大象传媒

On VJ Day, August 15, 1945, our three-car family caravan tried to drive through Tierra Amarilla, New Mexico, on our way to some nearby log cabins for our summer vacation. The streets, ordinarily peopled with two or three dogs waiting for cars to chase, were thronged with jubilant locals. Horns were honking, the church bell was ringing. Shells of pi帽on nuts crunched under our tires; the crowd had been standing in the plaza for several hours listening to the only radio in town, excitedly eating pi帽on nuts. My grandfather, who like most (not all) Anglo New Mexicans spoke no Spanish, gradually divined that the war was over. That鈥檚 part of our family lore -- where we were when the war ended. My mother wrote a novel about northern New Mexico and included that scene.

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