Grateful for My Dad on the 80th Anniversary of His “Coming Home Day” from World War II
Those of you who have been kind enough to follow me on social media or have received my newsletters may be aware that December 10 is a special day in the Puleo family. It’s my dad’s World War II “Coming Home Day.” And in 2025, it’s an extra special anniversary. It was on December 10, 1945 – exactly 80 years ago – that U.S. Army Private First Class (PFC) Anthony W. Puleo returned home to his family after 20 months overseas during the Second World War.
The photos below show my dad (in dress uniform and cap) as an eighteen-year-old shortly after being drafted; leaning on a Jeep (likely in Belgium in late 1944); and in January 1945 from Belgium, four months shy of his 20th birthday. After being drafted in 1943 at the age of 18, my dad served in Europe – first in England, and then marching across France, Belgium, Luxembourg, part of Austria, and Germany – and was awarded the Purple Heart after being seriously wounded in Germany in April 1945. Then – after 37 harrowing days in the hospital – he returned to his outfit just in time to be shipped to the Pacific. He was in the Philippines awaiting the invasion of Japan when the dropping of the atomic bombs ended the war. He then served in Tokyo as part of the occupation force before heading back to the U.S. shortly before Thanksgiving, as the military worked to get as many troops as possible home before Christmas 1945. This massive effort was called “Operation Magic Carpet,” which successfully transported more than eight million U.S. military personnel home in 1945 – nearly 700,000 in December alone! – under the call of “Home Alive By ’45.” Some newspapers labeled this expansive operation “the greatest mass movement” of personnel in history.
Dad’s journey home took him by ship from Japan to the State of Washington, where he boarded a troop train to begin the 3,000-mile journey across the U.S. He mustered out at Ft. Devens in Ayer, Massachusetts, and arrived home in Boston’s North End on the chilly evening of December 10, 1945, where he experienced joyful tears when he was reunited with his family. His mother – my grandmother – had been praying for his safe return in Boston’s Sacred Heart Church shortly before his arrival. The Puleo family commemorates Coming Home Day every year, and before dad passed away nearly 17 years ago, we either visited or called him every December 10 to reminisce about the homecoming he never forgot, and to offer grateful thanks that he made it home as a young man at the age of twenty-and-a-half. To him, Coming Home Day was the most important day of his WWII experience. He always said he “shipped out as a boy and came back as a man.” His pride in serving his country was eclipsed only by his joy in returning safely to his family.
Dad never forgot his buddies who didn’t make it back. “They died so young,” he said to us on more than one occasion. “They went to do a job their country asked them to do, and they never came back. They are the real heroes. That’s why we must never forget them. I never will.” And neither will I.
For me, the last several anniversaries have been emotional. First, because of COVID, it was hard to appropriately recognize the dwindling number of World War II veterans still with us during the 75th anniversary of the war’s end in 2020. It was likely the last great milestone anniversary for many of them. And now this year – the 80th anniversary of the war’s end – it hurts that even fewer WWII vets are alive for us to honor for their service. I would ask you to please take a moment to remember, especially, these few World War II veterans who are still among us. And for other veterans stationed far from home, please thank them from afar, wish them peace and Godspeed, and pray that they will celebrate their own Coming Home Day soon. Happy 80th Coming Home Day anniversary, Dad!
