The Bomb and The Bell: A story of two tolls

Two weeks ago, on Aug. 9, in Nagasaki, Japan, a group of parishioners at Urakami Cathedral dedicated a bell and marked the completion of the rebirth of a historic cathedral that was destroyed 80 years ago on the same date when the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Nagasaki. Grafton is nearly 7,000 miles from Nagasaki and we are now, eight decades removed from that moment in time, yet there is a moving connection. The Bomb and the Bell Ann Ferut is sitting at her kitchen table in her tiny house that she and her husband, Joe, raised five children in on Hickory Street in Grafton. In front of her are newspaper clippings from two articles documenting the reproduction of a church bell destroyed by the detonation of an atomic bomb dropped by a United States Air Force B-29 airplane over Nagasaki, Japan. Her husband, Joe, died in the fall of 2020. He was 95. Joe Ferut served in World War II as a Navy Seabee, a special component of the United States Navy dedicated to construction, engineering and combat support. Seabees were electricians, plumbers, carpenters, truck drivers and deep-sea divers among other things. Joe was a member of the 43rd Seabee Battalion sent to Nagasaki just months after the bomb killed an estimated 70,000 people in Nagasaki. He was a heavy machine operator. The Navy Seabees were there to clean up and build airstrips for the Marines. The use of atomic bombs on Hiroshima on Aug. 6 and Nagasaki on Aug. 9 ended the War in the Pacific. An Instrument of Surrender was signed by Japan on Sept. 2. One of Nagasaki's most recognizable landmarks, the Urakami Cathedral, was in ruins. It was famous for, among other things, the twin bells that would ring simultaneously in the church towers. On Christmas Eve in 1945, Joe and members of his battalion attended a service there in the rubble and sat on makeshift pews. It was snowing, lightly, and it fell softly on them because there were only remnants of walls left. I sat with Joe Ferut in March of 2020 for an interview to document his life. He spoke to me about that night. "We had walked quite a ways to the church," he said. The Seabees were living in a bombed out factory with no roof and partial walls. They slept in their raincoats. "The church was bombed all over. We went to the midnight Mass. The collection box went around and we put all of our money in it. We just figured we should help them out," he said. The reality of the time Joe said his battalion were ordered not talk to the people of Nagasaki or offer food. He told me of a battalion cook who gave food away and was discharged because of it. Joe got very emotional talking to me that day. He had not talked about the war to anyone at all until he was in his late 80s. "All those years," Ann said, "he had never talked about his time in the service. Never. But, there toward the end, he told us." "I saw most everybody," Joe said to me. "The worst thing was seeing the burns on their faces and parts of their bodies. The women wore kimonos and you couldn't tell until they reached out that they were missing an arm." The hollowed out factories served as not only a residence for the Seabees but also were where they were fed. "When we were done eating in the chow hall, the leftovers would be thrown in garbage cans in an alley and you'd see these little kids sticking their hands in the garbage cans and pulling out (leftovers) and sticking them in their pockets." Joe would hold food in his hand and act like he didn't notice the children as they came up to grab it. "I looked the other way," he said, "and a lot of times I'd cry." He paused, looked down, lips quivered and his throat swallowed. "When we went in there (Nagasaki), it was a mess. Really a mess. Everything was burnt." The connections and collective moments Ann Ferut brings out pictures her husband had received from the battalion photographer during their time in Nagasaki. The pictures are an instant reminder of the devastation. One is of the Urakami Church. It matches nearly perfectly in angle and framing to a picture of the church on its historical website. On her refrigerator are pictures of her 19 grandchildren and 23 great-grandchildren. On the wall in the kitchen is a picture of Jesus and The Last Supper. "That picture has hung on this wall for 73 years," she tells me. A wooden cross is above her. Faith and family are the two most valued gifts in Ann's life. Her daughter, Joann, had read an Associated Press article in a Toledo newspaper about a sociology professor at Williams College in Massachusetts who was raising money to finance the reproduction of the destroyed bell in Nagasaki's Urakami Cathedral. James Nolan Jr. is the professor. He is the grandson of a doctor who was part of the team on the Manhattan Project, the code name for the United States secret effort during World War II to develop the world's first atomic bomb. He is the author of the book, ``Atomic Doctors: Conscience and Complicity at the Dawn of the Nuclear Age.'' "I wonder if that is the church that dad was in? We found out that they were collecting money for the bell so, we decided that we need to donate and help," Joann said. The Ferut Family — Ann, 94, Mary Anne, 72, Joann, 70, Joe and John, 69, and Dee Dee, 68 — felt such an act would, in a very small way, help bring hope and peace to the devastation their husband and father witnessed and was so emotionally affected by. "It also was our way to make a gesture to the Japanese Catholic community after they had lost so much," Dee Dee said. Six hundred Americans contributed to the project and more than $100,000 was raised. The new bell is bronze and is the same size as the original. It also has Latin inscriptions that were on the original bell. It was cast in the Netherlands and the production of the bell was directed by the McShane Bell Company in St. Louis. Maybe it was pure coincidence or maybe divine intervention but on April 3, Joann was in St. Louis visiting a good friend at the same time the bell had arrived in St. Louis. "She picked me up from the airport and we went straight to see the bell," Joann said. "I was in awe and asked if I could have my picture taken by the bell and if I could touch it." Joann told the workers at the McShane Bell Company her father's story. "I was so happy this moment was even possible. Even as I am speaking about it now, I am so full of emotions." Three months later, the bell rang for the first time at exactly two minutes after the 11th hour in the morning of Aug. 9, 2025. That date and time are precisely in line with the actual moment the bomb, named The Fat Man, was dropped with the devastating impact of 21,000 tons of TNT, 80 years ago. The original Urakami Cathedral had twin spires that reached into the sky nearly 30 yards. They were some of the highest in the East at the time and a bell called each home. Home I notice Ann's hands. The left holds the right as both sit on her lap as she shares her memories with me. Ann Ferut grew up in a coal mining town in Pennsylvania called Stump Creek. She had known Joe, her future husband since they were little kids. "I can remember Joe helping me down the back steps at his parents' house. I was 5 and he was 9," Ann said. Joe's mom was babysitting Ann. Ann was 15 years old when the war ended. "I was in church," she said to me, "and someone came in to tell us the war was over and bells started ringing. The bells were ringing all over." Now, the bells of Nagasaki's Urakami Cathedral ring again. Small gestures. Big impact. Worlds apart. Contact Ron Jantz at rjantz@chroniclet.com.