Flags of Our Fathers by James Bradley

February 23 is my wedding anniversary. This year it marks 30 years of marriage for me and my sweetheart. February 23 is also the day that 6 Marines hoisted an American Flag on the Pacific Island of Iwo Jima, 64 years ago. The event was captured in a photograph that became almost immediately iconic —the most widely recognized image from any world conflict ever.

A colossal bronze sculpture of the scene depicted in the photo resides in Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia. I’ve been there in person. I stood at the base of the monument and marveled. I remember the day clearly but not just because of the sculpture. It was September 4, 2001, just one week to the day before the nearby Pentagon was attacked by terrorists. At the time, the only reason the Iwo Jima Memorial impressed me was because it was famous. For what, I barely knew.

When I learned that the date of my marriage shares the date of perhaps the most significant turning point of World War II, I was embarrassed for not having known this sooner. One generation removed from the soldiers who fought to gain the freedom I enjoy and oblivious to the history of their sacrifice. How prone to disregard and forget.

Flags of Our Fathers, by James Bradley recounts the significance of the battle for control of the small volcanic island of Iwo Jima and the tremendous price paid in American blood for its capture. The book is by no means a pleasant read or a volume to relax by the fire with on a cold and snowy afternoon. For me, nearly every page produced a deep feeling of sorrow and gloom. Two years ago, I read Flyboys, Jim Bradley’s second volume about the war in the Pacific and was so distressed by what I learned that I had to take a long break from my WWII studies to recover.

So why do I feel so compelled to recommend a book that is bound to disturb and dismay? The answer is simple: because of the enormous debt we owe to what Tom Brokaw called "The Greatest Generation"—the boys who answered the call to fight for the United States of America in the second world war. And most of them were just boys; many in their teens, some as young as 14, having lied about their age in order to enlist and serve their country.

Flags of Our Fathers vividly depicts the war in all of its horror but it is also a record of virtue and valor; of courage and commitment; of union and unity. There are lessons to be learned from these brave young men. In a day and age when popular culture dictates that it’s every man for himself and nice guys finish last, it’s good to be reminded of the strength derived from being one—united in purpose and intent. When interviewed and asked by the author how they were able to endure and do what they did in circumstances unfathomable to most of us, survivors of Iwo Jima unanimously replied: I did it for my buddies.

There are two other prominent themes in Flags of Our Fathers that impressed me: the impact of “The Photograph” on the post-war lives of the surviving flag raisers, and the exemplary life of John “Jack” Bradley both during the war and after. Admittedly, because the book was written by Jack Bradley’s son, it’s reasonable to suspect a little bias toward the positive. I forgive the author’s exaggerations if there are any. I can only hope to earn a fraction of the respect and honor Jack Bradley received from his friends and family; regard obtained from the life of integrity he lived and the service he rendered.


Upon returning to the States from the Pacific theater, the flag survivors were compelled to serve their country in a most unexpected way: as war heroes on display for a massive publicity tour to promote patriotism and raise money for the government by selling war bonds. As was always his nature, Jack Bradley dutifully performed his responsibilities and then moved on with his life. As for Ira Hayes and Rene Gagnon, the other survivors, the pressure of fame destroyed the former and failure to obtain fortune with the fame destroyed the latter. Their contrasting stories add substance and depth to the narrative.

I don’t intend to forget my wedding anniversary. I’ve heard that some do; mostly men. Odds are I will soon forget about the Star Spangled Banner being raised on a remote tropical island on the same date. On Monday, February 23rd, two days ago, I scanned the Nation’s newspaper, USA Today, for any mention of Iwo Jima and the flag. I was relieved to find a few short lines: the story of a handful of WWII veterans visiting the memorial at Arlington National Cemetery to commemorate the event. I’m glad that somebody remembered. We all need to remember.