The Japanese surrendered on August, 1945. U.S. planes flew over and dropped food. Japanese civilians brought in rice, fish, and soybeans. Larson was tall but thin as a scarecrow at less than 100 pounds. But he had the sense to eat lightly. Some GIs glutted themselves. Their stomachs nearly burst. The men were returned to the Philippines for treatment and then sent to the U.S. The first night of liberty in San Francisco, they were still on the lookout for food, Larson said. "People would plan out for a month what they would eat."

Then he showed up unannounced in October 1945, at home in Duluth. He fell into his mother's arms. They both cried in relief. The last thing he wanted to do was answer questions about the war. He spent time in the woods, alone. There, he practiced not thinking about what he had endured.

In November, his parents insisted he meet the daughter Of their friends. His first sight of her was stirring gravy. "Boy, that's for me!" he thought. It turned out the woman would become his wife. They had a son and two daughters.

Larson never awoke screaming with nightmares, as she thought he might. In fact, he re-enlisted in the Army in 1948. He left the Army for good in 1954. The Larson's moved to Crystal, where they've been ever since. Larson is in good health, except for knees injured during the war when rocks fell on them.

Larson had no interest in returning to the Philippines. So his friend Rick Peterson went for him. For 10 or 15 minutes on the 58th anniversary of the Death March, Peterson walked a piece of the path. He took photos for Larson.

The trek made Peterson marvel at the GIs strength. When he got home, Peterson again told Larson, "You've got to put this story out so that people don't forget, so they realize the sacrifices.

Replied Larson, "Just don't make me out to be a hero." To him, the heroes are those who didn't get to come home.

<<< Previous Page

Page 4

Next Page >>>