as a lie. The last war was full of such instances and much suffering and heartaches could have been avoided by the transmittal of reliable information to the parties concerned regarding the whereabouts of men (in such cases); It is one of the purposes of this program to alleviate this condition and furnish speedy, reliable and authentic message service to the relatives and friends of men interned in prisoner of war camps throughout Japan. We sincerely hope Louis’ mother is listening in tonight or will be informed of what we say.
Long will Louis Zamperini’s name live in our memories. Those of us from the regions of Southern California well recall the days that Louis was breaking all records in the mile run. His unbroken national interscholastic mile record stands as a challenge to the aspirants of the (Ginger Cup). We followed closely Zamperini’s efforts in 1936 Olympic games held in Berlin, Germany. His opponents and some of the foremost in the country speak highly of him. He has run against such names as (Bensig) and Cunningham. The same personality that so endeared him to us as he raced against time on the tracks of the world is not dead but very much alive and with us yet. We regret the unhappiness that must have accompanied the news of his reported death but hope that the efforts of his fellow prisoners of war on “Postman Calls” will (atone) in some small way for the error.
So chin up, Mrs. Louis Zamperini of (Torrance) California, Louis is here; the same old Louis, cheerful, sportsmanlike, the idol of all our Southern California fans and graduates. You might pass the glad tidings along, Mrs. Zamperini, for we know all the lovers of the (spiked shoe) sport will b [
] glad to hear this. Louis is not on the track anymore an [
] for that we are sorry. He will be missed there. Louis is neither missing nor dead as has been reported and for that we are more than glad. It makes us very happy indeed to have performed this service for our prisoners and relatives and it is out [
] earnest wish that no other such instances of this information will be forthcoming. We hope this little group of prisoners connected with “Postman Calls” program can be of further service in the future. That’s what we’re here for, so keep on listening, Mrs. Zamperini, and don’t mention it; the pleasure is all ours.
Moody typed as fast as she could, making a string of typos in her exhilaration. About an hour later, the FCC woman came back. “I practically danced around the room telling her about it,” Moody later wrote.
Down the coast in Torrance, the Zamperinis were coping with the aftermath of the public announcement of Louie’s death. After a package came bearing Louie’s Purple Heart, a letter arrived concerning his life insurance payout, $10,000. Louise deposited the money in the bank but didn’t spend any of it. When Louie came home, she declared, it would be his. And after the news of Louie’s death broke, the film director Cecil B. DeMille showed up to do a radio interview with the family for the Sixth War Bond Drive. Sylvia and Louise were given scripts that called for them to speak of Louie as if he were dead. Out of politeness, the Zamperinis read the scripts as written.
Somewhere in all of this, a deliveryman came, bearing a bouquet of flowers for Sylvia. It was an anniversary gift from her husband, Harvey, now manning a tank gun in Holland. A few days later she got a telegram: Harvey had been wounded. The telegram said nothing of what his injuries were, or how serious. Sylvia waited, knotted with anxiety. Finally, a letter arrived, composed by Harvey and dictated to a nurse from his hospital bed. His tank had been hit and had burst into flames. He had escaped, but his hands and face were burned. Of all the terrible scenarios that had run through Sylvia’s mind, fire was the one thing that she’d never imagined. Harvey was, after all, a firefighter. Exhausted and barely able to eat, Sylvia crept through November, haunted by nightmares and growing ever more gaunt.
——
On November 20, Lynn Moody, still in high spirits over the broadcast about Louie two days before, was back working the midnight-to-eight shift. At two-thirty A.M., one of the FCC transcribers yelled to her to come quickly.
Moody ran in, put on the earphones, and listened. It was
A young man’s voice came across the airwaves. Moody knew the instant she heard it: It was Louie.
——
Hello mother and father, relatives and friends. This is your Louie talking. Through the courtesy of the authorities here I am broadcasting this personal message to you.
This will be the first time in two and one half years that you will have heard my voice. I am sure it sounds the same to you as it did when I left home.
I am uninjured and in good health and can hardly wait until the day we are together again. Not having heard from you since my most abrupt departure, I have been somewhat worried about the condition of the family, as far as health is concerned. I hope this message finds all of you in the best of health and good spirits.
I am now interned in the Tokyo prisoners’ camp and am being treated as well as can be expected under war time conditions. The camp authorities are kind to me and I have no kick coming.
Please write as often as you can and in doing so, send me snapshots of everyone. In my lonesome hours nothing would be more appreciated than to look at pictures of the family.
Before I forget it, Dad, I would be very pleased if you would keep my guns in good condition so we might do some good hunting when I return home.
Mother Sylvia and Virginia, I hope you will keep up your wonderful talents in the kitchen. I often visualize those wonderful pies and cakes you make.
Is Pete still able to pay you his weekly visits from San Diego? I hope he is still near home.
Give my best to Gorton, Harvey, Eldon and Henry and wish them the best of care. I send my fondest love to Sylvia, Virginia and Pete and hope they are enjoying their work at the present. I miss them very much.
