August 14, 1945

My Darling Dorothy, 

The big news has just broken. The War is over. I got to the ship just after the word was passed.

If you think a Navy yard can’t celebrate, think again. Every ship has a bell, a whistle, a siren, and a G-Q beeper. Every ship is using all of these to the best advantage. Add the yells of the personnel, the clanging of the bells and gongs, the resounding ring of pieces of steel hung from cranes and struck by mallets, and you have an idea of bedlam.

Waste paper baskets are dumped from the top of ships’ smokestacks, and the ascending stream of hot gasses carries a tower of giant confetti high into the air. Ships which didn’t receive the “no pyrotechnics” order are shooting off their signal fireworks.

What wild joy prevails! No more dawn alerts! No more G-Qs in the middle of the night or the middle of a meal. No more depth charge attacks when we expect to be torpedoed any instant. No more hours spent gazing at a glaring sun, waiting for the bogeys ‘out there’ to come diving in to destruction. No more watching the carriers launch their planes, and waiting painfully for the one which never comes back.

Oh! It’s really over! Can it be true? Yes, it must be true! But is it possible that last week, yesterday even, we were fighting, expecting a long fight ahead?

Arms grow tired of hammering metal, and new arms take over. Gaily-colored flag hoists are strung from the yardarms, proclaiming the day! The American flag, victorious again, waves proudly in the evening breeze.