(March 20, 2025 update: still very much alive! Turns 100 on March 22.)
I‘m very lucky. My 96-year-old grandfather, James Rogan, is still alive. As you’ll see in the video at the bottom of this article, he’s in pretty good health.
I’m lucky for another reason. He survived the Second World War and brought home lessons of patriotism and service.
A working-class New Yorker from Fisher’s Island, James was the son of an Army noncommissioned officer. With the passage of time, he and my grandmother, Marian, would see their four children gain good jobs and build good lives. But getting there was no easy feat. Joining the Marine Corps at age 17, my grandfather was assigned to the 22nd Marine Regiment, 6th Marine Division. He fought in the Second Battle of Guam and the Battle of Okinawa.
On Guam, James narrowly avoided death when, pushing the advance shortly after making it ashore, a Marine behind him accidentally fired his shotgun. It knocked my grandfather down, shaking him. He describes turning around to see a young Marine who thought he’d just killed a comrade. Luckily, the blast had just dislodged my grandfather’s helmet. And perhaps shook the then-19-year-old a little. Regardless, he was shaken by the Japanese mortar shell that knocked him out a little later.
On Okinawa, the 22nd Marine Regiment was again in the thick of it. Interviewed by U.S. media shortly before the assault, my grandfather said that he wanted his mother to know he’d met up with his brother, Peter, who was serving with the 1st Marine Division. He added in solemn but sturdy voice, “I hope that everything at home is OK.” My uncle, Mike, was able to recover copies of that interview a few years back.
Still, as shown by the Marine Corps casualty figures below, Okinawa took its toll on the 22nd. Amid other recollections, my grandfather describes being narrowly missed by a sniper and having to decide whether to throw a grenade into a cave (suspecting hidden Japanese soldiers) or approach the entrance to said cave in case civilians were hiding within. In the end, civilians were hiding and saved. In the end, my grandfather can still joke about his fortune at surviving Okinawa. Even here, however, his wartime experience testifies that war is indeed hell: a platoon friend, Ernest Kernen, had earlier been killed on Guam, shot in the chest as he attempted to clear a cave.
Before returning home, my grandfather was assigned to a Marine unit in China. That is, “until the communists kicked us out.” He then attempted to join the New York City Police Department. But that didn’t work out: too many Irish American veterans wanted to be cops! So James joined the Army. That career of service would see James guard Nazi prisoners at Spandau prison camp. And stand the Cold War tripwire in Berlin. Later offered a commission, he would retire as a Major.
But he’s still with us. Cheeky as ever. He was always close to my British grandfather, a Royal Air Force Wing Commander and veteran of Bomber and Coastal Commands, Harry Kerr. Although from very different worlds, the two veterans found kinship in their shared sacrifice and service. Harry and James are eternal reminders, at least to me, why finding confidence from our history and country isn’t just necessary, but inherently honorable.
The brutality of war is something my grandfather has seen and something, as a civilian journalist, I try to always hold close in mind. But as testified by so many since, those such as the Marines at the Kabul airport gate, James reminds me that America remains great and glorious.
PS — my grandfather, as evinced in this video from two weeks ago, is not a supporter of my UFO reporting (nor my humor).
