Hiroshima : 70 Years After the A-bombing

At Hiroshima Fukokukan at time of A-bombing

Guilt over those he couldn’t help

Rijo-dori Avenue in the Hiroshima Delta is lined with office buildings. Streetcars come and go, and 32,600 cars traverse the busy street every day. Tadashi Takahashi, 88, stood on the avenue in front of the Fukoku Mutual Life Insurance building in Fukuro-machi, Naka Ward and talked about his experiences just after the atomic bombing.

“A red whirlwind swept down on us from the opposite [west] side of the street,” said Mr. Takahashi, a resident of Minami Ward.

Avoided direct exposure to thermal rays

On August 6, 1945, Mr. Takahashi was in the Hiroshima Fukokukan, a 7-story ferroconcrete building located about 330 meters southeast of the hypocenter. He worked in the General Affairs Section of the Hiroshima Telegraph Office, which occupied the first five floors of the sturdy Fukokukan as well as the first floor of the basement. The telegraph office played a role in air defense, transmitting the military’s air-raid warnings to cities and towns in the area.

There had been repeated air-raid warnings since the night before, and Mr. Takahashi, then 19, had spent the night at the telegraph office. “I’d been working for two days straight, so I was resting in the night duty room,” he said. The room was located in the window-less basement, which proved lucky for Mr. Takahashi. He felt a shock wave that “went in my nose and out my ears,” he said. The paint on the walls and ceiling was blown off, but Mr. Takahashi avoided direct exposure to the thermal rays. He suffered not even a scratch.

He stumbled up the crumbling stairway to the General Affairs Section on the 4th floor, where he found a female employee trapped under a collapsed wall. Mr. Takahashi and two colleagues who were only slightly hurt carried the bloodied injured outside. Thirteen men and women managed to get to the building’s back entrance on the south side and crowded around the nearby fire cistern.

“A bright red whirlwind swept down on us twice, carrying fist-sized rocks along with it. It must have been 5 or 6 meters across,” Mr. Takahashi said. It was followed by a streaky, black whirlwind.

The nuclear fission of uranium in the skies above Hiroshima is believed to have taken place at an altitude of 1 km. Nevertheless it spawned a huge fire at the hypocenter, and a massive influx of air caused whirlwinds of flames to race through the delta.

Mr. Takahashi used a hand pump to pump water up from the cistern and poured it over the people with him. But seven of them could not withstand the whirlwinds of flame and smoke and ran back into the building. When the whirlwinds had passed, they were dead. Around 2 p.m., when the flames had begun to die down, Mr. Takahashi was ordered to report to the Hiroshima Communications Bureau and set off for Moto-machi (now Higashi Hakushima-cho, Naka Ward). He went back to the Fukokukan, which had been gutted by the flames, the next day.

The August 7 entry in the telegraph office’s log for August 1945, now in the collection of the Peace Memorial Museum, notes: “Those at the bureau mostly found dead. Focused on efforts to find out whether other employees were safe.” The entry lists the names of six people, including Mr. Takahashi. According to the “Hiroshima Atomic Bombing Record” published by the Chugoku Telecommunications Bureau (now NTT West) in 1955, by the end of September 97 of the 117 workers who were at the telegraph office on the day of the A-bombing, including the mobilized students, had died.

In 1949 the Ministry of Communications and Transportation was dissolved, and its functions were divided between the Ministry of Telecommunication and the Ministry of Posts. Mr. Takahashi was in the postal department. He had married two years before. “My wife was at Hiroshima Station at the time of the A-bombing. Neither of our parents made an issue of our exposure to radiation,” he said. He and his wife had two daughters. He retired as postmaster of the Kabe Post Office in Asakita Ward in 1985.

Mr. Takahashi did not suffer any serious illnesses until 1994, when colon cancer was discovered. He had also injured his back and ultimately spent three years in the hospital.

While battling his illness, Mr. Takahashi often said to his wife, Chizue, 86, “I dreamed about them again last night,” referring to those he had been unable to save.

Never applied for survivor’s certificate

As if to open the door to his memories, Mr. Takahashi spoke about his experiences for the first time at Gion High School (now AICJ High School) in 2004. Girls from the school were among the victims at the telegraph office. Since then he has recounted his experiences when his health has permitted him to do so.

He has never applied for certification as an atomic bomb survivor, which would allow him to receive a special allowance for medical care. “It may be high-sounding, but I felt so bad about those who died. Why was I spared? I still don’t really know. Just having survived is enough for me.” Mr. Takahashi is estimated to have been exposed to 0.9 sieverts of radiation.

He said he no longer dreams about the day of the A-bombing. “Maybe it’s my age or maybe I feel less guilty than I used to,” he said, looking somehow forlorn. Mr. Takahashi is the only remaining male survivor of those who were in the Fukokukan at the time of the A-bombing.

(Originally published on June 10, 2014)