Harborites Oscar Rosenkrantz and Anthony Cemelich both are members of what has been called “the Greatest Generation” but both understate their contributions to the country.
Neither veteran thought his story was interesting.
As World War II veterans, Rosenkrantz and Cemelich share many similarities. Both lived through the Great Depression and both are in their 90s.
Both were members of the United States Navy, and both say the generation participated in the war effort because they were taught as children to fulfill their duties and it was what they were told to do.
Rosenkrantz enlisted because of his sense of duty.
“None of my friends even thought about waiting to be drafted,” Rosenkrantz said. “And a good share of my classmates all went into service.”
Cemelich was drafted.
Both say their work ethic was formed through the experience of growing up in the Depression, and both went to work early in life.
Another shared thread in their stories connects the two vets. World War I veterans had prepared them for service well ahead of the bombing of Pearl Harbor and direct U.S. involvement in World War II.
“A lot of our teachers in high school were World War I veterans, and they were admired,” Rosenkrantz said.
Cemelich remembers entire school days devoted to the military.
“As a boy at Catholic school, they had Navy Day and Army Day,” he said. “World War II veterans harvested the benefits of what World War I veterans did for us.”
Neither veteran saw much active combat — a common thread among World War II veterans.
By 1945, the U.S. military had 12,209,238 personnel, according to the National World War II Museum website. From 1941-45, more than 38 percent were non-combat jobs.
Rosenkrantz
Born in 1923, Rosenkrantz went to work when he was 10 years old. From 13-17 years old, he was an overhead DC crane operator.
Rosenkrantz volunteered for duty on Dec. 12, 1942. He was 19.
It wasn’t until July 31, 1943, that he was called up for active duty.
The Navy shifted him from training to training — Ohio Wesleyan University in Delaware and then St. Mary’s College in Moraga, Calif., where he was second in his class of 500-600 candidates for flight school.
He then went to Gonzaga where he began in-flight training with a World War I aircraft out of Felts Field near Spokane.
On one occasion, Rosenkrantz got turned around in the fog. He was lost for two hours and ended up following the Spokane River back to the field.
His instructor was worried, and rightfully so.
“He’d been pacing up and down for the last 45 minutes, figuring I’d crashed,” Rosenkrantz, now 91, said. “There were a lot of casualties in training programs.”
According to the history listed on the Navy Department Library website, 12,133 deaths of aviation personnel were recorded from 1941-1946. More than 25 percent of those deaths were during training and ferrying (3,257). About 29 percent were a result of enemy action, and about the same number (29 percent) of operational plane crashes.
After Spokane, Rosenkrantz was sent to flight school in Livermore, Calif.
That program was crowded and a lot of people were washed out, either ending up in observation or boot camp. Rosencrantz ended up in the latter at San Diego.
He was supposed to be put on a carrier, but was called before four or five captains who had different plans for his career course.
“I was in there a good half-hour plus,” Rosenkrantz recalls. “I got orders the next morning for Rensselaer.”
Rather than boarding the carrier, he was sent to Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, N.Y., and then to Notre Dame where he was commissioned as an ensign.
“Once you got in the service, you had no control over your career in the service,” he said.
“I put in for action all the time, but I never got it.”
No longer in training, Rosenkrantz was part of a destroyer escort near the Florida Keys, watching for enemy subs.
Through the help of interpreters, he instructed Russian and Chinese sailors.
When he was transfered to Oakland, Calif., he was assigned to the USS Saratoga carrier.
“I finally made it,” he said.
The ship went to Hawaii and was ready to be part of the planned invasion of Japan.
On the cusp of battle, with combat imminent — the troops hearing estimates of between 1-2 million possible U.S. casualties and double for Japan if the allies were to invade the island — Rosencrantz and the other troops focused on duty.
“Let’s go in and get this over with and go home,” he said. “When you’re a teenager or just barely in your 20s, you don’t think about anything except getting the job done.”
But the combat invasion was pre-empted by the U.S. decision to drop atomic bombs on Japan.
In the aftermath, Rosenkrantz and his fellow sailors pulled into Tokyo Bay and he was housed at a Japanese Navy base.
Not long after that, Rosenkrantz came home and took over the family business, Western Steel. He’s still there and doesn’t plan to retire.
“We were a generation brought up with a work ethic and I want to keep working — I love work, and I like people,” he said.
Earlier this year, Rosenkrantz was honored as Pioneer of the Year by Polson Museum.
Cemelich
He delivered The Daily World as a kid, and when he graduated from high school, the war was on. Cemelich was drafted, but initially was given a six-month deferment for commercial fishing.
“I didn’t like going to war, and I wasn’t too happy about it,” Cemelich, now 92, said.
He was in good company, going into the Navy with 12 others from the Harbor.
Basic training was in Idaho at the Farragut Naval Training Station on Lake Pend Oreille, then the second largest training station in the country and, with a temporary population of 55,000, the most populous city in the state.
He was trained as a repairman and then shipped out to Australia for six months, then to New Guinea for 14 months, and finally Subic Bay in the Philippines until the war ended in 1945.
As part of the 1st Naval Repair Unit, Cemelich worked on dry docks repairing ships of up to 7,000 tons.
Being a repairman did not mean an immunity to combat.
While in New Guinea, Cemelich and his unit endured two separate air raids.
“We knew in advance that they were coming,” he said.
“We scattered out what machinery we had — cranes, bulldozers, dry docks — so it wasn’t all in one place.”
While Cemelich says the troops were fairly safe (it’s hard to target an operation when it’s spread out), they still were afraid.
When the war was over, Cemelich moved back to Hoquiam and became a fireman — mostly for the job security, he says.
The spirit of enduring war and seeking out job security is telling of the generation raised through the Depression, Cemelich says.
“Those of us who participated in World War II, 80 percent were products of the Great Depression,” he said.
“When we went into service, we were disciplined already and that’s why we did so well.”
Being in the service, Cemelich says he got to meet people from all over the U.S., and each had a similar story of growing up struggling through the Depression.
The discipline can be summed up in one sentence.
“When my generation was told to do something, they did it,” he said.
He and his wife Mary Anne had four children.
Cemelich retired in 1974 and, as of March, he has been retired for 40 years.
Mary Anne died earlier this year.
Remembering
For Rosenkrantz, what lingers in the wake of the war is a song — a song near and dear to his heart, and a song that brings back memories and a rush of emotions.
When troops gathered — for movies, aboard ship, or at a meeting — they stood and sang “God Bless America.”
Standing and singing, he reminisced about his friends in the service and his family and friends on the Harbor.
“I had a good share of friends who never made it through, and those who did were all changed,” Rosenkrantz said.
For those lost or changed by the war, it was a sacrifice for their country, Rosenkrantz said, and they knew why they were serving.
“Democracy doesn’t come free,” he said. “It was a matter of honor and us being hopeful of keeping the democracy alive.”
Throughout the years, Cemelich has felt his service was appreciated.
“I’d like to thank the people who have thanked me for serving them,” he said. “It makes me feel good.”
Almost 70 years since the end of the war, all that’s left are the stories, and those are quickly disappearing.
“If you don’t get the stories soon, there won’t be anybody to tell you the stories,” Cemelich said.
The “greatest generation” may have had World War I veterans to prepare them, but today, World War II veterans have done what they can and will continue to do what they can until they can’t do it anymore.
On Veterans Day, people still can reach out to World War II veterans and thank them and ask them about their service but, at some point, all that will be left are the stories, the remainder of a generation summed up in public record.
“In order to know our generation, the next generation will have to read about us through books,” Cemelich said.
