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By GAIL FINEBERG

For four days during Memorial Day weekend, May 27-30, veterans of World War II gathered on the National Mall in Washington to renew acquaintances and share their memories of the war. The American Folklife Center's Veterans History Project (VHP) was there to collect and preserve their stories.

The VHP operated one of seven pavilions and two performance stages on the Mall during the National World War II Reunion, which was produced by the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage and the American Battle Monuments Commission.

The VHP sponsored panel discussions, talked with scores of World War II veterans and their families and organized a cadre of volunteers who fanned out across the National Mall to talk with veterans and record their stories of service and sacrifice during the war for the VHP's growing archives of firsthand accounts of wartime experiences.

The Veterans History Project was created in October 2000 when the president signed legislation sponsored by Rep. Ron Kind (D-Wis.), Rep. Amo Houghton (R-N.Y.), Rep. Steny Hoyer (D-Md.), Sen. Max Cleland (D-Ga.) and Sen. Chuck Hagel (R-Neb.) to collect and preserve the wartime memories of veterans and those who served in support of them during World War I, World War II, and the Korean, Vietnam and Persian Gulf wars. (See the July-August 2002 Information Bulletin for a related story.)

AARP, a nonprofit, nonpartisan membership organization, is the founding sponsor of the project, with more than 1,000 other organizations also participating.

On the Mall

Throughout the four days on the Mall, VHP leaders and supporters drummed the project message home: that any and everyone who knows of a 20th century war veteran—or civilian engaged in a war effort—should make an effort to collect those stories before they are lost.

"Our project is a national project that relies on grassroots volunteer help," Beverly Lindsey, acting director of the Veterans History Project, said in her opening remarks Thursday morning, May 27, adding that the 16,000 stories collected up to that point were obtained through volunteer efforts.

"These are interviews you can do," she said. "Every veteran has a valuable story to tell; no matter whether he thinks he is a hero or not, it's a valuable story. We want that story in our collection because it is an important piece of the national history we are collecting."

The VHP staff and volunteers, easily recognizable in their purple shirts and hats, worked throughout the weekend handing out brochures, answering thousands of questions about the Veterans History Project and VHP events, and asking hundreds of questions to collect and capture veterans' stories.

Veterans with families in tow flocked to the pavilion, seeking someone to record their memories. They filled pavilion seats to hear the Tuskegee Airmen, Navajo Code Talkers, POWs, Army nurses and others who told their war stories on stage. At the conclusion of every program, fans mobbed their war heroes, seeking autographs and photographs.

Reporters, photographers and camera crews—from CNN and CBS to Channel 1 in Russia and Spiegel Online in Germany, from The New York Times, Los Angeles Times and The Washington Post to the Lancaster (Pa.) Evening News and Milwaukee Journal Sentinel—came in search of stories and pictures. By Sunday night 69 media representatives had signed in at the VHP Pavilion.

"People love to tell stories and hear stories," said Diane Kresh, director of the VHP volunteer effort. "These [stories] are running the whole gamut of emotions. The staff is loving it, and the press is looking for ‘the hats' and recording not only veterans' stories, but the stories of the stories."

One story—captured on audiotape by VHP senior program officer Sarah Rouse and videotaped by ITS multimedia coordinator Jim Cannady for the VHP Web site—was that of veteran Howard Belton Greene, of Tryon, N.C., whose D-Day feats paralleled those of Capt. John Miller (Tom Hanks) in the Steven Spielberg film "Saving Private Ryan."

Kresh observed that storytelling and recording seemed to be cathartic for the veterans and rewarding for the volunteers. That was the experience of one volunteer team, writer-editor Susan Reyburn and researcher Anjelina Keating, who are working on a World War II reference book for the Library's Publishing Office. They interviewed six subjects in four hours and talked to two others who declined interviews, preferring to preserve their privacy.

"Most of them were a little reluctant, saying they didn't really do anything special and didn't deserve to be interviewed," Keating recalled. The pair discovered that a question about their subjects' responsibilities and duties during the war was "enough to trigger big stories and very telling small details," Reyburn said.

Both interviewers said they were struck by the modesty of those they questioned. "Almost to a man, they said they were only doing their jobs," Reyburn said. "But what jobs for 19-year-olds—liberating concentration camps, fueling planes under fire, landing on Okinawa. When I thought about the summer jobs my friends and I had at that age, it was hard to believe what they were asked to do—and did do."

Joseph Doria, left, wandered the Mall thanking every veteran he encountered for making "this great country" safe for his family, whom he brought from the Philippines for a "better life" in the United States. Here he expresses his gratitude to Air Force veteran James Dobson, who survived capture as a prisoner of war. - Michaela McNichol

One Navy vet said he didn't have any stories to tell, but it turned out he had survived a number of close calls while serving on a destroyer and doing convoy duty in the Battle of the Atlantic.

"We heard from every veteran we talked to that they were lucky," Keating said. "I was surprised that so many people we interviewed started crying. I wasn't quite prepared for how emotional even such a short interview would be. Many family members of the veterans thanked us profusely."

"It was an incredibly rewarding experience to hear from the vets themselves, and it's very satisfying to know that what they had to say is on record now," Reyburn said. "One vet told us that this weekend was one of the biggest events of his life, and for us to have been minor participants in it made the day all the more poignant."

In addition to telling their stories to volunteer teams roving the Mall, veterans packed a VHP pavilion section equipped with 20 laptop computers, where they could write their own stories or tell them to VHP volunteers who typed them online. They told stories on stage in the VHP pavilion, in 30 hours of public programs, and in the privacy of two soundproof interview booths at the pavilion. They spoke on Capitol Hill during interviews in the Library's Thomas Jefferson Building.

They also brought to the VHP pavilion photographs, memoirs they had written, and letters and memorabilia, such as a worn box containing POW bracelets. One veteran of the 4th Infantry Division, 22nd Regiment, Newton Henshley of Brownsburg, Ind., wasn't ready yet to part with a large, red Nazi flag he had captured from a small town's bank tower while he was under sniper fire from retreating German soldiers near the end of the Battle of the Bulge. But he promised that the flag, photographs and other original artifacts would come to the Library someday after they are handed down through his eight children. "I'll put it in my will," he said.

One Soldier's Story

The words came haltingly at first, then in a rush, as if the memories had been dammed up for six decades, waiting for release at the National World War II Reunion on the National Mall.

"I was one of the lucky ones," blurted Martin "Bud" Castle, 83, of Sun City, Ariz. Wearing a light blue cap bearing the insignia of the 389th Bomb Group, he sat in a wheelchair parked in the shade not far from the big white tent housing the VHP. Remembrance of his last bombing mission in Europe came to mind with such force that his voice broke and his broad shoulders shook with emotion. His great-grandniece, Peg MacDougall of Holt, Mich., stepped forward to touch his arm. "It's OK," she said.

A moment passed before he could continue telling his story to VHP volunteers Alice Parrish of the Library's Copyright Examining Division and Mike Ashenfelder of the Office of Strategic Initiatives.

Castle was the first veteran Parrish and Ashenfelder encountered after they readied their tape recorder and reviewed their team strategy; to start, Parrish asked the questions and Ashenfelder recorded the answers. First, they elicited information essential to future researchers: Castle's name and address, birth date (Jan. 16, 1921), dates of military service (1942-45), outfit (389th Bomb Group, 8th Air Force), rank at the conclusion of his service (staff sergeant) and permission to use his words.

Then, microphone in hand, Parrish asked, "Do you have any one particular war memory that you would like to share with us?"

That question was all it took for Castle to pour out the story of his 24th bombing mission over an enemy target in German-occupied France. He couldn't remember the date in 1945, but he was one mission away from going stateside; Air Force policy was to send bomber crews home for a break after 25 bombing missions.

Castle's previous 23 bombing runs had been uneventful, even routine. His bomber group would launch at dawn, fly in formation over the English Channel, drop their payloads on enemy targets in France or Germany and return to base before dark. But for some reason he never figured out ("I've gone over that in my head a thousand times"), this flight was launched late in the afternoon. A few hours later, having completed their mission, Castle and his 11 crewmates were on their way back to their home base in England. It was about 9 p.m. and dark.

Less than 30 minutes from landing, gunner Castle saw a flash to his left and, in the glare, looked into the maw of a 20-mm cannon, seemingly pointed directly at him from a few feet away. Undetected, a German night fighter apparently had stalked his group on its way back to base and had swooped up beneath his bomber's wing to unleash its deadly fire. "I tried to get off some shots," he said, but it was futile.

On fire, Castle's bomber was headed down. He knew his aircraft would explode within minutes, as soon as flames reached the gas tank. He snapped on his parachute and jumped, the one time he was ever in a parachute.

"I was elated," he said. "The chute was open."

He landed safely in a farmer's field. Five others of his crew also jumped to safety. The other six died. "I was so lucky," he said.

"The crew had been together nearly a year. We were kinda' close, you know," he said, fighting back tears.

He shook his head. "You hear a lot of people complaining in this country," he said, adding that maybe they wouldn't complain so much if they only knew how many lives had been sacrificed to ensure the freedoms that others now take for granted.

A tape recording of Castle's story, together with a digital photo and the biographical data, join all the materials gathered by the VHP since Congress authorized the project in 2000. By the weekend's close, some 200 teams of volunteers, including Library of Congress and congressional staff and students, had interviewed almost 2,000 World War II veterans and civilian war supporters. Their stories join those collected previously from 16,000 veterans and civilians who served or supported five major wars—World War I, World War II and the Korean, Vietnam and Persian Gulf wars.

Betty Smith tells her story of serving with the U.S. Army Nurse Corps while her husband served with the Army Air Corps during World War II. Their daughter, Marilyn Smith Rice, also an Army nurse, accompanied Smith to the World War II Reunion. A VHP volunteer records the story online in the VHP Pavilion. - Michaela McNichol

Panel Discussions

Among the panelists in the VHP pavilion during the four-day event were African Americans, Japanese Americans, Latinos and Native Americans who told their stories of heroism, not only on the battleground with America's World War II enemies but also on the battleground of civil rights. These Americans risked their lives for their country, even though they had to live in separate quarters and fight in separate units throughout the war.

Some minorities served as translators and code talkers. Some distinguished themselves as ace fighter pilots and combat soldiers. Others, not entrusted to fight because of their race, were assigned jobs building roads through malaria-infested jungles, cleaning mess halls and latrines, cooking, laying communications lines, and treating and evacuating wounded soldiers. They may not have won medals under fire, but their jobs were essential and their stories are part of the history of World War II.

One white Army veteran, a native of Texas, admitted that he could never understand why the armed forces continued its policy of segregation of the troops during that conflict. "We were at one end of the camp; they were at the other. … When they got shot in battle, their blood was just as red as ours."

Women at War

Wherever soldiers and sailors fought and fell in World War II, Army and Navy nurses were nearby to tend the wounded and comfort the dying, often working long past midnight, sometimes under enemy fire. Nurses and other women in the military made history as they not only served their country but also began to break down barriers to their gender and race.

Four military nurses shared their memories during a panel presentation in the VHP pavilion on May 30. One of them was Martha Blackman Leierer, a Navy nurse.

On Nov. 13, 1943, Leierer shipped out from San Francisco Bay aboard the USS Solace, a 450-bed hospital ship staffed with 17 doctors, two dentists, 113 nurses and 160 medical corpsmen. During one 16-month period, the medical staff cared for approximately 10,000 patients, of whom 7,500 were war casualties. Of these, 60 died on board.

Aboard the USS Solace until January 1945, Leierer treated thousands of young men suffering from the casualties of warfare in the Pacific islands—gunshot wounds, broken bones, burns, loss of limbs, malaria and other tropical diseases.

"These were very sick boys. We worked long days," she recalled.

As she read steadily from her notes of those days and nights, there emerged a picture of fighting in the Pacific and the high wages of war:

"Nov. 24, 1943. Picked up 250 casualties from the Gilbert Islands, where the Marines were in a serious fight with the Japanese. Reconnoitering with Navy destroyers, cruisers and troop ships, the Solace, while under way, received soldiers suffering mostly from gunshots, burns and broken bones. Patients also were loaded onto another hospital ship; more than 3,000 casualties were reported.

"It seemed as if I walked miles giving out medicines and looking after patients, Leierer recalled of her first shipboard experience with war casualties. "We had to have blackouts on board and were continually on the lookout for enemy planes and ships.

The Solace delivered its patients to Pearl Harbor and, needing repairs, picked up 500 patients there for delivery to stateside hospitals and headed for San Diego.

"Jan. 15, 1943. Headed back to Pearl Harbor and on to the Marshall Islands, where we joined a big convoy of ships. We took on many patients. I worked in the medical and neurology wards, where we had a dramatic amputation of a right arm. He died later that night. We could hear fighting and bombing on the islands."

"Feb. 22. Dr. Drake and I worked until 3:30 a.m. attending to wounds. We took many more patients, seriously wounded, one amputation requiring penicillin. We then headed back to Pearl Harbor. On our way, one in our convoy was hit by a Jap destroyer."

The USO's Liberty Bells, dressed in vintage World War II USO uniforms, brought back fond memories for this veteran at the World War II reunion. - Michaela McNichol

And so her recital continued, tracing the Solace's mission of mercy as it crisscrossed the South Pacific, collecting wounded soldiers from battles in the New Hebrides, New Guinea, the Admiralty Islands, New Caledonia, Guadalcanal, the Philippines and the Marianas, including Saipan and Guam, and ferrying them to hospitals in Australia or Pearl Harbor. Leierer's ship made at least eight trips to Pearl Harbor.

One War, Separate Units

Even though people of color could not eat, sleep, view movies with or even fight in the same units with whites in World War II, fight they did, with courage and heroism.

World War II fighter pilots Sam O'Dennis, right, and other veterans of the segregated 332nd Fighter Group have formed Tuskegee Airmen Inc., a service organization that supports young people through education, scholarships, sponsorships to military academies and flight training at the Tuskegee Institute. O'Dennis is with the Chicago chapter of the organization. - Michaela McNichol

Their feats were largely ignored by the government and the mainstream press during and after the war. But their stories are beginning to be told in their own words in books, oral history projects, and public appearances such as those on stage in the VHP pavilion during the National World War II Reunion.

Todd Moye, a military historian and director of the Tuskegee Airmen Oral History Project for the National Park Service, set the stage for two VHP appearances of three Tuskegee Airmen.

During the 1930s and ‘40s, he said, the prevailing racist attitude in America was that blacks were incapable of flying or maintaining an airplane. He read from the conclusion of a 1925 Army War College study: "The Negro is … by nature subservient and believes himself to be inferior to the white man. … He cannot control himself in the face of danger to the extent the white man can. He has not the initiative nor the resourcefulness of the white man. He is mentally inferior to the white man. It is recommended that this study be taken as the basis of policy of the War Department."

And it was the basis of the War Department's policy, according to Moye, until the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the black press and historically black colleges lobbied the Roosevelt administration to change it. As a result, the president directed the Army Air Corps to form a black flying unit. In 1941 a segregated flying school for black pilots was created at Moton Field near Tuskegee, Ala., in the heart of the segregated South.

Moye said that everyone connected with the Tuskegee Airmen (pilots, ground crews and clerks) was a civil rights pioneer. They were among the first to begin breaking down racial barriers, first in the military, which was desegregated by President Truman's order in 1948, and later in civilian life.

By war's end, Moye said, about 450 of the 1,000 pilots trained in the Tuskegee flying school had flown combat missions over North Africa and Europe with the 99th Pursuit Squadron and the 332nd Fighter Group commanded by a West Point graduate, Gen. Benjamin O. Davis Jr.

Known as the Red Tails for the distinctive markings on their planes, these fighter pilots established an unmatched combat record, Moye said. Throughout World War II they never lost a bomber to enemy fighters. No other group can make such a claim, he said, adding that for every victorious pilot in the air there was a skilled flight crew on the ground.

Ace Pilot

"I wanted to be a pilot since I was a little kid," recalled Lee Archer Jr., America's first Ace fighter pilot and a member of the Veterans History Project's Five-Star Council.

He wanted to fly when it appeared he would have to play a part in World War II. A college sophomore, he applied for flight training with two white buddies. He scored higher than they did on qualifying tests, but they were selected and he was not. A recruiter told him there were no "coloreds" in the Army Air Corps and suggested he volunteer for the infantry.

While he was serving with a segregated infantry unit in Georgia, Archer learned about the Tuskegee flying school and the 99th Pursuit Squadron. He was accepted for flight training at the Tuskegee Army Air Field, as Moton Field was called, and he reported for flight training in 1942, became a cadet captain and graduated as a Fighter Pilot I, Class 43-G.

Archer shipped overseas in 1943 as a replacement pilot and joined the 302nd Pursuit Squadron of the 332nd Fighter Group. By the time the war was over, he had flown 169 missions and shot down five enemy aircraft. He served 29 years with the military, retiring with the rank of lieutenant colonel. In civilian life, he became a corporate vice president of General Foods and is chairman and CEO of Archer Associates and president of the Organization Publishing Co.

"How did you become an ace?" Moye asked Archer.

"By accident," he replied. "If you stay there long enough and are not killed, the chances of being an ace are very good."

Archer had scored two kills on separate missions and then, in 1944, three more on a single mission while his squadron was escorting bombers home from a run over strategic targets in Hungary. "German fighters were coming from all over the place; there were more airplanes in the air than you could shake a stick at," he said. "My greatest worry was not that I would get shot down but that some idiot would run into me."

Moye introduced another Tuskegee airman, Charles McGee, who established a record of the most missions flown in combat by any American combat pilot. During his 30-year military career, he accumulated more than 6,100 flying hours. He served in three wars: World War II and in Korea and Vietnam, earning the Legion of Merit and Distinguished Flying Cross, among other medals. He retired from the U.S. Air Force with the rank of colonel and became a successful businessman.

McGee explained that one enemy ploy was to try to draw off a kill-hungry fighter pilot from the bomber he was supposed to stick with and protect. "If we saw German aircraft in the air, we didn't bother them if they didn't attack us," he said.

Regardless of their talent and their valor, Tuskegee Airmen were not permitted to eat, sleep or watch movies with whites, even while on combat duty overseas.

According to Archer and McGee, most white bomber pilots from the 1940s claim they never knew until recently that the escorts who had kept them safe were blacks whom the Army Air Corps had kept separate.

Archer said one bomber pilot he encountered claimed he couldn't tell his escort pilots were blacks because they wore helmets, goggles, scarves and gloves. "You looked like any other person," the pilot said. "We are like any other person," Archer retorted.

The airmen said they benefited greatly from their military careers, which provided them with education and training. "The Air Force educated me at military and civilian schools," McGee said. "When I left, I was the best prepared, black or white, for a new career."

The legacy of the Tuskegee experience, he said, was education, dedication and perseverance. "Don't let anybody stop you. That's still the lesson for this great country," he said.

Japanese Americans Gave Lives to Rescue Battalion

Marty Higgins was commander of the 1st Battalion, 141st Infantry Regiment, 36th (Texas) Infantry Division—the so-called "Lost Battalion"—a misnomer that mildly riles the 88-year-old World War II veteran.

"We weren't lost," he said onstage in the VHP pavilion during a panel presentation.

"We knew where we were, and the Germans knew where we were."
In October 1944 Higgins and the 1st Battalion were trapped for 51/2 days on Hill 351 in the Vosges Mountains in northern France near the German border.

They were running out of men, food and water, but help was on the way from the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, consisting of Americans of Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Portuguese, Filipino and Hawaiian ancestry. The majority were Americans of Japanese ancestry from the Territory of Hawaii and war relocation camps in the American West, where they had been interned by the U.S. government.

Men from the 1st Battalion and the 442nd told their stories at a reunion arranged by the VHP on May 27.

In "Operation Dragoon," the 1st French Army and the U.S. 7th Army landed on the French Riviera on Aug. 15, 1944, with the goal of driving the Germans north to Alsace. Higgins' 1st Battalion, which then numbered 600 men including 18 officers, landed at Fréjus near St. Raphael. The push north through the Rhône River Valley proceeded swiftly, but by September the German resistance had stiffened near the border, and by Oct. 24 "we were down to 275 men," Higgins said, and "I was the only line officer left."

On Oct. 24, the 1st Battalion was ordered to spearhead a frontal assault on Hill 351 east of Biffontaine, where there had been heavy fighting. "Halfway to our objective, we were attacked on our right and left flanks," and the unit was cut off.

The next morning, Higgins, the commander of rifle Company A, was selected by three other rifle company commanders to lead the 1st Battalion. "We had expended so much ammunition fighting our way in, no way could we fight our way out," he recalled. "For the first time since Aug. 15, we dug foxholes and established a perimeter defense."

Members of the "all-Nisei" 442nd Regimental Combat Team and of the 1st Battalion, 141st Infantry Regiment, have a reunion on the VHP pavilion stage on May 27. They first met on Hill 351 in the Vosges Mountains of northern France, where the 1st Battalion was trapped. - Michaela McNichol

By day three, the battalion was out of rations. On day four, radio communications with regiment headquarters produced a barrage of artillery shells loaded with D-ration chocolate bars and medical supplies. On day five, an air drop provided supplies and enough ammunition for 55 volunteers to attempt to break out; only five survived. The battalion engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. "It was like the siege of the Alamo," Higgins said.

On day six, the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, its own ranks decimated by heavy fighting, fought its way onto Hill 351 to save the 1st Battalion.
George Sakato was one of those warriors who fought fiercely for six days to rescue Higgins and his men.

Born in Colton, Calif., Sakato moved with his parents to Redlands, Calif., where they owned and operated a grocery store. In 1942, following the attack on Pearl Harbor, Executive Order 9066 was issued with the result that 120,000 Japanese Americans from the American West and 3,000 Japanese from the Territory of Hawaii were rounded up and herded into war relocation camps. "My family was given three days to sell their grocery store," Sakato said. They were transported to a camp in Poston, Ariz.

Even though his government had incarcerated him, Sakato at age 21 tried to enlist in the Army Air Corps. He was refused. "My draft card showed I was classified 4-C–enemy agent," Sakato recalled.

With President Roosevelt's decree that Americans of Japanese ancestry could be given a chance to prove their loyalty and patriotism, the War Department called for volunteers to form an "all-Nisei combat unit." According to a history of the regiment (www.GoForBroke.org), more than 10,000 volunteered for the new 442nd Infantry Regiment from the Territory of Hawaii, far beyond the 1,500 expected. Two-thirds of the new regiment came from Hawaii and one-third from relocation camps. Sakato volunteered after nearly two years of internment. "We wanted to show our loyalty to our country," he explained.

A new regimental unit, the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, was formed in 1944. A member of this team, Sakato entered the European conflict in Naples. By October 1944, the 442nd had helped liberate the French towns of Bruyères and Biffontaine in the Vosges Mountains, but the 10 days of heavy fighting had taken a toll. When the order came on Oct. 25 to free the 1st Battalion, "Half my unit was shot, gone already," Sakato recalled.

By Oct. 28 Sakato's 442nd Regimental Combat Team was closing in on Hill 351, a narrow ridge. The team's 3rd Battalion was routing the enemy from the ridge, flanked on the right by the 100th Battalion and on the left by the 2nd Battalion.

The next day, on Oct. 30, the 442nd's three fighting units converged and pierced German lines surrounding Hill 351. The celebration of the rescued and the rescuers was muted by the loss of lives and was short-lived.

The 442nd was ordered to push on through the northern forests for nine more days. According to the regiment's history, the cost of the 43-day Vosges campaign, including the assault on Hill 351, was 216 killed and 856 wounded.

After two days of rest, Higgins' 1st Battalion was assigned to the right flank of Gen. George Patton's 3rd Army in the Battle of the Bulge. Higgins was captured by Germans, held as a POW in the Oflag 64 camp in Poland and then marched 380 miles to Luckenwalde, Germany, where he was liberated by the Russians in 1945.
Recognition of the 442nd's heroic rescue was slow in coming.

"When we came home, the newspaper clips from all over the country made no mention of the 442nd, except for a few lines in Stars and Stripes," said Higgins, who has campaigned to get the story out. "I think the government censored the story because these brave men had parents in internment camps; they lost their farms and businesses."

Sakato was awarded the distinguished service cross while he was in the hospital. Then, 55 years after they proved their loyalty and valor, the country honored the veterans classified in 1941 as 4-C–enemy agents." On June 20, 2000, Sakato and 20 other veterans of Japanese ancestry from the 442nd were awarded the Congres-
sional Medal of Honor.

The Veterans History Project Wants You

In three years the VHP has collected more than 80,000 items from some 16,000 individual submissions. Through the volunteer efforts of hundreds of organizations and thousands of individuals around the country, the project has become one of the largest national repositories of firsthand accounts of war. The VHP is one of the few nationwide oral history efforts that relies on volunteers rather than professional oral historians to collect stories and artifacts.

Those who are interested in becoming involved in the Veterans History Project are encouraged to e-mail the office at [email protected] to request a project information kit. The kit is also available online at www.loc.gov/vets or by calling the toll-free message line at (888) 371-5848.

Audrey Fischer is a public affairs specialist in the Library's Public Affairs Office. Exhibition curators Adrienne Cannon and Daun van Ee, Manuscript Division, contributed to this story.

Back to July 2004 - Vol 63, No.7