He used his own dying and death to help others

 

Now and then one comes across a story that really touches the heart of what it means to be human, and to live - and sometimes die - as positively as possible.  Dr. Richard Scolyer appears to have been such a man.

Richard Scolyer, who has died aged 59, was a surgical pathologist who, with his colleague Georgina Long, revolutionised the treatment of advanced melanoma (skin cancer); in 2023 he became his own "guinea pig" after developing glioblastoma, one of the most aggressive brain cancers.

As co-directors of the Melanoma Institute Australia, dedicated to researching the lethal skin cancer that afflicts Australia more than any other nation, the two scientists pioneered a treatment which involves administering immunotherapy drugs before surgery so that the immune system is triggered by the whole cancer rather than the few remaining cells after tumour removal. Their work lifted the survival rate for advanced melanoma from less than 5 per cent in 2010 to more than 50 per cent today, saving thousands of lives.

But by 2024, when the pair were named joint Australian of the Year, Scolyer was facing his own cancer battle. It began during a visit to Poland in May 2023 when he found himself convulsing on the floor of his hotel room. An MRI scan carried out in Kraków showed a mass in his temporal lobe, and he knew immediately that it was bad news. A subsequent biopsy performed in Sydney diagnosed an aggressive grade 4 IDH-wildtype glioblastoma and Scolyer was given six to eight months to live.

"I didn't want to die. I loved my life," he wrote in a memoir, Brainstorm. Only three weeks earlier Scolyer, a keen sportsman, had represented Australia at the World Triathlon Multisport Championships. Now he had been given a death sentence: "It didn't sit right with me… to just accept certain death without trying something. It's an incurable cancer. Well bugger that!"

Under a team led by Georgina Long, Scolyer became "Patient Zero" for a radical form of treatment based on the approach developed for melanoma, which involved delaying surgery for two weeks while immunotherapy drugs were administered, allowing the immune system to train on millions of cancer cells. Scolyer decided to go public with his treatment, gaining thousands of followers on social media.

The regimen carried many dangers. Even a short delay in surgery could allow the tumour to grow, and there was a high chance the drugs' side-effects could kill him. "There was understandable resistance from some in the medical community," he recalled.

But early results were promising. When the tumour that had been removed was analysed, Long's team found that there had been an explosion of cancer-fighting immune cells. Then in May 2024, an MRI scan revealed that the tumour had not returned, though it did not mean the cancer was cured: "It's just nice to know that it hasn't come back yet, so I've still got some more time to enjoy my life," Scolyer said.

But in March this year, days before Scolyer was due to part in a charity cycling event in Tasmania, a brain scan showed that the cancer had progressed. "Not the best day ever," he told his followers on Facebook.

His death, three years after diagnosis, far exceeded the life expectancy for his tumour, and a clinical trial based on his treatment is now underway at Duke University in the US.

There's more at the link.

Effectively, Dr. Scolyear allowed his own body, and the process of his own dying and death, to be used for treatment and further research.  As if to acknowledge his self-sacrifice, he survived his cancer for far longer than the norm for gioblastoma sufferers, thereby allowing a great deal of research to be conducted that will benefit others in future.  Sadly, it couldn't benefit him, apart from giving him longer to set an example to the rest of us.

A tribute to him has been posted on the home page of Melanoma Institute Australia.  There are many replies to it from those who remember him with love and kindness.  I'll let this one speak for all of them.

If it were not for his brilliant work, I too would not be here today, having had lifesaving Immunotherapy for my late stage Melanoma diagnosis.

Words alone cannot express my gratitude and thanks, together with the sadness that you too were not able to have been afforded the opportunity of a second chance of life.

May you rest in peace Professor.

Indeed.  May choirs of angels sing him to his rest.

Peter

The UPS air disaster as experienced on the ground

 

Midwest Safety has released a 40-minute video compilation of bodycam footage from emergency responders who rushed to the scene of the UPS air crash in Louisville in November last year.  It's harrowing footage, showing the chaos as responders tried to come to grips with a situation far larger and far worse than they could have envisaged.  I highly recommend watching it to learn what happened, figure out how it could have been done better, and to ask yourself, "What would I do in that situation?"

A tip o' the hat to Zendo Deb at 357 Magnum for posting the video.

Having been involved with civil defense and disaster response on two continents over many years, I can promise you:  that Louisville crash is the stuff nightmares are made of for any and all emergency responders.  It's going to be a case study for years, probably decades to come.

May almighty God have mercy on the souls of all who died there.

Peter

A very sad morning, and a fond farewell

 

Regular readers will know of Ashbutt, our farm kitten that we adopted back in 2016.

He would have celebrated his tenth birthday in the second half of this year . . . but sadly, that won't happen any more.

We have a couple staying with us, along with their two cats, which we've segregated in a room behind a closed door, because Ashbutt is very territorial and possessive.  Last night, it got much worse than that.  He was trying to open the door to the guest cats' room, yowling loudly, and behaving very aggressively when we tried to stop him.  Finally, when one of our guests came out of the spare bedroom too close to him for his comfort, he must have been startled, because he attacked her, biting and clawing, drawing blood.  When I ran over and tried to shoo him away from her and the closed door, he tried to attack me!  He's never behaved that way to us before, but once was more than enough.  (Last weekend we had a family staying with us, including an eighteen-month-old infant.  We segregated our cats to avoid issues with small children, but even so, what if Ashbutt had got out?  The thought of what a big, aggressive cat could do to a toddler is just too scary for words . . . )

With my wife's help, Ashbutt was shut in the garage for the night.  She and I talked about it, but it was obvious what had to be done.  We simply can't risk the injuries he might inflict on our next guest, or even on us, if this sudden violent, aggressive streak continues.  With great sorrow, I took him to the vet this morning and arranged for euthanasia.  His body will be sent for rabies testing (which is apparently a legal requirement in cases like this), and his ashes will then be returned to us.

I absolutely hated having to say goodbye to Ashbutt.  He's always been a "daddy's boy", as opposed to our older cat, Kili, who's definitely my wife's cat.  He would jump on my lap at every opportunity and snuggle for a while.  That won't happen any more, and I know I'll miss him very much . . . but . . . there's the "but" for you.  When an animal turns aggressive towards you, you absolutely cannot take the risk that he'll do the same towards others.  The injury aspect is only part of the problem:  there are legal exposures involved when it comes to damages, reimbursement, etc.  Tolerating that sort of behavior could cost a whole lot of money down the road.  (Our current guests have been very gracious in assuring us they understand, so that won't be a problem in this case;  but that doesn't prevent possible future recurrences.)

Goodbye, Ashbutt.  We'll miss you very much.

Peter

A very sobering statistic

 

This headline caught my eye yesterday:

Day 1,419: The Russia-Ukraine Conflict

Just Surpassed Soviet War With Nazi Germany

This week has marked another grim milestone in the nearly four-year long Russia-Ukraine war. The conflict has just entered its 1,419th day - which means it has officially surpassed the entirety of the historic Soviet campaign against invading Nazi Germany, which lasted 1,418 days from June 1941 to May 1945.

Red Army forces eventually drove Nazi troops back from the Volga River all the way to Berlin, before seizing the German capital. But in today's war, the 1,419th day is just another in a long one in a tragic and grinding war of attrition, where it is believed each side has lost literally hundreds of thousands.

. . .

On both sides, a whole generation of young men is being wiped out.

There's more at the link.

We too often focus on the geopolitical and/or military and/or strategic and/or statistical aspects of the Russia-Ukraine war.  However, that misses the human tragedy that is playing out for both countries.

All nations involved in the two World Wars lost a significant proportion of their brightest and best young men.  After those wars, their absence was noteworthy in that the performance of most of those countries (in any sphere you care to name) was less than expected, and lower than pre-war forecasts would have anticipated.  My father, who fought in World War II, often said that the reason Britain descended into socialist chaos so fast after the war was that too many of the future leaders who could have kept her on track were dead.  Leaders tend to make themselves vulnerable simply by leading, because they're priority targets in war.  An army without effective leaders at all levels - NCO, junior officer, field officer, etc. - is a losing army, and, by extension, so is the nation that uses it.

We don't know what the future holds for either Russia or Ukraine, but we do know for certain that a lot of their young men aren't going to be there to help them.  Both countries will suffer from this loss for decades to come.

May the dead of both sides be forgiven their sins, if that is possible, and may they rest in peace.

Peter

Sunday morning music

 

To pull together the threads of the past week's historic tragedies - the end of World War I in 1918, and the terrorist massacres in Paris, France in 2015 - here's a musical eyewitness to another tragedy.

Vedran Smailović (born 11 November 1956), known as the "Cellist of Sarajevo", is a Bosnian musician. During the siege of Sarajevo, he played Albinoni's Adagio in G minor in ruined buildings, and, often under the threat of snipers, he played during funerals. His bravery inspired musical numbers and the novel The Cellist of Sarajevo by Steven Galloway.

. . .

Smailović caught the imagination of people around the world by playing his cello, most notably performing Albinoni's Adagio in G minor for twenty-two days, in the ruined square of a downtown Sarajevo marketplace after a mortar round had killed twenty-two people waiting for food there. He managed to leave Sarajevo in 1993, during the second year of the siege that ultimately lasted 1,425 days, from 5 April 1992 to 29 February 1996.

In Smailović's honour, composer David Wilde wrote a piece for solo cello, The Cellist of Sarajevo, which was recorded by Yo-Yo Ma. Paul O'Neill described Smailović's performances as the inspiration for "Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24" by Savatage and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

There's more at the link.

David Wilde died last month.  In his memory, and to honor Vedran Smailović's courage, here's Yo-Yo Ma performing "The Cellist of Sarajevo".

Peter

A heartfelt "Thank you!" to my generous readers

 

In early October I asked for your help for James and Tirzah Burns, two friends of long standing.  James had been diagnosed with advanced pancreatic disease, and was in hospital, and another friend had launched a fundraiser to help them with related expenses.  Many thanks to those who donated.

Sadly, James' illness was too far advanced.  He died on October 29th.  I mentioned it in these pages, and again asked for your help for the family with funeral and other expenses.  Again, some readers were generous, and helped a great deal.

Tirzah is now dealing with all the post-funeral bureaucratic paperwork, and preparing their two children for life without Dad at home.  It's going to be tough for them.  Despite all the distractions and the pain of her loss, she sent me this brief text message this morning:  "Peter, please thank your readers for me for such kind donations".  Together, we helped her keep the family afloat, financially speaking, while James was no longer able to earn a living, and now his life insurance and other assistance are in the process of kicking in (once all the paperwork is done).  They should be able to cope for several months at least.

I'd like to add my personal thanks to Tirzah's.  She's good people, as are her children.  My wife and I hope to have them visit us sometime soon, to relax and get over the stress of the past few months.  They're definitely the kind of people worthy of our support.

Peter

Armistice Day

 

All over the world (except the United States), this date, November 11th, is solemnly commemorated as Armistice Day.  On the eleventh day of November, 1918, at the eleventh hour, the guns fell silent across Europe as World War I, the so-called "War To End All Wars", finally ground to a halt.

Both of my grandparents fought in that war.  My paternal grandfather and his wife came to live with my mother and father in their declining years (as was common in an earlier generation - they weren't dumped into old-age homes).  One of my earliest memories was of my grandfather's constant hacking cough, the result of injuries sustained from a German gas attack on the trenches during that war.  His lungs never fully recovered, and the injury shortened his life appreciably.  Thus, even though the war had finished decades before I was born, it still touched my memory.  He died when I was three or four years old, I don't recall precisely which.  The house was somehow very still without his coughing . . .

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Peter

Sad news

 

Regular readers will remember my bleg a few weeks ago to help James and Tirzah Burns.  James was suffering from pancreatic and other problems, and was in a bad way.  I linked to a GiveSendGo fundraiser for them.

Sadly, James didn't make it.  His illness was too far advanced.  He went home last week under hospice care, and died yesterday afternoon.

Tirzah is left with their two young children, a son and a daughter, and now has to take care of all the arrangements for the funeral and a host of legal paperwork.  James was the family breadwinner, so there's also the question of how the family will earn a living in future.  My wife and I love and highly respect Tirzah, so we're sure she'll be working hard to find solutions, but to lose one's "other half" is . . . well, to call it "traumatic" is a massive understatement!  She's got a very big load on her shoulders for the next few months.

If you're able, please click over to their fundraiser and help the family with even a small amount.  Every little helps.

May James rest in God's peace, and may his sins be forgiven him.

Peter

A meme that didn't make me laugh...

 

... but certainly caught my attention!

I'm guessing nobody got out of that one unscathed...

Peter

Sunday morning music

 

We lost another big name from the 1960's last week.  John Lodge, guitarist and backup vocalist for the Moody Blues, passed away.  He had a pretty profound impact on the group, based partly on his poetic lyrical vision of music and partly on his unabashed Christian faith, which he refused to hide despite the rest of the group not sharing his views.

In memory of Mr. Lodge, here are three tracks that he composed and/or performed.  First up is "Blue Guitar", composed and recorded with Justin Hayward during a five-year hiatus for the Moody Blues.

Next is the short number "Send Me No Wine" from the Moody Blues album "On The Threshold Of A Dream".

And to close, one of the Moody Blues' most famous songs, co-written by John Lodge.

May he rest in peace.

Peter

Sunday morning music

 

The tragic murder of Charlie Kirk a few days ago has swept across our nation like a wave.  Some celebrate his death;  others mourn it.  Some reject all he was and stood for;  others proclaim it with pride and promise to continue his legacy.  I rather think that his assassination might turn into one of the pivotal moments in US political history, on a level with the murder of JFK.  I, for one, will honor his memory, and do what little I can to make America all that he believed we could be.

To mark his passing, I wanted a piece of music that would speak to all Americans, whether men and women of faith or not.  Yes, I know Mr. Kirk was a man of strong, intense faith (as am I), and he should be remembered as such:  but his message is one that reached beyond sectarian divides, and I wanted music that reflects that universal appeal.  I found it in Samuel Barber's well-known Adagio for Strings.  Here's Leonard Slatkin conducting the Detroit Symphony Orchestra in 2016.  Turn up your volume, because the recording is relatively soft.

May Charlie Kirk rest in God's peace.  May his widow and children be comforted in their loss.  May their witness continue to spread his message;  and may we who remember him do likewise.

Peter

An interesting intersection of culture and war

 

One of Japan's grand masters of the tea ceremony died recently.  His obituary contained an interesting anecdote from his service in World War II.

Sen Soshitsu XV, who has died aged 102, was known in Japan as the 15th Urasenke Grand Tea Master and descendant of Sen Rikyu, the Japanese sage who perfected chado – “the way of tea”, commonly known as the Japanese tea ceremony – and raised it to the level of art.

Though tea-drinking was taken to Japan from China in the 9th century, it was Rikyu in the 16th century who laid down the rules of chado, incorporating elements of Zen Buddhism, Shinto and even, it is said, elements of the Catholic Mass, creating a ceremony which, though elaborate in its combination of ritual, meditation and aesthetics, celebrates the beauty of simplicity.

Rikyu’s legacy has been preserved by the members of the San-Senke, or “three tea ceremony” schools of the Sen family – of which the Urasenke is the most famous. Sen Soshitsu assumed the position of Grand Master of the school from his father in 1964.

. . .

He was born Sen Masaoki (he would inherit the name Soshitsu on succeeding his father as Grand Tea Master) in Kyoto on April 19 1923, the year of the Great Kanto Earthquake which devastated Tokyo and Yokohama; he was the eldest son of Sen Soshitsu XIV, the 14th head of the Urasenke tea school, and his wife Kayoko.

While reading economics at Doshisha University in Kyoto during the Second World War, he was called up for service in the Imperial Japanese navy. He volunteered as a kamikaze pilot but was turned down because the imperial authorities did not want to jeopardise the future of a revered hereditary tea dynasty.

There's more at the link.

Considering the disregard for human life - their own and the enemy's - shown by Japanese military leaders before and during the Second World War, it's incongruous to think that they would rate their traditional tea ceremony and its practitioners as more important than killing the enemy by committing suicide in a last-ditch defense of their homeland.  The Western mind doesn't work that way.  That's probably an indictment of our own "if you kill enough of them, they stop fighting" approach, which would seem to rule out any and every consideration of culture and tradition on both sides.

Peter

At least he still has skin in the game...

 

This has to be one of the creepiest "memorials" I've ever encountered.

When Angelica Radevski lost her spouse unexpectedly earlier this year, the West Virginia nurse and mother-of-one made a bold decision that has stunned millions online — she preserved and framed a piece of his tattooed skin.

. . .

“I knew we were going to do this because we had talked about it before,” Angelica said in a now-viral TikTok video.

Of the more than 70 tatts TJ had inked over his body, they chose to preserve his Pittsburgh Steelers helmet design — complete with skull imagery and finished off in his beloved team’s black and gold colors. It was his first sleeve tattoo, and a favorite of his and their son’s. Preston was the one who ultimately made the final call.

“This is Dad,” he told his mother.

. . .

The preservation process took around 90 days. When the company returned the framed tattoo — encased in glass and set in a dark wooden frame — the moment was overwhelming ... The tattoo still held TJ’s skin texture, the fine details of his wrinkles, even stray hairs.

There's more at the link.

It seems ghoulish to me.  I mean, why stop at skin?  Why not make like the headhunters of the Amazon, who smoked, dried and shrank the heads of their enemies?  Why not other body parts?

Oh, well . . . at least the headline to this blog post practically wrote itself!

Peter

Sunday morning music

 

We're safely home again, and regular blogging will recommence from today.

While we were away, we learned the sad news that world-famous classical pianist Alfred Brendel had died at the age of 94.  He was particularly well-known for his interpretation of Beethoven, Schubert and Liszt, and made many recordings of their works, including some of my personal favorite renditions of several pieces.

One of them was this 1977 recording of Beethoven's Choral Fantasia, with the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Bernard Haitink.  I owned a copy on vinyl way back when, and upgraded to a CD edition later.  I was delighted to find it on YouTube as well, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I still do.

Mr. Brendel's genius will be missed.  Let this piece be his epitaph here.  I hope he and Beethoven are sharing a glass of the good stuff somewhere as they discuss it!

Peter

88 years ago today...

 

... this happened.

May those who died in the Hindenburg disaster rest in peace.

Peter

A fitting award for this Veterans Day

 

Whether we celebrate Veterans Day in the USA, or Armistice Day in most of the rest of the world, it's still an occasion to remember the heroism of those who, in the words of our National Anthem, place their bodies "Between their loved homes and the war's desolation".

Australia does that today with the award of the Victoria Cross, the highest award of Britain and her Commonwealth for valor in action, to a serviceman from the Vietnam War, in which her forces joined America's to fight the Communist invasion of that country.

Awarded the Victoria Cross for Australia – Private Richard Norden 

For most conspicuous acts of gallantry in action in the presence of the enemy in the 'AO Surfers' Area of Operations in the Bien Hoa province, Vietnam, on 14 May 1968 during the Battle of Fire Support Base Coral. 

During Operation Toan Thang, 5th Platoon, B Company were ambushed and came under heavy fire from an estimated squad of seven to ten North Vietnamese Army regular soldiers. Private Norden, a member of the leading section, ran forward under heavy enemy fire to the Section Commander and forward scout who were wounded during the initial contact. 

Private Norden killed one North Vietnamese Army soldier whilst moving forward and, having expended his ammunition, recovered that enemy's automatic weapon which he used against further North Vietnamese Army soldiers. He then half-carried, half-dragged the severely wounded Section Commander back to the section. 

Private Norden, seriously wounded, again advanced to the forward scout. He pressed forward under enemy fire and reached the scout, killing the North Vietnamese Army soldier who had been using the scout as a shield. Having determined that the scout was dead, Private Norden returned to the section to collect grenades and moved forward for a third time. He cleared the area to enable the body of the scout to be recovered. 

Private Norden showed a complete disregard for his own personal safety, and his courage and selfless acts resulted in the enemy position being secured and likely saved the lives of other members of the platoon.

There's more at the link.

Sadly, Pvt. Norden died in the course of duty in 1972, but his surviving family will receive the medal on his behalf.

As General Patton famously said, "It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived."  Today, Veterans Day, is a good day to do so.  I'll be remembering my own comrades in arms as well.

(A tip o' the hat to Australian reader Andrew, who sent me the link to the above news.)

Peter

A tale of heroism and disaster, and ultimate triumph

 

I'm sure many readers know of the USAAF raid on the Ploesti oil fields in Romania in 1943, codenamed "Operation Tidal Wave".  They were appallingly costly, with well over half the raiding force of B-24 Liberator bombers either shot down, or so badly damaged that they never flew again after the mission.  They were also largely unsuccessful;  the oil fields and refineries were back in production within weeks, and even increased their output.  Nevertheless, the lessons learned on those missions taught the fledgling USAAF a great deal about strategic bombing, and informed its subsequent actions in Europe and the Far East.

The heroism of the crews who flew to Ploesti has long been acknowledged, but I've not seen many accounts of the missions by those who were there.  Warfare History Network has just republished a 2017 article about them on its Web site.  Here are a few excerpts to set the scene.

Hadley’s Harem was one of 177 B-24 Liberators that had set out that morning to bomb the major source of oil for Nazi Germany. The men had been told that the mission was vital; it would help end the war a lot sooner.

Only 93 planes returned to base, and 60 of those were so badly damaged they never flew again. Of the more than 1,700 airmen on the mission, 532 were killed, captured, wounded, or listed as missing in action. Of those fortunate enough to make it back to Benghazi, 449 were wounded, many so severely they were unfit to return to active service. One of the pilots who made it back, Lieutenant John McCormick, said later, “There wasn’t a man among us who will ever be the same after that 14-hour jaunt to Ploesti.”

Colonel John R. “Killer” Kane, who landed his plane in Turkey after the mission to Ploesti, described the operation as “the worst catastrophe in the history of the Army Air Corps.” Kane’s navigator, Lieutenant Norman Whalen, said, “We knew it was a disaster and knew that in those flames shooting up from the refineries we might be burned to death. But we went right in.”

. . .

To reach the refineries, they had to pass through a narrow valley. Enemy guns lined the route, some situated at a higher altitude than the planes, so they were shooting down at the aircraft. The Germans even had a fast-moving flak train ready to speed down the valley below the waves of bombers and shoot at them from below.

The planes that were able to release their bombs early in the raid sent up columns of burning oil, a deadly screen for the planes that followed. Many of the planes not already damaged by flak burst into flames when they flew through the fire. There was no escape for the crews; they were flying too low to bail out.

. . .

Hadley’s Harem dropped instantly, crashing into the sea with what the survivors later described as a paralyzing shock. A few of the men were knocked unconscious. Page said he bounced like a spring. Water poured in through the flak holes and the open nose, jamming the main escape hatch and trapping them inside the sinking plane. “My God,” Page thought, “am I going to die this way?”

He tried to force the escape hatch open, but it was stuck. As the water rose rapidly in the cockpit, Page saw Gib Hadley and co-pilot Lindsay unstrap their seat belts and flail around, trying to find an opening, but there was none. After another moment, Page saw them die.

He pulled himself into the top turret, took a deep breath of the last remaining air, and plunged down into the water, desperate for an escape route. A glimmer of light caught his eye. It was where the tail of the ship had been sheared off by the crash. Page swam to the surface just as the wreckage of Hadley’s Harem sank.

There's much more at the link.

Hadley's Harem was salvaged many years later, and the bodies of the pilots recovered and buried with full military honors.  Part of the aircraft's fuselage is today displayed in a Turkish museum.  Click the image for a larger view.

It's a painful account to read, but it's a record of heroism and determination that deserves to be remembered.  Highly recommended reading.

Peter

Remembering October 7, 2023

 

It's become a cliché to speak of 10/7/2023 as "Israel's 9/11", but it remains true.  I don't think Israel, and Jews worldwide, will ever forget that day.  They should not - and we should remember and mourn with them.

Do not forget those who died.  Their memory should inspire us to ensure that their sacrifice was not in vain.

Terrorism remains one of the greatest evils in the world.  We won't succeed in eradicating it as long as there are those whose hatred for others exceeds their love for their own people and themselves.  Words will not eliminate the threat.  Only when we all remember - and apply - the Golden Rule will that be achieved.

"Do unto others what you would have them do unto you."

Hamas did precisely that.  So did Hezbollah.  So have Iranian proxies like the Houthi and others.

Israel has not forgotten, and will not forget.  We do not forget.

Peter

Another poignant reminder

 

A month ago I put up a cartoon from Stephan Pastis about how those who've died are still with us in so many ways.  I know many of you enjoyed it.

He's just posted another cartoon that in many ways follows on from the first.  Click the image to be taken to a larger version at the "Pearls Before Swine" Web page.

Nothing to add, indeed!  For those of us who believe in God and the afterlife, there's an added element, of course, but the above (plus the previous comic I mentioned) still brings real comfort.

Peter

"I knew that Hawaii would be the place where I would die"

 

Those are the words of Masamitsu Yoshioka, believed to be the last survivor of the Japanese air fleet that attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.  He died recently at the age of 106.

He flew in a Nakajima B5N2, nicknamed “Kate” by the Americans, carrying a single 800kg torpedo [Type 91] modified for shallow water. By the time he arrived at Pearl Harbor just before 08:00, having flown nearly two hours across the Pacific, the surprise attack on the United States Pacific Fleet was well underway, and all was “wrapped in black smoke”, Yoshioka told Jason Morgan of Japan Forward. “There were only two ships that I could clearly see.”

His pilot flew “dead on” at one of the ships, and Yoshioka, who was then 23, deployed his torpedo: “I spotted, out of the corner of my eye, two narrow, white columns of seawater, about two meters in diameter and 30 meters high, exploding up right beside the vessel. Direct hit!” He watched the mast tilt as the ship filled with water.

But it turned out to be the battleship USS Utah, which sank at a cost of 58 lives – needlessly, because the Japanese aircrew had been under strict instructions not to waste time on the Utah, which was only used as a training vessel. Yoshioka only realised his mistake when he noticed that the Utah’s gun turrets did not have barrels.

Masamitsu Yoshioka was born in Ishikawa Prefecture on January 5 1918 and joined the Imperial Japanese Navy in 1936. He started as ground crew, maintaining biplanes, but was accepted for navigator training in 1938, and in 1939 was posted to the aircraft carrier Soryu.

. . .

On November 26 1941 the Soryu left the port of Hitokappu Bay in the far north (now under Russian control). The crew tried to guess their destination: the pipes were still wrapped with asbestos, which suggested a cold-weather environment, but they had also been told to pack shorts.

When Admiral Nagumo, leader of the carrier battle group, announced that they were heading for Hawaii, “the blood rushed out of my head,” Yoshioka recalled. “I knew that this meant a gigantic war and that Hawaii would be the place where I would die.”

. . .

He flew support missions for the attack on Wake Island, also in December 1941, and took part in the Indian Ocean Raid in spring 1942.

The Soryu would be sunk at the Battle of Midway in June 1942, but Yoshioka survived because he was on leave. He then served in the Palau islands but was invalided to the Philippines with malaria before the bloody Battle of Peleliu in 1944. When the kamikaze attacks on the Allied fleets started, there were no parts for the Kates and Yoshioka, grounded, lived to hear the Emperor’s surrender broadcast on the radio.

There's more at the link.

At the time, Americans hated the Japanese for their "sneak attack", and that anti-Japanese racism was a hallmark of the Pacific campaign.  After the war, attitudes mellowed to at least some extent (although some never forgave them).  One hopes we can at least acknowledge the death of a brave man, probably the last of his kind, who did his duty according to his lights.

Peter