Aug 4, 2011
by Bernard A. Weisberger
Editor's Note: Bernard A. Weisberger, now in his eighties, has lived a rich life as a teacher, historian, and writer of books and documentaries. For many years he wrote a column for American Heritage, where he was a contributing editor. What follows is the opening from Mr. Weisberger's unpublished memoir, My Personal War: 1942-1946. The memoir recounts his adventures as a young soldier assigned to a unit responsible for translating Japanese documents and messages. In this excerpt he recounts how different the war seemed to him than to Stephen Ambrose. One, don't romanticize my service, such as it was. It's understandable that two generations or more after 1945, young people assume that any veteran was a "warrior" like those who populate the TV screens. I had the same feeling myself about the white-haired Civil War vet who, dressed in a splendid uniform, was paraded in an open car down the main thoroughfare of Hudson, New York, every Memorial Day in the early nineteen-thirties, though I have no idea of what he actually did. I want to make it clear at the start that I was never anywhere near an armed enemy. I performed my duties at a minimum of several hundred miles away from the front lines, sitting at a desk in a clean uniform, and each night slept safely in a clean bed.