The World War II "occupation" of Saratoga by a battery of Army field artillery lasted for 10 weeks from the unit's arrival three days after the Pearl Harbor attack. As explained in a previous article, what seemed like an occupation actually was a deployment of troops whose mission was to protect Moffett Field and the present San Francisco International Airport. They had 155-millimeter howitzers in gun emplacements along Skyline Boulevard, but the men were quartered in downtown Saratoga and a couple of other locations from which they could quickly be transported if the need arose.
It's a good thing the need didn't arise. Ten years ago, on the 45th anniversary of their arrival here, two members of that battery, the late Maj. Maurice H. Cazel of Saratoga, then a private first class, and Joseph J. Speciale of San Jose, a retired lieutenant colonel who was then a lieutenant, discussed the 1941-42 situation, disclosing what at that time would have been rather sensitive military secrets. Like the fact those howitzers each had only three rounds of ammunition, just enough to zero in on the target with a single round. Maybe. And the fact that the troops we saw standing guard duty in downtown Saratoga weren't carrying any ammunition for their 1903 Springfield rifles; there was only a box of cartridges in the battery office at the Foothill Club.
Meanwhile, Saratogans tried to make the approximately 125 men of Battery B, and those from nearby Batteries A and C, feel as much at home as possible. Retired teacher and longtime Saratogan Carolyn Hayes recalled a lasting friendship she and her husband formed with a soldier from Montana, a relationship that extended to later generations of the man's family. As I recall, at least one marriage resulted from this encampment; I know there was a girl I was somewhat interested in at the time who was more interested in one of the soldiers. In a little over a year, though, I was in the Army myself and meeting other girls. C'est la guerre.
In the latter part of February 1942, the unit moved to a camp near Palo Alto, where a cluster of the Army's archetypal tar-paper shacks had been put up. Later destinations, I understand, were Attu, in the Aleutians, and Kwajalein, in the Pacific. Shortly before they left here, the men in the battalion put on a variety show in the grammar school auditorium for "the good people of Saratoga and surrounding communities in appreciation for the kindness shown us during our stay."
The men left, but the realities of war continued: rationing; blackouts and civil defense training, which seemed curiously out of place in the bucolic surroundings of Saratoga; and the relocation of families of Japanese descent to internment centers for the duration of the war. In recent years, the injustice of this move, the near-expropriation of property from and virtual imprisonment of U.S. citizens, has come in for widespread criticism and redress. But back then, apart from a few individuals who worked valiantly on their behalf, there was no widespread protest when we saw families that we had known practically all our lives uprooted in this way. Apart from one Saratoga man who was questioned concerning possible subversive connections, there was no evidence of disloyalty.
Then, of course, there was the steady stream of departures to the armed services. In the front hall at Saratoga School, there is a framed list of 100 grammar school graduates, including several women, who served during World War II. There are three gold stars: for William Hanchett and Byron Lanphear, both Air Force, and Jack Milojevich. My mother told of the time in 1945 when a Western Union messenger came to the door with a telegram, and her heart nearly stopped. My brother was on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific and I was with an armored division in Germany. The messenger apologized for causing her obvious distress, but he was looking for my dad, then the town postmaster, in order to find out an address.
The telegram was for the family of Jack Milojevich, who had been killed in action as a paratrooper.
This article appeared in the Saratoga News, November 27, 1996.
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