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WWII Letters to Cameron
5/29/2020 10:00:00 AM | Men's Basketball, Athletics
WWII Letters to Cameron
They were never intended for public consumption, so buried they remain among the 10,000 items that comprise the Edmund M. Cameron collection in the Duke University Archives. The manila folder, almost an inch thick, is nestled neatly amidst several others in a brown cardboard storage carton referenced as Box 5, with a cursive label that could not be more self-descriptive: "World War II Correspondence from Servicemen-Athletes."
Dozens of letters from Blue Devils in the armed forces fill this hidden historical treasure trove, all addressed to the beloved Eddie Cameron back home in Durham. Already an institution at Duke, Cameron had served as the school's basketball coach and football assistant since 1929. When World War II began he stepped in for Lieutenant Colonel Wallace Wade as head football coach, acting athletics director and, essentially, the campus connection point for athletes called to war.
Letter writing during World War II was such a significant lifeline between soldiers and their homeland that a Smithsonian exhibition once characterized the importance of mail as "second only to food." Though now a lost art in an age of digital communication, the act of putting pen and ink to paper was THE vehicle that kept servicemen linked to their loved ones and helped maintain morale during periods of extreme stress and separation. "A letter from folks back home is one of the best weapons we have," future Duke Hall of Famer Bob Gantt wrote to Cameron from his post aboard the Navy destroyer USS Cassin Young.
Cameron heard not only from sports stars such as Gantt and Tom Davis, but also from guys at the end of the bench whose athletic deeds have long since been forgotten. If their archived missives from the front lines are any indication, former Duke athletes of every ilk clearly viewed "Coach Cameron" as a cherished ally, father figure, comforter, confidant — even confessor at times.
Blue Devils stationed overseas wrote Cameron to wish him luck on upcoming games and seasons, to pledge their continued support, to express their confidence in his leadership during chaotic times. "I know there will always be a team that the former ballplayers and alumni will be proud of, as long as the boys work hard and keep up the old Duke spirit of playing a hard game of football," former quarterback Norris Crigler dispatched from Australia on the eve of the 1944 football campaign.
Many wrote to thank Cameron for all he had done for them while they were at Duke, and almost without exception they asked him to pass along their best wishes to the other coaches they left behind, most notably Dumpy Hagler and Herschel Caldwell from the football staff. Though their futures were uncertain, several pointed out how much they missed being at Duke and how determined they were to rejoin the university and the team when they were discharged. "My biggest ambition is to have this war over so that I can get back to school," wrote one. Noted another, "I want so much to get a degree from Duke University even if it takes me fifty years."
Some soldiers shared the details of their daily experiences, to the extent that information was approved by the military censors of the day. They celebrated successes on the battlefield and lamented defeats such as failing grades at officers training school. Occasionally they also unloaded more personal, intimate developments. One of Cameron's former basketball players told his coach that he'd just heard his wife wanted a divorce. She was pregnant with his child but had fallen in love with an officer at home. "I can't understand these women," the letter noted. "Don't they realize that just being overseas is tough enough without having marriage trouble?"
Several servicemen-athletes touched on how much their Duke days had prepared them for battle. One former football lineman, recovering from a case of malaria he'd contracted while fighting the Japanese in New Guinea, mentioned the "remarkable similarity between combat and football. Both employ the same simple strategy and tactics." But there was not universal agreement on that matter. Another letter-writer described the plight of war as "pretty tough sledding, not much like it is portrayed in books and stories. There is nothing in it comparable to competitive athletics, which is the terms it is described in by observers and writers. The only thing it has in common with athletics is that you have to be in shape and stay in shape. The latter, though, isn't hard, because you stay in shape or you are no more."
Inevitably, bad news also traveled in these envelopes from outposts across the globe. A lengthy letter from Gantt in August of 1945 informed Cameron, if he hadn't heard already, that former football player Russell Rose, a backup right guard in 1943 while in the ROTC program, was presumed lost at sea off the coast of Japan. A lieutenant in the Navy, Rose was aboard the USS Bonefish, a submarine that sank 31 enemy vessels during her eight war patrols. Bonefish was on an offensive mission in Toyama Bay in June of 1945 and missed her appointed rendezvous with the other eight submarines in her fleet — sunk by a Japanese depth charge with 85 crew members aboard and never recovered. "I think his sub had been operating very close to Tokyo for some time," wrote Gantt. "I certainly hate to hear that because Russ was a good fellow." Posthumously, Rose was awarded the Purple Heart and the Silver Star.
In December of 1944, Cameron received a heartfelt letter from former Blue Devil lineman Roger Americo "Bob" Nanni, penned two months earlier from his bunk at an undisclosed location. Nanni had been a reserve for the 1941 team that hosted the Rose Bowl, started every game as a 206-pound right tackle in 1942, and anchored the line for the first four games of 1943.
Though green at first, he'd enjoyed some stellar moments including several fumble recoveries, a pass interception vs. North Carolina in 1942 and a blocked punt that he'd turned into a touchdown against Richmond in 1943. He had been voted third team all-conference in '43 despite his truncated season, and in April of 1944 the Chicago Cardinals selected him in the NFL draft.
But evidently there had also been some turmoil in his college experience prior to his military call-up, as Nanni opened his note to Cameron by pouring out his soul with regret for being a "pig-head," for wasting the opportunities he had at Duke, and for not realizing how much his coaches had been trying to help him.
"It's too late to repent," he wrote, "but I can thank you and your assistants. What you have done helps me now more than ever. You have given me that spirit never to quit while the chips are down and to go on trying to give your best at all times. What I am trying to say is you have taught me never to quit or let your teammates down.
"I guess war is the same as a football game," he continued. "The one that hits the hardest first will win. Tell Dumpy he did a good job in teaching me to hit, and hit hard. That has come in handy in this outfit. I miss his voice and howling at me, yet if I had that same chance now it would be heaven to be near."
Cameron composed an immediate reply to Nanni, telling him he understood his regret, that he had been very fond of Nanni personally and that all was forgiven. "You had some real football ability and I was doing my best to get it out of you," Cameron noted, the typewritten response still filed in his archived correspondence folder. "The best football you ever played at Duke was the afternoon I ran you out of P.T. (physical training) class into a football uniform. If you had played that way in every game you could have been remembered as our greatest tackle."
It was a letter that undoubtedly would have soothed Nanni's soul, but there is no way of knowing when, or if, he received it. A sergeant in the 9th Marines, Nanni and his infantry regiment were headed to the tiny but strategic island of Iwo Jima on Operation Detachment in February of 1945. Over 20,000 Japanese soldiers were dug into caves, underground tunnels and bunkers of volcanic rock to defend their black sands against the onslaught of 70,000 U.S. Marines. In one of the bloodiest and deadliest battles in Marine Corps history — one lasting 36 days — most of the Japanese forces were obliterated, but at a heavy price as about 6,800 Marines were killed and nearly 20,000 were wounded.
In late March, a couple of days after the now-famous Battle of Iwo Jima had concluded, Duke football halfback Buddy Luper — who would return to play a year for the Blue Devils after the war — sent Cameron a grim report: "I just heard that Bob Nanni was killed on Iwo Jima. I hope that it is not true, but I know that he was there."
It was true, however. Nanni perished about 10 days into the gruesome struggle, on March 1, 1945. His remains were later buried at Long Island National Cemetery in Farmingdale, N.Y. And the letter that was perhaps his last communication with his alma mater remains preserved in the university archives, Box 5 of the Eddie Cameron collection.
#GoDuke
Dozens of letters from Blue Devils in the armed forces fill this hidden historical treasure trove, all addressed to the beloved Eddie Cameron back home in Durham. Already an institution at Duke, Cameron had served as the school's basketball coach and football assistant since 1929. When World War II began he stepped in for Lieutenant Colonel Wallace Wade as head football coach, acting athletics director and, essentially, the campus connection point for athletes called to war.
Letter writing during World War II was such a significant lifeline between soldiers and their homeland that a Smithsonian exhibition once characterized the importance of mail as "second only to food." Though now a lost art in an age of digital communication, the act of putting pen and ink to paper was THE vehicle that kept servicemen linked to their loved ones and helped maintain morale during periods of extreme stress and separation. "A letter from folks back home is one of the best weapons we have," future Duke Hall of Famer Bob Gantt wrote to Cameron from his post aboard the Navy destroyer USS Cassin Young.
Cameron heard not only from sports stars such as Gantt and Tom Davis, but also from guys at the end of the bench whose athletic deeds have long since been forgotten. If their archived missives from the front lines are any indication, former Duke athletes of every ilk clearly viewed "Coach Cameron" as a cherished ally, father figure, comforter, confidant — even confessor at times.
Blue Devils stationed overseas wrote Cameron to wish him luck on upcoming games and seasons, to pledge their continued support, to express their confidence in his leadership during chaotic times. "I know there will always be a team that the former ballplayers and alumni will be proud of, as long as the boys work hard and keep up the old Duke spirit of playing a hard game of football," former quarterback Norris Crigler dispatched from Australia on the eve of the 1944 football campaign.
Many wrote to thank Cameron for all he had done for them while they were at Duke, and almost without exception they asked him to pass along their best wishes to the other coaches they left behind, most notably Dumpy Hagler and Herschel Caldwell from the football staff. Though their futures were uncertain, several pointed out how much they missed being at Duke and how determined they were to rejoin the university and the team when they were discharged. "My biggest ambition is to have this war over so that I can get back to school," wrote one. Noted another, "I want so much to get a degree from Duke University even if it takes me fifty years."
Some soldiers shared the details of their daily experiences, to the extent that information was approved by the military censors of the day. They celebrated successes on the battlefield and lamented defeats such as failing grades at officers training school. Occasionally they also unloaded more personal, intimate developments. One of Cameron's former basketball players told his coach that he'd just heard his wife wanted a divorce. She was pregnant with his child but had fallen in love with an officer at home. "I can't understand these women," the letter noted. "Don't they realize that just being overseas is tough enough without having marriage trouble?"
Several servicemen-athletes touched on how much their Duke days had prepared them for battle. One former football lineman, recovering from a case of malaria he'd contracted while fighting the Japanese in New Guinea, mentioned the "remarkable similarity between combat and football. Both employ the same simple strategy and tactics." But there was not universal agreement on that matter. Another letter-writer described the plight of war as "pretty tough sledding, not much like it is portrayed in books and stories. There is nothing in it comparable to competitive athletics, which is the terms it is described in by observers and writers. The only thing it has in common with athletics is that you have to be in shape and stay in shape. The latter, though, isn't hard, because you stay in shape or you are no more."
Inevitably, bad news also traveled in these envelopes from outposts across the globe. A lengthy letter from Gantt in August of 1945 informed Cameron, if he hadn't heard already, that former football player Russell Rose, a backup right guard in 1943 while in the ROTC program, was presumed lost at sea off the coast of Japan. A lieutenant in the Navy, Rose was aboard the USS Bonefish, a submarine that sank 31 enemy vessels during her eight war patrols. Bonefish was on an offensive mission in Toyama Bay in June of 1945 and missed her appointed rendezvous with the other eight submarines in her fleet — sunk by a Japanese depth charge with 85 crew members aboard and never recovered. "I think his sub had been operating very close to Tokyo for some time," wrote Gantt. "I certainly hate to hear that because Russ was a good fellow." Posthumously, Rose was awarded the Purple Heart and the Silver Star.
In December of 1944, Cameron received a heartfelt letter from former Blue Devil lineman Roger Americo "Bob" Nanni, penned two months earlier from his bunk at an undisclosed location. Nanni had been a reserve for the 1941 team that hosted the Rose Bowl, started every game as a 206-pound right tackle in 1942, and anchored the line for the first four games of 1943.
Though green at first, he'd enjoyed some stellar moments including several fumble recoveries, a pass interception vs. North Carolina in 1942 and a blocked punt that he'd turned into a touchdown against Richmond in 1943. He had been voted third team all-conference in '43 despite his truncated season, and in April of 1944 the Chicago Cardinals selected him in the NFL draft.
But evidently there had also been some turmoil in his college experience prior to his military call-up, as Nanni opened his note to Cameron by pouring out his soul with regret for being a "pig-head," for wasting the opportunities he had at Duke, and for not realizing how much his coaches had been trying to help him.
"It's too late to repent," he wrote, "but I can thank you and your assistants. What you have done helps me now more than ever. You have given me that spirit never to quit while the chips are down and to go on trying to give your best at all times. What I am trying to say is you have taught me never to quit or let your teammates down.
"I guess war is the same as a football game," he continued. "The one that hits the hardest first will win. Tell Dumpy he did a good job in teaching me to hit, and hit hard. That has come in handy in this outfit. I miss his voice and howling at me, yet if I had that same chance now it would be heaven to be near."
Cameron composed an immediate reply to Nanni, telling him he understood his regret, that he had been very fond of Nanni personally and that all was forgiven. "You had some real football ability and I was doing my best to get it out of you," Cameron noted, the typewritten response still filed in his archived correspondence folder. "The best football you ever played at Duke was the afternoon I ran you out of P.T. (physical training) class into a football uniform. If you had played that way in every game you could have been remembered as our greatest tackle."
It was a letter that undoubtedly would have soothed Nanni's soul, but there is no way of knowing when, or if, he received it. A sergeant in the 9th Marines, Nanni and his infantry regiment were headed to the tiny but strategic island of Iwo Jima on Operation Detachment in February of 1945. Over 20,000 Japanese soldiers were dug into caves, underground tunnels and bunkers of volcanic rock to defend their black sands against the onslaught of 70,000 U.S. Marines. In one of the bloodiest and deadliest battles in Marine Corps history — one lasting 36 days — most of the Japanese forces were obliterated, but at a heavy price as about 6,800 Marines were killed and nearly 20,000 were wounded.
In late March, a couple of days after the now-famous Battle of Iwo Jima had concluded, Duke football halfback Buddy Luper — who would return to play a year for the Blue Devils after the war — sent Cameron a grim report: "I just heard that Bob Nanni was killed on Iwo Jima. I hope that it is not true, but I know that he was there."
It was true, however. Nanni perished about 10 days into the gruesome struggle, on March 1, 1945. His remains were later buried at Long Island National Cemetery in Farmingdale, N.Y. And the letter that was perhaps his last communication with his alma mater remains preserved in the university archives, Box 5 of the Eddie Cameron collection.
#GoDuke
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