The Final Toast

A U.S. Army Air Forces North American B-25B Mitchell bomber takes off from the aircraft carrier USS Hornet (CV-8) during the "Doolittle Raid". Original description: "Take off from the deck of the USS HORNET of an Army B-25 on its way to take part in first U.S. air raid on Japan. Doolittle Raid, April 1942." (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Final Toast To Come

           It's the cup of brandy that no one wants to drink.
           On Tuesday, in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, the surviving
           Doolittle Raiders gathered publicly for the last time.

           They once were among the most universally admired and revered men
           in the United States. There were 80 of the Raiders in April 1942,
           when they carried out one of the most courageous and
           heart-stirring military operations in this nation's history. The
           mere mention of their unit's name, in those years, would bring
           tears to the eyes of grateful Americans.
               
           Now only four survive.
           After Japan's sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, with the United
           States reeling and wounded, something dramatic was needed to turn
           the war effort around.

           Even though there were no friendly airfields close enough to
           Japan for the United States to launch a retaliation, a daring
           plan was devised. Sixteen B-25s were modified so that they could
           take off from the deck of an aircraft carrier. This had never
           before been tried -- sending such big, heavy bombers from a
           carrier.
 
               

           The 16 five-man crews, under the command of Lt. Col. James
           Doolittle, who himself flew the lead plane off the USS Hornet,
           knew that they would not be able to return to the carrier. They
           would have to hit Japan and then hope to make it to China for a
           safe landing.
           

           But on the day of the raid, the Japanese military caught wind of
           the plan. The Raiders were told that they would have to take off
           from much farther out in the Pacific Ocean than they had counted
           on. They were told that because of this they would not have
           enough fuel to make it to safety.
           And those men went anyway.
            

           They bombed Tokyo, and then flew as far as they could. Four
           planes crash-landed; 11 more crews bailed out, and three of the
           Raiders died. Eight more were captured; three were executed.
           Another died of starvation in a Japanese prison camp. One crew
           made it to Russia.
               

           The Doolittle Raid sent a message from the United States to its
           enemies, and to the rest of the world: We will fight. And, no
           matter what it takes, we will win.

           Of the 80 Raiders, 62 survived the war. They were celebrated as
           national heroes, models of bravery. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer produced
           a motion picture based on the raid; "Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo,"
           starring Spencer Tracy and Van Johnson, was a patriotic and
           emotional box-office hit, and the phrase became part of the
           national lexicon. In the movie-theater previews for the film, MGM
           proclaimed that it was presenting the story "with supreme pride."
 
            
 
          

           Beginning in 1946, the surviving Raiders have held a reunion each
           April, to commemorate the mission. The reunion is in a different
           city each year. In 1959, the city of Tucson, Arizona, as a
           gesture of respect and gratitude, presented the Doolittle Raiders
           with a set of 80 silver goblets. Each goblet was engraved with
           the name of a Raider.
          
           Every year, a wooden display case bearing all 80 goblets is
           transported to the reunion city. Each time a Raider passes away,
           his goblet is turned upside down in the case at the next reunion,
           as his old friends bear solemn witness.
          

           Also in the wooden case is a bottle of 1896 Hennessy Very Special
           cognac. The year is not happenstance: 1896 was when Jimmy
           Doolittle was born.

           There has always been a plan: When there are only two surviving
           Raiders, they would open the bottle, at last drink from it, and
           toast their comrades who preceded them in death.

           As 2013 began, there were five living Raiders; then, in February,
           Tom Griffin passed away at age 96.
             

           What a man he was. After bailing out of his plane over a
           mountainous Chinese forest after the Tokyo raid, he became ill
           with malaria, and almost died. When he recovered, he was sent to
           Europe to fly more combat missions. He was shot down, captured,
           and spent 22 months in a German prisoner of war camp.

           The selflessness of these men, the sheer guts ... there was a
           passage in the Cincinnati Enquirer obituary for Mr. Griffin that,
           on the surface, had nothing to do with the war, but that
           emblematizes the depth of his sense of duty and devotion:
           "When his wife became ill and needed to go into a nursing home,
           he visited her every day. He walked from his house to the nursing
           home, fed his wife and at the end of the day brought home her
           clothes. At night, he washed and ironed her clothes. Then he
           walked them up to her room the next morning. He did that for
           three years until her death in 2005."

           So now, out of the original 80, only four Raiders remain: Dick
           Cole (Doolittle's co-pilot on the Tokyo raid), Robert Hite,
           Edward Saylor and David Thatcher. All are in their 90s. They have
           decided that there are too few of them for the public reunions to
           continue.

           The events in Fort Walton Beach this week will mark the end. It
           has come full circle; Florida's nearby Eglin Field was where the
           Raiders trained in secrecy for the Tokyo mission. The town is
           planning to do all it can to honor the men: a six-day celebration
           of their valor, including luncheons, a dinner and a parade.
          
           Do the men ever wonder if those of us for whom they helped save
           the country have tended to it in a way that is worthy of their
           sacrifice? They don't talk about that, at least not around other
           people. But if you find yourself near Fort Walton Beach this
           week, and if you should encounter any of the Raiders, you might
           want to offer them a word of thanks. I can tell you from
           firsthand observation that they appreciate hearing that they are
           remembered.

           The men have decided that after this final public reunion they
           will wait until a later date -- some time this year -- to get
           together once more, informally and in absolute privacy. That is
           when they will open the bottle of brandy. The years are flowing
           by too swiftly now; they are not going to wait until there are
           only two of them.

           They will fill the four remaining upturned goblets.
           And raise them in a toast to those who are gone.      

Their 70th Anniversary Photo