers yel ed to her to come quickly.

Moody ran in, put on the earphones, and listened. It was Postman Calls again. “Hel o, America,” the announcer began, “this is the postman cal ing and bringing a special message as promised earlier in tonight’s program to Mrs. Louis Zamperini, 2028 Gramercy Street, Torrance, California. We hope Mrs.

Zamperini is listening in tonight for we have a real treat for her. Her son has come down to the studio especial y to send her this message of reassurance after the erroneous report of a few days ago by the United States War Department, that he was official y given up as dead and missing. We assure Mrs.

Zamperini that such is not the case. The next voice heard wil be that of First Lieutenant Louis Helzie [sic] Zamperini, United States Air Force, now interned in the Tokyo camp. Go right ahead, Lieutenant Zamperini.”

A young man’s voice came across the airwaves. Moody knew the instant she heard it: It was Louie.

——

Hel o mother and father, relatives and friends. This is your Louie talking. Through the courtesy of the authorities here I am broadcasting this personal message to you.

This wil be the first time in two and one half years that you wil have heard my voice. I am sure it sounds the same to you as it did when I left home.

I am uninjured and in good health and can hardly wait until the day we are together again. Not having heard from you since my most abrupt departure, I have been somewhat worried about the condition of the family, as far as health is concerned. I hope this message finds al of you in the best of health and good spirits.

I am now interned in the Tokyo prisoners’ camp and am being treated as wel as can be expected under war time conditions. The camp authorities are kind to me and I have no kick coming.

Please write as often as you can and in doing so, send me snapshots of everyone. In my lonesome hours nothing would be more appreciated than to look at pictures of the family.

Before I forget it, Dad, I would be very pleased if you would keep my guns in good condition so we might do some good hunting when I return home.

Mother Sylvia and Virginia, I hope you wil keep up your wonderful talents in the kitchen. I often visualize those wonderful pies and cakes you make.

Is Pete stil able to pay you his weekly visits from San Diego? I hope he is stil near home.

Give my best to Gorton, Harvey, Eldon and Henry and wish them the best of care. I send my fondest love to Sylvia, Virginia and Pete and hope they are enjoying their work at the present. I miss them very much.

Since I have been in Japan I have run into several of my old acquaintances. You wil probably remember a few of them.

The tal Marine, Wil iam Harris, from Kentucky is here and enjoying good health. Lorren Stoddard Stanley Maneivve and Peter Hryskanich are the same. You must remember Wil iam Hasty from Bishopvil e? We have been rooming together for the past two months. He is looking fine.

I know that you have taken care of my personal belongings and saving long ago. You have no doubt received the rest of my belongings from the Army.

Hel o to Bob Lewel yn and al of my home town friends. Before closing I wish you a merry Xmas and a Happy New Year.

Your loving son, Louie

——

Later that day, the phone rang at the Zamperinis’ house. The cal er was a woman from the nearby suburb of San Marino. She said that she’d been listening to her radio when the station had aired an intercepted broadcast of an American prisoner of war speaking on Japanese radio. The broadcast had been scratchy and indistinct, but she was sure that she had heard the name right. The POW she had heard, she said, was Louie.

The Zamperinis were shocked and wary. The woman was a stranger, and they were afraid that she was a prankster. Sylvia and Louise asked for her address and drove to her house. The woman told them everything she had heard. Sylvia and Louise thanked her and left. They believed the woman, but they didn’t know if they could believe the broadcast itself. It could easily have been faked. “I was thinking, ‘Could it be true? Could it be true?’ ” Sylvia recal ed.

After Sylvia and Louise got home, a Western Union telegram arrived from the provost marshal general. It read, FOLLOWING ENEMY PROPAGANDA BROADCAST

FROM JAPAN HAS BEEN INTERCEPTED. Below were Louie’s words, as typed by Moody. The telegram ended with a disclaimer: PENDING FURTHER CONFIRMATION

THIS REPORT DOES NOT ESTABLISH HIS STATUS AS A PRISONER OF WAR.

Messages began pouring in, from friends and strangers al over the country, tel ing the Zamperinis of the broadcast, which had been intercepted and re-aired on several stations. And Louie’s uncle Gildo Dossi cal ed from Wilmington, Iowa. He had clicked on his radio and heard a voice that he felt certain was that of his nephew.

The messages relaying the content of the broadcast were varied, but a common thread ran through several of them: a request that they take care of Louie’s guns. Louie had grown up hunting, shooting rabbits in the fields around Torrance and on the Cahuil a Indian Reservation, and he was especial y careful with his guns. To the Zamperinis, this was the fingerprint, the detail that the Japanese could not have known. Louise and Sylvia dissolved in tears, then began shouting with joy.

Pete picked up the phone, dialed Payton Jordan’s number, and shouted three words into the receiver:

“Payt! He’s alive!”

Twenty-six

Madness

THE RADIO TOKYO MEN WERE BACK AT OMORI, SMILING. What a lovely voice Louie had, what a briliant job he had done. How about another broadcast?

As long as he wrote his own copy, Louie saw no reason to decline. He composed another message to his family, then rode with the producers to Tokyo.

When he reached the studio, the producers announced a change of plans. They didn’t need the message he’d written; they had one al ready. They handed Louie a sheet of paper. This is what it said, exactly as written:

Wel , believe it or not … I guess I’m one of those “Lucky guys”, or maybe, I dunno, maybe I’m real y unlucky … Anyway … here’s me, Louis Zamperini, age 27, hometown Los Angeles, California, good ole United States of America speaking. What I mean by lucky is that I’m stil alive and healthy … Yes, and it’s a funny thing … I’ve heard and also saw with my own eyes that I’m washed-up that is I was reported to have died in combat.…

Yes, one of those who died gal antry [sic] fighting for the cause … I think the official report went something like this … ‘First Lieutenant Louis S.

Zamperini, holder of the national interscholastic mile record, is, listed as dead by the War Department … The former University of Southern California miler was reported missing in action in the South Pacific in May 1943’… Wel , what do you know?… Boy.… that’s rich.… Here I am just as alive as I could be.… but hel I’m supposed to be dead.… Yeah and this reminds me of another fel ow who’s in the same boat as me or at least he was.…

Anyway he told me that he was official y reported as ‘kil ed in action’ but in reality was a prisoner-of-war.… After several months he received a letter from his wife in which she told him that she had married again since she thought he was dead … Of course, she was astonished to hear that he was safe and held in an internment camp.… She however, consolated him by saying that she was wil ing to divorce again or marry him once again when he gets home.… Boy, I real y feel sorry for a fel ow like that.and the blame lies with the official who al ow such unreliable rports [sic].… After al the least they can do is to let the folks back home know just where theri boy are [sic]…

Anyway thats not my worry but I hope the folks back home are properly notified of the fact that I am alive and intend to stay alive … It’s certainly a sad world when a fel ow can’t even be al owed to live, I mean when a fel ow is kil ed off by a so-cal ed ‘official report.… How about that?…

Louie was aghast. He had long wondered why he’d been spared from execution on Kwajalein, after the nine marines had been kil ed, and why he’d been subjected to the wil -weakening torment of Ofuna yet not interrogated, even though everyone else had been. At last, the Japanese had made their intentions clear. On Kwajalein, after Louie’s execution had been ordered, an officer had persuaded his superiors to keep Louie alive to make him into a propaganda tool. A famous American Olympian, he’d reasoned, would be especial y valuable.* The Japanese had probably sent Louie to the crucible of Ofuna, then to Omori under the Bird, to make his life in camp unbearable so he’d be wil ing to do anything, even betray his country, to escape it. They had hidden him from the world, keeping his name off Red Cross rosters, and waited until his government had publicly declared his death before announcing that he was alive. In doing so, they hoped to embarrass America and undermine American soldiers’ faith in their government.

Louie refused to read the statement. Stil smiling, the producers asked him to join them on a little tour. They brought him to a cafeteria and served him a delicious American-style meal, then took him to a private living area that had beds with mattresses and sheets. If Louie would make the broadcast, the producers said, he could live here, and he’d never have to see Omori again. Final y, Louie was introduced to a group of men, Australians and Americans.

These men, the producers said, were helping them make broadcasts. As Louie held out his hand, the propaganda prisoners dropped their eyes to the floor. Their faces said it al ; if Louie agreed to make this broadcast, he would be forced into a life as his enemy’s propagandist.

Louie was taken back to the studio and urged to do the broadcast. He refused. The smiles evaporated; the faces hardened. The producers ordered him to do it. He said no. The producers left the room to meet in private.

Louie was alone in the studio. In front of him were several copies of the message that they wanted him to deliver. He slid his hand through a tear in his pocket, snagged a copy, and pul ed it into his coat. The producers returned.