Devil at My Heels: A Heroic Olympian's Astonishing Story of Survival as a Japanese POW in World War II
Louis Zamperini, David Rensin
Language: English
Pages: 292
ISBN: 0062118854
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The bestselling autobiography of the legendary Louis Zamperini, hero of the blockbuster Unbroken
A modern classic by an American legend, Devil at My Heels is the riveting and deeply personal memoir by U.S. Olympian, World War II bombardier, and POW survivor Louis Zamperini. His inspiring story of courage, resilience, and faith has captivated readers and audiences of Unbroken, now a major motion picture directed by Angelina Jolie. In Devil at My Heels, his official autobiography (co-written with longtime collaborator David Rensin), Zamperini shares his own first-hand account of extraordinary journey—hailed as “one of the most incredible American lives of the past century” (People).
A youthful troublemaker, a world-class NCAA miler, a 1936 Olympian, a WWII bombardier: Louis Zamperini had a fuller life than most. But on May 27, 1943, it all changed in an instant when his B-24 crashed into the Pacific Ocean, leaving Louis and two other survivors drifting on a raft for forty-seven days and two thousand miles, waiting in vain to be rescued. And the worst was yet to come when they finally reached land, only to be captured by the Japanese. Louis spent the next two years as a prisoner of war—tortured and humiliated, routinely beaten, starved and forced into slave labor—while the Army Air Corps declared him dead and sent official condolences to his family. On his return home, memories of the war haunted him nearly destroyed his marriage until a spiritual rebirth transformed him and led him to dedicate the rest of his long and happy life to helping at-risk youth. Told in Zamperini’s own voice, Devil at My Heels is an unforgettable memoir from one of the greatest of the “Greatest Generation,” a living document about the brutality of war, the tenacity of the human spirit, and the power of faith.
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Kwajalein for a dig. I stayed a week but had to leave before they discovered anything more than an array of munitions, military artifacts, and bones of the Japanese and Marshallese. No marines. As of now, they haven’t found any American remains. If they ever do, part of me would like to be on hand, but a bigger part of me wouldn’t. I’ve lived through a lot, but the thought of staring into a mass grave that could have easily been my final resting place is something I believe I can just live
The eastern coaches all disliked Dean Cromwell because the press kept calling him the world’s greatest track coach even though he’d never had a great distance runner. To them, the mile was the glamour race, not the 100 or 220 yards. The mile was magical. They didn’t want Cromwell to have a winner. “Thanks, but don’t worry about me,” I told Coach Nicholson. “I can take care of myself.” Or at least act like I could. I went back to bed and didn’t give it a second thought. I’d never seen anyone do
carrier ship. There were planes all over the sky: navy Hell Cats and Zeroes. Three F-4U fighters streaked over the camp and dived in on the Japanese navy airstrip about two miles south. Above, I could see Zeroes exploding, popping like little firecrackers. Suddenly, a navy Hellcat flashed by, chasing a Zero. He was so close I could have hit him with a brick. The Zero finally veered over Tokyo, where he knew he had protection, and the navy pilot turned right and went out over the ocean. That was
front page of the New York Times and had been syndicated, running in newspapers from the Honolulu Advertiser and the Detroit Free Press, to the Catholic Digest and my hometown Torrance Herald. Later my story made Time and Newsweek and countless other publications. Although I’d enjoyed the spotlight when I ran, now I couldn’t have cared less about being in the New York Times. Trumbull did a good job, but in Yokohama he had taken from me what was most precious: Coke and donuts. I know it sounds
discovered a mysterious notation penciled in by Cynthia: “Take inventory.” I didn’t know what it meant, and that worried me. Inventory of what? Clothes? Possessions? Our marriage? I reviewed our fights—there were so many—looking for the one incident that might have caused her to take such a step. Then I got it. Last Christmas Eve, before Cissy had been born… As we’d dressed for a party Cynthia said she wanted to stop at a church on the way, and she wouldn’t let up no matter how much I argued
