Photo By John Hughel | Alan Dierking (center), along with Rex and Keiko Ziak, co-founders of the Obon...... read more read more
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ASTORIA, Ore. – It’s been more than 80 years since his father, Staff Sgt. Russell A. Dierking returned home to Oregon after serving in the Army during World War II, and now 20 years since his death. Being the youngest and last surviving child, Alan Dierking has, at long last, found the time to reflect on many of the artifacts and war souvenirs his father brought home from the war, following the recent passing of his older brother. Items that were once considered “battlefield mementos” to his family hold a different meaning to him now.
After enlisting in the U.S. Army in late 1942, Russell Dierking was assigned to a replacement battalion and began training at Camp Roberts in California and later at Fort Lewis, Washington. Like many young recruits from the Pacific Northwest, he was quickly called into action in the Pacific Theater.
“My father was an infantryman, serving in multiple locations around the Pacific. He was wounded and decorated for his service in combat,” Alan Dierking said, recalling the legacy of his father's experiences in a new light. “He brought home photographs, an assortment of foreign currency, and other unique souvenirs – including a Japanese (Good Luck) battle flag.”
While examining the full assortment of items in his father’s collection, he found some video clips online of military repatriation services for flags honoring the service of Japanese soldiers lost in battle. “Good luck flags,” known as Yosegaki Hinomaru, were customary send-off gifts for over a million Japanese service members during WWII. The rectangular white flags, made of silk but sometimes cotton, feature a deep red circle representing the sun, embracing the personal signatures in ornate Japanese calligraphy – enduring messages written from family members, friends, coworkers, priests, and even neighbors.
“Through these videos and other research, I contacted the Obon Society here [in Oregon] to help and see if they could help me find the family of this Japanese soldier whose name was on this flag,” Alan said. “I think the timing now seems more important than ever – in some ways, to acknowledge a broader sense of my dad’s service but also the sacrifices made by Japanese veterans.”
And for Alan, returning these items that were in his father’s collection has now offered an opportunity to help extend healing and closure, emphasizing that, “Bringing honor and a spirit of connection has been an important part of this entire process.”
The Japanese proverb, “Patience brings a favorable tide,” seemed fitting for the moment on March 7, 2025, as the midday sun streamed through the windows at the Columbia River Maritime Museum in Astoria. The setting provided a spectacular panoramic view of the river as Alan arranged an array of artifacts on a large rectangular table, having finally connected with members of the Obon society, including co-founders Rex and Keiko Ziak and Bethany Glenn, a board member for the organization. As they gathered curiously around the historical items during the flag hand-off occasion, Alan described item after item, occasionally pausing thoughtfully at a specific article, recalling pertinent information his father had conveyed to him years ago, and now breathing new life into the enigmatic collection.
After describing the mementos on the table, he carefully removed the flag from its protective cover, immediately revealing the bold yet intricate black brushstrokes. After a quiet moment of examining the flag on the table, Keiko’s energy quickly shifted as she began to translate the ornate messages hidden for over eight decades for the group.
“Oh, my – Already, I can tell that this is a super close family… a younger brother and sister have signed it, and so have grandparents.”
Pointing out the penmanship of one particular character, Glenn asks, “This looks like it belongs to a woman? The script seems more intricate.”
“Yeah, that’s a woman’s signature and very, very personal,” Keiko explained, pausing to convey the sensitivity in the script. ‘Every morning and night, you greet your mother,’ saying it aloud, trying to evoke a more profound meaning in English. This part reads like an older brother…’ Do your best and sacrifice your life in doing what is good.’”
For Keiko, the flag becomes alive in emotion, while translating more messages on the flag. The calligraphy revealed deeper connections to the soldier, including distinct numbers and intimate gestures. Having examined hundreds of these flags now, she is keenly aware of these clues, taking in the voices of those who left these goodbye sentiments.
“I always look for this sign,” Glenn says, pointing to a special character she's discovered on the flag. “It looks like a number three with a line.”
“Yes, very good,” Keito says with a grin, telling the group that ‘Bethany has seen so many of the flags now, she’s getting good at deciphering them.’”
Through the translations, the group conversations became fervent, bringing more questions and revelations into the spirited exchange.
“Some of these come from maybe his workplace, like from a guy he worked with at a bank or factory, these are people who were his friends, as if he were a member of a baseball team,” Keiko said, explaining more of the story held within the flag.
Every character bears its own story, yet in its entirety, all the signatures hold a collective heartfelt farewell. The moment is bittersweet.
“These are very close relationships and friends… it is not common to use a first name… this is very intimate,” Rex said, pausing for a moment while videoing the group discussion.
In describing a familiar story, Rex recounts what often takes place when the flags are successfully returned to families in Japan.
“Let’s say that we returned it in December this year; two or three years from now, people will still be coming home maybe at Christmas time, showing up saying ‘We’ve heard that you have a flag with grandma’s signature on it,’ and they’ll pull it back out again and put it on the table, much like we are doing now – going over it and retracing the intimate details.”
With the return of the flags to family members, they are preserved in a variety of ways, but one thing is common: with the journey complete, the flag is no longer a material object; it has been transformed, and for the family, their loved one has finally returned home.
“They (flags) are regarded officially now as non-biological human remains,” Rex said, pointing out the traditional significance that the flags hold in Japanese culture. “There is a different concept of living and death – they will often take the flags to the family shrine and display them to their departed family members, showing to parents and grandparents, ‘look, they have come home.’”
“That’s exactly how the recipient of a Japanese family holds this view,” Keiko pointed out in this long process, “For the ancestor, this is what they think as closure.”
With the discussion still opening new perspectives, Alan reveals how the process of the flag’s repatriation has become compelling and personal.
“I do feel like this soldier has been talking to me in a way,” he said, as the unfolding conversation revealed more of the emotional connections Alan has with returning the flag. “It’s been such a strong feeling for me during this process that – I could feel this pull, this sense of needing to go home.”
This journey home strikes at the core mission of the Obon Society, and in each case, there is an emotional sense of closure that runs beneath the material items. Rex and Keiko have found this spiritual conversation, like Alan’s, to be a common occurrence.
“He’s been talking to you for months, if not years, telling you, ‘Can you get me home?’ Can you get me back to my ancestors?’ Rex reiterated Alan’s lingering question. “And you woke up one morning, and you reached out and called the National Guard, which led you here.”
That same “spirit of return” is how the Obon Society was first founded. In 2007, a military collector in Toronto, Canada, had written in his will a special request to his son to return a Japanese flag in his possession. During a business trip to Tokyo, the son left the flag with the hotel staff in an attempt to try and find the soldier’s family. Through newspaper ads and then word of mouth, the flag eventually made its way back to Keiko’s mother nearly a year later.
“When I grew up, I didn’t know anything about my grandfather other than he was a farmer and disappeared during the war, and as part of Obon remembrance each year, we would pray for him and other ancestors,” Keiko said, describing the process of her own family's flag. “I remember my mother was in tears when it (the flag) returned home, saying ‘his spirit, he wanted to come home,’ and for me, I was shocked – it was like a miracle that his flag returned home.”
In Japan, Obon is the Buddhist festival to pay respects to family ancestors and other loved ones, and is celebrated over three days in mid-August or mid-July, depending on the region. The concept of the OBON Society was started when Keiko met Rex several years later, and then, together, they felt inspired to return more of these flags to families in Japan.
“In 2009, there was this ramp-up where he had a kitchen table and a couple of laptops as we began to do research, seeking out as much information as possible, including information from the government in Japan,” said Rex, describing the early concept of the Obon Society. “It wasn't until 2013 that we returned the first flag.”
Initially, they thought they would be providing the information necessary so that the Japanese government would have the information to request Americans interested in participating in this repatriation process. What they quickly discovered was that the Japanese government viewed these flags as battlefield souvenirs from American service members and couldn't request their return to the families of lost Japanese soldiers.
“To the Japanese, words matter to them, and treaties and signing pieces of paper matter, so they have honor and respect for the conditions that ended the war,” Rex said, recalling one of the major hurdles they first had to overcome. “From the Japanese perspective, the term ‘Unconditional Surrender’ meant no conditions…so even if those treasured items of ours had unspeakable value, we had no right to request those to be returned.”
Yet from these preliminary days of working with the State Department of Japan and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Rex and Keiko have made historic headway. Through their work over the past 15 years, over 750 flags have now been returned, helping foster a new perspective of mutual respect among veterans in both nations.
“So in these return ceremonies, there was a huge gap that we had to overcome with the post-war (United States) occupation mindset in Japan,” Keiko said, explaining another layer to the restorative process. “When the Americans return these items, they are showing honor and respect for the opposing Japanese soldier; this equal respect is now afforded to the families in Japan – it is a completely different action, transforming the soldier to come back home, allowing for closure to take place.”
Now, with a full exhibit at the Columbia River Maritime Museum, it displays the history and meaning of the Yosegaki Hinomaru flags. Many of the donated flags on display help tell this story, and as part of the process, once the family is located, they are respectfully removed and returned. In essence, it’s the spirit between former combatants that has now opened new perspectives for understanding and peace.
Part of Alan’s investigation process involved working with the Oregon National Guard, as his grandfather, Major Frederick R. Dierking, had served until he retired from the Oregon Army National Guard. During World War I, as a member of the 41st Infantry Division, he was mobilized with the American Expeditionary Forces in France.
Ironically, the 41st Division would later take part in some of the toughest fighting against Japanese forces during World War II, with their final action in clearing the Southern Philippines, where his son, Staff Sgt. Russell Dierking would later serve.
“I know that he first went to New Caledonia and then Guadalcanal, which I do believe were battles en route to Luzon (Philippines), where he obtained the flag,” Alan said, referring to his father’s actions that led to being wounded in action. “I have the original Western Union telegram dated January 21, 1945, so it was getting close to the end of the war.”
Military historical records place “The Battle of Luzon” as the highest net casualty engagement fought during WWII, with 192,000 U.S. Forces and 217,000 Japanese combatants dying, with a majority from disease and starvation during the prolonged siege and conditions.
As his unit was advancing into the hills in late January, Staff Sgt. Dierking was injured and then evaluated out just as advancing troops were moving into the same area, Alan said, recalling his father’s final actions in combat. “He said he was being carried down the hillside as American soldiers were advancing past him. He got that look from many of them, like, ‘I have to go up into that?’ as they passed on the trail.”
With his heroic actions that day, Staff Sgt. Dierking was awarded one of the oldest and most honorable military awards, a Purple Heart.
Preserving these accounts of his own father’s service was also part of the motivation to return these items to Japan, Alan said, reflecting on the occasional shared stories over the years, and having been his father’s caretaker later in life when his health was deteriorating. “My dad sat down numerous times trying to write down his own story, but just couldn’t go into the details because I think it just spurred too many memories of the loss of so many of his friends.”
This summer marks 80 years since the war ended. Now that the items have been transferred to the Obon Society, Alan hopes that his act of sincerity, along with a sense of destiny, will prevail in the next step of the flag's journey home.
“I never really considered these items mine to keep and didn't want them to end up in someone's World War II collection,” he said. “I am now hoping this flag finds its way home, and if the family does receive it, I would be honored to meet them if it helps them bring closure too.”
| Date Taken: | 04.17.2025 |
| Date Posted: | 04.17.2025 19:02 |
| Story ID: | 495611 |
| Location: | ASTORIA, OREGON, US |
| Web Views: | 350 |
| Downloads: | 0 |
This work, WWII ‘Good Luck Flag’ transfer offers closure while honoring reconciliation, by John Hughel, identified by DVIDS, must comply with the restrictions shown on https://www.dvidshub.net/about/copyright.
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