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Message: <br /><br /> If you are having trouble reading this email, you may view this article online at: http://www.jweekly.com/18290/full/18290/s-f-exhibit-unites-moves-wwii-liberators-and-survivors/ <br /><br /> <b>S.F. exhibit unites, moves WWII liberators and survivors</b> <br /> Friday, August 16, 2002 | by <p>ALEZA GOLDSMITHBulletin Staff </p> <br /><br /><p>But his friends did.<br /><br /> While he was fighting in France as a member of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, other Japanese-American soldiers in his 100th Infantry Battalion were liberating Jews from Nazi death camps.<br /><br /> Meanwhile in the United States, Doi's family, as well as the families of his Japanese-American friends and some fellow soldiers, were living in internment camps. And when Doi returned from serving his country in the war, he found a sign reading "No Japs Allowed" strung in the center of Auburn, his hometown in Northern California.<br /><br /> As Doi and his wife, Yoshiko, perused the photos during an opening reception Aug. 7 of the San Francisco exhibit, they became intrigued by what they saw. The couple, who lives in Richmond, closely examined the photos of African-American soldiers who fought in World War II and, in some cases, also liberated Jews.<br /><br /> Standing between two blown-up pictures—one of the skeletal figures of survivors and the other showing African-American soldiers from the 761st U.S. Tank Battalion, the diminutive Dois were impressed.<br /><br /> "This gives you an idea of what really took place during the war, otherwise they try to censor it," said Yoshiko, who goes by Yo. "When you look at the pictures you have to believe it."<br /><br /> The exhibition features rare photographs, many taken by the soldiers themselves, documenting the history of two segregated units: the Japanese-American 522nd Field Artillery Battalion and the African-American 761st U.S. Tank Battalion.<br /><br /> On display through Sept. 29, "Unlikely Liberators" is sponsored by the Holocaust Center of Northern California, the Japanese American Historical Society and African American Historical and Cultural Society. It is displayed in the Fort Mason Center's San Francisco African American Historical and Cultural Society.<br /><br /> At last week's reception, exhibit curator Eric Saul told the 100 guests—mostly Jewish, African-American or Japanese-American—that while many of these soldiers have been recognized for their war duty in recent years, "things were not so good when they first came back. They fought not only the enemy of the United States, but they fought prejudice at home."<br /><br /> In many cases, however, African-Americans, who "always felt they had it really bad," discovered racism was a worldwide problem when they saw the Nazi death camps, said Saul.<br /><br /> Doi, for his part, doesn't hold a grudge or have any regrets.<br /><br /> "Everybody did their part. We were all part of the wheel," he explained. "You don't want a square wheel. You want a round wheel."<br /><br /> At the reception, Holocaust survivors, such as David Orner and Gloria Lyon of San Francisco, wandered through the exhibit and socialized with former soldiers. Lyon even gave Doi a hug.<br /><br /> Neither Orner nor Lyon was liberated by Japanese- or African-Americans, but Orner explained, "I lived through that period, so anything that has to do with the Holocaust, I'm touched by it."<br /><br /> Saul said all Jewish people owe a great debt to African-American and Japanese-American liberators, because in many cases "they were the last witnesses to the annihilation of 11 million people—eyewitnesses who produced information, documentation, photographs."<br /><br /> Some photographs were shot by 761st U.S. Tank Battalion soldier Floyd Dade, a young man at the time of the war. Now, 57 years later, Dade posed for a picture next to an old portrait of himself hanging on the wall. He wore the same look of pride on his face now as then, and was decked out in his green army uniform with medals of honor pinned to his lapel.<br /><br /> "Thank you," whispered one woman as she wandered past a wide-smiling Dade.<br /><br /> Pointing to another photograph of five soldiers, including himself, Dade explained to those standing nearby: "This is at the end of the war. Do you see this guy here? This guy went to the hospital 11 times!"<br /><br /> For Dade, the liberation was just one short moment in 183 straight days of fighting in six different countries—an experience that bore "a distinctive stench," he said.<br /><br /> Just then, someone asked Dade how many times he had been in the hospital. "Me, none. I run too fast," he answered, letting out a deep, hearty laugh.</p> <p> </p>

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