The Mardasson Memorial, just outside the city of Bastogne, Belgium, is one of the largest, most stunning, yet under-marketed WWII monuments in the world. It sits atop one of the tallest rolling hills of the Ardennes Forest. The location marks the furthest point of the German advance during operation Wacht-am Rhein, colloquially known in the United States as the "Battle of the Bulge."

The Mardasson Memorial stands 39 feet high and 103 feet across and rests upon .82 hectares of land, circumscribed by law into an area of everlasting pastoral beauty. While the monument itself is of a massive scale and ostensibly dedicated to honoring the 76,890 American casualties of the campaign, the underlying motives for its creation appear to be more partisan. Most documentation relating to the financing and underlying aims of the Mardasson creation remains lost, obfuscated, or undiscovered. It seems the monument was created principally as a diplomatic mechanism to advance post-war Belgian political and economic goals vis-a-vis the United States.

The monument was the brainchild of a group of powerful Belgian politicians loosely grouped as the Belgo-American Association (ABA), who was "...anxious to strengthen the alliance with the powerful American ally". The creation of the ABA in 1945 was more of a continuation of Belgian wartime endeavors than a stand-alone affair in seeking a substantial postwar benefactor in international and economic interests. Belgium had just witnessed the conspicuous destruction of the infrastructure and economies of its closest pre-war allies (France and Great Britain), and the new choice seemed obvious.

Georges Dedoyard, a noted Liege architect who had lost a lung to gas poisoning in the trenches of WWI, designed the memorial. His vision incorporated a massive ten-panel narrative of the Ardennes battle. These panels included the unit names and crests of the US divisions participating in the Ardennes campaign. The final battle narrative carved into these ten sandstone panels points to the insights of US General and WWI veteran S.L.A. Marshall. During WWII, he was a noted journalist and historian. Another interesting design component initially wrapped the frieze of the star with the then-48 states of the United States in large bronze letters. The frieze later included the addition of Alaska and Hawaii as states in 1958-59.

The initial groundbreaking was a simple affair. A few shovelfuls of earth from the top of the barren Mardasson hill were permanently ensconced in a small portable malachite urn and ebony "casket" produced in the Belgian Congo. The earth was extracted on July 4, 1946, after which the casket was wax-sealed by the Burgomaster of Bastogne and flown directly to the United States on the inaugural transatlantic flight of SABENA, the Belgian national airline. This sarcophagus was presented to then-President Harry S. Truman by the Belgian ambassador to the United States on July 10, 1946. The excavation site now exhibits a small marble slab inscribed in Latin that translates as "To its American liberators, the Belgian people who remember, July 4, 1946". Today, that casket rests in the Truman Presidential Museum in Independence, Missouri, and the early memorial slab now occupies the very center of the finished monument. Some sources indicate that the extracted earth had been "soaked in American blood," but there is little evidence of support since there is no known record of American deaths or internment at that location. Instead, a small stele is close to the Mardasson hill, indicating the furthest advance of German patrols, where a German soldier died on December 19, 1944. The stele's inscription reads, "HERE, the invader was stopped, Winter 1944-45". Consequently, the belief that the contrived gesture of American-bloodstained soil being sent directly to President Truman was purely symbolic, as was the transport of that same offering on the first flight directly connecting Belgium to the United States.

An early marketing project for the site was the extension of the Voie de la Liberte' to expand that route to include a final marker directly adjacent to the proposed location of the Mardasson. Conceived as an all-French commemoration route, the Voie de la Liberte' celebrated General Patton's path from his US Third Army from Sainte-Mere-l'Eglise to Metz. The ABA entered negotiations with French officials in March 1946 to extend the track to Mardasson hill, and this last Belgian marker was quickly approved and later inaugurated on July 5, 1947. On this very day, Georges Dedoyard began his initial survey for the monument, even though the land was yet to be purchased, nor was a financing program in place.

Through the Belgian government-in-exile and the Belgian Economic mission in Washington, the United States supplied the Belgian Congo with significant financing, machinery, and troops during the German occupation of Belgium. This wartime aid kept the colony running smoothly and ensured a constant flow of strategic raw materials from that region to the United States. Among other war-critical imports, the uranium ore mined in the Belgian Congo required defense from German seizure. That ore eventually formed the fissile core of the Hiroshima A-bomb.

As a result of these Lend-Lease exchanges and further charges for Belgian lodging, manpower, and goods post-operation Overlord, Belgium was the only enemy-occupied nation that ended 1945 as a creditor to the United States. In this favorable economic position, Belgium could negotiate that any US debt incurred to Belgium after September 2, 1945, would be remitted directly in US dollars. This position found further enhancement by an immediate US commitment of 100 million dollars in loans to help rebuild the Belgian economy. One should note that the ABA was organized precisely at this time (1945) and consisted primarily of the same power brokers who had engineered Belgium's financial success during the war. Interestingly, there was anecdotal evidence that many Belgian citizens were either unaware of or utterly disinterested in the monument or its stated purpose. They simply strove to reconstruct their own lives and the local economies on which they depended.

The Mardasson Memorial experienced many construction delays. The most significant setback suffered was the unilateral decision by architect Dedoyard to add three memorial altars below the monument in March of 1949. This change occurred well after the bulk of the memorial's completion. This sudden revision resulted from a group of American women who approached the United States embassy in Belgium, requesting "a suitable area for contemplation ." Whoever those women were, their opinions evidently carried much weight within the ABA and Dedoyard. Subsequently, three separate altars were blasted out from under the edifice, individually representing Catholicism, Protestantism, and Judaism. All three mosaic frescoes surrounding the altars were completed in a style describing "the homage paid by American women to their heroes."

The Mardasson remained the property of the Kingdom of Belgium and was maintained solely by that nation until the summer of 2019. To celebrate the 75th anniversary of the Battle of the Bulge, the United States government paid for the complete restoration and cleaning of the monument. In July 2020, the Mardasson ownership shifted from the Kingdom of Belgium to the United States government. The ABMC now operates and maintains the memorial in perpetuity, in close cooperation with Belgian authorities.

While the Mardasson is dedicated to the sacrifices of American veterans of the Ardennes campaign and remains a beautiful memory site for that purpose, the monument's conception tells a larger story. The ABA clearly created the Mardasson as a "triumphant stage for the display of transatlantic politics ." The same politicians and industrialists who conducted Belgian affairs before and during the war sought to place Belgium in an advantageous position. They constructed this monument as an offering of goodwill to the United States to foster the economic prosperity of their nation in an uncertain postwar period.

The stated motives and fundraising for the Mardasson reflected heartfelt sympathy for the US service members who had been maimed or killed liberating the Belgian nation. It stands to reason their true motives were more partisan, as they sought to tightly bind themselves to the one western nation that had genuinely thrived in the aftermath of WWII.

Edited by Laura Bailey

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General George S. Patton was undoubtedly one of the most colorful yet controversial American military leaders of the twentieth century. Appropriately enough, he has been the subject of innumerable profiles, movies, and full-scale biographies during his lifetime and since his death. Many memorials, statues, schools, and museums exist in his honor and dedication to his memory. The name General George Smith Patton Jr. does not necessarily evoke the same memories overseas as in America. While there are many monuments and statues of Patton located throughout the world, only three major locations are 'biographical museums.' Located in Fort Knox, Kentucky, Ettelbruck, Belgium, and Chiriaco, California, each focuses upon the General and his exploits in North Africa, Italy, France, Belgium, and Germany during the Second World War.

The General Patton Memorial Museum in Chiriaco Summit, California, was established in 1988. It is dedicated primarily to honoring Patton and the soldiers who trained there, displaying war items related to the general and the hundreds of thousands of men and women who trained at the facility between 1942-1944. The museum sits within what was once known as 'U.S Army Camp Young,' a swath of desert comprising over eighteen thousand square miles. Even today, it is still considered the world's largest military training installation.

A native of San Marino, California, General Patton returned to his home state in early 1942, shortly after America's entry into World War II, to set up a desert training center for U.S. soldiers heading into combat. The facility's primary purpose was to prepare young men for desert tank warfare before being sent to North Africa and Italy. Although General Patton was only at Camp Young for four months before heading overseas, it continued its heavy-armor tank training until December 1944.

At the camp's creation, history was about to be made in a place where only cactus and scrub survived, where unrelenting heat and sand were the norms of the day. It is here, in the middle of the Mojave Desert in Southeastern California, that this forsaken land would become Patton's "paradise, exactly what he was looking for." Acquiring the land in the desert by the U.S. Army is a tale the locals enjoy relaying to tourists today. The story tells of General Patton personally walking into the Indio office of surveyor Michael Rusche in early 1942, saying, "I hear you've been around here for a while. I hope you can help me out." What soon transpired under the General's direction was the building of eleven separate camps, which comprised the training facility at Camp Young. Patton's headquarters were stationed in the middle and used as the focal point, with the surrounding miles of the desert used to train tank warfare. "We cannot train troops to fight in the desert of North Africa by training them in the swamps of Georgia," Patton was to proclaim. Over the next two years, over one million Americans, both male and female, prepared for battle here under the ghastliest of conditions.

Many first-hand accounts relate, "as the first commanding general of the training facility, Patton certainly stamped his brand on the training center." The hill from which he could observe the wide range of tank exercises was called 'The King's Throne.' It was a lower elevation within the surrounding mountains where he could critically scrutinize the formation of the tanks and motorized units below. Detecting a mistake or way to improve, he would shout instructions into his radio, "many of which were expletives." An official Army historian named Porter B. Williamson wrote, "on a number of occasions, Patton would extoll a particular soldier or unit via his radio communications so everyone could hear." However, more than once, his harsh words would announce something such as, "Colonel Blank, you are removed from command. If you know what is good for you, you will stay away from me for a week," prompting laughter from the men.

The General George Patton Memorial Museum, outside Luxembourg City, in the small town of Hamm, Luxembourg, is also the site of an American cemetery where over five-thousand U.S. servicemen are buried, most of them killed in the Battle of the Bulge. Located among these men is the grave of General Patton. When he died in late 1945, one of his last requests was "to be buried among his men." Luxembourg celebrates General Patton and the American troops that liberated the city every year on the last Sunday in June, calling the holiday 'Remembrance Day.' This holiday was conceived shortly after the war by the townspeople and continues to this day. At the ceremony's close, the city's mayor takes center stage. The concluding remarks remain the same, "Luxembourg will never forget what General Patton and the United States did for us. God bless America, and God bless our little Grand Duchy."

The General George Patton Museum of Leadership in Fort Knox, Kentucky, was once the largest Patton museum in the United States. In the mid-1990s, the outdoor tank exhibits and many statues and monuments transferred to military museums in Fort Benning, Georgia, and West Point, New York. However, the Kentucky museum still garners over 350,000 visitors each year. This complex was developed shortly after World War II and has been "a work in progress ever since." Managed by the U.S. Army Accessions Command in Fort Monroe, Virginia, it contains several of Patton's personal effects, including items from his childhood in California, his revolvers, touring car, and even the 1938 Cadillac in which he took his final ride. Rather than glorifying war, this museum presents Patton's complex, emotional, and intellectual history and armored warfare through the ages. Every July 4, this museum comes alive and celebrates General Patton by hosting a re-enactment based loosely on the type of combat that occurred in Northern Europe in the spring of 1945.

The perspectives of memory vary between these three museums in Luxembourg, Fort Knox, and Chiriaco Summit. From yearly ceremonies in Europe, specifically Luxembourg, we know that Patton is still considered a gallant hero and truly celebrated. But what about in America? Could Patton's 'star power' or popularity in the United States be waning or changing somehow? Does the recent movement of 230 large Patton artifacts from the Fort Knox museum in Kentucky to a more secular and less-visited army base at Fort Benning, Georgia, suggest in some way that Americans today feel differently about Patton?

Mirna Flores, Director of the California memorial, has been with the Patton museum for over twenty years. Although she was not aware of what the Fort Knox museum had done, she is confident that "although Patton was a complicated military figure, the museum believes his star has not tarnished in any way." In recent decades, the museum enjoyed record yearly increases in visitors to the facility. When asked how the museum has changed, grown, and evolved during her tenure, she noted she was most proud of two things: securing a very hard-to-find original German Tiger Tank and formatting a school children's tour. Flores added, "Education of the war itself along with Patton's life has always been the focus of the museum," but fashioning the information for young children became a goal and a reality for the museum in just the last few years.

Remembering Camp Young in the California desert historically and through collective memory is equally as important as honoring the countless men and women trained there. The soldiers who initially trained at the camp became the first American forces deployed to combat against the Germans in North Africa.

In 1988, over four decades since the end of World War II, many old soldiers and their families returned and gathered in the hot California desert for the dedication of the Patton Museum at Chiriaco Summit. Two aging veterans, Charles Jeglinski, 74, of Venice, California, and Frank Carroll, 75, of Phoenix, Arizona, pulled aside a couple of journalists covering the event. They both had trained at Camp Young with Patton and followed him into battle in North Africa and Europe. Said Carroll to the journalists, "Here's a picture I bet you fella's don't have." They went on to say General Patton told them he was going to do this when they arrived in Germany, and they both claimed he always kept his word. The photograph showed a smiling General Patton on a small hilltop as he urinated into the Rhine River below.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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In 1945, at war's end, a local group in rural northern Wyoming, including WWI veterans, commemorated the accidental deaths of ten airmen by installing a plaque near a remote crash site and petitioned to name a mountain peak in memory of the event. In memorializing the tragic war accident, the community honored the individual loss to make sense of the war and ensure the community's collective memory of the war's sacrifice. Over time the memory and meaning of the tragedy evolved from memorialization to local folklore and geographic reference.

On June 28, 1943, a B-17 bomber with ten crew members aboard left Oregon for Nebraska on its way to England to join in the Allied bombing offensive against Nazi Germany. It never arrived. The missing plane remained undiscovered until two years later, in August 1945, when the weather had worn off its olive drab paint, and two cowboys noticed the sun gleaming off the plane's metal remains. The bomber had crashed into an unnamed mountain of the Big Horn Mountains within the Cloud Peak wilderness, failing to clear the 12,887 ft. rim by a mere 100 ft.

The cause of the crash was never determined and remains a Wyoming mystery. The plane was flying at night, off course and below its assigned altitude of 15,000 ft. Poor weather, an inexperienced crew, instrument, or mechanical issues are all theories put forward to explain the crash. The crash was one of 479 non-combat B-17 losses in the US during the war. The type of crash was not unique as a search of newspaper articles from the period reveals numerous military plane crashes involving mountains. Shortly after its discovery, an ad-hoc group of Army personnel, forest rangers, and locals climbed the peak to recover the crew's remains, with one recovery member later commenting, "…I never climbed that peak again."

In the nearby town of Sheridan, a local Wyoming chapter (No.4) of 'American War Dads, led by a WWI veteran, originated the idea of a memorial near the crash site and other WWI veterans signed onto the project. A twelve-person delegation and eighteen horses and pack animals made the 100+ mile round trip into the wilderness and up the mountain to install the marker near the site. The goal was to place a simple bronze plaque listing the crew's name and date of the crash.

The local paper published an article dated September 7, 1945, upon the group's return, explaining the crash "…brought the hazards of war very close to Sheridan, and is the only incident of its kind of record in this vicinity…". A memorial pamphlet was printed, describing the events and plaque, and sent to the aircrew's next of kin that included the following passage: "Thus sojourners and travelers who pass along the trail…will come upon the tablet and be reminded of what so many owe to these men. They will be reminded also…that the gigantic mountain stands as an eternal monument over the scene of their death; another shrine marking the spot where brave Americans fell in the service of the country and to those who flew the great bombers on missions from which so many never returned."

While many memorials were erected years after the war, this particular plaque was installed immediately after the discovery of the crash and just weeks after Japan surrendered. The memorial falls into the category of accident, one of an aircraft on its way to the war and not the result of enemy action, yet it was no less a loss of life in service to their country. The plaque simply states, "…gave their lives while on active duty…" and unlike the nameless missing in action, these men's remains were ultimately discovered two years after the crash and their identities established.

The 'American War Dads' also petitioned the US Forest Service, who in turn requested the US Board on Geographical Names, to designate the unnamed area "Bomber Peak" in memory of the incident. In August 1946, a little over a year after locating the crash site, the community received news the mountain peak was officially named "Bomber Mountain." This naming of a prominent geographic feature, rather than the small, remote plaque, was vital in creating and maintaining the event's collective memory in the community today.

The general memory of the crash lives on in the community today. The original bronze plaque is approximately 1.5 miles from the site and accessible only to hikers when weather permits, typically between July and September. The local history museum has a prominent exhibit to the crash, including names and photos of the crew, description of the event, and actual wreckage from the plane. The adjacent former elementary school became repurposed and named "Bomber Mountain Civic Center" with a prominent logo of a B-17 flying between two mountain peaks. And recently, a local brewery has named a new amber ale "Bomber Mountain" with a silhouette of a B-17 on the beer can.

The director of the local history museum has met or spoken to relatives of seven crewmen and noted that most "…had not visited the crash site…" nor memorial plaque. When asked what Bomber Mountain means to her personally, she stated: "…to me: Bomber Mountain is an example of human connection. WWII was a global event and touched the lives of everybody at the time…But the farther away we move from the war, the less these connections are felt by us younger generations. Wyoming doesn't have the kind of visceral locations like Europe… so for many people it has become just a thing of the past. Bomber Mountain happened in our backyard. WWII came calling, and people can still feel that gut-punch of emotion when they see the remains of the plane."

Although the deaths were not from enemy action, the group wished to memorialize the crew by listing their names on a plaque and, on a grander scale, name a mountain peak whose geographic symbolism would perpetuate the memory. A single bomber crash out of hundreds of accidents in the war was insignificant to the country and even less so within the context of the global conflict. To this small western community of northern Wyoming, it was an important historical event in its 20th-century history.

The community, including veterans who likely experienced war, chose to document their actions so that the next-of-kin would know their relatives were not forgotten. Yet, by the early 21st century, the details of the accident continue to fade into the recesses of memory for the community. Still, the geographic name continues to resonate, as illustrated by naming a community center and its marketing value by branding a local artisan ale.

Tangentially the actual crash site, with the major wreckage still on the mountain, reminds us of the USS Arizona Memorial, where visitors can observe the battleship's remains. The aircraft parts, as with the battleship, will eventually erode away. In the B-17's case, as referenced by one observer, no one will remember it was there. With a powerful national narrative and a gravesite, the Arizona is not likely to suffer the same fate.

The fact this was an accident rather than combat-related is a factor to consider. Non-combat death in wartime from disease, training, "friendly fire," accidents, or other causes are common throughout history. The US includes twenty-eight percent of World War II deaths in this category. Aircraft crashes and resultant deaths, whether in training accidents, inclement weather, or mechanical failure, would be included as non-combat. One could frame this accident as simply non-combat deaths. The museum director simply framed it as "they were our boys."

As time passes, memorials sometimes disappear, move, or face destruction. Reinterpretation also ensues as the changing generations of viewers reflect on the history from their perspectives. In the case of Bomber Mountain, one senses a matter of evolution to the memorial. Intended initially to honor the ten airmen specifically, it also expanded to honor all who fell and who flew "great bombers that didn't return." The mountain has evolved from a war memorial to local folklore. The event still resides in the community's collective memory, but less as a war memorial and more as a geographic feature.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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Memory is showcased in a myriad of ways within a society and that collective memory is then given a physical representation by way of a memorial, through an institution of living memory, or ruins that have survived the ravages of time. The same can be said when analyzing a war memorial, “whether a statue, a place, a building, or a combination of these and other elements, we see a social and physical arrangement of space and artifacts to keep alive the memories of persons who participated in or are affected by war”. This such relationship between space and memory is complex but can be used to explain why Hiroshima chose to preserve the remains of the Genbaku Dome and how the decaying building became such an integral part of present day society.

Ruins tell an intriguing story of what a society deems worth remembering or what deserves to be forgotten. A unique characteristic of ruins is that they are not “passive remains but active cultural agents that transverse their status of remaining parts of a lost whole and accrue an identity of their own as ruins; they become monuments qua ruins and not just ruins of monuments.” In the years after the post atomic bomb drop, the identity of the Genbaku Dome has transformed from one of intense pain and suffering into a noteworthy beacon of peace on a global scale. What makes the ruins of the former Promotion Hall particularly distinctive is that Japan, specifically Hiroshima and Nagasaki, are the only victims of nuclear warfare so no other structure in the world can compare in terms of having such global significance and eventual societal inclusion.

The original domed building was built in 1915 by Czech architect Jan Letzel and is located 260 meters away from Aioi Bridge (the original target of the atomic bomb “Little Boy”) in the once bustling military city of Hiroshima. Thanks to Letzel’s use of steel and stone construction, the former Promotion Hall was one of a few structures left standing near the bomb’s hypocenter (the building stood 160 meters from the blast site). When observing the ruins that are now the focal point of a staggering Memorial Peace Park, onlookers are met with a stark image of seemingly paradoxical origin, destruction framed by revival. The message of this scene is that remembering how completely the city was destroyed enables us to fully appreciate the miracle of Hiroshima’s rebirth. The notability of this dilapidated structure has carried on through time except in the present day, the building has taken on an entirely new meaning than that of utter destruction.

The concrete ruin itself “performs a visualization of different forms of mourning: we mourn loss, death, decay and destruction; humanity’s futile and successful attempts to master nature; and nature’s indifference to humans and their cruelty against one another”. The ruins of the Genbaku Dome are a physical representation of what happened to the city and the destructive capabilities of human versus human violence. The aftermath of such immediate and total devastation is that the urge to mourn is in direct competition everywhere with the urge to forget, creating the dilemma of whether to leave or remove one of the few physical reminders remaining from that infamous day. What was once a martial city held firm in their military prowess, was reduced to nothing more than the apocalyptic, scorched traces of a former life. Hiroshima was much like the solid bronze dome of the original Promotion Hall, once supported by sturdy walls of brick and stone, extirpated within minutes.

Survivors had mixed emotions when reminiscing about the Genbaku Dome as it represented the loss of everything they once knew. Two-thirds of the population were in favor of its preservation, and one-third preferred its removal. The preservation of the Atomic Bomb Dome remained a contested issue well into the 1960s dividing Hiroshima’s citizens into two camps: those who wanted the site gone because it either brought up painful memories or the location right in the city-center seemed too valuable to be wasted on a ruin, and those who regarded the dome as a persuasive warning against nuclear warfare and as a crowd-puller for visitors to Hiroshima.

In an interview with atomic bomb survivor, Koji Numata, when asked about his thoughts on the dome, he responded with “I don’t want to remember anything (on August 6th). I want to forget it all. When that scene comes back to my head it makes me sick. I want to forget it.” Survivors who experienced the bomb instinctively wanted the ruins torn down almost like a defense mechanism. Citizens of Hiroshima were too busy reeling from shock, trying to gather up the remnants from their lives and did not even consider commemoration until years later. At that specific moment in time, the ruins of the Prefecture Industrial Promotion Hall were just that, ruins. A crippling reminder that needed to be removed from the landscape of the throttled, ash covered city so that eventually she could be reborn.

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Found deep within the heart of Texas Hill Country is a peaceful Japanese flora and rock garden available to visitors for the enjoyment of its beauty and serenity. Little known to those who enter is the complex history responsible for its existence. Woven together throughout the property is a display dedicated to two Naval war heroes: the United States Admiral Chester Nimitz and Japanese Marshal-Admiral the Marquis Tōgō Heihachirō. Visible to all is the beauty of the two worlds as they combine their architecture and cultures in an expression of desired peace between nations.

The German heritage city of Fredericksburg, Texas, where the National Museum of the Pacific War resides, facilitates a campus exhibiting battlefield artifacts, memorials, a stage for combat reenactments, and the Garden of Peace, a Japanese garden. The intimacy of this vista inside this war complex against the Texas backdrop on the surface is perplexing. A small amount of text on the property explains that the garden exists as a symbol of friendship, but its surroundings contradict this story. Why then is it here, in Texas, roughly 1,200 miles away from the Pacific Coast?

Nestled within the original exterior retaining rock wall of the Admiral Nimitz Gallery, the Garden of Peace was officially opened and dedicated on May 8, 1976, the 130th founding of the German Texas Hill Country city Fredericksburg, and was as a special project of the American Bicentennial. Designed by architectural designer Taketora Saita, the garden contains a 360 square foot replica of Marshal-Admiral the Marquis Togo Heihachiro’s study at his home in Maizuru City, Japan. Sourcing rocks, trees, and plants locally in Texas, Saita designed the garden using two distinct Japanese garden styles. Situated on the north end of the site, the craftsman referenced Togo's home garden, a traditional Japanese style, along with its waterfall and pond, for reproduction in the small space beside the replica Togo study. The small building gazes south towards the rear of the Nimitz Gallery. Between them lay a stone garden, symbolic of the "expansive and infinite [Pacific] ocean." Strewn among this sea of water-worn white pebbles, the placement of large rocks represent the Pacific islands. According to descriptions in the local press, Saita explained that coupling the two garden styles "gives rhythm and tempo by aligning immutable stones against fresh and bright greens for a background and lends harmony to the plan and to the space." When asked about his vision for the garden, the designer said, "...careful attention has been given to making you feel an Oriental mood and presenting genuine objects refined by the unique Japanese traditions."

However, the prospective concept of the museum grounds developed in 1971 did not include plans for a Japanese garden as its focus was upon a flower and vegetable garden. Born from the conviction of a local group of Fredericksburg citizens and the city's Chamber of Commerce in 1963, the Admiral Nimitz Museum operated a few years before struggling to maintain operations. Ownership of the museum was transferred to the state, rendered an agency in 1970, and then administered by a commission established by the 61st Texas legislature. The commission's original development plan presented a holistic vision for the museum that incorporated each component of the original property (hotel, ballroom, saloon, garden, outdoor structures). It also specified how it should function, stressing the importance of recreating the period style and 1890's atmosphere in which the young Nimitz matured. Threading this authentic experience of the historic traveler's rest stop throughout the facility, the concept not only paid particular attention to decorative details but also included the casting of "real characters" to entertain guests with stories of bygone days. An article at the time boasts of the design, "The visitor will feel a wave of nostalgia, for life was quiet and reasonable in this day." In this regard, the proposed 1971 design is vaguely reminiscent of the cultural and spiritual affinity for cultivating tranquility found in Japanese gardens, yet not entirely a direct correlation. According to Sakuteiki, the oldest published Japanese text on gardening, "There is no need to include extraneous things." Limited sources reveal when or why the modifications to the original garden plan changed. However, a 1980 Texas Legislature Sunset Commission report acknowledges that two separate modifications, once in 1972 and again in 1977, were made since the master plan's origination. Given the dates of the proposed concept and the installation of the Garden of Peace, the possibility exists that the first modification included the new vision for the natural space.

Though no longer in office in 1971, President Lyndon B. Johnson had always favored the museum and committed to aid in its development. "We are going to do all in our power to make this one of the finest museums in the country," he said in an address at a banquet in the Texas city. The project was of personal interest. Johnson served briefly as a lieutenant commander under Nimitz during the war. Admiral Thomas Moorer, Chief of Naval Operations under Johnson, received a request from the President to assist in making the museum's plans become a reality. Moorer wrote his Japanese Naval colleagues to ask for their cooperation. This request garnered enthusiasm as Admiral Nimitz had engendered the utmost respect from the Japanese. Nimitz, an admirer of Japanese Naval hero Admiral Heihachiro Togo, marched in a 1934 funeral procession, played a significant role in restoring the Russo-Japanese veteran's flagship Mikasa, and contributed to the reconstruction of the Togo Shrine that found destruction during the Second World War. Keen on expressing their gratitude for Nimitz's display of respect, the Japanese commission then raised $83,366 (25 million yen) from the citizens of Japan to fund the garden. Artisans used the money to construct a replica of Togo's study on the island, dismantle it, bring it stateside to reconstruct it along with the build-out of the garden.

Altogether, the Garden of Peace enhances the landscape on the grounds of the historic Nimitz Hotel and Stagecoach Stop, the Fleet Admiral's childhood home. Organized by a committee of Japanese retired admirals, the garden finds its dedication in the great "friendship" of two war heroes.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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There are four memorials to the Navajo Code Talkers in Arizona and the "Four Corners" region - the area where Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico meet. These monuments help us understand the history of Navajo code talkers in the United States Marine Corps.

Navajo Code Talker memorial statues in Arizona, New Mexico, and the Navajo Nation reflect the complex relationship between the United States government, indigenous peoples, and the "memory politics" of recent years.

The Navajo Code Talkers were recruited in 1942 to use their indigenous language (Diné) to develop a sophisticated communications code believed to have helped win World War II in the Pacific theater. United States Marine Corps proponents of Navajo code-making petitioned for the use of the language, which differs from that of neighboring indigenous communities. Furthermore, they argued, "Navaho (sic) is the only tribe in the United States that has not been infested with German students during the past twenty years."

The Navajo people, who refer to themselves as Diné, are indigenous to the Southwestern United States. The Navajo Nation encompasses 27,000 miles of land straddling New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah, known as the Four Corners region. The Navajo Nation sent 3600 individuals to serve during World War II, approximately 400 of whom were code talkers. Three hundred Navajo soldiers were killed, including 7 code talkers. When they returned to their native lands, some Navajo veterans participated in healing ceremonies using traditional medicine to rid them of the demons of war. Still, otherwise, their war service was yet to be publicly acknowledged.

Considered essential in helping to win the war against the Japanese, the Code Talkers, "who risked their lives encoding, relaying, and decoding critical messages under extreme battle conditions," were not recognized officially for their service until 1982, when President Ronald Reagan authorized Navajo Code Talkers Day. Although the declassification of information about their activities came in 1969, it would be another 8-9 years before the 29 original and subsequent 300+ Code Talkers received Congressional gold and silver medals for their service. This recognition resulted in the dedication of four memorials to the Navajo Code Talkers in the Four Corners region.

The oldest memorial, at 22 Thomas Rd in Phoenix, Arizona, depicts a single seated male figure dressed in Native clothing and holding a flute in front of Phoenix Plaza, a multi-story office building. The second Phoenix statue is a copy of a code talker figure designed by Navajo sculptor Oreland Joe. At 16 feet tall, it was dedicated in Wesley Bolin Memorial Park in 2008 with an accompanying interpretive sign written in English.

A third Code Talker Statue sculpted by Oreland Joe sits within Veteran's Memorial Park outside of Window Rock, Arizona, capital of the Navajo Nation. The statue features a single kneeling helmeted Marine operating a radio, with the soldier carrying communications equipment on his back and a machine gun on his lap. The Window Rock statue, erected in 2004, is surrounded by scenic red rocks in the Veteran's Memorial Park adjacent to tribal headquarters, with an interpretive sign written in English. Finally, a similar 8.5-foot statue in bronze featuring a standing Code talker was placed near downtown Gallup, New Mexico, by the Southwest Indian Foundation.

To understand the Code Talker statues, one must first consider the complicated history of US-Native American government policy and the cultural commodification of Native Americans. In manifest destiny, the Navajo people were displaced from their ancestral lands to Bosque Redondo in present-day New Mexico, where they were starved and forced to walk back to their homeland (The Long Walk) in the 1860s. Other policies included the equivalent of cultural genocide—removing Navajo children from their homeland and sending them to boarding schools where they were not allowed to speak their language and forced to abandon traditional attire for the Western costume. Navajo people experienced numerous problems due to US Uranium mining within their lands and subsequent unauthorized experimenting on Native miners. Not until after World War II in 1948 did Native Americans receive the right to vote in Arizona, New Mexico, and US elections.

In 1989, the first Code Talker memorial statue, an 18-foot bronze, was dedicated on the grounds of Phoenix Plaza, a privately owned 20-story office building. This code talker is dressed in native moccasins, wearing a squash blossom necklace and holding a flute. The interpretive sign on the monument is in the Diné tongue with an English translation. The sculptor, Doug Hyde (1946-present), is a veteran and Native American of Nez Perce descent.

The Hyde statue of the code talker in Native dress with a flute portrays the Code Talker not as a soldier or warrior, but as a "peaceful" Native American, without a trace of aggression or militaristic impulse, even though the code talkers were trained soldiers and saw combat. At first glance, it would seem that the individual's identity as a soldier is not distinguishable. The Native American prominence is palatable to the general public, at odds with older "savage" stereotypes. When one looks more deeply, however, the image may identify the Code Talker in Native American tradition as a "trickster" due to the nature of his code-making and breaking activities. In many Southwest indigenous traditions, the flute player (Kokopelli) correlates strongly with the attributes of the trickster.

The 2004 Window Rock statue is very different from the design of Hyde. First, its location is in the capital of the Navajo Nation (home to about 3000 Navajo people according to the 2000 Census), within a Veteran's memorial park established in 1995. As described, the code talker figure is realistic in form and features a single kneeling Navajo Marine dressed in military garb with communications equipment of the era upon his back. Other than the title and location of the sculpture, the figure is indistinguishable from other soldiers of the World War II era. The sculptor, Oreland Joe, was born in 1958 in the Four Corners area and is of Navajo/Ute descent. A copy of the statue also is displayed in Phoenix's Wesley Bolin plaza adjacent to the Arizona state capitol.

Like the Marine Corps statue of Iwo Jima in Arlington, VA, the Joe statue seems to find its pattern after a photograph of an unnamed Native American code talker held in the US Government archives. A plaque accompanies the Navajo Code Talkers memorial within Wesley Bolin Memorial Park in Phoenix that features a quote, "Were it not for the Navajos, the Marines would have never taken Iwo Jima," attributed to Major Howard Connor of the US Marine Corps.

The Gallup monument, also created by Joe, is very similar to that of the other two Joe Code Talker monuments and was erected in 2005 in the western New Mexico town of approximately 21,000 people, 43.8% of whom identify as Native American as of 2000 according to US Census records. The Gallup statue's difference from its siblings in Window Rock and Phoenix is noted primarily in the stance of the Code Talker, in which he is partially standing rather than crouched. The minimal interpretive sign reads, "29 Marines prepare to depart during World War II/Navajo Code Talkers/Departure/May 4, 1942."

The Navajo Nation itself has been relatively slow to recognize the code talkers. In 2007, 25 years after the US Government's recognition, the Nation established an annual Code Talkers Memorial Day on August 14. Similarly, it was not until 2020 that a national monument to Native American veterans found its position in Washington, DC, despite receiving authorization in 1994. The Washington DC memorial features an abstract rather than figurative design. It is geared toward all Native American veterans vs. World War II code talkers, although an accompanying online exhibit does focus on the Code Talker legacy.

Almost all of the original code talkers have passed away. While oral histories and photographs remain, the four Memorials described here, massive and impervious to weather and time, may be what endures to shape future understanding of the Code Talker experience.

edited by Laura Bailey

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It has been said we create memorials, so we never forget, and monuments so we always remember. The Bainbridge Island Japanese Exclusion Memorial provides its visitors a means of never forgetting the incomprehensible experiences of Japanese-Americans on the West Coast during World War II. It simultaneously recognizes the importance of remembering that citizens' freedom and rights are worth fighting for in America regardless of the foreign foe.

It is essential to examine the Bainbridge Island Japanese Exclusion Memorials history by focusing on the events leading to the Internment Decision, the Exclusion of the Japanese, and the impact on residents of Bainbridge Island. These factors influenced the desire to create the Memorial, its support, and the eventual design. It is a unique Northwest site of memory compared to other Japanese Memorials in the United States.

The attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 led to a nationwide anti-Japanese fervor in the United States that culminated in the Internment of over 120,000 Nikkei in several concentration camps inland of the West Coast. This act was legally sanctioned by Executive Order 9066.

Bainbridge Island, a small island eight miles from Seattle by boat, was an interracial rural community where 272 Japanese lived and worked in harmony with their neighbors. On March 30, 1942, given only six days advance notice, 227 residents of the island became the first Japanese-Americans to be removed from their homes. They were force-marched down the path leading to the Eagledale Ferry dock guarded by US soldiers, where they boarded the vessel for Seattle and an unknown destination. Eventually, 12,892 Washington residents found themselves relocated to concentration camps. Over time, the term for these camps has been softened to "internment camps" or "relocation camps" to avoid direct correlation with Holocaust concentration camps. Still, the phrase at the time was "concentration camps." Most of the Bainbridge Island Japanese would remain in camps until the end of the war, and many of the younger Nissei men would serve in the United States Army in Europe. Of the 272 Japanese-Americans who left Bainbridge Island, only 150 would eventually return. The injustice of incarcerating citizens for unfounded security fears would not bring an apology or reparations by the government until 1988.

Before their expulsion, Japanese-Americans had been an integral part of the Bainbridge Island community and were generally welcome in coming back. The Bainbridge Review, a local paper, was one of the only publications on the west coast that objected to the exclusion and reported updates on life in the camps. However, despite help from local friends who had remained, many had to start over when they returned to the island. The Bainbridge Island Japanese American Community (BIJAC) was founded after the war to assist those returning and new residents.
In 1988, directly after the passing of the Civil Liberties Act of 1988 by the United States Congress, the BIJAC partnered with the Bainbridge Island/North Kitsap Interfaith Council (Interface Council) to form the Bainbridge Island WWII Nikkei Internment and Exclusion Memorial Committee. This committee led fundraising efforts and partners with local politicians to receive federal funds for the project allowing it to proceed with partnership from the City of Bainbridge Island.

The first Memorial, a simple stone with an information plaque, was dedicated in 2002. Later that year, the Bainbridge Island Japanese-American Memorial Study Act was passed into law, and progress resulted in the groundbreaking dedication in 2006. In 2008, the site received Federal Status and officially connected to the Minidoka National Historic Site in Idaho.

The Bainbridge Island Japanese Exclusion Memorial has multiple sections planned in phases on the road once leading to the former Eagledale Ferry Dock site. Building the Memorial along the same path and same space where the Nikkei boarded the ferry off the island creates a link to the past that visitors to the site can envision. This experience also aligns with famous photos taken as the Nikkei walked to the ferry (Figure 1) that further "evokes the day of departure." The official vision is as follows:
The vision is for a memorial area that is evocative and contemplative with the power to instruct future generations about the injustices of the past and the fragility of assumed rights. Perhaps most importantly, the Memorial will commemorate and honor the strength and perseverance of the people involved and celebrates the capacity of human beings to heal, forgive and care for one another.

Local Native-American artist Jonpaul Jones was the designer of the Memorial. Jones has been honored nationally for "honoring the natural world and indigenous traditions" and designed the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington DC. Growing up in Oklahoma as a member of the Choctaw reservation brought a personal connection to the exclusion that influenced his design. "I'm an American-Indian, and I understand being sent away from your homeland." His design incorporates the area's landscape while combining Japanese and Pacific Northwest materials and building styles spaced over five acres of land.

Of the completed portions of the Bainbridge Island Japanese Exclusion Memorial, the "story wall" is the most prominent feature and is meant to be the most thought-provoking. It intends to "convey a feeling of belonging, stability, and quiet strength…[and also to] convey a sense of slow and steady movement". Visitors move quickly to the wall past the information pavilion and solemnly walk down the path, reading the names and contemplating the friezes. Dozens of paper cranes hang from the wall as symbols of peace and add a living connection to the past. The Memorial can be uncomfortable to view as it poses the greatest generation in a way seldom seen. Depicted is an inherently bad light of racism and reactionary policies justified by "a means to an end." The monument captures the event while providing information on anti-Japanese bias after Pearl Harbor but does not go into great detail on racism or life in the camps. However, politicians and interned Nikkei pressed to ensure all visitors understand the focus on "Nidoto Nai Yoni." At the dedication ceremony, local politician Jay Inslee (and eventual state governor) alluded to this with "We don't sit in judgment of the past but in inspiration of the future."

Compared to other Japanese-American memorials to World War II, the Bainbridge Island Japanese Exclusion Memorial links most directly to the location and individuals. Its existence proves the desire of the Pacific Northwest Community to learn from its past. Monuments are not history, but the Memorial urges us to "feel" history and tie the past to the present and the future through specific victim imagery and comfortable Northwest styling.

With remembrance, there is also a notion of guilt by creating the Memorial and paying community reparation for the mistreatment of Japanese-Americans on the very site where it occurred. The Bainbridge Review, along with others in the community, fought specifically against racial bias that attempted to prevent the return of the Nikkei to the island. The Review's owners, Bob and Milly Woodward, hosted heated community forums on the Japanese. They fought for the rights of their friends as American citizens regardless of their nationality.

A specific effort acts as evidence connecting the Japanese-Americans that were an integral part of the local schools, businesses, and social community before the exclusion and after the war. One frieze depicts a Japanese boy in a Bainbridge High School baseball uniform. It is an attempt to show the Japanese were "just like us," playing baseball for the local high school they attended with local [and as] residents. This example helps the viewer embrace the sense of guilt and disgrace to exclude "good citizens."

Sharing the local history of Bainbridge Island, the Memorial's creation, the direct design decisions, and the reaction to the monument creates an understanding of why the monument exists. It will be a supported part of Bainbridge Island for years to come. The motto "Let it Not Happen Again" is intended never to forget what happened to Japanese Americans in World War II. It is also a promise by a community always to remember.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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The life of Gunnery Sergeant John Basilone has been a cultural touchstone for different American communities throughout World War II and after the advent of his fame. Even today, Marines and Italian-Americans alike view Basilone as someone who represents their own struggles and achievements. Through memorials, many of which are not generalized to apply to a broader swath of people but are very specific to Basilone himself, these communities, and American society as a whole engage with Basilone's story and those he has come to represent.

John Basilone's story is one that sits at the crux of the American ideals of patriotism, heroism, and duty. Together, the Basilone memorials symbolize a hero from the creator's perspective – an American warrior, a distinctly Catholic, Italian-American Marine who went above and beyond the call of duty and became in some ways representative of all Marines and Italian-Americans because of it.

Born to Italian immigrants in 1916, as one of ten children, John enlisted in the Army in 1936 and served until 1939. He then enlisted in the Marines and was made a machine gunner with the 1st Battalion, 5th Marines. Along with his buddies, he shipped off to Guadalcanal. It was there that Basilone pulled off the exploit that made him a celebrity overnight.

During a night attack by the Japanese 2nd Division in October of 1942, Basilone took charge of a small band of troops and held a portion of the Marine line with his machine gun in hand. He ran through the jungle for ammunition, repaired his men's jammed guns, and transported the hot, heavy machine guns in his squad to where they would be most effective. Though many accounts – some fanciful and embellished – exist of that night, they all agree on one thing: with uncommon bravery and calm, John Basilone and his men held off a steady assault of Japanese troops despite the darkness, dwindling supplies, ammunition, and men.

Though most memorials made in Basilone's honor are specific to his heroism that night on Guadalcanal, his story does not end there. In his book 'Hero of the Pacific: The Life of Marine Legend, John Basilone', war correspondent, and Marine James Brady describes how John was
"ordered to the States as an officially anointed hero" only to journey with other contemporary celebrities groomed to be "traveling salesmen assigned to show the flag, boost morale, and sell war bonds."

John was endearing to the American public. More so, he was a fighting man at heart – he wanted to be "back with his buddies," serving on the battlefield as was his purpose when he enlisted. This desire to be with his comrades – one understood by his new bride, fellow Marine Sgt. Lena Riggi – prompted John to leave his celebrity life behind and return to
battle. John Basilone lost his life on February 19, 1945. The first day of fighting at Iwo Jima. He was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross for his heroism in leading the charge against a Japanese fortification that had kept American troops pinned on the beach.

Basilone's valor and heroism during the war have since been the impetus for creating numerous memorials erected in his name that only serve to solidify the idea of the heroism he embodied. Among these memorials are bridges, school buildings, a statue in his hometown, a road in Italy, an
official stamp by the USPS, two battleships, and an obstacle course at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego.

Tributes continue to be made to honor him as recently as January 2020, when the keel was laid for the USS John Basilone. Additionally, each September, the John Basilone memorial day parade runs through his hometown of Raritan, New Jersey. Why is John Basilone, a Gunnery Sergeant in World War II, a figure whose experiences are still relevant and compelling to warrant continuous memorialization throughout the near century after his death? Why is the myth of John Basilone still held so dearly after all these years?

Marine Corps war correspondent Cyril O'Brien said of the hero, "'Basilone is someone you can hang your ribbon on because he was so outstanding, but you're really talking about the people beside him as well." Basilone himself made sure that everyone knew that "Only part of the medal belongs to me; pieces of it belong to the boys who fought by my side on Guadalcanal." Once the Medal of Honor hung upon his uniform, Basilone represented the heroism of every Marine – those who served before him, those who served with him, and those who served after him.

In this same way, Italian-American communities memorialize John Basilone to recall the struggles and triumphs of Italian immigrants and their descendants throughout American history. Again, Basilone
personifies the best of the best – a son of immigrants, undeniably a patriot and hero in a time when it was doubtful Italian-Americans, particularly those who were devout Catholics, could be either. As Michael Frontani writes in his essay "Becoming American," "The image Basilone presented, inseparable from the American values underpinning its construction, challenged prevalent perceptions about Italian-Americans as
dysfunctional, foreign, and often criminal."

The statue that stands in the middle of Raritan, New Jersey's Veterans Park, serves as a reminder of all John Basilone's image and figure came to epitomize during his life and in the years after his death. Unveiled on Raritan's Basilone Day in 1948, the statue is no minimalistic, generalized representation of a war hero. A rugged, virile Basilone stands tall with his machine gun cradled in his too-big hands, reminiscent of Michelangelo's David, indicative of the larger-than-life status Basilone took on after that night on Guadalcanal. His curly hair and defined features, modeled after photographs of Basilone, give him a decidedly Stallone-like quality.
A crucifix and dog tags rest on his bare chest. The significance of this
statue is twofold: first, it delivers the clear message that Americans – be they Marines, Italians, both, or neither – celebrate men of action, bravery, and strength. Second, it delivers the message that these same Americans, spread across diverse communities, come together to celebrate a
distinctly Catholic, Italian-American Marine.

The John Basilone memorials deftly combine official and vernacular memory: while upholding the idyllic American war hero, they also allow local communities, like those of the Marines and Italian-Americans,
to engage with their remembrances of lost comrades, individual struggles, and shared victories. And yet, in the case of Italian-Americans, the Basilone memorials also serve an additional purpose; while
encouraging respective communities to engage with their own
experiences, the Basilone memorials also encourage American society as a whole to accept and engage with a historically ostracized community and their culture.

Writing of the Life magazine spread of Basilone's homecoming in 1943, Fontani describes "the Basilone image, fully formed – an image intended not only to spur bond-buying and enlistment in the Marines and other services but also to place Italian-Americans squarely within
American culture and society." The memorials are representative of the traits and experiences that Marines and Italian-Americans hold dear and remain treasured within those communities. Still, they also represent those traits to American society as a whole. What is so significant about the Basilone memorials is that they represent the American ideals of heroism, bravery, patriotism, and sacrifice. They do so through the specific lens of the experiences of an Italian-American Marine.

In the story of John Basilone and the memorials that preserve it, Americans have a hero who embodies the triumphs of our best men and the joys of our most ordinary. He was, as James Brady describes him, "an authentic hero, the real goods. He was a warrior who fought with
an extraordinary courage and resolve... he would be rewarded by a nation with medals and gratitude." As John Basilone was rewarded in life, Americans still honor our debt to him for his story. Through the memorials dedicated to him, the story of John Basilone serves as a
valuable cornerstone for the preservation and sharing of American values. It allows American communities to celebrate and memorialize their own stories through the story of one hero.

(edited by Laura Bailey)

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