In the summer of 1945, the world could finally exhale. World War II was over. Streets filled with people, flags waved high and church bells rang across nations as people celebrated the end of the deadliest conflict in recorded human history.
Can you believe that was 80 years ago?
I have been blessed to have known and befriended hundreds of World War II veterans over the years. Now, they are almost all gone. Time is, and always will be, undefeated.
Sometimes veterans would share that they lost a close friend in combat—often nearby. The vulnerability on display during these moments was moving and unforgettable.
One such story stands out.
In 1945, American forces were on the move in the Philippines. After the successful invasion of Luzon in early 1945, elements of the 511th Parachute Infantry Regiment headed east from the outskirts of Manila into the mountains. On April 7, G Company moved atop Maleraya Hill and established a defensive position in a coconut grove. Members of that unit included Ed Baugmarten, a 19-year-old from California who would eventually become a St. George resident, and his best friend, an Oklahoman named Solon Hayes.
Ed and Solon were among the first onto Nichols Field after the Americans breached Japanese defenses. They dodged friendly fire as parachute bombs fell around them in an open field. Philippine villagers showered them with mangoes, bananas and various types of liquids after their town was liberated. Ed and Solon also witnessed swift and brutal “justice” doled out by the native population on a suspected collaborator.
Solon was 4 years older and a pseudo big brother to Ed. They often talked about the future, about what it might be like to become business partners or spend a lazy day fishing. Anything was better than the stress of combat.
As dusk fell on April 7, the two shared a foxhole. However, their sergeant split them up. Later that night, the Japanese attacked. The soldiers would count off, screaming in numerical order: “ichi, ni, san, shi, go, rokku, shichi, hachi.” Then they charged up the mountain, ordnance crackling through the night.
For several minutes, chaos reigned in the pitch-black darkness. When morning broke, Ed learned that Solon didn’t make it.
“I remember lifting the poncho he was covered with to see if it was really him,” Ed recalled. “I was really upset. I cursed and didn’t think God was fair to allow such a thing to happen.”
The stress of constant combat, losing his best friend and going without water for several days hit Ed all at once later in the campaign. "While we were on that hill, I cried like a baby," he said. "I just broke down.”
Following the war, Ed went on to graduate from Brigham Young University, got married and had six kids. He lived to be 90 years old. Those who knew Ed characterize him as a true hero—someone who was pleasant, generous and supportive of others. The 80th anniversary of the end of World War II is a great reminder that we should never forget the generation that helped save the free world—and that the survivors often carried a heavy heart.
“I was very young, and in many ways it was a great adventure—and in many ways it was a great turmoil,” Ed told me. “You just did what you were supposed to do and hope you did it OK.”