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Health & Fitness

Discovering Newark's Lost Hero of Pearl Harbor

As Japanese planes struck Hawaii on December 7th 1941, one of Newark's sons lost his life in an act of heroic selflessness....

Last year, while teaching U.S. History II at Newark’s Arts High, right before introducing my students to the Second World War, I did some research. I wanted to do a thorough job with my instruction, but I wanted to find a local angle. I’m always telling my students that Newark’s history is America’s history, and while searching through some timeworn newspapers I was able to hit on this goal directly. As I dug deeper into my sources, I uncovered a story that equaled any article, documentary or movie I’ve ever seen about the war…and its roots were right here, in Newark.

 

On the morning of December 7, 1941, the forces of the Japanese Imperial Military attacked the U.S. naval fleet at Pearl Harbor. This, almost every high school student is taught, brought the United States into World War II. Japan’s raid on Hawaii and the subsequent U.S. declaration of war unleashed the global military and industrial might of our nation that we still see today. It also would, in time, spell the end of the Japanese military machine in East Asia and close with a long American occupation – and reshaping - of Japan itself.

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Japan’s Hawaii attack, however, was much wider than just the bombing of the anchored U.S. fleet in the harbor. The Emperor’s forces struck strategic areas all over the Honolulu area in an effort to destroy U.S. military planes and assets on the ground, and of course, to kill American servicemen. Japan’s military elite was convinced that in the aftermath of such an strike, a shocked and politically divided America would beg for a cease-fire while sinking into the same kind of defeatist attitude that afflicted France after it went to war – and lost – against Germany in 1939. The Japanese, of course, had badly miscalculated. And they would pay.

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But let’s return to the attack itself. On the morning of December 7, near Honolulu, at Hickam Air Field, American commanders had foolishly lined up and exposed fighter aircraft near the runway. The army had done this because it had feared not an attack from the air, but sabotage from the ground. So all over the islands, this practice was repeated. When the arriving Japanese raiders saw this, some simply could not believe it.  

 

The attack on Hickam was particularly fierce and gruesome for several reasons. Wave after wave of the Mitsubishi Zeros strafed the base’s many runways and towers, peppering the entire area with deadly shrapnel that pierced human flesh and cement alike. Even today, you can still see the damage on some of the structures. There was no real “cover” on the base per se, nowhere to set up a solid defensive perimeter. The base was simply a cement slab carved out of the Hawaiian soil, with shabby metallic airplane hangers and many-windowed buildings. There were, however, plenty of things to detonate, and explode they did.

 

It’s a well-known story, one that has been featured in many historical works and movies. But what isn’t well known, at least not anymore, was that New Jersey’s first loss in the war was a Jewish private from Newark who acted selflessly in a moment of fire and hell. His name was Private Louis Schleifer.

 

By the 1930’s, Newark’s sizable Jewish population had long been established in the Brick City. During this era, more than half of them were young first-generation Americans descended from the tens of thousands of Russian, Polish and German immigrants that had settled in the city at the turn of the century. Between 1880 and 1941, they had built beautiful stone synagogues, community centers and thriving businesses. Amongst themselves they were an argumentative bunch, frequently debating the great political and religious issues in their many local and national organizations. But on one issue they were in complete agreement: they loved America, and the lives and families they had built here.

 

It was out of this community that heroes emerged. Louis Schleifer was one of them. As World War II stormed in Europe and Asia, Schleifer volunteered for the army right out of high school. It is important to remember here that he volunteered; America was not at war with Germany or Japan between 1939 and the first 11 months of 1941.

 

Schleifer, like many young men in the American military, found himself shipped over 7,000 miles away from friends and family in Newark, but that didn’t stop him from writing. He wrote frequently to his parents and friends. His letters, according to sources, told of a young man with an emerging political and religious awareness. Then came December 7th.

 

When the Japanese brought death down upon Hickam, Private Schleifer acted boldly. In the midst of the firestorm, he endeavored to save his fellow crewmen by getting them to safety. Schleifer was caught in the open, on a perfect, clear day with no cover. He paid for his actions with his life. He wouldn’t be the only one to die that day, but in the opening scene of America’s greatest struggle against genocidal tyranny in the 20th century, a son of Newark made the ultimate sacrifice.

But our story does not end there.

 

The war barreled on into 1942 as U.S. and Allied forces pushed into the Pacific, hitting fierce Japanese resistance at Guadalcanal and in other exotic locales. The nation ramped up its war machine, and within weeks of the Pearl Harbor attack the economy neared full employment as millions of men headed overseas for uncertain fates. Still America did not forget its fallen Newark son. The nation posthumously awarded Schleifer the prestigious Silver Star for Valor. At a moving ceremony held the same year on the campus of Yeshiva College (now university), U.S. Senator from New Jersey Warren Barbour praised the late private for his selfless patriotism. A local Jewish organization then provided their own honor to Schleifer’s parents, which included $1000 worth of war bonds.

 

Today, as far as I know, there isn’t a street named for Schleifer. I have yet to find any bronze plaques with his name emblazoned on it anywhere in the city, but perhaps it is time to do so. Newark’s students (and residents) need to be reminded that the Brick City has a noble legacy worth recounting and memorializing. For now, however, I guess I’ll just have to be content with the fact that this idea, and Schleifer’s story, are being recognized and discussed in my classroom at Arts High.  

 

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